Three "Mes"

The dim, crowded cabin was filled with stale air mixed with the stench of sweat.

The cabin was packed with people, while a black-haired youth curled up in a corner, completely motionless.

Judging by his features alone, the youth looked utterly ordinary—not handsome, but not ugly either.

But right now, his face was probably extremely conspicuous.

Even setting aside the fact that he obviously looked like a "foreigner" among the crowd, the features on his face alone were eye-catching enough.

His face was covered in dense fluorescent patterns that looked, from afar, like glaring cracks spreading across his skin.

It looked like some kind of illness, so despite the cramped cabin, a small empty space had actually been left around him. No one wanted to get close, afraid of being infected.

His name was "Morien," meaning good fortune for the family, a gift from heaven.

His parents had once joked that he would not even need to change it if he went abroad. Read aloud, it was practically an English name.

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That had really become a prophecy. He had actually transmigrated into a Western world.

But a fortune-teller had once said that the name was unlucky.

Because "reun," when pronounced together, was an incomplete "reunion"—an incomplete family reunion.

And that fortune-teller had been a foreign Taoist priest.

He had supposedly held a master's degree.

Still, he did seem to have some skill. He had actually guessed this right.

If Morien could return, he would definitely call him "Taoist Master."

Listening to the crying, complaints, arguments, screams, and roars coming from around and above him, Morien remained motionless, showing no reaction.

Buzz, buzz, buzz...

His ears kept ringing. It felt as though insects were buzzing beside them, leaving his entire mind muddled.

But comparatively speaking, he himself was actually quite optimistic.

He did not know why, but he was unexpectedly in a pretty good mood.

He had been in this world for a week already.

If the previous me had died, then today should have been the end of the first seven days after my death...

His thoughts drifted aimlessly.

I wonder if the money Dad and Mom burned for me can reach me here...

He touched his pocket. Inside were only a waterlogged earbud case and a dead phone.

No money.

Looks like it can't...

Then I hope they don't spend too much.

Graves, joss paper, funerals... all that costs a lot of money. But if I can't enjoy any of it, then there's really no need...

It would be better if they kept the money for themselves...

He suddenly noticed double images appearing before his eyes. He blinked and inexplicably felt a little unwell.

Seven days ago, he had merely been walking home with headphones on, playing on his phone as he went.

Then the ground suddenly vanished beneath his feet, and he inexplicably fell into water.

It was seawater, extremely salty seawater.

He could not understand why he had suddenly fallen into the sea while on land, but fortunately, he knew a little swimming.

So he treaded water and drifted on the sea for nearly an entire day.

Thankfully, it was summer. Otherwise, he would probably have frozen to death in the water.

Just as he was cold, hungry, thirsty, utterly exhausted, and nearly out of strength, a passing ship hauled him aboard.

The kind captain took him in.

It was an unwritten rule at sea: when people encountered someone in distress, they had to offer aid.

Because only if everyone followed that rule would other captains lend a hand when they themselves suffered misfortune at sea.

Of course, that rule could only restrain good people.

Morien was glad that the captain he had encountered was a good person.

But it seemed that not everyone aboard was good.

This ship had encountered pirates more than ten days ago, and most of its resources had been looted clean.

Although those pirates had strangely adhered to a principle of not killing captives, killing no one and even leaving enough supplies for everyone to return to land alive, the evil of human nature still erupted at that moment.

The fury of being robbed combined with the oppressive monotony of the ocean scenery, making some crew members extremely volatile.

They could barely endure for a day or two, but then five days passed, then ten...

In the second week after the pirates left—the very day Morien came aboard—the pent-up emotions exploded.

Morien had only been aboard for a short while and had not even had time to change clothes when a massive riot broke out on the ship, followed by vicious internal conflict.

From arguments, to brawls, to drawing revolvers and raising straight swords, they began slaughtering one another...

Over the following days, Morien, a frail college student who had never even killed a chicken, witnessed true hell.

He watched helplessly as people around him fell one after another, their eyes forever unable to close. Limbs, hearts, and intestines splattered across the floor.

If he had not been so hungry, he would definitely have vomited everywhere.

The other crew members who refused to become beasts had nowhere to hide and no way to escape.

An endless ocean surrounded them. There was nowhere they could go.

Some wept bitterly, some begged for mercy, and some offered up their bodies, but their heads were still hung from the mast.

