My Wuhun is the [Jade Phosphor Body]

Chapter 1

Darkness.

Thick, impenetrable, and uncomfortably damp darkness.

'Okay...what the hell? Did I get kidnapped? No, that doesn't make sense. I'm pretty sure organ traffickers wouldn't stuff me into a...slimy cloth sack. Unless there's some underground cult that poaches people for… I don't know, human pickling?'

The thought is definitely outlandish, even sounding like a joke, but what if it really is my current situation?

I shifted—or at least I tried to. The resistance was immediate, like pushing against a stubbornly clingy jelly blanket.

My legs twitched in what I assumed was a kick, but the movement was sluggish and pitiful, that no matter how much force I put on kicking, I felt as if I just straightened out my legs instead.

'Damn, who put be in the warm fridge? Or was it microwave oven?'

Though my actions felt futile, I didn't really considered it to be much of a problem, I mean, some people are dumb to actually start to panic in this situation, makes your captors realise you're awake, and you know what happened next? You know what will happen.

Still, my actions can make them amused, if someone really did stuff me in a bag, they'd probably laugh at my sorry excuse for a struggle.

Still, shouldn't I be panicking? People don't wake up in moist, squishy prisons without a valid reason for screaming bloody murder or getting devoured by some alien symbiote kind of sh*t. And yet...nothing.

'Yeah, just like the usual Tuesday.'

I wasn't feeling the terror nor the fear, just confusion, mild curiosity, and the faint impression that I've somehow signed up for an experimental spa treatment.

'Was this what sensory deprivation chambers felt like? If so, I'd like a refund.'

Remembering something, which I thought would be so stupid, I tried to breathe.

With effort, I tried to breathe in through my nose. Nothing. No cool rush of air, no instinctive rise of my chest. Just the constant pressure of...fluid? It was like holding my breath underwater, but without the usual burn. If grossly imagined, think of the feeling where you got to sniff back your phlegm on your nose, the typical thing about withelding a viscous cold which will eventually go to a runny nose, but in massive scale, likely affecting my lungs too.

Now, did my lungs even work? Was my nose missing? Hell, did I even have a mouth?

Am I still having my limbs?

'I really hope that I still do, don't want to be in a situation like those Dreadnoughts in Warhammer 40K... Or whatever they are.' remembering the gruesome end of the fanatical soldiers of Humanity in said game and their lore, I shuddered in disgust.

I wiggled again. Arms—if I even had any—barely stirred through the thick medium surrounding me. My 'legs' flailed like an uncoordinated fish, hitting a curved surface that yielded softly before pushing back. Every move gave me a clearer sense of my confinement, but no answers. Wherever I was, the boundaries were smooth and fleshy. Definitely not a prison cell or a vacuum-sealed human jerky bag, or human pickle jar.

'Picking my own poison, now should I?' I thought in sarcasm before noticing something.

Somewhere in the background, a faint, rhythmic sound trickled through the waterlogged silence. A steady, gentle whooshing—like a distant current or...maybe a heartbeat? I strained to hear more, but the sound blurred with each passing second. My thoughts, once sharp in their confusion, now felt like soggy bread.

Weird. Everything's just...weird.

Before I could chase that thought, a wave of drowsiness hit me like a freight train. My muscles, if they could even be called that, stopped fighting. My mind drifted, clinging half-heartedly to the memory of a wrinkled smile and an ornate box.

Is this a dream?

The answer never came. Sleep did.

----

I woke up again. And 'blinked'.

Or at least, tried to.

Remembering that I have limited senses I could feel, and the incredulous scenario I'm in, I could only sigh.

'Oh dear, was I in some sort of place where I should go to a safe zone first before getting a save point?'

The weird dream still wasn't over.

The same slimy, warm, and uncomfortably soft surroundings greeted me like some grotesque sleeping bag.

Maybe the slimy liquid was blood, and I became a monster hiding in human skin? Like those in shapeshifter movies or skin wearer thriller fics.

