Darkness.
Not the soft darkness of sleep, but a crushing void. Liang Wei felt as though he were suspended in nothing, with only fragments of memory drifting through his mind: the blinding flash of headlights, the scream of brakes, the violent jolt that ripped him from the world he knew.
I was hit… I should be dead.
Yet consciousness lingered. His thoughts floated, half-dissolved, in a haze of silence. For a terrifying moment, he wondered if this was eternity — an endless loop of awareness in the void.
Then came sound.
At first muffled, distant, like voices underwater. Rhythmic thumps followed, faster than his heartbeat, steady and insistent. The world pressed in on him, constricting, until suddenly—
Light.
It struck his eyes like a blade, blinding and raw. He gasped, lungs seizing — and then instinct took over. A cry tore from his throat, thin and shrill, nothing like the voice he remembered.
Wei froze. That sound… that was me?
Hands lifted him. Warm, trembling, careful. A woman's face hovered above, blurred around the edges but radiant with joy and exhaustion. Her dark hair clung damply to her temples, her lips moving quickly in words he couldn't understand. The cadence was strange, sharp and flowing at once, unlike Mandarin, unlike any language he knew.
Another figure leaned in — a man with broad shoulders and a rough beard, his calloused hands almost too large for the fragile bundle Wei had become. His voice was deeper, rumbling, also incomprehensible, yet thick with awe.
Wei tried to speak, to demand an explanation — but only a pitiful wail escaped. His limbs flailed, weak and uncoordinated. He couldn't even hold up his head.
No… no, this isn't right. My body— He struggled to flex his hands, to move with precision, but only tiny fists opened and closed. His legs kicked aimlessly. The horrifying truth settled in: he was an infant.
The woman — his new mother, Wei realized with a jolt — pulled him against her chest. The steady thump of her heartbeat filled his ears. The warmth of her skin calmed his panicked cries against his will. His body relaxed, lulled by instincts he couldn't control.
This… this can't be real. Reincarnation? That's absurd. There's no empirical evidence, no— He cut the thought off. His scientist's mind tried to categorize it, to file it under "dream" or "hallucination," but his senses betrayed him. The scratch of wool blankets, the smell of sweat and herbs, the flicker of firelight — all too vivid. Too solid.
The room around him came slowly into focus. Stone walls, uneven and rough-hewn. A wooden table cluttered with clay bowls, a few bundles of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. A single iron sconce on the wall held a flame that guttered softly, casting shadows that danced across the room.
Not a hospital. Not Beijing.
Not my world.
His chest tightened as memories surged: his mother's voice calling him to breakfast, Mei threatening to steal his pancakes, his father's dry humor over tea. Ordinary moments, now forever out of reach.
His newborn body trembled, and tears leaked from his eyes. He couldn't wipe them away. He couldn't even form words.
The man noticed and let out a shaky laugh, brushing a massive thumb gently across Wei's tiny arm. The woman whispered something soothing, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but they were tears of joy.
They didn't know who he had been. They didn't know he was mourning another family even as they welcomed him. And yet, they loved him already.
Wei's heart ached.
I lost them… but maybe… maybe this is a second chance. A cruel one, but a chance nonetheless.
His scientist's mind shifted gears. If this is real, then the universe is stranger than I ever imagined. A transfer of consciousness? A continuity of memory? This body… it's mine now. So what will I do with it?
His tiny hand curled instinctively around his mother's finger. She gasped, smiling through tears, and whispered to the man beside her. He laughed, a sound so full of warmth it vibrated through the room.
In that moment, despite the grief clinging to his heart, Wei felt something else stir — fragile, uncertain, but real.
Hope.