Fortunately, Morien discovered that, as a transmigrator, he seemed to truly possess some kind of Beyonder Ability.

He seemed able to control other people's attention.

As long as he silently remained still, everyone would ignore him.

Thus, for the next two days, he hid in a corner, said nothing, and did nothing.

Soon, someone finally stepped forward.

The captain led them into the sturdy lower level of the cabin, intending to rely on the freshwater and food prepared in advance until those madmen reached their limits.

Morien also slipped in with them and hid in the ship's hold.

However, once everyone had settled down, his strange ability seemed to become less useful.

People still noticed him in the corner.

But at some point, dense fluorescent patterns had spread across Morien's face, making him look terrifying.

Everyone instinctively avoided him and refused to approach.

He could understand it, and he did not mind, but it still made him feel awful.

Only one gentleman who looked kind-hearted was willing to approach Morien.

He had a round, gentle face and a shy personality, like a girl.

Morien could not understand their language, but he could still grasp simple phonetic transliterations.

Therefore, when that kind gentleman pointed at himself and stated his name, Morien understood.

The gentleman said his name was "Tris."

Tris...

Only then did Morien finally realize.

A chaotic ship, a crew member named "Tris," and the crimson moon he had vaguely seen a few days ago...

This was the world of Lord of Mysteries. This was the Clover!

When Morien had first learned this, he had been somewhat worried.

Because in this world, knowledge was poisonous.

And he had not only read all of Lord of Mysteries, he had even read the Third Blasphemy Slate.

That was, Cuttlefish's public account.

But strangely, seven whole days had passed. Even the first seven days after his death were nearly over, yet no corruption had descended, and no strange consciousness had awakened within him.

Morien lowered his head and thought in silence.

Could it be...

That the current me is actually the New Life consciousness?

Eugh! Who would have thought that I was actually an incarnation of an Outer Deity!

"Morien... Morien..."

A voice calling his name interrupted Morien's thoughts.

At that moment, a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Round-faced Tris stood beside him, holding his arm and pointing at the patterns on his face as he passionately said something to the surrounding Zhou crew members.

Though Morien could not understand, he could roughly guess that Tris was talking about the patterns on his face. Perhaps he was saying that the people outside were all devils, that they had forced a pitiful person to contract this illness.

Under Tris's speech, the eyes of those in the cabin gradually became resolute, no longer fearful.

As Tris continued speaking, the atmosphere in the cabin gradually became livelier.

Every face showed indignation, as though they wished they could tear the rioters outside to pieces.

Morien knew that Tris was digesting the Instigator potion.

But Morien could not understand a word, so his thoughts wandered in every direction.

He dug up the plot of Lord of Mysteries from his memories.

In the story, the entire Alfalfa Tragedy had been orchestrated by Tris alone.

However, Morien knew very well that this cruel Assassin would later receive Loen royalty's righteous judgment, and amid her miserable cries, an heroic prince would fiercely spank her.

To protect the world, the prince would thrust his long spear into that evil Demoness.

How magnificent, Prince Edessak.

Prince Edessak had always stood on the front lines against Demonesses.

Well done, Edessak. You truly were the glory of the Augustus Family.

His scattered thoughts gradually drew back together, and Morien felt slightly dizzy.

Soon, Tris finished speaking about Morien, released his hand, and let Morien sit back down while he continued his speech.

Morien returned to the corner and resumed letting his thoughts wander.

The more his thoughts wandered, the more out of place he felt among the Zhou people around him.

"Sigh..."

He let out an almost imperceptible sigh and swept his gaze across the Zhou crowd.

There were clearly so many people around him, yet he inexplicably felt lonely. He could only make himself feel better by constantly diverting his attention and letting his thoughts scatter.

He could not fit into the atmosphere at all.

Everyone was excited, everyone was expectant, everyone was impassioned.

But he was not.

He could not understand Tris's speech, could not blend into the mood, and could not even regard the Zhou people around him as the same kind of being as himself.

That made Morien reflect.

Was he too arrogant?

Was it because he was a transmigrator that he did not see other people as living human beings at all?

But that should not be it. He had always thought of himself as an easygoing person.

As a frail nineteen-year-old college student, he had fantasized countless times about transmigrating into another world.

But when that day truly came, he discovered that no matter what he did, he could not integrate into this world.

"Strange... I'm clearly not that melodramatic..." he muttered to himself, but the melancholy did not lessen in the slightest.