I let my thoughts sluggishly stir to life, only to realize that nothing had changed. Still floating lightly. Still unable to move properly. Still weirdly indifferent about the whole thing.

At this point, I had no choice but to accept my circumstances. Whether I liked it or not, I was stuck here, wherever here was.

Since panicking wasn't an option—seriously, what was I supposed to do? Scream?—I did the only thing I could do: trial and error.

First, movement. I tried flexing whatever limbs I had, and just like before, all I managed was weak wiggling. No real control, no strength. If this was a game, my movement stat was in the negatives.

Next, senses. I focused on my surroundings, pressing against different parts of the sack with my weak noodle limbs. Some spots were thicker, some thinner. And then I noticed something else—certain areas let in faint noises.

Voices. Sounds.

Muffled, distant, like trying to eavesdrop through a pool of water. I could tell there were multiple people, or simply some sort of acapella practice, but whatever they were saying was completely lost to me. Not exactly useful, but it was something.

But the real discovery?

I wasn't alone.

One time, after waking up from yet another nap, I shifted slightly—and bumped into something.

Not the sack. Something else. Something solid, 'moving', and definitely not a part of this fleshy prison.

I froze. The other presence twitched faintly in response, a weak, uncoordinated squirm mirroring my own.

Another person?

With all the grace of a malfunctioning wind-up toy, I wiggled again, trying to get a better feel of whatever I'd just touched. A soft nudge, a tiny movement… but no real response.

Was this person asleep? Unconscious? Or just ignoring me?

I tried a few more times, but the most I got was an occasional twitch in return. So, either I had company, or I had found the world's least interactive pillow.

With nothing else to do, I kept experimenting. Testing movement, prodding at different areas, listening to the garbled voices. But without a way to make sense of it all, everything blended together.

And time? Time didn't exist.

I had no way of tracking it. My world was just a cycle of waking up, weakly squirming, bumping into my unresponsive neighbor, and eventually dozing off again.

But through it all, one thought nagged at me:

"This dream… feels too real."

---

Time passed—or at least, I assumed it did. There was no way to be sure. Everything was still the same, the same slimy, floaty, muffled reality that had become my existence. No light, no sense of direction, just the occasional bump against my fellow prisoner in this weird dreamscape. And honestly? I was starting to get frustrated.

Not because I was scared. That would've been a normal reaction. No, I was frustrated because, despite my best efforts, I still had no damn clue where I actually was. My attempts at understanding my surroundings had gotten me nowhere, did I lack the required intelligence point to even make sense of the sounds, my location, or whatever the hell is happening to me?

The best I had achieved was confirming that yes, I was stuck in here with another person, and yes, I could sort of hear muffled noises if I wriggled close enough to certain spots. That was it. No great revelation, no sudden understanding—just me, stuck in a damp, fleshy void with no progress to show for it.

Maybe my thinking was just sloppy, as if a slow broken disc spinning, a broken robot that could only move back and forth because it's functions ultimately worned out.

Wouldn't be the first time. My parents used to say that I was lazy as a kid because I never bothered being 'active' like the other children. I mean, I don't really find it amusing to share my opinions to those who probably would be weirded out with my humor or just straight out ignore me.

Turns out, that same trait carried over even into whatever this was. Maybe I just wasn't thinking hard enough, smart enough.

Then again, it wasn't like I had much to go on.

The same darkness, the same floating feeling, the same narrow chasm enveloping me, that if I had claustrophobia, I might've just stopped 'breathing' whatsoever.

At this point, I was starting to entertain the idea that this might be some kind of rebirth scenario. I mean, think about it—darkness, floating, weird muffled noises, a total lack of autonomy… and is a grown mam rendered immobile...

Sounds suspiciously like being in a womb, doesn't it?

Of course, that was ridiculous. I wasn't even dead in the first place, or maybe I am, I don't know the line between the dead and alive since I grew older than my teenager dreams.

