The glowing numbers above people's heads haunted Li Cheng as he went about his day. Every time he glanced at someone, the countdown floated above them, an unshakable reminder of their limited time. He found himself cataloging them involuntarily: the janitor cleaning the office lobby had 5,832 days, while the barista at the café next door had just 213 days, 14 hours, and 19 minutes. His manager, the ever-demanding Ms. Chen, had a mere 45 days, 7 hours, and 31 minutes left. It wasn't just unsettling—it was suffocating.
By lunchtime, he felt as if the numbers were etched into his brain. He sat in the park across from his office, his bagged lunch untouched. The stopwatch in his pocket felt heavy, as if it were pulling him down. What is this thing? he wondered, turning it over in his hands. Its engraved surface shimmered faintly under the sunlight. The hands moved steadily, and when he pressed the button idly, the world froze again.
The silence was absolute, unnerving. The wind stopped mid-blow, leaves hanging motionless in the air. Pedestrians froze mid-step, their faces caught in half-smiles or frowns. The numbers above their heads hung still, their countdowns momentarily paused. Li Cheng's breathing quickened as he looked around, realizing he was utterly alone in this frozen world. He pressed the button again, and time resumed abruptly.
Shaken, he stood and walked aimlessly through the city streets after work, trying to make sense of it all. He avoided people's faces, unable to look at their lifespans without feeling overwhelmed. That's when he spotted the old beggar sitting on the corner near the subway entrance. The man looked frail, his clothes tattered and his face weathered. Above his head glowed the harsh truth: 2 days, 4 hours, and 12 minutes.
Li Cheng hesitated, the stopwatch in his pocket seeming to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. He wanted to help, but how? Kneeling down, he pulled out his wallet and handed the man some cash. The beggar looked at him with gratitude, but Li couldn't tear his eyes away from the countdown. The money wouldn't change the number—it was counting down to something far more inevitable.
"Thank you, son," the man said, his voice a raspy whisper.
Li Cheng nodded absently, his fingers brushing against the stopwatch. On an impulse, he clicked it again. The world froze, and for a moment, he just stared at the man. Above his head, the numbers hung still at 2 days, 4 hours, and 11 minutes. A strange sensation welled up inside him—part curiosity, part desperation. He thought of the fleeting years above his own head and how he might change this man's fate.
The stopwatch's surface shimmered, and a translucent interface appeared before him:
[Transfer Time]
[Absorb Time]
His breath hitched. He didn't fully understand what he was doing, but his fingers moved on instinct. Selecting Transfer Time, he was prompted to input the amount. After a moment of hesitation, he entered 2 days and confirmed.
The stopwatch vibrated faintly, and a soft glow enveloped the beggar. Above his head, the numbers shifted, increasing to 4 days, 4 hours, and 11 minutes. Li Cheng stared in stunned silence, his chest tightening as he glanced at his own countdown. It had dropped by exactly 2 days.
Time resumed, and the old man stirred slightly, his breathing less labored. He gave Li Cheng a faint smile, oblivious to what had just transpired. "Bless you," the man said, his voice steadier now.
Li Cheng didn't respond, standing up and walking away quickly, his hands trembling. His mind raced with questions, but one truth was clear: the stopwatch wasn't just a tool for seeing time—it was something far more powerful. It had taken from him and given to another, as though the balance of time itself could be shifted.
That night, he sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the stopwatch on the table. "What are you?" he whispered, the soft ticking the only sound in the room. Above his own reflection in the window, his lifespan continued its relentless countdown.
The weight of what he'd done pressed heavily on him. It wasn't just the numbers—it was the knowledge that he could change them. For better or worse, he held the power to alter the flow of time itself. But no one could know. Not yet.
"This power isn't a gift—it's a responsibility," he thought grimly. "And if I'm not careful, it could destroy me."