"Who... am I?"
Boom—
Pale lightning sliced through the inky clouds. Rain poured down in torrents, as if the heavens were venting their wrath upon the muddy earth. In the rippling puddles, the reflection of a crimson figure shattered into fragments.
It was a young man clad in a broad, bright red opera robe. He stumbled through the mud as if drunk, his wide sleeves fluttering in the howling wind. Mud caked on the robe was washed away by the rain, leaving the blood-like crimson to stand out starkly against the night.
"Stop making noise... Stop it!"
"All of you, shut up!"
"I'm about to remember... Just a moment longer... I'll remember!"
"I have a name... a name that belongs to me!"
Soaked black hair hung over the young man's forehead, and his clouded eyes were filled with confusion. He stumbled forward with great effort, hands clutching his head as if struggling to recall something.
His shouts echoed down the empty street, but they didn't travel far before being swallowed up by the endless curtain of rain.
Plop—
In the dimness, his foot caught on a protruding stone, and he fell heavily to the ground!
A trickle of scarlet blood rolled down from his forehead. He lay there in a daze, then suddenly, as if a thought had struck him, a faint glimmer of light appeared in his murky eyes.
"Chen Ling..."
The name flashed through his mind.
The moment he uttered those two words, a fragment of memory drifted out from the endless murmurs that threatened to split his skull, merging with his frail body.
"What is this... time travel?"
Chen Ling furrowed his brows. As he struggled to process the memories of this body, his head throbbed as if being torn apart.
He was Chen Ling, 28 years old, an intern director at a theater in the capital. After a performance one day, he had stayed alone on stage to plan the actors' movements when a violent earthquake struck. He'd felt a sharp pain on his head, then lost consciousness completely.
Thinking back now, he'd most likely been killed by a falling stage light...
As Chen Ling gradually absorbed the memories of this body, he was astonished to find that its original owner had also been named Chen Ling. Yet their fundamental perceptions of the world were completely different. These fragmented memories clashed violently within him, making his head feel as if it were about to explode.
He took deep breaths, struggling to climb to his feet. His opera robe was streaked with black and red, leaving him in a sorry state.
For some reason, his body felt unbearably heavy—as exhausted as if he'd pulled four or five all-nighters in a row writing opera scripts, his energy completely drained...
"I should go home first..."
His tired body and fragmented thoughts left him barely able to think. He could only rely on the instincts of this body to walk toward the direction of "home."
He had no idea how he'd ended up here, but the original owner's memories held this place: every day after visiting his younger brother at the clinic, he would take this route home. Normally, it was just a two or three-minute walk.
But for him now, this journey felt longer than ever before.
The rain, cold as ice, soaked through Chen Ling's clothes. He trembled uncontrollably, forcing himself to keep walking through the rain despite the cold and exhaustion. After ten minutes, he finally reached the door of the house from his memories.
Chen Ling fumbled in his pockets, only to find he had no keys.
So, he skillfully reached under the newspaper box by the door, pulled out a spare key, and unlocked the door.
Squeak—
Warm light spilled out from inside, illuminating a corner of the dark, rainy night—and Chen Ling's pale face.
The moment he saw that light, Chen Ling's tense nerves relaxed instinctively. The cold and exhaustion seemed to fade a little under the glow of that single lamp.
He stepped inside and saw two figures sitting on either side of the dining table, their eyes red as if they'd just been crying.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, they froze for a moment, then turned their heads at the same time.
"Dad... Mom... I'm back."
Chen Ling, his head swimming, instinctively reached down to change his shoes at the door—only to realize he'd been barefoot all along. The soles of his feet and the gaps between his toes were caked with mud, leaving two large black footprints on the floor.
The two figures at the dining table stared at Chen Ling in his red robe as he walked in, their pupils contracting sharply!
"You... you..."
The man's Adam's apple bobbed. He opened his mouth wide, his face a picture of terror, as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Mom... do we have water at home? I'm so thirsty." After returning home, Chen Ling's mind relaxed completely, and his consciousness teetered on the edge of blacking out. Mumbling to himself, he stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a water bucket from the water dispenser, and began drinking greedily.
Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle...
In the kitchen, the red-robed figure drank like a beast, gulping down the water.
Water dripped from the corner of his mouth, pooling on the floor to form a small puddle—one that reflected the two pale, terrified faces in the living room.
"A... A Ling?" The woman forced herself to gather her courage, her voice trembling. "H-How did you get back?"
Chen Ling paid no attention to her words, too absorbed in drinking from the bucket. Then, seemingly finding this too slow, he stuffed the fist-thick spout of the bucket into his mouth and bit down hard, breaking it!
He chewed the plastic vigorously as the water gushed into his mouth, a sense of relief washing over him.
"I walked back,"
a voice came from behind Chen Ling.
Yes... behind him.
At that moment, Chen Ling was still immersed in drinking, yet his voice reached the two of them clearly—
as if there was another red-robed Chen Ling standing in the empty air behind him, spreading his hands and answering as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"The rain was heavy, and I think I got lost."
"I seem to have fallen a few times on the way... I lost my shoes too..."
"Mom, I dirtied the floor. If it's not urgent, wait until tomorrow for me to clean it up... I'm too sleepy right now."
Watching this terrifying scene unfold before their eyes, the man and woman in the living room felt a chill run down their necks. The kerosene lamp's flame flickered unsteadily, as if an invisible hand was teasing the wick in a mocking manner.
Their faces were as white as paper, but they stood frozen in place, too scared to move a muscle.
Finally, the bucket was empty.
Chen Ling wiped his mouth, set the bucket down, then turned around. He stumbled toward his bedroom, leaving a trail of black footprints across the floor...
"Dad, Mom... you should go to bed early too. Good night."
He mumbled these words, closed the bedroom door behind him, and a moment later, there was a dull thud as a heavy object hit the bed.
Silence descended upon the living room.
After an unknown amount of time, the two figures—who had stood like statues—slowly turned their heads... and looked at each other.
The flickering wick steadied, and the eerie kerosene light barely illuminated the dim living room. They sank into their chairs, trembling, their faces drained of all color.
"He... he's back," the man said hoarsely. "How is that possible..."
"If he really is A Ling..."
"Then who was it that we killed last night?"