And yeah, this wasn't some wish-fulfillment isekai story where I was about to pop out with OP powers at the first chance I get, get a harem of girls who will be completely braindead and only focuses on me, and be worshipped as the next big thing(or get my junior praised, whatever). No, that kind of stuff only happened in web novels that I've read, those things that are accomplice of mine on wasting my time.

You know, the ones where the main character reincarnates with cheat abilities, builds a kingdom, and has every female character immediately fall for him because the author forgot that personalities exist.

Still, if this was one of those scenarios, I'd rather take something decent. Maybe Arthur from The Beginning After the End? He had a rough start, but at least his character arc was good. Or maybe Kenja no Mago? Though I'd rather not have my entire identity be "that OP guy raised by a famous magician."

Be like Rudeus? Hell no, I admit he has a good character development in the light novel and in the manga, but seriously? Turning to a horndog with depression and limited self-esteem down to negatives? No thanks.

And let's not even get started on the self-insert fanfics that focus more on harem-building than character development. Ugh. If I had to be reincarnated, I'd at least want a decent plot.

Adventure genre is the best, the first on my favourite genre list. Cultivation and system are tied in second, followed by Dark, Transmigration, and Slice of Life. If anything, Psychological triumphs over Multiverse, and Harem? Psshh... That isn't something that should be added on the sacred list, it's a blasphemy to all living.

Only those who are extremely into cuckolding or has that inferiority complex dialed to 11 will like that, and add those shut-ins who has yet to touch grass in their lives.

And yeah, I'm a hypocrite, but at least I managed to get my piece of place in the society, despite being an underdog, I get that the world is unfair, but can you even imagine that it will become better if you didn't even budge for even a centimeter in your place?

I know myself, atleast the summary of my life, I know what I did wrong, and I know what I did right. I'm pathetic at justifying my life as meaningful compared to those who succeeded, yes, but society's opinion doesn't really matter to me, I guess.

But, sometimes, I do wish to become a protagonist of a story, a good one, that can help me go through all my mishaps and faults.

But this wasn't a story. This was real.

...Right?

Whatever. Since I couldn't do anything about it, I might as well just wait and see what happens. Maybe the truth would reveal itself eventually.

---

Got it! Here's the draft for this part:

---

Just when I thought I had run out of things to think about in this ridiculous situation, I suddenly felt a shift. A force, gentle yet firm, began pulling me toward something—something different from the endless floaty abyss I had been stuck in.

It was a strange sensation, like being caught in an invisible current. My entire existence was being dragged forward, toward the only distinct presence I could perceive—the light.

Wait, wait. Light?

Oh. Oh no.

The sheer realization of what was happening made my nonexistent stomach drop. My earlier sarcastic musing about reincarnation was actually happening?!

Before I could properly process the absurdity of the situation, the other presence—my long-time, yet equally helpless, roommate—suddenly shifted. Unlike all the times we had just passively bumped into each other, this time, there was force. Intention.

I wasn't the only one getting pulled toward the exit.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

The so-far-peaceful existence I had tolerated turned into an outright struggle as the other person—presumably my twin—began squirming, pushing, and outright trying to overtake me. It was a literal race to be born, and my mysterious womb-mate was not backing down.

If I could curse, I would. But given my current lack of a properly functioning mouth, I had to settle for desperately flailing my tiny, underdeveloped limbs.

This was it. The most ridiculous fight of my life. No words, no techniques, no rational thought. Just primal instinct, pure and simple. And let me tell you, fighting for birth rights in a flesh tube is neither dignified nor something I ever thought I'd do.

After what felt like an eternity—but was probably only a few seconds—I somehow managed to squeeze ahead. With one final shove, I slipped past the threshold and into the light.

Instantly, I regretted everything.

The overwhelming rush of sensations was unlike anything I had ever experienced. My skin burned as though I had been dunked in scalding water. My lungs—oh god, my lungs—seized up before exploding into a fiery, unbearable ache, as if I had never used them before.

…Which, in hindsight, I hadn't.

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. The sheer disorientation made every thought scatter into static noise.

And then, before I even realized what I was doing—

I screamed.

For the first time in this new world, I screamed.