Thud, thud, thud!
Zhou Mingrui stumbled back several steps in fright at the sight before him, as though the figure in the full-length mirror were not himself, but a dried corpse.
How could anyone with such a serious wound still be alive!
As if unable to believe it, he turned his head again to inspect the other side. Even from farther away, in the dim light, he could still make out the wound that went straight through and the dark red bloodstains.
"This..."
Zhou Mingrui drew a breath, trying hard to calm himself.
He pressed a hand against the left side of his chest and felt his heart pounding fiercely, rapidly, and full of life.
Then he touched his exposed skin. Beneath its slight chill, warmth flowed.
He crouched down, verified that his knees could still bend, then stood again, no longer quite so panicked.
"What's going on?" he murmured with a frown, intending to inspect the wound on his head carefully once more.
After two steps forward, he suddenly stopped again. The blood moon's light outside the window was relatively dim, insufficient for a "careful inspection."
A fragment of memory surfaced in response. Zhou Mingrui turned toward the grayish-white pipes and the wall lamp enclosed in a metal grille on the wall beside the desk.
This was the gas lamp commonly used at present, with a steady flame and excellent illumination.
Given Klein Moretti's family circumstances, even a kerosene lamp should have been beyond their hopes, let alone a gas lamp. Candles were what suited their standing and circumstances. But four years ago, when he had stayed up late studying for the Hoy University entrance examination, his elder brother Benson had considered it an important matter affecting the family's future and insisted on providing good conditions for him, even if it meant borrowing money.
Of course, Benson, who was literate and had worked for several years, was certainly not reckless, lacking in resourcefulness, or heedless of consequences. By arguing that "installing gas pipes will improve the apartment's quality and help with future rentals," he had talked the landlord into paying for the basic renovations. Then, taking advantage of his employment at an import-export company, he had obtained a new gas lamp at nearly cost price. In the end, he had used only his savings and had not borrowed any money.
As the fragments flashed past, Zhou Mingrui returned to the desk, opened the pipe valve, and turned the gas lamp's switch.
Click, click, click. The friction igniter sounded repeatedly, but the light Zhou Mingrui expected did not arrive.
Click, click, click! He turned it a few more times, but the gas lamp remained dark.
"Hmm..." Withdrawing his hand, Zhou Mingrui pressed his left temple and wrung the fragments of memory for the reason.
After a few seconds, he turned and walked toward the door, stopping before a mechanical device likewise embedded in the wall and connected to grayish-white pipes.
This was a gas meter!
Glancing at the slightly exposed gears and bearings, Zhou Mingrui took a coin from his trouser pocket.
It was dark yellow with a copper sheen. The front bore the profile of a crowned man, while ears of wheat surrounded the number "1" on the back.
Zhou Mingrui knew this was the Kingdom of Loen's most basic currency, called a copper penny. One penny had roughly the purchasing power of three or four yuan before his transmigration. These coins also came in denominations of five pence, half a penny, and a quarter penny, but even that was not sufficiently fine-grained. In daily life, people still occasionally had to round up their purchases.
After rolling the copper penny, first issued upon King George III's accession, between his fingertips a few times, Zhou Mingrui pinched it and slipped it into the gas meter's narrow, vertically opened "mouth."
Clink, clink, clang!
As the penny fell to the bottom inside the meter, the gears began clicking and turning, playing a brief, lovely mechanical melody.
Zhou Mingrui watched for a few seconds, then returned to the natural-wood-colored desk and reached out to turn the gas lamp's switch.
Click, click, click, snap!
A cluster of flame ignited and swiftly grew. Bright light first filled the wall lamp, then passed through the transparent glass, bathing the room in a warm glow.
The darkness abruptly shrank away, and crimson retreated beyond the window. Inexplicably reassured, Zhou Mingrui strode over to the full-length mirror.
This time, he examined his temples carefully, overlooking no detail.
After comparing them several times, he discovered that, apart from the original bloodstains, no more fluid had flowed from the hideous wounds, as though they had received the best possible treatment to stop the bleeding and bandage them. The slowly writhing grayish-white brain and the flesh growing around the wounds at a speed visible to the naked eye signaled healing. Perhaps in thirty or forty minutes, perhaps in two or three hours, only faint marks would remain.
"A healing effect brought on by transmigration?" Zhou Mingrui lifted the right corner of his mouth and mouthed silently.
Then he let out a long breath. Whatever the reason, at least he was still alive!
Steadying himself, he pulled open a drawer and took out a small piece of soap, removed one of the worn towels hanging beside the cupboard, then opened the door and headed toward the communal washroom for the second-floor tenants.
Hmm, I need to clean the blood off my head, so I don't keep looking like a crime scene. Frightening myself is one thing, but if I scare my younger sister Melissa, who has to get up early tomorrow, things won't end well!
The corridor outside was pitch-dark. Only the crimson moonlight spilling through the window at its far end barely outlined protruding objects, making them resemble pairs of monsters' eyes silently watching the living in the deep night.
Zhou Mingrui lightened his steps and made his way toward the washroom with considerable trepidation.
Inside, the moonlight was stronger, and everything became clear. Zhou Mingrui stood before the basin and turned on the tap.
