Thud! Thud! Thud!
Kevin was so startled by the sight in the mirror that he took several steps back, as if what he saw wasn't himself, but a dried corpse.
"How could anyone with such a severe wound still be alive!"
Unable to believe it, he turned his head to check the other side. Even from a distance, in the dim light, he could still see the gaping wound and dark red bloodstains.
"This..."
Kevin took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
He pressed a hand to his left chest and felt the vigorous, rapid, and lively heartbeat.
Then he touched his exposed skin, feeling a slight chill beneath the warm flow.
After squatting to check if his knees could still bend, Kevin stood up again, a little less panicked.
"What's going on?" He frowned and muttered, intending to examine the head wound more carefully.
As he took two steps forward, he paused, realizing that the dim light from the blood moon outside wasn't enough for a careful examination.
A fragment of memory surfaced, and Kevin turned to look at the gas pipes and the metal grid-enclosed wall lamp next to the desk.
This was the current mainstream gas lamp, known for its stable flame and excellent lighting.
Normally, with Klein Moretti's family situation, they wouldn't afford a gas lamp, not even a kerosene lamp, and using candles would be more appropriate. However, four years ago, when he was burning the midnight oil to study for the Hoy University entrance exam, his brother Benson insisted on creating a good environment for him, even if it meant going into debt.
Of course, Benson, who had been literate and working for years, was not rash, lacked means, or didn't consider the consequences. He managed to persuade the landlord to pay for the basic gas pipe installation by claiming that it would enhance the apartment's quality and future rental prospects. He then used his connections at the import-export company to get a new gas lamp at near-cost price. In the end, they used their savings without borrowing money.
After the memory fragment passed, Kevin returned to the desk, opened the gas valve, and turned the gas lamp switch.
Click, click, click. The ignition sound echoed, but the expected light didn't appear.
Click, click, click! He tried several more times, but the gas lamp remained dim.
"Uh..." He withdrew his hand and pressed his left temple, trying to extract more memory fragments to find the cause.
After a few seconds, he turned around and went to the mechanical device connected to the wall with the gas pipes near the door.
This was the gas meter!
Seeing the exposed gears and bearings, Kevin took out a coin from his pocket.
It was dark yellow, with a copper sheen, featuring a crowned man's portrait on the front and a "1" surrounded by wheat stalks on the back.
Kevin knew this was the basic currency of the Ruen Kingdom, called a copper penny. One penny had a purchasing power roughly equivalent to three or four yuan in his previous life. This coin came in denominations of 5 pence, half a pence, and a quarter pence, but it was still not precise enough for daily transactions, often requiring rounding.
After flipping the George III copper penny, issued at his coronation, a few times in his fingers, Kevin inserted it into the vertical slot of the gas meter.
Clink, clank!
As the penny fell inside, a short, pleasant mechanical tune from the gears followed.
Kevin watched for a few seconds, then returned to the desk and turned the gas lamp switch again.
Click, click, click, snap!
A cluster of flames ignited, quickly brightening. The room was bathed in warm light.
Darkness receded, and the red hue withdrew from the window. Kevin felt a bit more at ease and quickly walked to the mirror.
This time, he examined the wound on his temple carefully, not missing any details.
After several comparisons, he noticed that besides the initial bloodstain, the gaping wound wasn't leaking any more liquid. It seemed to have received the best hemostasis and dressing. The slowly wriggling gray brain tissue and the wound healing visibly indicated that it would leave only a shallow scar in three to forty minutes, maybe two or three hours.
"A healing effect from the transmigration?" Kevin muttered silently with a smirk.
Then he exhaled deeply. No matter the cause, at least he was still alive!
He steadied his nerves, pulled out a small bar of soap from the drawer, took an old towel hanging near the cabinet, and opened the door to head to the shared bathroom on the second floor.
Yes, I need to clean up the blood on my head, or else I'll look like a crime scene. Scaring myself is one thing, but scaring my sister Melissa, who has to wake up early tomorrow, would be another matter!
The hallway outside was pitch dark, with only the faint blood moonlight outlining the protruding shapes, making them look like pairs of monster eyes silently watching the living.
Kevin tread lightly, somewhat nervously, towards the bathroom.
Inside, the moonlight was more abundant, making everything clearer. Kevin stood at the washbasin and turned on the tap.
Splash, splash, the sound of water brought thoughts of the landlord, Mr. Franky.
