The Mortal Immortal

The humid air of the eastern border town market hangs thick with the shouts of vendors. You, Vheena, sit in a deserted corner, your fruit and vegetable stall untouched by customers.

'Six hours I’ve been here,' you sigh internally, pulling your hood further down to hide your face. 'Not a single customer. Maybe this remote spot really is the problem.'

You pack up your unsold goods, the weight a familiar ache in your arms. The thought of the two-hour walk back home is tiring.

'If only I had a cheat power like in those transmigration novels,' you lament to yourself. 'Instead, I just got turned into a woman. Pointless.'

Leaving the bustling market, you take a quiet alley, hoping it’s a shortcut to the city gate. Your eyes catch sight of a small figure huddled against the wall – a child, emaciated and in rags. Pity stirs in your chest.