I Have Been Killed Forty-Seven Times, This Time I Want to Live

I've traveled through time. Three times. It's not a refreshing start where you wake up in three worlds in turn, but a cyclical nightmare of forty-seven deaths. Every time the dagger falls, every time electricity passes through my brain, every time my wrist is tightened by the restraints, I will never survive until the end. But this time, it's different. I can see lines of cause and effect with my right eye. The bone dagger in the cultivation world, the prosthetic body scan in the cyber world, and the medical records in the modern world all point to the same truth - the 7.3 Cm scar on my chest is the starting point of tearing apart the three realms. Some people tampered with my memory, some betrayed my trust, some were waiting for me three years ago, and some were atonement after three thousand years. And there are only three women around me - the sword-wielding cultivator, the cold-blooded prosthetic killer, and the gentle female doctor - one of them may be the traitor. Forty-seven deaths, in exchange for a chance to make a comeback. This time, I want all the cause and effect to flow back to that day, and then tell myself who was kneeling on the altar in fear and crying: Don't be afraid, I'm here to pick you up.