As the sound of rushing water reached his ears, he suddenly thought of the landlord, Mr. Franky.
Because water charges were included in the rent, this short, thin gentleman, who wore a top hat, a waistcoat, and a black formal coat, was always eager to inspect the washrooms and eavesdrop on the sound of running water inside.
If the rushing sounded too loud, Mr. Franky would abandon all gentlemanly decorum, brandish his cane furiously, and pound on the washroom door, shouting, "Damned thief!" "Waste is shameful!" "I'll remember you!" "If I catch you again, take your filthy luggage and get out!" "Believe me, this is the best-value apartment in all of Tingen City. You'll never find a more generous landlord!"
Drawing his thoughts back, Zhou Mingrui wet the towel and washed the blood off his face, over and over.
After checking the washroom's battered mirror and confirming that only the hideous wounds and his pale face remained, Zhou Mingrui felt considerably more relaxed. Then he took off his linen shirt and used the soap to scrub the blood spots on it.
Just then, he frowned, remembering that there might be other trouble:
With wounds this terrible and so much blood, there should be traces in the room as well as on me!
A few minutes later, having dealt with the linen shirt, Zhou Mingrui hurried home with the wet towel. First, he wiped away the bloody handprint on the desk, then searched for other traces by the gas lamp's light.
The moment he looked, he discovered numerous spatters of blood on the floor and the bottom of the desk, as well as a gleaming yellow bullet by the wall to his left.
"...He pressed the revolver against his temple and fired?" The clues suddenly fell into place, and Zhou Mingrui roughly understood how Klein had died.
Rather than hurry to verify it, he first carefully wiped away the blood and cleaned up the "scene." Only then did he take the bullet back to the desk, swing the revolver's cylinder out to the left, and empty its contents.
Clatter, clatter, clatter. Five cartridges and one spent casing fell out, all gleaming with a brass sheen.
"Sure enough..." Zhou Mingrui glanced at the empty casing and nodded slightly as he loaded the cartridges back into the cylinder one by one.
His gaze shifted left toward the words written in the open notebook-"Everyone will die, including me"-and more questions arose in his mind.
Where did the gun come from?
Suicide, or something disguised as suicide?
What could a history graduate of common birth have gotten involved in?
How could this method of suicide leave so little blood? Was it because I transmigrated in time, bringing a healing perk with me?
After pondering for a moment, Zhou Mingrui changed into another linen shirt, sat down in the chair, and began considering something more important.
What had happened to Klein was not his main concern at present. The real issue was figuring out why he had transmigrated and whether he could transmigrate back!
His parents, relatives, close buddies, friends, the rich and colorful online world, all sorts of delicious food... all of these fueled his urgent desire to return!
Click, click, click... Unconsciously, Zhou Mingrui's right hand flicked the revolver's cylinder out and snapped it back into place, again and again.
"Hmm, things haven't been much different from usual lately. I've just been a little unlucky. How did I suddenly transmigrate for no reason?"
"Unlucky... right, I performed a luck enhancement ritual before dinner tonight!"
A bolt of lightning flashed through Zhou Mingrui's mind, illuminating his memories shrouded in fog.
As a qualified keyboard politician, keyboard historian, keyboard economist, keyboard biologist, and keyboard folklorist, he had always claimed to "know a little about everything." Of course, his close buddies often mocked him for "knowing only a little about everything."
Mystical arts were among those things.
When he had returned to his hometown last year, he had discovered a thread-bound book printed vertically at a secondhand bookstall: Summary of Mystical Arts Secretly Passed Down from the Qin and Han Dynasties. It had looked rather interesting, and he had thought it would help him show off online, so he bought it. Unfortunately, his interest had faded as quickly as it came. The vertical printing made for an unpleasant reading experience, and he had only flipped through the beginning before tossing it into a corner.
Only after a month of continuous bad luck-losing his phone, a client disappearing, mistakes at work, bad things happening one after another-had he happened to recall a luck enhancement ritual at the beginning of the Summary of Mystical Arts. Its requirements were extremely simple and needed no prior foundation:
He only needed to prepare four portions of the local staple food and place them in the four corners of the room, on tables, cupboards, or similar places. Then he was to stand in the center of the room and trace a square counterclockwise in four steps, sincerely reciting silently "Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings" on the first step, "Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings" on the second, "God of Heaven and Earth for Blessings" on the third, and "Heavenly Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings" on the fourth. After completing the steps, he was to close his eyes and wait in place for five minutes, and the ritual would be considered successful.
With the attitude that it cost nothing anyway, he had dug out the book and followed the instructions before dinner. Yet, yet nothing had happened at the time.
Who could have known that, come the middle of the night, he would actually transmigrate!
Transmigrate!
"There's a chance it was that luck enhancement ritual... hmm, I'll try it here tomorrow. If it really was the cause, then I have hope of transmigrating back!" Zhou Mingrui stopped flicking the revolver's cylinder and abruptly sat upright.
No matter what, he had to try!
Even a dead horse had to be treated as though it were alive!
PS: Three updates tomorrow, making up for one owed from the last book (manually inserts a smirking face). The first will be at midnight tonight, the second at twelve thirty in the afternoon, and the third at seven in the evening.