The Dying Man

"Did you remember everything I said?"

Shade finally came back to his senses in a daze and looked around at everything before him, utterly confused. One moment in his memories, he had been helping his friend handle the aftermath of his death; the next, he was here.

This was a bedroom. Definitely not a bedroom from the twenty-first century. The dim yellow light in the room was not very bright. The darkened wooden floor was fairly clean, but the walls had already begun to yellow. A stack of books leaned precariously in the corner as though about to topple over, while the bookshelf beside it held ornaments such as metal pots and picture frames.

All of those photographs were black and white.

Besides oil paintings, two metal pipes ran along the walls. The clamps connecting the pipes were faintly visible and somewhat rusted. One thinner pipe branched off near the desk. The brown wooden desk was covered in sheets of paper, and its drawers on both sides hung half open, revealing documents inside.

The desk lamp connected to the brass-colored pipe was still lit. The heavy lamp had an unusually novel flared shade—

"Hm? Not an electric lamp? A Gas Lamp?"

It was difficult to determine through observation alone whether it was a Gas Lamp, but the pipes climbing the walls and the wall lamps connected to them could not possibly have been electric lights. The warm yellow glow was not bright and only illuminated the desk area, yet it inexplicably made Shade feel warm.

By that light, he saw the decorative oil painting on the wall, the black-and-white portrait on the desk, and the newspaper spread out in the shadows on the floor. He could not make out any of the newspaper's contents, but he could see that it was not written in square characters, but letters.

With this sense of age, no matter where this was, it was no longer his hometown.

A rotten smell hung in the air, though it was more like the smell of a funeral home. Shade remembered that smell. After all, only moments ago, he had been helping his unfortunate deceased friend—

"Did you remember everything I said?"

The voice sounded again, and Shade finally snapped fully awake from his daze. The young man quickly realized someone was gripping his right wrist. Only now, with his consciousness completely fused with this body, did he think to lower his head.

He stood beside the bed in what seemed to be a nineteenth-century man's bedroom. It was a Four-Poster Bed, though curtains hung on only three sides. The visible parts of the bedframe and headboard gleamed with a metallic sheen beneath the Gas Lamp at its head.

The bedside lamp was shaped like a little Angel holding it aloft, and its exquisite design caught Shade's attention for a moment.

The person holding his hand was the man lying in bed. The Middle-aged Man, perhaps the owner of this bedroom, wore dark plaid pajamas. Other than his head and right hand, his whole body was hidden beneath the blankets.

He had distinctly Caucasian features, but his eyes were sunken and his cheeks sagged. The right hand gripping Shade's wrist was frighteningly thin and withered. He looked like someone about to starve to death. Shade even believed that if he spoke a little too loudly, he would have to beg the man not to die.

Shade knew absolutely nothing right now. He needed to learn about the situation from this man.

"So, I've transmigrated?"

He thought to himself, gaining a rough understanding of his current situation.

Fortunately, though the man on the bed was weak, there were at least no corpse spots on him. Otherwise, Shade would truly have had reason to worry about his present circumstances.

"Did you remember everything I said?"

The frail man in bed asked for the Third Time. His brown eyes were deeply sunken in their sockets, yet they stared fixedly at Shade. Though Shade did not understand why he had suddenly transmigrated here, he at least knew it was best to keep acting for now. He needed to understand the situation before making plans for the future.

He opened his mouth to speak, only then realizing that the other man was not speaking Chinese, nor any language he knew. Yet Shade somehow understood him. He wanted to answer in the man's language, but when he parted his lips slightly, he realized he could understand it but could not speak it at all.

"No way. I can understand it, but I can't speak it?"

For a moment, his ears rang and his back itched with tension. Being unable to speak the language of this world's inhabitants was not something he had anticipated. This was the worst possible situation.

A buzzing filled his head. Then he realized it was not caused by his own nervousness. He understood the voice in his mind. It was a woman's voice, speaking in a whisper:

Sixth Epoch, Common Calendar 1853, summer, Silver Moon Shining Day. You have arrived in this dark world. You understand that you need an identity, so you must inherit everything from this unfamiliar body. Now comes the first step: prove it. Prove that you can enter this world.

