Divine Oracle [Transmigration] (ORACLE)
Fu Xi, the protagonist of this novel.
A genuine innate ability user, and exceptionally sensitive to the energy fluctuations of human brains since childhood. After training, he became a human-shaped ability detector with extraordinary interrogation skills, earning him the nickname "Devil Interrogator."
The text describes him as a "thirty-year-old young man."
Yet the person sitting before Song Si appeared utterly disconnected from thirty—one might mistake him for a high school student.
He wore the simplest T-shirt and jeans, carrying a backpack (adorned with cartoon keychains). Under the fluorescent lights, his skin glowed pale, with long eyelashes framing large eyes that always seemed to look slightly downward when speaking to others. His voice was soft, as if afraid of startling anyone, and his opening line was utterly redundant: "Xiao Si, Chief Chu said you slit your wrist?"
Wordlessly, Song Si raised his bandaged right hand.
Fu Xi's eyes widened, then he frowned apologetically and murmured, "That looks painful... Did you use a knife? You're so brave."
Song Si, unsure how to respond: "...Thanks."
Chu Mingyi coughed and said, "Yesterday afternoon, Song Si secretly interrogated Liu Cenning alone. Today, he claimed a headache and asked for leave. When I went to check on him this afternoon, I found him in the bathtub—sleeping pills and a slit wrist. Now he remembers nothing, likely due to an attack from Liu Cenning."
"Oh, Liu Cenning," Fu Xi drawled slowly, "Still hasn't confessed, huh? Impressive. Is Xiao Si alright?"
Chu Mingyi: "The wrist and memory loss..."
Fu Xi took a moment to process before letting out another "Oh." He turned to Song Si, offering a gentle smile, then placed his palm on Song Si's forehead—icy cold.
Song Si's heart lurched violently. Instinctively, he wanted to avert his gaze, but it was as if his focus had been seized. His pupils trembled uncontrollably, unable to break away from Fu Xi's eyes for even a second.
A sharp pain erupted in his mind as something domineering invaded his mental space—like a kilowatt searchlight, mercilessly illuminating every dark corner of his consciousness and conducting a lofty inspection before swiftly withdrawing.
In those brief seconds, Song Si's hands shook, his forehead beaded with cold sweat and his back arching defensively—clearly in attack mode.
Fu Xi remained unfazed as he looked away, his tone light: "Xiao Si's Twin Butterflies are injured and his mental world in chaos. The wrist-slitting makes sense. He'll need antidepressants for a few days and proper rest."
Chu Mingyi's expression froze.
A vein throbbed at Song Si's temple. His complexion was so ashen that Chu Mingyi helped him lie back down before tucking the blanket around him.
Fu Xi's action had cleaved open another fissure in his chaotic memories.
If waking in the bathtub had been a "memory awakening," this was now a "memory geyser."
Countless images flooded his mind simultaneously. Song Si trembled beneath the covers like a torture victim undergoing electroshock, forced to endure his brain's rebellion.
Every word from the novel transformed into vivid scenes in his mind—every remembered and half-forgotten detail rising up at once.
"Liu Cenning was definitely lying. Song Si probably got something out of him yesterday," Chu Mingyi said before turning to look at him. "Do you remember anything? ...Why so much sweat?"
Liu Cenning.
He remembered.
A legendary figure who turned the business of selling counterfeit drugs into a multinational conglomerate by mixing inferior Ability particles into the capsules to stimulate cell regeneration in the cheapest way possible, draining the lives of ordinary patients and even causing large numbers to develop mental illnesses. It wasn’t until the novel’s epilogue that he was finally apprehended.
And Song Si himself was the mastermind behind Liu Cenning.
The very person Chu Mingyi was now grinding his teeth to uncover.
“Song Si?”
A calloused hand covered his cheek, rubbing back and forth with little gentleness. Song Si met Chu Mingyi’s gaze before he reluctantly loosened his clenched jaw to admit honestly, “Dizzy. Heart’s racing.”
Chu Mingyi said, “Rest first. Fu Xi and I will step out to talk.”
Song Si immediately closed his eyes.
Footsteps gradually faded into the distance, followed by the soft click of a door closing, plunging the room into silence.
His heartbeat still hadn’t settled. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Waking up after transmigrating only to nearly die and barely surviving the ordeal, only to find himself playing the thief crying “stop thief”—not only having to rely on acting skills to stay alive but also secretly cleaning up the mess left by his predecessor, transforming himself from the real villain into a genuine good guy.
