Pain!
So much pain!
His head hurt so much!
The bizarre, ever-shifting dream filled with whispers rapidly shattered. Deep asleep, Zhou Mingrui felt an extraordinary throbbing in his head, as though someone had struck him hard with a club. No, it was more like a sharp object had pierced his temple and was twisting inside!
Hiss... In his daze, Zhou Mingrui wanted to roll over, to clutch his head, to sit up, but he could not move his hands or feet at all. He seemed to have lost control of his body.
Looks like I haven't really woken up. I'm still dreaming... Maybe next I'll think I'm awake when I'm actually still asleep... No stranger to such experiences, Zhou Mingrui struggled to focus his will, trying to break free of the shackles of darkness and illusion completely.
However, in that half-asleep state, his will drifted like smoke, difficult to control or gather together. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop his thoughts from wandering and stray ideas from surfacing.
Why would my head suddenly start hurting in the middle of the night, out of nowhere?
And why does it hurt this badly?
Could it be a brain hemorrhage or something?
Shit, am I going to die young just like this?
Wake up! Hurry up and wake up!
Huh, it seems to hurt less than before? But it still feels like a dull knife is slowly cutting through my brain...
Looks like I can't go back to sleep. How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow?
Why am I still thinking about work? With a genuine headache, of course I should take sick leave! No need to worry about the manager going on and on!
Thinking of it that way, this doesn't seem so bad. Heh heh, stealing half a day of leisure from a busy life!
Wave after wave of throbbing pain allowed Zhou Mingrui to accumulate an illusory strength, bit by bit. Finally, in one burst of effort, he straightened his back and opened his eyes, completely breaking free of his half-asleep state.
His vision was blurry at first, then became tinged with faint crimson. Looking ahead, Zhou Mingrui saw a desk in the natural color of wood before him. An open notebook lay right in the center, its pages rough and yellowed. At the top was a sentence written in strange alphabetic script, its ink so deeply black that it stood out as if about to drip.
To the left of the notebook, near the edge of the desk, was a neat stack of books, perhaps seven or eight. Grayish-white pipes and a wall lamp connected to them were mounted on the wall to their right.
The lamp had a distinctly classical Western style and was about half the size of an adult's head. Its inner layer was transparent glass, enclosed by a lattice of black metal.
Diagonally below the unlit wall lamp, a black ink bottle was bathed in a faint red glow. The raised designs on its surface formed an indistinct image of an angel.
In front of the ink bottle, to the right of the notebook, a dark fountain pen with a rounded barrel lay quietly, its nib glinting faintly. Its cap rested beside a revolver with a brassy sheen.
A gun? A revolver? Zhou Mingrui froze. Everything before his eyes was so unfamiliar, bearing not the slightest resemblance to his room!
Amid his shock and bewilderment, he noticed that the desk, notebook, ink bottle, and revolver were all covered by a crimson "veil"-the light shining in through the window.
Instinctively, he raised his head, his gaze moving upward little by little:
High in the sky, against a black "velvet curtain," a crimson full moon hung, shining serenely.
This... Zhou Mingrui felt an inexplicable terror and abruptly stood up. But before he could fully straighten his legs, another throb shot through his head, briefly draining his strength. His center of gravity dropped involuntarily, and his backside slammed into the hardwood seat of the chair.
Smack!
Unfazed by the pain, Zhou Mingrui pressed a hand against the desk and stood up again. He turned around in a panic, surveying his surroundings.
It was a small room, with a brown door on either side and a wooden bunk bed right against the opposite wall.
Between the bed and the door on the left stood a cabinet, with double doors above and five drawers below.
At the edge of the cabinet, about a person's height above the floor, grayish-white pipes were likewise mounted on the wall. These, however, connected to a strange mechanical device, with gears and bearings exposed in a few places.
In the right-hand corner near the desk were things resembling a coal stove, along with a stockpot, an iron pan, and other kitchen utensils.
Beyond the door on the right stood a full-length mirror with two cracks in it. The patterns on its wooden base were simple and plain.
