Thud, thud, thud!
Zhou Mingrui staggered back several steps, utterly horrified by the sight before him. It seemed that the figure in the mirror wasn't himself, but a desiccated corpse.
How could someone with such grievous wounds still be alive?
Unable to believe what he was seeing, he turned his head to examine the other side of his reflection. Even from a distance, in the dim light, the gaping wounds and the dark red stains of dried blood were unmistakably evident.
"This…"
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain composure.
Reaching out, he pressed his hand to his left chest and felt his heart beating violently, fast but undeniably alive and strong.
He then touched the bare skin on his body. Beneath the faint chill of the surface, he could sense the warmth of life coursing through him.
Squatting down to test whether his knees could still bend, Zhou Mingrui straightened up again once he confirmed they worked as they should. The panic subsided a little.
"What is going on?" he muttered under his breath, frowning. He decided to carefully inspect the wounds on his head once more.
Taking a couple of steps forward, he suddenly stopped. The faint glow of the blood moon outside wasn't sufficient for the detailed examination he intended.
A fragment of memory flickered through his mind. Zhou Mingrui turned toward the wall adjacent to his desk, where a gray-white pipeline and a metallic grille encased a gas lamp.
This was a state-of-the-art gas lamp, renowned for its steady flame and excellent illumination.
Given Klein Moretti's family background, gas lamps—or even kerosene lamps—were luxuries far beyond their means. Candles were the proper reflection of their status and financial situation. However, four years ago, when Klein was burning the midnight oil to prepare for Hoy University's entrance exam, his brother Benson had deemed it critical to the family's future, going so far as to borrow money to ensure Klein had the best possible conditions.
Of course, Benson, who had been literate and working for years, wasn't reckless or thoughtless. He had convinced the landlord to pay for the foundational modifications by claiming, "Installing gas pipelines will increase the apartment's value and make it easier to rent out in the future." Meanwhile, leveraging his position at the import-export company, Benson had managed to acquire a new gas lamp at nearly cost price. Astonishingly, he achieved all this without having to borrow a single penny.
The memory fragment flashed and faded. Zhou Mingrui returned to the desk, opened the gas valve, and turned the lamp's switch.
Click, click, click. The sound of the ignition mechanism echoed, but the expected brightness failed to arrive.
Click, click, click! He turned it several more times, but the gas lamp remained dark.
"Hmm…" Pulling his hand back, Zhou Mingrui pressed his left temple, extracting memory fragments in search of an explanation.
After a few seconds, he turned and walked toward the mechanical device embedded in the wall near the door. It was connected by the same gray-white pipelines.
This was a gas meter!
Glancing at the exposed gears and bearings, Zhou Mingrui retrieved a coin from his pocket.
The coin was a dull yellow, gleaming faintly with the luster of copper. One side bore the engraved portrait of a man wearing a crown, while the other featured a sheaf of wheat encircling the number "1."
Zhou Mingrui recognized it as the most basic currency of the Loen Kingdom, a copper penny. Its purchasing power was roughly equivalent to three or four yuan in his previous life. The coin also had denominations of five pence, half a penny, and a quarter penny. However, these were still too imprecise for everyday transactions, often requiring rounding adjustments.
After flipping the copper penny between his fingers a few times, Zhou Mingrui inserted it into the narrow, vertical slot of the gas meter.
Clink, clink, clink!
The coin dropped into the machine, and the sound of gears turning soon followed, producing a brief yet delightful mechanical melody.
Zhou Mingrui stared at the meter for a few seconds before returning to the wooden desk. Once again, he turned the gas lamp's switch.
Click, click, click… Pop!
A cluster of flames erupted, quickly expanding into a bright glow that filled the lamp's interior. Light spilled through the clear glass, bathing the room in a warm hue.
The darkness retreated abruptly, and the crimson light outside the window seemed to diminish. Zhou Mingrui inexplicably felt more at ease. He stepped briskly toward the mirror.
This time, he scrutinized the wound on his temple with meticulous care, leaving no detail unchecked.
After several comparisons, he found that despite the initial bloodstains, the ghastly wound had stopped bleeding entirely, as though expertly staunched and bandaged. The gray-white brain matter that had been faintly writhing earlier was now regenerating flesh at a speed visible to the naked eye. In a matter of 30 to 40 minutes—or perhaps two to three hours—there would be nothing left but a faint scar.
"Is this some kind of healing effect from the transmigration?" Zhou Mingrui murmured to himself, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile.
He exhaled deeply. Whatever the reason, at least he was alive.
Steadying his nerves, he pulled open a drawer, retrieved a small bar of soap, and grabbed one of the worn towels hanging near the cupboard. Opening the door, he made his way to the communal bathroom shared by the tenants on the second floor.
The bloodstains on his head needed to be cleaned. It was one thing to scare himself, but it would be quite another to frighten his younger sister, Melissa, who had to get up early the next morning. That would be an entirely different problem.
The corridor outside was shrouded in darkness, with only the dim crimson glow of the moonlight spilling through the far window, outlining the protruding shapes of various objects. In the shadows, they resembled pairs of eerie eyes silently observing the living.
Zhou Mingrui treaded lightly, his steps cautious as he made his way to the bathroom, his heart faintly racing.
Inside, the moonlight was more abundant, rendering everything clearly visible. Standing before the sink, Zhou Mingrui turned on the faucet.
