"Bang!"
With the sound of a crash, Zhong Wen only felt himself lifted into the air.
Exhausted, dazed, before he could even feel pain, darkness engulfed him.
"Hngh! Inhale, exhale… inhale… exhale~"
Zhong Wen sat up abruptly, gasping for breath.
Did I die?
That question echoed in his mind.
As his thoughts returned, his brain slowly cleared.
And with it, the question faded.
He could clearly feel that he was alive—not asleep, but awake.
Zhong Wen noticed a gray-black blanket covering him.
Although he had just been startled awake, there was no pain, only a lingering fatigue.
Something was wrong. Zhong Wen was certain that what he experienced earlier wasn't a dream.
He had definitely been walking on the street and was hit by a dump truck.
It couldn't have been a dream—too real.
Even if it had been, he shouldn't be here.
This was a tent. Above him hung a lamp resembling an oil lamp, though it was likely electric.
If it wasn't a dream, he should be at home.
If he really had been hit, he should be in a hospital.
Not here, inside a tent.
So, was he dead? Was this the afterlife?
Or… had he crossed over into another world?
Though it sounded absurd, he had consumed enough stories of this type to entertain the idea.
As Zhong Wen was about to examine his body, a slightly mature voice suddenly spoke from the side.
"You're awake."
Zhong Wen turned sharply toward the sound.
There had been someone beside him the whole time. Maybe because there had been no noise, or because he was disoriented, he hadn't noticed.
It was a man, about 30 to 40 years old, with slightly dark skin and a somewhat scruffy appearance, evidenced by his half-shaven stubble.
He wore a thin white tank top and sat casually cross-legged nearby.
In front of him was an overly bulky-looking laptop.
He held a razor in one hand, his brown eyes sharply observing Zhong Wen.
He seemed to have just paused mid-shave, the mirror casually flipped aside.
His gaze remained on Zhong Wen as he continued shaving.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Zhong Wen, shaken from his observations, nodded quickly.
His eyes were drawn to the small mirror nearby, where the angle and reflection caught his attention.
The mirror was small, but he could see a large part of his face in it.
He flinched, his heart pounding uncontrollably, and instinctively reached for his face.
The face in the mirror was not his own. It wasn't any familiar face.
When someone looks in the mirror and sees an unfamiliar reflection, it's like a scene from a horror movie—a chill that can't be helped.
His expression paled instantly.
"What's wrong? Do you need to rest a bit longer?"
The voice pulled Zhong Wen back from his fright.
He forced himself to calm down, his face pale and expression strained. "Sorry, I'm feeling a bit… off. Groggy."
The man nodded. His shaving now done, he casually tossed the razor aside.
He said, "It's normal. After all, when I found you under the cliff, you were covered in blood."
He nodded towards the corner.
Following the indication, Zhong Wen saw a pile of clothes in the tent's corner.
In the lamplight, the clothes were stained with dried blood, grass, and mud.
Zhong Wen unconsciously checked himself.
This wasn't his body.
What's more, he noticed there were no wounds on him. No pain either.
At least on a quick check, there were no injuries that could account for such blood loss.
Not my blood? Or maybe after crossing over, this body's wounds were healed?
Or… had this man healed him?
Could it happen so quickly?
Then again, if world-hopping was possible, why not instant healing?
Still, the tent around him didn't look too futuristic—if anything, it was a bit retro.
And the man had obvious Asian features.
Maybe he was just old-fashioned.
An unfamiliar environment. A body that wasn't his.
Everything pushed Zhong Wen's alertness to the max, his brain whirling.
The flood of information brought useful clues—and a lot of wild, useless guesses.
Adding to the emotional upheaval, he must have appeared dazed, his face shifting expressions slowly.
The man seemed to notice but didn't press him further.
Instead, he watched quietly.
Then he spoke again, as if reading Zhong Wen's mind.
"Despite appearances, you don't have any injuries. You just fainted."
"Ah, I see. That's… good news."
Zhong Wen didn't know what else to say.
He had no clue where he was, what condition he was in, or even who he was now.
And he was next to a complete stranger who had apparently saved him.
He had no idea how to even start a conversation.
"By the way, what's your name?" the man suddenly asked.
Zhong Wen froze.
He opened his mouth but no words came out.
Seeing his hesitation, the man added, "Oh right, you had these on you."
He tossed over a wallet and some ID. "You've been out for two days. You must be starving. Want something to eat?"
Zhong Wen reached out and took the items, nodding weakly. He smiled bitterly, "I'm so weak right now I can barely think straight."
"Haha, I figured. But since you were unconscious for two days, you'll have to start with porridge. Don't blame me for being stingy, haha."
The man laughed heartily and got up.
Despite his scruffy look, now that Zhong Wen got a good look, the man's build was balanced—not too lean, not too muscular.
He wore cargo pants and thick-soled boots, and lifted the tent flap to step outside.
Only after he left did Zhong Wen finally breathe easier.
He immediately examined the wallet and ID.
What kind of writing was this?
That was his first problem. His mind went blank.
The text looked like circles and straight lines combined, punctuated by dots. The strokes were very simple—more like pictograms than words.
Completely unrecognizable.
Yet, somehow, as he stared, he began to understand the meaning behind them.
Scattered memories surfaced in his mind.
Apparently, his name was Kevin.
Kevin Kapenberg.
As he calmed down, he realized how poorly he had behaved earlier.
"But… given the situation, wasn't that normal?" he thought.
From the fragmented memories, he sensed that something wasn't quite right.
…
"His behavior earlier… it was abnormal to the extreme."
The man crouched by a small stove, staring into the small pot atop it.
Inside, porridge-like liquid simmered.
He held a cigarette in one hand, staring into the flames.
Replaying the scene inside the tent in his mind.
From the moment the man had awakened—
Something had been very, very wrong.
Because—
"I clearly killed him with my own hands."