"Who... am I?"
A pale flash of lightning tore through the ink-black clouds, followed by a deafening roar. Rain poured down in torrents, as if the heavens themselves were enraged, drenching the muddy earth. In the rippling reflection of a puddle, a figure clad in crimson appeared fragmented and distorted.
It was a young man draped in a grand red opera robe. He staggered through the mire like a drunkard, his wide sleeves fluttering wildly in the storm. The mud clinging to his robe was washed away by the rain, revealing a blood-like red that was startling against the darkness of the night.
"Stop it... stop it!"
"All of you, shut up!"
"I'm about to remember... I'm about to remember..."
"I have a name... a name that belongs to me!"
The young man's wet black hair clung to his forehead, his unfocused eyes filled with confusion. He trudged forward with great difficulty, clutching his head as if struggling to recall something.
His furious shouts echoed through the deserted streets, but they were quickly swallowed by the endless curtain of rain.
In the dim light, his foot caught on a protruding stone, and he fell heavily to the ground.
A trickle of crimson blood rolled down his temple. He lay there, dazed, until suddenly, a faint glimmer of light appeared in his clouded eyes.
"Chen Ling..."
A name flashed through his mind.
As he uttered those two words, a fragment of memory emerged from the endless whispers that had nearly overwhelmed him, merging with his weakened body.
"What is this... a transmigration?"
Chen Ling furrowed his brow, his mind aching as if it were being torn apart. He was Chen Ling, a 28-year-old intern director at a theater in the capital. After a performance that evening, he had stayed behind alone to choreograph the actors' movements on stage. Then, a violent earthquake struck. He remembered a sharp pain in his head before everything went black.
Thinking back now, he had most likely been killed by a falling stage light...
As Chen Ling slowly absorbed the memories of this body, he was shocked to discover that the original owner of this body was also named Chen Ling. However, their fundamental understanding of the world was completely different. The fragmented memories clashed violently in his mind, threatening to explode.
He took deep breaths, struggling to get up from the ground. His opera robe was now a patchwork of black and red, a pitiful sight.
For some reason, his body felt unbearably heavy, as if he had stayed up for four or five nights in a row writing scripts, completely drained of energy...
"I should go home..."
Exhaustion and the chaos in his mind left him unable to think clearly. He could only rely on the instincts of this body and head in the direction of "home."
Though he didn't know how he had ended up here, the original owner's memories included this place. Every day, after caring for his younger brother at the clinic, he would take this path home. Normally, it was just a two- or three-minute walk.
But for him now, the journey felt endlessly long.
The icy rain soaked through Chen Ling's body, sending shivers down his spine. After enduring the cold and fatigue for ten minutes, he finally arrived at the door of his home.
Chen Ling fumbled in his pockets but found no keys.
Then, as if out of habit, he reached under the newspaper box by the door and pulled out a spare key. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Creak—
Warm light spilled from the house, illuminating a corner of the dark, rainy night and casting a glow on Chen Ling's pale face.
The moment he saw the light, his tense nerves relaxed. The warmth seemed to chase away some of the cold and exhaustion.
He walked inside and saw two figures sitting at the dining table, their eyes red as if they had just been crying.
Hearing the door open, they froze, then turned their heads simultaneously.
"Dad... Mom... I'm home."
Chen Ling, his head still foggy, instinctively moved to change his shoes at the entrance, only to realize he was barefoot. His feet were caked with mud, leaving two large black footprints on the floor.
The two figures at the table stared at the red-robed Chen Ling, their pupils contracting in shock.
"You... you..."
The man's Adam's apple bobbed as he gaped, his expression one of sheer terror.
"Mom... is there any water? I'm so thirsty."
Once inside, Chen Ling's mind completely relaxed, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. He mumbled to himself as he stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed the water dispenser's bottle, and began gulping down the water.
Gulp, gulp, gulp...
In the kitchen, the figure in red resembled a wild beast, greedily swallowing the water.
Drops of water spilled from the corners of his mouth, forming a puddle on the floor that reflected the pale, horrified faces of the two in the living room.
"A... A-Ling?" The woman forced herself to speak, her voice trembling. "How... how did you get back?"
Chen Ling, still clutching the water bottle, seemed oblivious to her words. Then, as if drinking from the bottle was too slow, he shoved the spout into his mouth and bit down, shattering it!
The synthetic plastic crunched as water gushed into his mouth, a torrent of relief.
"I walked back."
A voice came from behind Chen Ling.
Yes... from behind.
Chen Ling was still engrossed in drinking, yet his voice clearly reached the two in the living room, as if another red-robed Chen Ling stood in the unseen void behind him, spreading his hands and answering matter-of-factly.
"The rain was heavy. I think I got lost."
"I think I fell a few times on the way... and my shoes are gone."
"Mom, I made a mess of the floor. If it's not urgent, I'll clean it up tomorrow... I'm too tired now."
The couple in the living room felt a chill run down their spines as they watched this horrifying scene. The flame in the oil lamp flickered, as if an invisible hand was toying with the wick.
Their faces were ashen, but they remained frozen in place, not daring to move.
Finally, the water bottle was empty.
Chen Ling wiped his mouth, set the bottle down, and turned around. With each step, he left black footprints on the floor as he staggered toward his bedroom.
"Dad, Mom... you should get some rest too. Goodnight."
He mumbled the words, closed the door behind him, and then came the dull thud of his body collapsing onto the bed.
The living room fell into dead silence.
After what felt like an eternity, the two statuesque figures finally turned their heads stiffly... and looked at each other.
The flickering flame in the oil lamp steadied, casting a dim light over the room. They sat trembling in their chairs, their faces devoid of color.
"He... came back," the man said hoarsely. "How is this possible..."
"If he's really A-Ling..."
"Then who did we kill last night?"