In the very beginning, I remember it seemed like I was a soul. Of course, this is something that can’t really be described; I can only use the knowledge I have in my current body to think of it as a soul. There were also many other souls around me. Each time, I would enter a newborn living being under the command of some powerful soul organization whose name I didn’t know.

At first, I was a very special single-celled organism. Now I know it was a single-celled organism, but at the time I had no such awareness. I simply relied on instinct, mechanically gathering a bit of meager nutrients from the environment in order to survive.

Of course, compared to life now, the first time only took twenty minutes to complete my mission. From growth and development to splitting into two lives, then death—all in the blink of an eye. This was also the first time Henry Brooks’s soul felt what life was.

After that, the soul once became all kinds of plants. From towering trees to tiny grasses underground, each time, the soul would inhabit a living being, quietly following either instinct or the laws of nature—absorbing nutrients, sprouting, growing, maturing, and reproducing. There were many ways to reproduce: some by flowering and bearing fruit, others simply by growing seeds underground.

How wonderful it was to be a plant! Every day was just about absorbing nutrients, basking in the sunlight, drinking more water when it was hot, hiding away or shedding leaves when it was cold. But sometimes life was truly hard—sometimes I was interrupted before even sprouting; sometimes I sprouted under a rock; or when flowering, I’d encounter a huge hailstorm. Sometimes, as a blade of grass, I’d be dug up and eaten by all sorts of small animals. Even as a big tree, I couldn’t escape the fate of my offspring being eaten by little birds.

These memories gave Henry Brooks many associations. The clearest was when Henry Brooks suddenly had a thought: could I breathe like a plant, so I wouldn’t be so out of breath when running? Of course, this idea flashed by in an instant—how could that be possible!

I don’t know how many years or generations passed in this state of ignorance, nor do I know where I grew. Anyway, it was always death and rebirth, life and then death, death and then rebirth again. Until one day, that organizer spoke to me and gave me a chance to choose.

Then, Henry Brooks’s soul chose to become an animal. To be able to run freely every day—how happy that would be. When I was a plant, I always wished I could run freely. As long as I could fulfill this wish, I’d be willing to do anything.

Henry Brooks didn’t know why he was like this. Every life he had experienced was remembered clearly in his mind without exception. Using the knowledge from his current memories, it was as if he had forgotten to drink the soup of forgetfulness when crossing the Bridge of Helplessness, so he remembered all his past and present lives.

Chapter 3: Past Events Like Smoke (Part 2)

I don’t know how many lives passed before the soul gradually understood that all of this could be called reincarnation. Life as an animal wasn’t necessarily much better than as a plant. It was true that I could run around, but if I didn’t run, I’d either have nothing to eat or be eaten by other animals—life was still tough. Some of these animal lives I remember, others I can’t even name. I don’t know where I lived, nor does Henry Brooks’s soul.

After all, with the memories of all those lives, he was still quite outstanding. It turned out that the organizer of souls wasn’t really the one who decided the fate of all souls; the true master was something invisible and intangible. By chance, Henry Brooks’s soul was discovered by the master, and in delight, the master allowed him to make a wish.

Of course, for the second wish, the soul hoped to become a being that could live comfortably every day without effort or worry. So, Henry Brooks remembers experiencing the life of domestic fowl and livestock. In the first few lives, this kind of existence made the soul quite content.

During the process of being raised by humans, the soul also watched as people gradually transitioned from eating raw meat to practicing propriety, justice, integrity, and honor. Sometimes I was used as a tool, sometimes as a delicacy, and even once as a sacrificial offering. It was only as a sacrifice that I realized humans weren’t the noblest beings—there seemed to be even more miraculous immortals beyond humans.

Sometimes, a life free from want is truly heaven compared to struggling on the grasslands or in the desert. But life is such that it never knows restraint, or perhaps never knows contentment. When the soul grew tired of such a life, it finally got another chance to choose, and made two wishes to that mysterious master.

One wish was to be born as a human. The second was to transcend this endless cycle of life.

This time, the master said nothing and took no action. So, the poor soul was thrown alone into a place of utter silence, never to hear anything again.

In this terrifyingly dark and lonely world, Henry Brooks’s soul was all alone, with no concept of time. The soul didn’t need food; there was nothing here, only boundless darkness and solitude.