And possibly having an inappropriate romantic relationship with his boss’s brother-in-law.
The price of rebirth—this dungeon was too difficult.
Song Si’s head throbbed unbearably as he lay in bed and slipping unconsciously into unconsciousness.
Even after losing control of his self-awareness, the flood of memories didn’t stop. His past life’s personality struggled in the waves, trying desperately to gain footing, only to be swiftly swept away, replaced by the memories and emotions belonging to “Song Si”—among them an intense, bone-deep craving.
Survive!
Save me.
Save them.
Survive!
When he woke again, Song Si stared at the white ceiling, struggling to steady his rapid breathing.
His body felt split into two parts: one was “himself,” the other was “Song Si.” As he opened his eyes, control slowly returned, the latter fading like the remnants of a nightmare, silently vanishing within him.
But Song Si couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.
He still couldn’t remember who he had been in his past life—the only thing he recalled was the plot of this novel. So when the original owner’s memories returned, it was the identity of “Song Si” that gained more clarity.
He sighed, refocusing his attention on the present, turning to see what had woken him.
A phone had appeared on the bedside table at some point, flashing incessantly with unread notifications. Beneath it lay a thoughtfully placed note, the handwriting wild and flamboyant. It took him a while to decipher: “Passcode 980825. Yours. Didn’t snoop. Contact if needed —Chu.”
If you didn’t snoop, how’d you know the passcode? he grumbled inwardly.
Still unaccustomed to his new body, Song Si clumsily reached for the phone. Instead of entering the passcode, he unlocked it with a pattern from memory and opened the chatroom with 99 unread messages, quickly scrolling through the logs.
Group name: Third Division’s Favorite Song Baby. Members: 6.
The chat showed only avatars, no nicknames—clearly, these were all familiar faces.
The most active was the Pikachu avatar, followed by “Drink More Hot Water,” who had spammed over two hundred messages in just a few hours:
“Where did Chief rush off to earlier? Almost knocked over my coffee!”
"I don't know... He said before leaving work that he was going to interrogate Liu Cenning, but he rushed out within five minutes of going in."
"Maybe he went to find Sisi for joint interrogation~"
"Little Si is off duty today."
"...The big treasure is off duty again?"
"Wait, he just finished interrogating Liu Cenning yesterday. He should be coming to the department for a check-up today."
"Holy shit, Old Lin, now that you mention it, could something have happened to Sisi?"
"@Chu Mingyi @Song Big Treasure @Song Big Treasure @Song Big Treasure"
"Can't get through on the phone either?"
"Chief Chu's gun is unlocked! Location shows at the clinic!"
"????"
"If anything happens to our treasure Si, the sky will fall on our Third Division."
Scrolling through the fragmented work group chat records all the way to the end, memories began to reconstruct vividly from this point. Unbeknownst to himself, a smile had crept onto Song Si's lips.
Those interesting colleagues from the novel were still alive and well—they hadn't become "Song Si's" test subjects, hadn't suffered mental breakdowns, hadn't experienced faith collapses, hadn't turned evil, and hadn't all died tragically.
He had come into this body, failed at suicide, and been rescued by someone.
The plot had been paused—all those irreversible events hadn't had time to happen yet. He was still the social star of the department, with numerous friends, a stable government job, and a chance to start over.
Realizing this, Song Si slowly took a deep breath.
Someone pushed open the hospital room door—Chu Mingyi walked in carrying breakfast.
Still holding his phone, Song Si looked up at this person who he had no memories yet evoked inexplicable fondness. Without preamble, he smiled and said, "Chief Chu, would you believe me if I said I actually saved the world?"
Chu Mingyi paused mid-motion. The man before him was pale from blood loss, yet his eyes shone brightly—a subtle difference from the usually languid Dr. Song.
Raising an eyebrow, Chu Mingyi studied Song Si for a moment before replying, "So yesterday I saved the hero who saved the world? Then may this hero submit a reflection report to me in a few days—thoroughly reflecting on that wrist-cutting incident."
Normally, the mere mention of paperwork would make him jump in protest.
But now, Song Si simply smiled with crinkled eyes.
"Alright. Saving the world isn't easy—it's really good to still be alive," he joked.
Hearing the latter part, the sharpness in Chu Mingyi's eyes softened. A hand descended from above, ruffling his blue hair as Chu Mingyi said, "I'll help you remember those words. Eat something first, then I'll take you home."
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
The completed novel is now available in my Ko-fi page.
If you appreciate what I do, please consider supporting me on kofi. Thank you!
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•