Mid-September, 10 AM.

Most people are either at work or school at this time, but I took a leave of absence from my school and stayed in this off-campus rental house. Today, I have something far more important to do than attending class.

I am fully aware that what I'm doing is something I cannot tell anyone about.

Feeling guilty, I didn’t open the window to ventilate this morning. When I walked to the window, I only dared to pull the curtain open a small crack. The dazzling sunlight hit my face, and the morning scenery of the neighborhood came into view.

The outside world is peaceful, and no one knows that two people, unwanted by society, are hiding in this room.

I picked up the cold metal object to my right and brought it up to my eyes.

It’s a handgun.

I’m not sure about the specific type or model. In my past life, I had never handled real firearms or ammunition, and I knew nothing about them. The only thing I could tell was that this was definitely not the toy model guns I used to play with as a child, but a genuine firearm that could blow someone's head off with a single pull of the trigger, and would likely land me in prison for life.

Verifying its authenticity was simple. I clumsily removed the magazine, and inside, three cold, yellow metal bullets were loaded, with another one already chambered and ready to fire. Undoubtedly, these were live rounds.

The legal text I had found online automatically surfaced in my mind:

"Anyone who illegally possesses or secretly stores firearms or ammunition shall be sentenced to imprisonment for not more than three years, criminal detention, or surveillance; if the circumstances are serious, the sentence shall be more than three years but less than seven years."

I gazed at the deadly weapon in my hand for a long while, then turned to look at the beautiful girl sitting restlessly on the bed.

“I’ll repeat what you just said. You said that the future world fell into an unprecedented catastrophe, strange phenomena appeared one after another, monstrous creatures roamed and slaughtered, and human civilization was shattered under the impact of countless supernatural forces…” I collate the information I had just heard and my emotions, “And you, are a survivor from the end of the world, who crossed time and space to arrive at this point in time?”

She nodded.

"And then? What is your purpose now?" I continued to ask. "Do you want to stop the apocalypse from happening in this era?"

"That's right..." She looked at the gun in my hand. "So, can you give me back my gun now?"

---

I first met this unfamiliar yet dangerous girl last night, while conducting a ghost story investigation at a nearby abandoned construction site.

Ghost story investigations are one of my hobbies. Specifically, I visit places where local ghost stories and urban legends are said to occur, to see if they are really true.

This act of verification is not particularly groundbreaking; curiosity is something everyone has. In schools, for instance, when ghost stories circulate, students may spontaneously go to check whether the rumors are true. What I do is no different in essence.

If there’s anything special about it, it’s that I’ve been doing this since I was young, drawing a definitive line between myself and others.

Since I was young, I’ve been obsessed with the magical stories depicted in books, enjoying imagining myself experiencing those thrilling adventures and battling world-destroying enemies like dragons in intense struggles. I was also fascinated by the strange and inexplicable events in the real world, such as the unsolved mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle, or the popular internet legends like the tall, slender ghost figure and the slit-mouthed woman. These unreal existences, so far removed from my own life, captivated my imagination.

Similarly, I also had a deep interest in concepts with strong elements of the unreal and mysterious, such as feng shui, the art of war, black magic, and more, and I was eager to try them out myself in order to test their authenticity.

Needless to say, my hands-on experiments mostly ended in disproving the claims or simply fizzling out, and my exploration of ghost stories and legends earned me some unpleasant reputations.

Whenever I heard about local reports of paranormal phenomena that couldn’t be explained scientifically, I would try to visit and verify the truth. The people I investigated were sometimes mistaken, sometimes superstitious with little grasp of basic scientific knowledge, or vague and evasive. Occasionally, I would even make someone so angry with my questions that they would lose their temper.

Some people, frustrated by their failures with me, would angrily tell others, “Zhuang Cheng is just a loser, he’d be scared out of his wits if he encountered the real thing!” Some listeners even wholeheartedly agreed.

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Within the university, I was also seen by most people as an eccentric individual. Although I didn’t cause much trouble, it was rare for students to interact with me regularly. My only friend in college was puzzled by my efforts, which seemed to be directed toward nothingness. He once tried to probe into my motivations and even advised me.

“Since you’ve never encountered true supernatural forces, why do you keep investigating ghost stories and legends?” My friend probably asked me something like this. “No matter how passionate you were at the start, after failing a few times, you should’ve lost interest. But I heard that you’ve been doing this since you first started middle school. Isn’t that a bit strange?”

“I don’t see you doing any live ghost hunts, and there’s no profit in it. You haven’t even had any real results. There should be some positive feedback... some related evidence or clues that would keep you going, don’t you think?”

I heard the underlying meaning in his words, so I decided to get straight to the point: "Stop beating around the bush. If you have something to say, just say it."

Hearing this, he stopped dodging and frankly expressed his thoughts: "I think you should stop taking risks and investigating ghost stories."

