Shang Jingyan woke up in blinding pain.

The back of her head throbbed like it had been smashed against something hard—numb and drafty, like air was leaking out.

She reached back to touch it. Her fingers came away slick with blood.

Shang Jingyan: “…”

So it wasn’t just her imagination. She really had cracked her head open.

Before she could think too much about it, a flood of unfamiliar memories crashed into her mind, making her dizziness even worse.

Groaning, she clutched her head and sat up. Her long hair, now a wavy silver-white, fell over her shoulders—definitely not her usual look. And her clothes? Also not hers.

Am I dreaming…?

She was lying on the floor beside a couch, surrounded by empty liquor bottles. The entire room reeked of alcohol.

A smear of blood stained the corner of the coffee table. Judging by the scene, “she” must’ve gotten blackout drunk, tripped, and smashed her head against the table.

As her senses sharpened, more memories poured in. Shang Jingyan’s eyes widened in shock.

Last night, she had gotten drunk—celebrating the success of her latest film. A driver had been taking her home when—crash. The last thing she remembered was headlights blurring past…

And yet, the memories in her head were telling a different story.

Apparently, “she” had been out drinking cheap liquor with a bunch of lowlifes from Garbage Street, stuffing herself with something called blue-shell crab, and had stumbled back to her rented apartment alone.

Garbage Street? Blue-shell crab? What the hell is all this?

“Ugh…”

A sharp pain shot through her temples. It felt like someone had jammed an entirely new life into her head, and now it was waging war with her real identity.

Just then, a mechanical voice echoed in her mind:

【Binding successful. System X71 at your service—】

【Current status: Critically injured. Vital signs: Dangerously low.】

【100 Heartbeat Points have been advanced to stabilize your condition. However, immediate medical attention is strongly recommended!】

Shang Jingyan froze. A system? Wait. Did I just… transmigrate?!

Her head pounded so hard that cold sweat beaded on her forehead. But she forced herself to her feet, staggering around in search of a medical kit.

【Current world: Galactic Era.】

【Bzzzt… Current Heartbeat Points: -100.】

Heartbeat Points? What the hell was that?

【Current total wealth: 54 star coins. Financial status: Dirt poor.】

The tiny, cluttered apartment matched that assessment perfectly. Wincing, Shang Jingyan finally found a bottle of medicine. Relying on the memories in her head, she sprayed it onto the wound. Within seconds, the gash on her scalp started closing up, leaving behind only a strange, itchy numbness.

Damn. The future’s medical tech is insane…

She collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. Her mind spun with confusion, shock, and a creeping sense of what the hell is happening to me?

Tentatively, she asked in her head: Alright. What exactly are you? And what do I have to do?

【This system is designed to cultivate literary masters, selecting talented individuals and tailoring successful criteria to fit each world.】

【Based on analysis, this world’s dominant art form revolves around one theme: romance. The entire population is obsessed with love and the thrill of heart-pounding emotions.】

【As such, success will be measured by “Heartbeat Points,” which are determined by the audience’s heart rate, hormone fluctuations, adrenaline levels, and other physiological reactions while engaging with your work.】

【Complete your tasks, and you’ll earn the right to permanently reside in this world—a fresh start, a new life.】

【Your first task: Collect 10 Heartbeat Points. Time limit: 30 days.】

Shang Jingyan blinked. A world where everyone is obsessed with romance?

She glanced at her status—【-100 Heartbeat Points】—and nearly cursed out loud.

So my first mission is to earn 10 points… while starting with negative 100 points? Fantastic. She was in debt before she even got started.

Before she could process the absurdity of her situation, loud, impatient knocks rattled the front door.

A sharp voice followed:

“Shang Jingyan! It’s the 15th! Where’s my money?!”

“Don’t you dare pretend you’re not home—I know you’re in there!”

“Open the damn door!”

Shang Jingyan: “…”

Seriously? She just woke up in a new world, and she was already dealing with debt collectors?!

Flipping through the memories in her head, she quickly pieced it together. The original owner of this body had borrowed 30,000 star coins. And not from a legal lender, either—this was high-interest loan shark territory.

Worse, today was the 18th. She was already three days overdue.

The system chimed in helpfully, its robotic voice adopting a strangely suggestive tone:

【Host, you could take another advance on your Heartbeat Points to convert into star coins…】

Shang Jingyan ignored it.

She gritted her teeth against the lingering headache and quickly assessed her memories. Checking the door’s security cam and peephole, she confirmed that only one person was outside.

With that, she squared her shoulders and yanked the door open.

“—Shang Jingyan, you little—”

The woman outside cut herself off mid-rant, eyes widening in shock.

Shang Jingyan was deathly pale, with dark circles under her eyes and a bandage wrapped around her head. Blood still stained her fingers as she gripped the doorframe for support.

The debt collector—”Sister Cui”—visibly flinched. “What the hell happened to you?!”

Shang Jingyan’s voice came out hoarse and weak, but it didn’t take much acting—she was barely holding herself together.

“Sister Cui… just give me a little more time. Twenty days. That’s all I need.”

Her bloodstained hand trembled slightly against the doorframe, making Cui’s eye twitch.

“In twenty days, I’ll pay you back double. I already have a way to make money.”

Cui narrowed her eyes. Shang Jingyan quickly followed up with a few more promises, pleading just enough to make it believable. After some hesitation, the woman finally relented.