Whoosh. The sound of running water filled the room, suddenly reminding him of his landlord, Mr. Franky.
Since water fees were included in the rent, Mr. Franky—a small, thin man in a black suit, waistcoat, and bowler hat—frequently inspected the bathrooms, listening intently for the sound of excessive water use.
If the noise grew too loud, Mr. Franky would drop all pretense of gentlemanly decorum, furiously pounding on the bathroom door with his cane while shouting, "Thieving little rat!" "Wastefulness is a disgrace!" "I'll remember you!" "Do it again, and you're out with your filthy luggage!" "Mark my words—this is the best deal in Tingen City. You won't find a more generous landlord than me!"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Zhou Mingrui wet the towel and began scrubbing away the blood on his face, over and over again.
When he finally looked into the cracked mirror above the sink and confirmed that only the ghastly wound and his pale complexion remained, Zhou Mingrui felt considerably relieved. He removed his linen shirt and scrubbed at the bloodstains on it with soap.
At that moment, his brow furrowed as a new concern emerged:
The wounds were severe, and there had been a lot of blood. Aside from his own body, there were likely traces left in the room as well.
A few minutes later, Zhou Mingrui returned to his room with the cleaned shirt and a damp towel. First, he wiped away the bloody handprints on the desk. Then, using the gas lamp's light, he began searching for other remnants.
It didn't take long for him to find blood spatters on the floor and beneath the desk. On the wall to the left, he even discovered a golden bullet casing.
"…Shot himself in the temple with a revolver?"
The sequence of events suddenly became clear to Zhou Mingrui. He had a rough idea of how Klein had met his end.
Instead of verifying it immediately, he methodically cleaned up the bloodstains and tidied the "crime scene" before returning to the desk with the bullet casing. Opening the cylinder of the revolver, he dumped out its contents.
Clink, clink, clink.
Five bullets and one empty casing tumbled out, each glimmering with the sheen of brass.
"Just as I thought…" Zhou Mingrui glanced at the empty casing, nodding slightly as he loaded the bullets back into the cylinder one by one.
Shifting his gaze to the open notebook on the desk, he fixated on the words scrawled across its pages: "Everyone will die, including me."
A flood of unanswered questions surged through his mind.
Where did the gun come from?
Why were there so few traces of blood from this method of suicide? Could it be because I transmigrated just in time and brought some kind of self-healing perk with me?
After pondering for a moment, Zhou Mingrui changed into another linen shirt and sat down on the chair, focusing on more pressing matters.
Klein's situation was not his priority for now. The real question was figuring out why he had transmigrated—and more importantly, whether he could go back!
His parents, relatives, close friends, companions, the vibrant world of the internet, and all kinds of delicious food… These were the reasons for his urgent desire to return!
Click, click, click… Zhou Mingrui unconsciously flicked the revolver's cylinder open and shut, over and over again.
"Hm, nothing about this period of time was particularly unusual—just a streak of bad luck. But how could I transmigrate for no reason at all?"
"Bad luck… Right, I performed a luck-changing ritual before dinner tonight!"
A flash of inspiration struck Zhou Mingrui's mind like lightning, illuminating the memory that had been obscured by fog.
As a self-proclaimed keyboard politician, keyboard historian, keyboard economist, keyboard biologist, and keyboard folklorist, he prided himself on "knowing a little bit about everything." Of course, his close friends often mocked him, saying, "You only know a little bit about everything."
And one of those "little bits" happened to include mysticism.
Last year, while visiting his hometown, he had stumbled across a thread-bound, vertical-script book titled A Summary of Qin and Han Era Esoteric Practices at a secondhand bookstall. It seemed fascinating at first glance and looked like it might help him show off online, so he bought it. Unfortunately, his interest faded as quickly as it had come. The vertical layout was cumbersome to read, and after skimming the first few pages, he tossed the book into a corner and forgot about it.
It wasn't until this past month—when a streak of bad luck hit him in rapid succession, with events like losing his phone, clients disappearing, and making mistakes at work—that he suddenly remembered the opening section of the Summary of Esoteric Practices, which described a simple luck-changing ritual. Its requirements were absurdly easy and didn't demand any prior knowledge:
You just needed to gather four portions of the local staple food and place them in the four corners of your room—on tables, cabinets, or similar surfaces. Then, standing in the center of the room, you had to walk four counterclockwise steps to form a square, all while silently reciting the following phrases:
"Blessings to the Celestial Lord of Primordial Yellow" (Step 1)
"Blessings to the Heavenly Monarch of Primordial Yellow" (Step 2)
"Blessings to the Supreme God of Primordial Yellow" (Step 3)
"Blessings to the Heavenly Sovereign of Primordial Yellow" (Step 4)
After finishing the square, you were to close your eyes and remain still for five minutes. At that point, the ritual would be considered complete.
With the mindset of "it doesn't cost me anything," Zhou Mingrui had dug out the book and followed its instructions, performing the ritual before dinner. However… nothing had happened at the time.
Who could have imagined that by midnight, he would have transmigrated!
Transmigrated!
"There's a good chance it was that luck-changing ritual… Hmm, I'll try performing it here tomorrow. If it really was the cause, then there's hope I can return!" Zhou Mingrui stopped flicking the revolver's cylinder and suddenly sat upright.
No matter what, he had to give it a try.
Even if it was a desperate shot in the dark, he couldn't let the opportunity pass!