My name is Feng Xue. I’ve transmigrated. There are words floating above my head—Remaining Lifespan: Sixty… days.

At first, I wasn’t panicked. I figured everything happens for a reason. Since my life was short, there must be a way to extend it.

I searched the internet and found nothing explicitly written, but every crooked and vague line seemed to whisper the same thing—“Daily Life World.”

I couldn’t sleep, so I kept reading late into the night. Eventually, I started to see the hidden message between the lines. The whole damn thing said just two words: “Shorten Life!”

I must’ve been ill—couldn’t sleep anyway—so I wandered into a mahjong parlor and played for a few days. Then I picked a dark, moonless night to try my luck.

And somehow, I really did stumble on a sliver of hope.

The Observer said:

“The connection is through transmigration, the illness is a short lifespan.

The job shortens your life, and your goal is to chase immortality.

A single glance confirms it—your lifespan is in debt.”

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