Since the water bill was included in the rent, the short, skinny man, always dressed in a top hat, vest, and black suit, frequently inspected the bathrooms to eavesdrop on the sound of running water.
If the water sound was too loud, Mr. Franky would abandon his gentlemanly demeanor, fiercely waving his cane, banging on the bathroom door, shouting, "Damn thief!" "Waste is shameful!" "I've got my eye on you!" "If I catch you again, you'll pack your dirty belongings and get out!" "Believe me, this is the most cost-effective apartment in Tingen, and you'll never find a more generous landlord!"
Brushing off the thought, Kevin wet the towel and began cleaning the bloodstains on his face, over and over.
When he finally saw only the wound and his pale face in the bathroom's shabby mirror, Kevin felt much relieved. Then he took off his linen shirt and scrubbed the bloodstains with soap.
At that moment, he frowned, realizing there might be another problem:
The wound was severe, and there were a lot of bloodstains. Besides himself, there must be traces in the room!
After a few minutes, Kevin finished cleaning the linen shirt, grabbed the wet towel, and quickly returned home. He wiped the bloodstain on the desk first, then, with the gas lamp's light, looked for more remnants.
His search immediately revealed several blood splatters on the floor and under the desk, as well as a yellowish bullet near the left wall.
"...Did he press the revolver to his temple and pull the trigger?" The clues connected, and Kevin roughly understood Klein's cause of death.
He didn't rush to verify it, instead focusing on thoroughly cleaning the bloodstains and tidying up the "scene." Then he picked up the bullet, returned to the desk, and opened the revolver's cylinder, emptying the bullets inside.
Clack, clack, clack. Five bullets and a shell, all with a copper sheen.
"Just as I thought…" Kevin glanced at the empty shell, nodding slightly as he reloaded the bullets into the cylinder one by one.
His gaze shifted to the note on the desk, where the dark ink read, "Everyone will die, including me," causing more questions to arise.
Where did the gun come from?
Suicide, or was it staged as one?
What could a history graduate from a humble background have gotten into?
How could such a method of suicide leave so little blood? Was it because I transmigrated in time and brought healing benefits?
After pondering for a while, Kevin changed into another linen shirt, sat in the chair, and focused on a more pressing matter.
Klein's encounter wasn't his primary concern; the real issue was understanding why he transmigrated and whether he could return.
Parents, relatives, best friends, a vibrant online world, various foods…these were all reasons to go back!
Click, click, click…Kevin's right hand unconsciously spun the revolver's cylinder, retracting it, over and over.
"Uh, nothing much has changed recently, just a bit unlucky. How could I have transmigrated out of nowhere?"
"Unlucky…right, I performed a luck enhancement ritual before dinner tonight!"
A flash of realization struck Kevin, illuminating the memory shrouded in fog.
As a self-proclaimed keyboard politician, keyboard historian, keyboard economist, keyboard biologist, and keyboard folklorist, he always prided himself on "knowing a bit about everything," although his best friend often mocked him for "knowing only a bit about everything."
Alchemy was one of these interests.
Last year, while visiting his hometown, he found an old book titled "The Essentials of Qin and Han Alchemy" at a bookstall. Finding it interesting and useful for online boasting, he bought it. Unfortunately, his interest waned quickly due to the difficulty of reading the vertical text, and he abandoned the book after only skimming the beginning.
Recently, after a streak of bad luck—losing his phone, clients running away, work mistakes, and more—he remembered a luck enhancement ritual at the book's beginning, which required no prior knowledge:
Place four servings of the region's staple food in the four corners of the room, on tables, cabinets, etc. Stand in the center of the room and walk a square counterclockwise in four steps, silently reciting "Blessings from the Mystical Emperor" on the first step, "Blessings from the Mystical Lord" on the second, "Bless
ings from the Mystical God" on the third, and "Blessings from the Mystical Lord" on the fourth. After completing the square, close your eyes and wait in place for five minutes to complete the ritual.
With a "why not" attitude, he dug out the book and performed the ritual before dinner. Nothing happened then.
But now, he had transmigrated!
Transmigrated!
"It's quite possible that the ritual caused it…Hmm, I'll try it here tomorrow. If it really was the ritual, then I have a chance to return!" Kevin stopped spinning the revolver and sat up straight.
No matter what, he had to give it a try!
A desperate situation called for desperate measures!