Tap! Tap! Tap!
Zhou Mingrui stared in shock at his reflection, which appeared more like a desiccated corpse than his own face. "How is this possible?" he muttered, noticing the dark red blood and deep wounds on his body, yet feeling the strong pulse of life in his chest. He squatted, testing his movements, and stood again. "What's happening?"
Suddenly, he recalled the gas lamp by the desk. His brother, Benson, had gone into debt years ago to install it, believing it was essential for Zhou's studies. He tried to light the lamp, but it wouldn't ignite. After inspecting the gas meter and inserting a coin, the lamp finally flickered to life, casting the room in a warm glow.
Under the light, Zhou checked his wounds. The grotesque injury on his temple was no longer bleeding; his brain tissue was visibly regenerating. "Is this a side effect of transmigration?" he wondered aloud.
Needing to clean the blood off himself, he grabbed a towel and headed to the shared bathroom. After wiping away the evidence of his injuries, he remembered his room likely still had bloodstains. He rushed back, cleaning up before examining a bullet on the floor. "A gunshot to the temple... suicide?" Zhou mused, fitting the pieces together.
His thoughts drifted to the strange ritual he had performed earlier in an attempt to improve his luck. Could it be that this ritual had caused his transmigration?