The fluorescent patterns on his face became a little more pronounced.

Morien clenched his fists tightly.

So strange... It was truly so strange...

He had once been something of a social butterfly, yet after coming here, all he felt toward others was an intense sense of separation.

It hurt so much...

The ringing in his ears began growing louder again.

Buzz, buzz, buzz...

Layer after layer of double images appeared before Morien's eyes.

Tris said something Morien could not understand, then began leading the people in the cabin in chanting slogans.

In resolute voices, they followed Tris over and over, shouting words Morien could not understand.

Morien felt even worse.

He felt like an insect drifting outside the event.

Loneliness enveloped him like a tide.

Yes, he seemed to understand now. He understood why he felt that way.

He was an anomaly, an anomaly with no kin anywhere in the universe.

Transmigrators like Klein and Roselle at least had others of their kind. At least their hometown, which they could no longer return to, existed within the fog of history.

But as a true "transmigrator," he had nothing.

He could not even say something like, "At least we're looking at the same moon," because he knew very well that his family and he were looking at two entirely different moons.

The more he thought about it, the lonelier he felt.

For some reason, as he grew lonelier, his memory gradually began improving.

It became good enough that he could easily recall his former life, recall the others in his family.

As his memory improved, memories of the past became clearer and clearer.

As those memories became clearer, his longing for the past grew deeper and deeper.

As his longing for the past grew deeper, he felt lonelier and lonelier about his current circumstances.

And as he grew lonelier, his memory became better and better...

"Why am I..."

Morien instinctively opened his mouth, but although the words came out, his throat simultaneously produced a sound like the beating of insect wings.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

His hands were also covered in those fluorescent patterns.

"What the hell am I...?"

At that moment, he suddenly felt his vision go dark.

Deep blackness surged up from behind him and instantly swallowed him whole.

He immediately fell into complete darkness.

"Huh?" Morien looked around in confusion.

The sudden change did not frighten him.

On the contrary, for some reason, he began to relax.

Within this darkness, Morien unexpectedly felt a long-lost sense of ease.

For the past seven days, he had been steeped in an indescribable loneliness. Now that he was alone, he inexplicably felt comfortable instead, without the slightest sense of loneliness.

It was strange.

He stood there silently.

One second, two seconds...

Morien slowly closed his eyes, feeling the profound darkness wrap around him, feeling as though he had escaped loneliness.

The fluorescent patterns on his body gradually faded somewhat.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he suddenly sensed someone approaching from behind.

Morien instinctively turned around and looked behind him.

Two people stood behind him, though he had no idea when they had appeared.

Although this space was pitch-black, he could see them clearly, every detail on their bodies.

One wore sloppy, bloodstained clothes and had a somewhat ferocious face covered in wounds. He looked as though he was about to fall apart—utterly a "dilapidated version."

The other looked much cleaner, but his expression was extremely listless. The fluorescent patterns on his face and body were several times more numerous than Morien's own.

Morien recognized those two faces at once.

Ignoring a few minor flaws, they looked almost exactly like the version of himself he had previously glimpsed in a mirror, his face crawling with patterns.

It was just that every one of them looked like they had it even worse than he did.

Though both faces looked strange and somewhat ferocious, Morien could not summon even a trace of fear.

The sight of those identical faces immediately gave Morien an idea.

He thought of a genre he had seen while reading novels before.

"The simultaneous transmigration genre."

Simply put, one person was split and copied, then sent to several, a dozen, or even hundreds of different worlds.

The versions of oneself in those different worlds would have different experiences and opportunities, and from time to time would meet in the same fixed space, synchronizing their memories and powers with one another.

At that moment, the seemingly listless "Morien" also appeared to have figured everything out.

He looked at Morien, his fluorescent-patterned face wearing an expression as though he were about to cry.

His voice was mixed with the sound of insect wings beating.

"Mom... I finally found one of my own..."

More than one of his own—this was himself.

The next instant, that "self" pounced at Morien like a beast going after prey.

He moved incredibly fast. Morien and the other him had no time to react before he was grabbed in an embrace.

That "self" was incredibly strong, carrying Morien five or six meters away in his pounce.

As their bodies collided, just as Morien had guessed, their memories began to synchronize.

The third, dilapidated "Morien," who had been left alone, stared dumbfoundedly from the side, hesitating over whether to step forward.

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