"Sys—"

His instinctive reaction was that this was the legendary system, but he immediately realized that it definitely was not.

The woman's voice was extraordinarily elegant and gentle, like The Canticles being recited in a whisper, intoxicating to hear. But the language she used was different from Chinese and from the language spoken by the frail man on the bed.

That language was older, deeper, and more serene, like a breeze from ancient times passing through the curtain of time and suddenly blowing into the present. The language itself was tangible mystery. Even merely understanding its meaning, Shade seemed to glimpse the deepest darkness.

Though Shade understood this second language as well, merely comprehending it made his head buzz, and his new body's stomach churned with nausea.

This was mental pressure. The language used by the voice in his mind itself possessed extraordinary power.

"This is the language system of this world! The thing in my head isn't a system. It was already present in this body!"

Shade reached that conclusion. As his pupils narrowed slightly, an even more terrifying thought arose from what he had seen before him:

"This new world, this world that resembles Victoria's Steam Epoch, is a world of the supernatural and the occult!"

He was not someone who refused to accept reality. Since transmigration had happened, the existence of supernatural things was not entirely impossible to accept. But his first task now was still to understand his current situation, answer the man's question, and determine his identity.

So Shade did his best to convey information to the voice in his head in his own language:

"Whoever you are, listen carefully. I want to accept everything about this body, but I don't have this body's memories or its linguistic habits."

Now you do.

It felt as though a brick had been forcibly shoved into the top of his skull and maliciously stirred around a few times. Shade considered it a Miracle that he had not fainted.

He had not gained the original body's Memory. Instead, knowledge had been forcibly crammed into him—knowledge of the Northern Kingdom Human Common Language, the Delarion Kingdom Language. But that knowledge merely existed, like a translation device. He had not instantly mastered it, nor did he understand every slang term, dialect, religious custom, allusion, or linguistic habit.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not in very good condition. Could you repeat what you asked me to remember?"

Relying on that knowledge, he haltingly translated his Chinese thoughts into the other world's Northern Kingdom Human Common Language, then deliberately spoke in a translated, awkward manner. The frail man gripping Shade's hand suddenly tightened his hold. It was hard to imagine such a thin wrist possessing such strength.

"You're still the same. Your head isn't very useful. Fine, I'll say it again."

It seemed the original owner of this body had not been very bright, so Shade's words had not aroused suspicion for the moment.

"Shade."

The pronunciation of the name was very similar.

"I am about to die. I learned three months in advance that I would die, so I chose you from among the vagrants. I changed your life, gave you a new name, taught you to read a little, and gave you some common sense. After I die, you will receive everything I own: my Detective Agency and all my property. But you must do one thing for me. A very simple thing—"

Though his tone was extremely weak, his terrifying eyes stared at Shade like those of a dying lone wolf. The great terror revealed in his gaze made the Outlander, who already knew little of this world, feel a chill in his heart.

But Shade kept his breathing as steady as possible and did not bravely meet the man's eyes. It was not because he was afraid at that moment, but because from those words just now, he had gained a preliminary understanding of the original owner's circumstances.

Therefore, he absolutely should not meet the man's gaze right now. He should fearfully look away. Only that would fit the character he was known to be.

"Inherit my Detective Agency. No matter what you intend to use this place for, at least keep it open. Until September 5, 1853, three months from now, when you receive a letter. Retrieve it and burn it. That is the price of receiving my entire inheritance."

His hand tightly gripped Shade's. Even as Shade acted out a slight struggle, he did not believe he could break free. The other man was truly strong.

"This is the sole condition under which I, Sparrow Hamilton, leave my inheritance to you, Shade Hamilton."

PS: Until the contract status changes, there will be one update a day. After it changes, there will be two updates a day, at 6:50 in the morning and 5:50 in the afternoon. This book has passed internal submission and is now waiting for the process to finish. I will not abandon it. New author, new book—thank you for your support.