I was originally a thousand-year-old ginseng spirit. You know, the kind they often write about in books, the kind that people are constantly after. In this case, the author made someone dig me up—me, a thousand-year-old ginseng.
My life was both medicinal and bitter. My early years were filled with the looming threat of being uprooted and consumed. In the thousands of years I lived, spanning hundreds upon hundreds of centuries, I spent my time trying not to be destroyed, not falling prey to immortals, demons, humans, beasts… anyone who could possibly eat me.
It’s not that I was particularly delicious; it’s just that they truly thought I was.
They would uproot me for a mere ounce of my essence, refine me into a pill, and gain strength from it. All who saw me wanted to possess me—except for the occasional few weirdos who wanted to bury me back into the ground to let me continue growing and ripening for future consumption.
I had no friends; no one wanted to make friends with me. I had no enemies because no one who dug me up wanted me to hold grudges—they simply wanted to eat me to further their cultivation. My entire existence revolved around others harvesting me.
I was a solitary ginseng, wandering across the land.
I didn’t even dare reveal my true form in the world. I was terrified that, if I were discovered, I’d once again be reduced to a mere medicinal herb in someone’s hands.
Then one day, a grave digger arrived in my forest. They were very clumsy and clearly inexperienced. I remember their digging quite vividly. They searched deep into the mountains for an entire day. When they finally dug a hole near me, they looked up, gazed at the moonlight streaming through the treetops, and sighed in frustration when they found no thousand-year-old ginseng.
At that moment, I froze, waiting…
And then…
I died.
Well, not exactly. After awakening, I found myself transformed into a human child.
I recalled some lessons from the past. If an immortal does not achieve transcendence and cannot endure their fate, they may reincarnate as a human child. I became such a child—an orphan around eight or nine years old, living in a small village.
Later, I learned that my spirit had merged with the body of a young girl who had died. But when I noticed a scar near her heart, I was shocked.
I wasn’t sure what it signified, but having lived for eight centuries, I had seen enough to understand its implications.
This was a forbidden technique.
One must transfer a deceased soul into a living body, borrowing the living person’s lifespan to continue surviving!
Although I now inhabited the form of a delicate young girl, memories from my previous life made me realize that this was a deliberate act. Someone had chosen me and caused this to happen. But why? And who?
Who killed me? Or, rather, who saved me? Why go to such lengths?
I didn’t understand. I could only allow myself to drift in this new life, resigned and powerless. All I could do was try to live the best I could in this present life. Besides, things were no worse now than before, and at least no one was currently hunting me like rare treasure.
However, one thing became clear: I still wasn’t entirely human.
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