Night has always been a cradle of mystery, dispelled only by the dawn.
And when the morning sun reaches its zenith, it becomes pure white.
Fang Yuan lifted his head, unsure of his surroundings.
All he could see was light—blinding, all-encompassing light.
This light had painted everything around him, except himself, in pure white.
He stood on a white plain.
"Where am I?"
"Who am I?"
"What happened?"
Fang Yuan's thoughts were hazy. Barefoot, he wandered across the alabaster expanse, searching for traces of his past.
Whispers that sent chills down his spine occasionally emerged from the ground, along with terrifying white creatures.
What kind of beings were they?
Some were tall, others thin, some large, some small. In mere seconds, they could transform completely into a new shape.
In essence, they resembled ever-shifting clouds of white mist.
Frightened, Fang Yuan tried his best to avoid them.
Crouching in a deep pit, a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
"Maybe this is just a dream?"
"If I close my eyes, I'll wake up and return to reality."
Believing this, he shut his eyes tightly.
When he abruptly opened them again, his vision was obscured by a red haze.
He blinked several times, but his sight remained blurry.
Raising his hand, he rubbed his eyes with his arm, and finally, his vision cleared.
The first thing he noticed was a leather glove on his hand.
The glove was smeared with some oily substance, and the edges were stained with blood.
"This… can't be happening."
Muttering to himself, Fang Yuan widened his eyes and inspected his limbs. Fortunately, everything seemed intact.
Something warm trickled down his forehead, and he wiped it with his arm.
A streak of bright red appeared on his sleeve.
"A wound on my head… still bleeding?"
He wanted to find a mirror-like object to check his condition but realized the room held nothing but cold iron beds. Dim yellow lights illuminated the space, casting an eerie glow.
Not far from him, a kerosene lamp struggled to dispel the surrounding darkness.
Fang Yuan froze.
What was this place? Was he still dreaming?
A dream within a dream?
Lowering his head, he noticed a rusty tripod lying across an iron bed.
The tripod was covered in blood.
"I must still be dreaming."
"If I just close my eyes, I'll wake naturally."
"Looks like I've been so tired lately. I really need to start sleeping before midnight."
Fang Yuan initially assumed the dream hadn't ended—after all, wasn't the white dreamscape just as strange?
But the moment he shut his eyes again, he realized he wasn't dreaming.
Pain radiated sharply from his forehead, snapping his nerves taut.
Clap!
A crisp sound echoed through the hollow space.
"It hurts. It really hurts… unbearably so."
Fang Yuan confirmed this was no dream. Everything around him was real.
Dreams couldn't replicate pain.
Narrowing his eyes slightly, the blood dripping from his forehead signaled that he was caught in something extraordinary.
Glancing around, Fang Yuan concluded he might be in an ancient, historically dated location resembling a medieval morgue.
This time, he noticed something he hadn't earlier.
A figure lay prone behind an iron bed, its movements faintly undulating.
Fixating his gaze, Fang Yuan saw the figure suddenly jerk its head upward—a motion disturbingly reminiscent of… feeding.
Concentrating intently, Fang Yuan realized it truly was devouring something!
In the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, he glimpsed the figure's pale face, its bloodstained mouth unmistakable.
"A zombie?"
Fang Yuan shuddered. Why did such a creature exist here?
His thoughts raced, but he ultimately acted on instinct.
Reaching out, he grasped the tripod lying on the bed before him.
As for the zombie… still feasting?
Fang Yuan focused most of his attention on it.
This scene might make for a classic horror movie moment, but being in it himself was far from cinematic.
"A kerosene-lit place… How can there be zombies here?!"
Fang Yuan's inner fury surged at the absurdity of it all, but anger wouldn't change reality.
He cautiously scanned his surroundings.
He needed an exit.
Fighting wasn't an option—it never would be. With how zombies were typically depicted, even a small scratch might turn him into one of them. Close combat was absolutely out of the question.
The room wasn't large—about 30 square meters, slightly bigger than a standard living room.
Apart from five iron beds, there was a burning furnace, making the space feel more like an incineration room. The zombie blocked the doorway.
The door was not an option.
Fang Yuan turned his focus to windows or any emergency exits. Given the use of a kerosene lamp, the building couldn't be tall—at most, three stories. Jumping from such a height…
Well, the risk of crippling injuries was high.
But between potential disability and being eaten by a zombie, Fang Yuan quickly made his choice.
First, he needed to locate the window.
Scanning the room, his eyes landed on a narrow horizontal window.
This… Fang Yuan didn't even need to consider. He couldn't fit through it. Even if he forced himself, his stomach would likely get stuck, leaving his body on either side.
After multiple inspections, Fang Yuan accepted a grim fact.
The only exit was the doorway occupied by the zombie.
He had to choose: fight or…
"If I find somewhere to hide, could I wait it out until the zombie leaves?"
This thought flickered but was quickly dismissed.
The room offered no hiding spots—unless he disguised himself as a statue, which would essentially serve him up on a silver platter.
Taking slow, deep breaths, Fang Yuan felt his heart pound heavily in his chest. Perhaps he had no choice but to confront the zombie head-on.
It was devouring something—whether a corpse or someone like him, Fang Yuan couldn't tell.
Observing it for a long time, Fang Yuan noticed it hadn't detected him.
"Maybe it's less perceptive while eating, or its senses are weak."
He profiled the zombie, hoping to boost his chances of survival.
His current arsenal consisted of a tripod. In an emergency, he could use an iron bed as a makeshift shield.
Fang Yuan gripped the tripod, pondering. Holding different legs in each hand, he applied pressure, trying to bend the frame.
He succeeded.
"…Seriously?"
Looking at the now-deformed tripod, Fang Yuan was speechless.
Apparently, this world's metal was not up to par—either due to poor craftsmanship or simply because it was meant to hold wooden basins.
His attention shifted to a faint glint on a nearby iron bed.
Glancing at the zombie "feasting" by the door, Fang Yuan quickly retrieved the shiny object.
A simple, unadorned scalpel.
It could also double as a dinner knife, though normal people wouldn't use such a thing in a morgue.
A flimsy tripod and a small scalpel.
This was all Fang Yuan had.
Breathing deeply, Fang Yuan prepared himself to take a gamble.
But just as he was about to act, a clear hymn echoed from outside the door.
"I wish to be a fish."
"To roam your gentle harbors, where pure waves cleanse my soul."
"I wish to be a bird."
"To sing in your deep forests, where warm light enchants my spirit."
"I wish to be a hound."
"To hunt in your vast divine realm, offering blood as a tribute to my loyalty."
"Oh, Goddess, I beg you—keep the innocent safe, let the living endure, and grant the dead eternal rest."