"Sigh... Oh!" Mike stretched lazily and opened his drowsy eyes. Seeing the mottled lime walls, the pale yellow desk, and the old-fashioned telephone in front of him, his mind went blank. Where is this place? How did I get here?
Mike clearly remembered that just moments ago, he was playing cards with friends when he suddenly saw his furniture store across the road catching fire, with thick smoke billowing out. The fire was intense. Without thinking, he rushed into the store to save two oil paintings, which were considered the store's treasures.
Just as he picked up the painting in each hand and ran outside, he felt a black shadow hurtling towards him. When Mike realized it was a charred beam falling due to the fire, it was too late. He felt a buzzing in his head, and then he knew nothing.
Instinctively, Mike touched his forehead, relieved to find everything normal. In his confusion, he glanced at the desk calendar. Hastily picking it up, he saw the date: August 8, 1981, Saturday.
What... what's going on? Time travel? Rebirth?
In 2002, after hitting rock bottom in his career, Mike had taken a liking to online novels, many of which featured themes of rebirth and time travel. Could such a bizarre thing have happened to him?
As Mike was lost in thought, a knock sounded at the door, snapping him back to reality. He instinctively said, "Come in!"
Before the words were fully out of his mouth, a shifty-looking middle-aged man pushed open the door and walked in. Upon seeing Mike, he was momentarily startled but quickly recovered, bowing and scraping with a fawning smile. "Director Smith, hello! I've always heard that Director Smith is young and capable. Today, I finally see it for myself. Here, have a cigarette!"
The man placed a black plastic bag to one side and pulled out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, handing one to Mike.
Director Smith? Mike's mind was in a whirl. What is going on?
Even though he had no desire to smoke at the moment, seeing the man bending nearly ninety degrees in respect, Mike reached out and took the cigarette.
He gestured for the man to sit down and, pretending to be casual, asked, "You are?"
"Director Smith, I'm Christopher Brown, the director of Spony Machinery Factory. The county magistrate has worked hard for our factory recently. To show my gratitude, I brought him two cartons of cigarettes." As he spoke, Christopher placed the black plastic bag in front of Mike.
Mike glanced at it. Judging by the shape, it indeed seemed to contain only two cartons of cigarettes. But since he was not this "Director Smith," he couldn't accept the gift. "Mr. Brown, you'd better take these back. I can't..."
Before Mike could finish, Christopher interrupted, "Director Smith, these are for Magistrate Miller, not for you. Please help pass them on. I have some matters to attend to, so I'll be leaving now."
Seeing it was just two cartons of cigarettes, Mike nodded slightly.
As Christopher saw Mike accept the gift, a sly smile flashed across his face but was quickly concealed. He nodded to Mike and prepared to leave.
Before Christopher could go, Mike hurriedly asked, "Mr. Brown, may I ask what day it is today?"
"August 8th, why?" Christopher replied, puzzled.
"I mean the year."
"1981!"
Unclear about what this young man was up to, Christopher decided to leave quickly. "Director Smith, you must be busy. I'll take my leave. Goodbye!"
With that, he turned and almost fled the county magistrate's office.
"August 8, 1981. I really have been reborn!" Mike thought, feeling a surge of joy. Fate had granted him another chance just when his life seemed to be at its end.
But where exactly was this place? And why did Christopher call him Director Smith? With these questions in mind, Mike began to scrutinize his surroundings.
His eyes scanned the old-fashioned desk and chairs, the filing cabinets, and the closed door behind him. It felt vaguely familiar, like the small antechamber outside his father's office, which was the secretary's small office.
To verify his guess, Mike stood up and walked to the door. Seeing the "County Magistrate's Office" sign confirmed his suspicion.
As for why he was there, Mike quickly understood. In August 1981, the county's machinery factory had major issues, and his father, along with his secretary, was there to handle them. Mike stayed in the office, helping with calls and paperwork.
This event was etched in Mike's memory because it led to his father's removal from the magistrate position and almost resulted in imprisonment. The reason was simple: his father had accepted bribes from pony Machinery Factory.
Just now, Christopher had not only claimed to be the factory director but also brought two cartons of cigarettes. Could it be such a coincidence? Mike wondered.
He remembered clearly that after his father got into trouble in his previous life, his mother told him that the factory people had hidden a bank deposit slip inside the cigarettes. His father, unaware, was labeled a corrupt official.
The scene just played out was a replay of the past life.
Determined to uncover the truth, Mike decided to investigate. In his previous life, his parents had suffered greatly, starting with his father's downfall in the officialdom.
Mike grabbed the black plastic bag and carefully pulled out the two cartons of white-packaged Marlboro cigarettes. Popular in the early 90s, people with some status often smoked this brand.
Ignoring the brand, Mike focused on the packaging. He believed that if someone tampered with the cigarettes, careful observation would reveal traces.
After careful inspection, Mike found two creases on the seal of the bottom carton. Though not obvious, they were discernible upon close examination.
Since cigarette packaging is machine-made, such creases wouldn't appear unless tampered with. This confirmed Mike's suspicion that someone had meddled with this carton.
Based on the previous life's events, someone had inserted a bank slip inside the carton and resealed it. This person was likely Christopher, who had just left.
As for Christopher's motives, Mike had no time to ponder. His immediate thought was how to resolve the imminent crisis.