Chronicles of the Divine War in the Ruins of Xia

Why is the first page of the history books blank?

Because a war was deliberately forgotten.

I was once the most expensive plaything. I mastered the art of pleasing others amid the glittering extravagance of a golden age, only to die from a poisoned cup of wine given to me by a colleague. When I opened my eyes again, I had sunk into the darkest source of Chinese civilization: the Xia dynasty.

Here, dragon shadows circle above the Nine Provinces, and the sacrificial fires of the ancestors illuminate the shrines. And I am called Zhuang Zhou.

They tell me that a “Void” has descended from beyond the heavens, intent on devouring civilization.

They make me watch as the Western gods measure their gains and losses behind the clouds, elegantly preserving their strength.

Meanwhile, the gods of Huaxia march one after another toward the front lines of inevitable annihilation. Their power comes from the cooking smoke of ordinary homes, the lifeblood of written characters, and the memories passed down through generations. When civilization is wounded, the gods fall.

Only then do I understand that my transmigration was no accident.

The miscellaneous knowledge I acquired, the illusions I experienced, the mystery of “Zhuang Zhou dreaming he was a butterfly” that I came to understand, even my very existence, have all become a piece on the board, thrust into a primordial game of strategy with the fate of a nation at stake.

So I take up a lantern and step into the shadows of gods and demons filling the sky.

With a modern soul, I bear the burden of the ancient gods.

Before the true history books are burned to ash,

I will write the final names for those whose sacrifices must not be forgotten.

This war was never recorded because the survivors chose silence.

And I will sink into the ruins of Xia, temper this fragment of a dream, and keep watch through the night for civilization.