The Proper Way to Praise the Emperor

It was an utterly ordinary Friday night. Liu Zhipeng, a typical office drone, had just finished a long day of work and was walking home.

That evening, he had gotten together with a few fellow enthusiasts, and the conversation naturally revolved around the heroes and villains who roamed the galaxy forty thousand years in the future. They talked animatedly, from the Golden Throne of Holy Terra to the Chaos Space Marines of the Eye of Terror; from the Orks' "WAAAGH!" to the Tyranids' endless hunger. Fueled by alcohol and passion, the atmosphere grew heated. Everyone seemed to become a part of that dark universe, discussing grand strategies and speaking with fervor.

By the time the gathering ended, it was already late at night. Liu Zhipeng politely declined his friends' offer to give him a ride home. He wanted to walk alone, feel the night breeze, and let his mind—filled with alcohol and fantasy—cool down a little. He liked that feeling: slowly pulling away from a vast, cruel, yet captivating world and returning to his own ordinary, real life. That sense of contrast made his love for the fantasy all the purer, and made him cherish the peace before him even more.

The alley was quiet. The streetlights stretched his shadow long, then shortened it again after he passed. Just as he turned a corner, an abrupt voice sounded behind him. It was hoarse and ancient, carrying an indescribable authority, as though it had come from the end of time itself.

"What do I look like to you?"

Liu Zhipeng sobered up by more than half in an instant. The question made every hair on his body stand on end. It sounded like an ancient folk tale, a bizarre story of mountain spirits and wild monsters asking passersby to grant them a title. Reason told him it was probably drunken nonsense from some drunkard, or maybe a prank.

Stiffly, frame by frame, he turned around.

Then, he saw it.

It was neither a fox spirit nor a monster. It was a... "person"? A being so tall that he had to look up at it, shrouded in an indescribable golden radiance. That glow was not warm, but majestic and cold, a splendor burning like a star that nearly crushed the breath from his lungs. He could not make out the being's features. Within the blinding light, he could only barely discern a vague, enormous humanoid silhouette.

"Holy shit... what a... huge yellow rat!"

Of course, he knew who this being was. As a fan intimately familiar with 40K lore, he had seen this image countless times in novels, sourcebooks, and online memes—the sacred ruler of the Imperium of Man, the living corpse upon the Golden Throne, the being countless believers reverently called the Emperor.

Yet as someone deeply steeped in internet culture and fond of a good laugh, the first thing that sprang to mind was that most widespread, somewhat disrespectful nickname.

Perhaps because of the alcohol, or perhaps because he was too shocked, he actually said what was on his mind.

The Emperor did not seem angered by the name. The golden radiance flickered slightly, and Liu Zhipeng felt an indescribable "gaze," as though his soul, his past, and everything about him had been seen through in an instant.

Then his vision went black, and he lost consciousness completely.

When he regained awareness, Liu Zhipeng discovered that he was "sitting" on a soft, moist, springy "ground."

He could not feel his hands or feet. He could not even sense a clear outline of a "body." He was like a water-filled ball; with every "breath," his entire "body" trembled lightly and happily. Sunlight... no, it was not sunlight, but a gentle source of light tinged with a pale green halo, shining down from the "sky" and warming his whole body.

The air was filled with a complex scent, like rotten fruit, fermented soil, fresh grass after rain, and a faint trace of honeyed sweetness mixed together. It was a little pungent at first, but before long, a strange sense of comfort rose within him, making him feel more relaxed and peaceful than ever before.

Where is this?

He tried to "stand," but only swayed in place like a roly-poly toy. He looked down, intending to examine his body, and then froze completely.

He had no legs. All he had was a round, chubby green body covered in wrinkles and tiny, adorable pustules. One enormous, innocent eye occupied most of his "face." Beneath it was a huge mouth stretched all the way to his ears, its corners naturally curled upward as though it were always smiling. A small, curved horn also grew symbolically from the top of his head.

I... am a Nurgling?

Liu Zhipeng's brain crashed for a full three minutes.

As a Warhammer fan, he naturally recognized this form. Nurglings, the children of Nurgle, the "Grandfather" among the four Chaos Gods, were symbols of decay, disease, and rebirth. They were the most insignificant, yet happiest, daemons of the Warp. Their purpose was to frolic in the Garden of Nurgle and spread Grandfather's "gifts."

No way... I became a... bean? He wobbled his jelly-like body, his heart filled with absurdity. No hands, no feet—just a round body and a face that never stopped smiling.

At that moment, a cold voice sounded in his mind.

[Eternal Reincarnation System activated]

[Current world: Warhammer 40,000]

[Current status: First life—Nurgling]

[System explanation: 1. Death Reincarnation: When the current host dies, the system will activate automatically. At the moment of death, your soul will receive absolute protection, shielding it from all forms of annihilation or devouring.]

[2. Random Rebirth: After every death, you will be randomly reborn as a new life-form within the current world. Your reborn identity, location, and time will all be random, and the host cannot interfere.]

[3. Reincarnation Reward: At the end of every life, the system will condense your actions, experiences, and final achievements from that life into a permanent passive ability or talent. This reward will be permanently inherited by your soul and can be used in all subsequent reincarnations.]

[May you... have a pleasant journey.]

The system's voice vanished, leaving Liu Zhipeng standing there alone in a daze.

That was a lot to take in.

He had died, then transmigrated into the "joke from hell" world of Warhammer 40,000. Worse still, he had become one of the lowest-ranking Warp daemons—a Nurgling.

The only good news seemed to be this Eternal Reincarnation System. Death would not end everything; instead, it was like... saving and loading? No, more like playing a roguelike. At the end of every run, he could take some "relics" or "blessings" with him to strengthen the start of the next one.