“…Fine. But if you dare try to screw me over—” Sister Cui jabbed a finger at her. “I will personally drag your ass to juvie. Say goodbye to your little Dreamweaver fantasies!”

With that, she turned and left.

Shang Jingyan exhaled slowly.

Twenty days. That was all she had.

Before leaving, Sister Cui left behind one final warning.

Shang Jingyan dropped her obedient smile and slumped onto the bloodstained couch, exhaustion weighing her down as she poured herself a glass of water.

Her temples still throbbed, but she propped her head up and forced herself to think.

Maybe humans really were built to adapt. In just one night, she had been thrown into disaster, barely escaped death, and now—somehow—she was already skipping past panic and confusion, forcing herself to settle into this new role.

The system chimed in, impressed: 【Your mental resilience far surpasses that of an average human. But… are you sure you don’t want to take an advance?】

Shang Jingyan took a long moment before answering. 【No.】

She hadn’t been bluffing earlier—she actually did have a way to make money.

Based on her inherited memories, literature, and art were wildly popular in this interstellar world. Making her first pot of gold wouldn’t be difficult at all.

The “Dreamweaver” that Sister Cui had mentioned was the general term for creators in this world—people who crafted dreams for others, producing films, TV dramas, novels, games, variety shows, and more. These people were called Dreamweavers.

And wouldn’t you know it—before transmigrating, Shang Jingyan had been a director who had produced countless hit films and TV shows.

The original owner’s biggest dream had been to become a Dreamweaver. It was one of the most respected professions in the universe—not just because this was an entertainment-obsessed era, but because Dreamweavers quite literally created dreams that acted as medicine for the human spirit.

In this world, there was a disorder known as “Psychic Void Syndrome.” Those afflicted needed constant mental stimulation to function properly—otherwise, they would slowly turn into lifeless husks.

Here, “spiritual energy” wasn’t just a vague concept—it was a real, tangible force. It was humanity’s greatest evolutionary leap in this star era.

Dreamweavers didn’t just create art—they were healers, treating the masses with the power of their stories.

【Would you like to accept the mission?】

Shang Jingyan didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

【[First Mission] initiated. Current progress: 0%. Current Heartbeat Points: -100.】

【Time remaining: 30 days.】

The system was a little startled. 【Host, according to my manual, 80% of users choose to observe and adapt to the world first.】

What it didn’t say was: And you’re in pretty terrible shape right now.

“I don’t have time for that. I’m solving all my problems in one go.”

She was referring, of course, to the looming debt collection. As she spoke, she clumsily activated the light-brain device on her wrist.

One of the login methods for the interstellar web was “psychic link.” Following her memories, she logged in. In an instant, a vast digital landscape unfolded before her eyes.

The sensation was surreal. For someone from Earth, it was like standing before a glittering treasure trove, impossible to resist.

But Shang Jingyan only allowed herself a few seconds to take it in before snapping back to business. She scanned the galaxy-like interface until she found what she was looking for:

The largest entertainment website in this star system—Evergreen Streaming.

Silently, the system tagged her with two new labels: 【Self-discipline. Adaptability.】

As a site spanning an entire star system, Eternal Evergreen was overflowing with content.

It didn’t take Shang Jingyan long to master “psychic browsing.” She navigated to the newcomer’s section and located the information she needed—

A theme-based submission contest.

Entertainment websites in this world frequently held themed contests, collecting submissions from creators. The winners received hefty cash prizes.

The original owner had entered many of these contests before, but she had never even made it past the preliminary rounds, let alone won.

The current contest’s theme? “Married First, Fell in Love Later.”

The grand prize was 30,000 star coins—exactly enough to pay off her debt.

The only downside? The contest was already halfway through. If she wanted to win, she’d have to stand out among an ocean of submissions.

“Married First, Fell in Love Later,” huh? Classic. This galaxy was truly full of romance addicts.

But…

Shang Jingyan stared at those four words for a moment, then abruptly exited the psychic link, her expression turning… odd.

She suddenly asked, “System, your scoring is purely based on physiological reactions like heart rate, right”

【Correct.】

The system confirmed—then immediately saw Shang Jingyan grin.

She murmured, “Oh, that’s perfect.”

It was a—well, X71 didn’t want to put it this way, but it had to admit: that was a downright sinister smile.

X71’s internal alarms blared. It suddenly recalled the horror stories in its manual—about all the ways hosts had ruined their systems in the past.

No, no, don’t be so negative. It tried to reassure itself. This host is just… independent-minded. Unique.

A host labeled as a “Literary Master Seed” had to have extraordinary creative talent. Hesitantly, X71 asked, 【Host, did you achieve any literary success before transmigrating?】

Shang Jingyan raised an eyebrow. 【Of course.】

X71 relaxed instantly. As expected of my host! No wonder she’s so confident!

With that unsettling smirk still lingering, Shang Jingyan opened a new document and typed in the title:

“Married to an Eldritch God.”

…

Eldritch God?

X71 felt like something was off.

But then again, interspecies romance was huge in this world. The motto here was “anything can fall in love,” and the host was clearly embracing that philosophy!

It was running low on energy and could only last a bit longer. Comforting itself, it logged off.

—If only X71 had asked one more question before going offline. If it had, it definitely wouldn’t have left so peacefully.

Because yes, Shang Jingyan had indeed been a famous director in her past life.

But in her decade-long career, her specialty had never been romance.

It had always been horror.