If We've All Transmigrated, Who Hasn't Become an Original Creator?

After transmigrating into the body of a good-for-nothing in a marquis’s household, I decided to become a quiet plagiarist.

One poem, “Bring in the Wine,” made me famous throughout the capital;

Half of “Prelude to Water Melody” won the heart of a gifted beauty and brought a bewitching enchantress after me.

Just as my copying was going swimmingly, and even the princess was giving me a thumbs-up

I read a new work by the greatest poet of our time.

Hidden in the poem was a string of English code.

I turned ice-cold, then burst out laughing:

“So I’m not the only transmigrator in this world after all.”

And the best part was that this immortal poet

was the academic rival who had worked me to death in my previous life.

In this life, poetry and song are weapons, and the imperial court and martial world are the battlefield.

He courts the powerful, so I start a newspaper and take control of public opinion;

He fawns on foreign enemies, so I rally the people with “Man Jiang Hong.”

The System gleefully stirs up trouble: “Complete the cultural monopoly, defeat him, and become the one and only god.”

I glance at those beside me

The cool, gifted beauty is my confidante,

The Demon Cult’s holy maiden has betrayed her sect for me,

The eldest princess considers me a peerless pillar of the nation,

And the daughter of Jiangnan’s richest man is my moneybag…

“This round,” I say, putting brush to paper as my literary brilliance soars,

“I won’t just win. I’ll take my realm and my beauties with me, and win completely.”