Transmigration X Unfamiliar

"Bang!"

Along with the sound of the impact, Zhong Wen only felt himself lifted into the air.

Fatigued and with a blurred consciousness, he felt no pain before darkness rushed over to meet him.

"Hmph! Inhale, exhale, inhale... Hah~"

Zhong Wen sat up abruptly, taking large, ragged breaths.

Am I dead?

The question echoed in his mind.

As his thoughts returned, his brain gradually cleared.

This question simply dissipated directly.

He could clearly feel that he was alive, neither sleeping nor dazed.

Zhong Wen took a look and saw that he was covered by a gray-black blanket.

Although he had just woken up with a start, there was no pain on his body, only a slight sense of fatigue.

No, Zhong Wen did not feel that his previous vivid experience was a dream.

He really had been walking on the road and was sent flying by a dump truck.

That couldn't be a dream; it was too real.

Even if it were a dream, to take a step back, he shouldn't be here.

This was a tent, with something like an oil lamp hanging overhead, but it should be an electric light inside.

If it weren't a dream, he should be at home.

If he had really been hit, he should be in a hospital.

Instead of being here, inside a tent.

In other words, he was dead, and this was... the world after death?

Or had he transmigrated?

Although this possibility was utterly absurd, he had after all watched too many similar works.

It was hard not to lean his thoughts in this direction.

Zhong Wen was just about to reach out his hand to check himself.

A slightly mature voice suddenly came from beside him.

"You're awake."

Zhong Wen turned his head abruptly to look.

There had actually been a person beside him the entire time; perhaps because of the lack of any prior sound or perhaps because he was a bit dazed, he hadn't noticed him at all.

This was a male around thirty to forty years old, with slightly dark skin and a somewhat unkempt appearance, where half-shaved stubble could be seen.

He wore a thin white undershoot, sitting cross-legged and casually beside him.

In front of him was also placed a laptop that looked overly bulky.

He was holding a razor in his hand, his brown eyes staring intently at him.

He seemed to have just shaved halfway, turning and casually placing the mirror he was using beside him.

Looking over at him, the hand holding the razor did not stop, continuing to shave the stubble on his own chin.

"Doing okay?" he asked.

Zhong Wen, whose gaze was observing him, only then recovered his wits and nodded hastily.

His gaze involuntarily drifted toward the mirror nearby; because of the angle, there happened to be some reflection, pulling his attention over.

Although the mirror was somewhat small, he could clearly see a large half of his own face within it.

His body involuntarily gave a twitch, his heart began beating faster ungratefully, and his hand instinctively went to touch his face.

Because the face in the mirror was not his own face, nor was it a face he was familiar with, but rather an unfamiliar face.

When a person looks into a mirror and does not see a face they are familiar with, it is like a scenario from a horror movie, and an instant shock is unavoidable.

His complexion also changed uncontrollably and drastically.

"What's wrong? Do you need to rest a bit longer?"

The voice pulled Zhong Wen out of his fright.

Only then did he collect himself, enduring the discomfort in his heart, and said with a pale face and an ugly expression, "Sorry, I'm a bit out of it, feeling groggy."

The man nodded, the beard on his chin having been cleanly shaved off at some point, and casually tossed the shaving knife in his hand to the side.

He spoke, "Quite normal, considering that when I found you under the cliff, you were covered in blood."

As he spoke, he even lifted his chin.

Following the direction he indicated to look, there was a pile of clothing in the corner of the tent.

Through the light, it could be clearly seen that the clothing was stained everywhere with dried blood, as well as grass leaves and mud.

Zhong Wen involuntarily fumbled about his own body.

He confirmed once more that this was not his own physique.

Then he discovered that there were no wounds on his body, nor did his body hurt.

At least under such a brief confirmation, there were no wounds with such a heavy loss of blood.

Not my blood? Or did the transmigration possession repair the wounds on this body?

Or did the person in front of me heal my injuries?

Could it be this fast?

On second thought, even transmigration existed; having a medicine that could instantly heal external wounds didn't seem particularly strange.

But the problem was, the environment of this tent looked no different from the era he lived in, perhaps a bit more retro.

Not to mention that the man in front of him had distinct Asian features.

Of course, it was also possible that the man in front of him was a retro enthusiast.

An unfamiliar environment, a transmigration-like situation, possessing an unfamiliar physique.

All of this pushed Zhong Wen's vigilance to the limit, his brain running rapidly at all times and in all places.

It could bring useful information, but it would also bring some useless wild imaginations.

Coupled with the impact of various emotions, to outsiders he currently still seemed to be in a daze, his expression changing back and forth and his whole person reacting extremely slowly.

Perhaps because of the recent reason, this man no longer urged him with words, but simply looked at Zhong Wen like this, watching him as he pondered something.

Seeming to perceive what Zhong Wen was thinking, he spoke up again abruptly.

"Although it looked dangerous, you didn't have any injuries on you, you had just passed out."

"Ah, is that so? That's really great."

Zhong Wen didn't know what to reply either.

He had completely failed to figure out where he was right now, what state he was in, or what his name was.

Beside him was also a stranger who had saved him.

He had no idea how to open his mouth.

"By the way, what's your name?" the man suddenly asked.

Right this instant, this caught Zhong Wen stuck.

Zhong Wen opened his mouth.

The man seemed to see his difficulty and followed up with another sentence, "Right, this is the identification and wallet you were carrying. You've been unconscious for two days, so thinking about it you must be hungry. Do you want to eat something?"

Zhong Wen reached out to take them, then nodded, smiling somewhat miserably, "I have almost no strength left right now, my head is even dizzy from hunger."

"Haha, I figured as much. But since you've been unconscious for two days, you can only drink some porridge. This isn't me being stingy, hahaha."

He stood up and laughed, his smile looking somewhat bold and uninhibited, and his whole person seeming rather breezy.

Only then did Zhong Wen see that this man's physique looked very well-proportioned; he couldn't be called skinny, but neither could he be called burly.

Relatively distinct muscle lines could be seen on his balanced body, yet without appearing overly abrupt or exaggerated.

The first impression his whole person gave was balance and steadiness.

Come to think of it, Zhong Wen only now noticed that this man looked somewhat unkempt; if not for the fact that he had just shaved his beard, the unkempt, casual feeling would have been even more obvious.

He wore cargo pants on his lower body, stepped into thick-soled Martin boots, lifted the tent flap, and walked outside.

Once this person left.

Zhong Wen finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He hastily checked the ID pouch in his hand.

What kind of characters are these?

The very first problem he encountered completely paralyzed his whole person.

The characters were like a combination of circles and horizontal-vertical bars, matched with black dots in different positions. The strokes were extremely simple, and rather than characters, they looked more like simple icons.

He couldn't recognize them at all.

Just as he was thinking this, he somehow seemed able to understand the meaning the characters expressed.

His train of thought gradually cleared up.

Some scattered bits and pieces appeared in his mind.

As it turned out, his name was also Kevin.

Kevin Carpenberg.

As his emotions calmed down, he realized how terrible his performance just had to be.

"However, given my situation, that kind of reaction should be normal, right?"

From the simple fragmented memories, he sensed something was amiss.

"His performance just now... really was abnormal to the extreme."

That man was squatting next to a small stove, staring at the small pot placed on top of it.

A liquid like rice porridge was boiling inside it.

He lit a cigarette in his hand.

He stared at the burning flame before him.

In his mind, he recalled the series of events inside the tent just now, starting from the very moment that man woke up.

Everything seemed very, very abnormal, so what on earth was going on with him?

"I clearly killed him with my own hands."