"Why? Do you, like those people, think I’ll be scared out of my wits if I encounter the real thing?"

"It’s not that I’m worried about that, it’s just that I’m afraid you’ll break the law," he complained. "Sometimes you give off this rebellious aura that feels really unsettling. You’re not planning to dig up ancient tombs or get involved in cult rituals just for thrills, are you?"

"…"

"You wouldn’t, right?" His voice had changed.

Whether or not I actually planned to do such things is another matter. Perhaps he wasn’t really afraid I’d break the law; maybe he just used exaggerated language to avoid conflict after I sharply countered his concerns. After all, I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen.

In any case, he wasn’t able to convince me in the end.

And recently, I turned my attention to the abandoned construction site near the university.

It was rumored to be haunted, with vengeful ghosts of those who had died in a construction accident roaming the area at night, covered in blood and abducting female students passing by.

That very night, after hearing the story, I grabbed my large flashlight and walked over alone.

The incident took place at the abandoned construction site, specifically in a half-finished building. Due to the interruption of construction, there were no doors or windows installed on the walls. After passing through the dark doorway, all I could see were the drab, gray concrete walls of the building, with dust and construction debris scattered everywhere.

Not even homeless people approached this place, and it seemed that mosquitoes also refused to enter this barren land. The lights and noise from the outside world were gloomily shut out, leaving only silence and darkness in the air. The only sounds I heard were my own heartbeat and breath, accompanied by the feeling of loneliness.

The beam of my flashlight only illuminated the path ahead, while the darkness behind me seemed almost tangible, pressing against my back like a wet weight, making me feel an impulse to look back. But once I did, I would worry about whether something had appeared ahead. I was constantly on edge, scanning my surroundings, fearful and wary at all times.

This surreal atmosphere, while chilling, also made me feel strangely at ease.

My friend's words did have some truth to them; one cannot remain passionate about a direction where there is no hope.

I don't know when, but I somehow came to understand a truth on my own: the real world is not as strange and bizarre as the fantasy stories; many puzzles have mundane and monotonous truths behind them. Those who claim to use magic are merely skilled in sleight of hand, those who say they are good at divination are just proficient in psychological techniques, and the Taoists who can bless people with safety are merely eloquent speakers, with followers skilled in self-deception. There was a time when I truly sank into a depression, as if stuck in a mire.

But, after all, people will eventually die.

Rather than dying in a life that is calm and uneventful, I would rather die in an adventure as bizarre and fantastical as a story.

I want to break free from the control of my life, to fantasize about monsters suddenly bursting into the classroom and killing the teacher and students. If such a ridiculous situation really occurred, how would I react? Perhaps I would discover a courage I never expected, or maybe I would show unimaginable cowardice—I want to know. I want the world I live in to fall out of control.

What truly keeps me addicted is not the narrow and trivial demons and monsters, but the adventures that completely transcend my experience and life, the unpredictable and unimaginable ones.

Though I don’t expect to encounter truly bizarre experiences this time, I still repeatedly hone my sense of vigilance as much as possible. A truly bizarre experience would undoubtedly bring unimaginable danger. Even I cannot guarantee I will make it out unscathed.

As I carefully advanced deeper into the ruins, I focused intently on scanning every detail of the environment with the beam of my flashlight, imagining that deadly dangers lurked in those barely perceptible corners. They were like ferocious beasts, holding their breath and lying in wait, ready to pounce the moment I relaxed and blinked, tearing into my throat.

Monsters, if you truly exist, show yourselves before me.

I will prove that I am not a loser

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed nearby, the sound of a heavy object colliding forcefully.

This space was so silent that I could clearly hear my own heartbeat, and when that noise rang out, it was like thunder striking out of a clear sky, violently pounding against my chest.

I was instantly startled, and immediately fixed on the direction of the sound, rushing toward it without hesitation.

It was only a short distance down the hallway, and I quickly reached the source of the sound, using the flashlight to see what had caused it.

It was a scaffold that had fallen to the ground. I see, a heavy object like this falling indeed makes a loud noise. But a scaffold wouldn't just fall on its own; someone must have knocked it over.

I quickly noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a vague shadow in a dark corner, leaning against the concrete wall and sitting on the ground.

Blood was flowing across the floor, winding like several small snakes, slowly, slowly, crawling from the darkness into the light of my flashlight.

I had heard that the ghostly figure haunting this abandoned construction site was a vengeful spirit, covered in blood, from someone who had died in a past construction accident.

A suffocating sensation gripped my throat; it turned out that I had unconsciously held my breath. In this isolated and helpless situation, my limbs felt stiff and cold, like those of a corpse.

With trembling and eagerness, I slowly moved the beam of my flashlight, illuminating the vague shadow before me.

What appeared in front of me was indeed a person covered in blood.

But it was not the terrifying vengeful spirit I had imagined.

It was a girl, dressed in a blue and white striped hospital gown, with delicate limbs and a beautiful face.