As his gaze swept past, Zhou Mingrui vaguely caught sight of himself in the mirror-his current self:
Black hair, brown eyes, a linen shirt, a thin build, ordinary features, fairly deep-set contours...
This... Zhou Mingrui immediately sucked in a cold breath, and a jumble of helpless guesses flooded his mind.
The revolver, the classical European and American furnishings, and that crimson moon so unlike Earth's all pointed to one thing!
D-did I transmigrate? Zhou Mingrui's mouth slowly fell open.
He had grown up reading webnovels and had often fantasized about this, but when it actually happened, he found it hard to accept all at once.
Is this what they call loving dragons until you meet one? After several dozen seconds, Zhou Mingrui mocked himself, trying to find some amusement in his predicament.
Had the pain in his head not persisted, keeping his thoughts taut and clear, he would certainly have suspected he was dreaming.
Calm down, calm down, calm down... Taking several deep breaths, Zhou Mingrui tried to make himself less panicked.
Just then, as his body and mind settled into harmony, fragments of memory abruptly surfaced, slowly presenting themselves in his mind!
Klein Moretti, a native of Tingen City, Awwa County, in the Kingdom of Loen on the Northern Continent, a recent graduate of Hoy University's history department...
His father had been a sergeant in the Royal Army and had died in a colonial conflict on the Southern Continent. The resulting pension had given Klein the opportunity to attend a private grammar school, laying the foundation for his admission to university...
His mother had been a believer in the Evernight Goddess and had passed away the year Klein passed Hoy University's entrance examination...
He also had an older brother and a younger sister, all living together in a two-bedroom apartment...
The family was not well-off; one could even say they were in poor circumstances. At present, they relied entirely on his older brother, who worked as a clerk at an import and export company...
As a history graduate, Klein had mastered Ancient Feysac, reputed to be the origin of the written languages of the Northern Continent's nations, as well as Hermes, which frequently appeared in ancient tombs and was associated with rituals and prayers...
Hermes? Something stirred in Zhou Mingrui's mind. Pressing a hand to his throbbing temple, he turned his gaze to the notebook lying open on the desk. The line of writing on its yellowed paper seemed to change from strange to unfamiliar, from unfamiliar to familiar, and from familiar to comprehensible.
These words were written in Hermes!
The deep black ink, seemingly about to drip, said:
"Everyone will die, including me."
Hiss! Seized by an inexplicable terror, Zhou Mingrui instinctively leaned backward, trying to distance himself from the notebook and that line of writing.
He was so weak that he nearly fell. Hastily reaching out to brace himself against the edge of the desk, he felt as though the air around him had grown restless. Faint, closely woven murmurs seemed to echo in his ears, giving him the same feeling as listening to his elders tell horror stories as a child.
He shook his head. It was all just an illusion. Zhou Mingrui steadied himself again, looked away from the notebook, and began gasping for breath.
Then his gaze fell on the revolver with its glinting brassy sheen, and a question suddenly arose in his mind.
"Given Klein's family circumstances, where would he get the money or the connections to buy a gun?" Zhou Mingrui could not help frowning.
As he pondered, he suddenly noticed half a red handprint on the edge of the desk, its color deeper than the moonlight and thicker than the "veil."
It was a bloody handprint!
"A bloody handprint?" Zhou Mingrui instinctively turned over his right hand, which he had just pressed against the edge of the desk. Looking down, he saw that his palm and fingers were covered in blood.
Meanwhile, the throbbing in his head continued, slightly weaker but unceasing.
"Did I hit my head and split it open?" As he speculated, Zhou Mingrui turned around and walked toward the cracked full-length mirror.
After a few steps, a figure of medium build, with black hair, brown eyes, and a distinctly scholarly air, came clearly into view.
This is me now, Klein Moretti?
Zhou Mingrui paused. Since there was not enough light in the middle of the night to see very clearly, he continued forward until he was only one step away from bumping into the mirror.
By the gauzy crimson moonlight, he turned his head to examine his temple.
The clear reflection in the mirror faithfully revealed a hideous wound at his temple. Its edges bore scorch marks, the surrounding area was smeared with blood, and within it, grayish-white brain matter was slowly writhing.