A longevidade começa ao cuidar da mestra

"Master!"
"Quick, run!"
"Master, I'm here to save you!"
"Get lost! Remember to bring your mistress home..."
"Roar!"
...
"Ah!"

Zhou Chen jolted awake, gasping for air, his heart pounding in lingering terror.
He had dreamed of sneaking up at midnight to knock on Qin Keqing the widow's door, only for a mighty white-headed tiger to burst out as the door opened.
The beast's bloody maw clamped onto an old man, blood spilling everywhere.
The old man struggled in agony, shouting for him to run.
He cried out for his master, grief-stricken.

"What a tangled mess!"

Recalling the dream, Zhou Chen shook his head, unable to help but complain:
"Truly, there's no sense to dreams!"

He was an orphan—where would a master come from?
He had plenty of teachers, even some from Japan and Korea.

"Hmm?"

Zhou Chen's pupils contracted as he suddenly realized he was in an unfamiliar room: an old wooden house, wooden bench, wooden table, oil lamp...

"Where am I?"

As the thought arose, a torrent of fragmented memories surged into his mind like a mighty flood, leaving him dizzy and in pain for quite a while before he recovered.

It turned out he had crossed into another world.

More precisely, he had been reborn, and only now had his memories from his previous life awakened.

This was a world where demons ran rampant and immortals stood a