Supernatural phenomena should, by their very nature, be handled by supernatural means.
For Qing Chen, offering a prayer to the Bodhisattva wouldn't hurt.
He preferred to prepare thoroughly, leaving no room for regret.
It was 9:30 PM.
Qing Chen sat on his bed, glancing at his phone. The dim glow from the screen was the only light in the room. His WeChat showed a few sparse messages from his deskmate, Nan Gengchen—no one else had messaged him.
His mother, Zhang Wanfang's, WeChat profile picture remained silent, which left Qing Chen with a slight feel of disappointment.
Though, it was only a faint one.
Truthfully, he didn't blame his mother.
His father had gambled away multiple properties, engaged in domestic violence, and had affairs. Qing Chen never thought his mother was wrong for choosing divorce.
Before the divorce, his grandmother had tried to persuade his mother to stay: "You're a woman with a teenage son as baggage. Who would want to marry you again?"
Hearing those words, Qing Chen made a choice—when his parents divorced, he chose to stay with his father.
He still remembered the stunned expressions on their faces.
Now, his mother had moved on, started a new chapter in her life, and built a happy family. Qing Chen might have felt a little lost, but he was careful not to disturb her.
Countdown: 2:31:12.
A sudden thought struck Qing Chen: if these were the last two and a half hours of his life, what should he do?
The question was both serious and romantic.
Because it asked: What is the thing you most want to do in life but never dared or never had the chance to?
Unspoken love.
People you long to see but never met.
Places you wished to go but never visited.
Words you wanted to say but never did… all fell within the scope of the answer.
This question struck at the core of one's heart.
Qing Chen stood up and put on his jacket. With so little time left, he made an unexpected decision—he left home again.
He wheeled his old bicycle out and pedaled furiously toward his destination.
The autumn night wind carried a slight chill, and the streets grew quieter.
Qing Chen stood on the pedals, racing forward as his jacket billowed behind him in the wind.
He had many regrets in life, countless fears and many things he hadn't dared to do.
But tonight, he needed neither cowardice nor hesitation—only courage.
He first went to the Peony Grand Hotel, then to Luocheng Hotel, and finally to the Luo Yin residential complex. But he didn't find the person he was looking for.
So he kept riding. Through narrow alleys, across the darkened Qili River Bridge, under the night sky, and past the warm glow of streetlights—until he arrived at an old apartment building
When he saw the familiar beat-up second-hand motorcycle parked downstairs and heard the clatter of mahjong tiles from the second floor…
He immediately took out his phone and dialed 110.
"Hello, officer. I'd like to report illegal gambling at Longteng Community, Building 17, Unit 2, Room 201, Luojiang District."
The dispatcher on the other end seemed to pause for a moment before responding, "Understood. We'll dispatch officers immediately."
Only then did Qing Chen feel at ease. He turned around and rode his bicycle home.
His mind was clear.
Back home, Qing Chen glanced at the white numbers on his arm.
Countdown: 00:31:49.
In the final half hour, Qing Chen turned on the desk lamp and quietly wrote a will, leaving it on the table.
If he were to die tonight, perhaps one day, his family and friends would find his final words.
If he didn't die, his life might take a completely different turn.
Countdown: 00:00:12.
After finishing the note, Qing Chen sat upright, his right hand gripping the boning knife tightly, his clear eyes sharpened.
The closer he got to the final moment, the calmer he became.
Like an impending tsunami about to engulf a lone island, the world seemed to stand still at that instant.
No undercurrents surged beneath the sea—only deep contemplation and blazing courage!
10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1.
No ghosts. No zombies. No disaster.
Qing Chen watched quietly as the world froze. The time on his phone seemed permanently stuck at midnight.
The second hand on the wall clock suddenly stopped moving, and even the light outside the window ceased to flicker.
He made the slightest movement, and it was as if his motion shattered time itself.
The world before his eyes fractured into pieces like a broken mirror.
Qing Chen, still holding the boning knife, looked around. The desk was gone, the room was gone.
Only darkness remained.
…
Time seemed to stretch endlessly, yet it might have been just a moment. In that instant, Qing Chen lost all sense of time.
In the darkness, the fragments of the world began to piece themselves back together. Shards, from nowhere came together in an instant, forming a brand-new world.
Qing Chen lay on a narrow, hard bed in a completely unfamiliar place he had never been before.
His first instinct was to look at his hand—it was empty. The boning knife he had been holding so tightly was gone.
Then he looked at his arm. The glowing white countdown had changed.
Return Countdown: 47:59:59.
The next second, the numbers shifted: 47:59:58.