Today marked Gao Yang's twelfth year in this new world.
Before crossing over, Gao Yang had been an orphan who had just celebrated his sixth birthday at the orphanage. That night, he ate a cupcake bought by the caretaker, went to bed content, and made a wish before drifting off to sleep—he wished he could find his parents.
When he woke up, he found himself sitting at a dining table with a steaming bowl of noodles in front of him. A strand of noodles hung halfway out of his mouth as he chewed.
The morning light in the old house was soft. Across the table sat a middle-aged couple he didn't recognize. At the head of the table, near the door, was a kind-faced elderly woman. Beside him sat a wide-eyed little girl, about four or five years old.
"Don't just sit there, eat up. You don't want to be late for school," the woman urged. She was in her thirties, wearing simple pajamas and no makeup, but she was beautiful.
"Want me to take you, son?" the man asked with a smile, a toothpick dangling from his mouth. He was tall and sturdy, with a slight belly and a receding hairline, though traces of his youthful handsomeness remained.
"No! Daddy has to take me to kindergarten!" the little girl protested, pouting as she scooped up her bowl of millet porridge.
"How about we drop off your brother first, then you, okay?" the grandmother suggested gently, patting the girl's head.
Gao Yang's mouth fell open, and the noodles slipped from his lips with a soft plop onto the table.
Back then, at six years old, he didn't understand what "crossing over" meant, nor what a "parallel world" was.
He thought he was still dreaming.
Little did he know, that dream would last twelve years.
Now, Gao Yang had long since adapted to this new world, merging seamlessly with his host identity. He was Gao Yang—an 18-year-old high school senior living in a warm, five-person household: a loving grandmother, parents who bickered but adored each other, and a mischievous little sister.
He lived a good life, studying hard for the college entrance exams like most of his peers, occasionally daydreaming about which university he'd attend, what job he'd take, who he'd marry, how many kids he'd have…
In short, his six-year-old wish had come true. He had "found" his parents—with a bonus grandmother and sister.
He was happy. He wanted for nothing.
Until his 18th birthday, when everything changed.
After evening self-study, Gao Yang was biking home when a shadowy figure darted out from an alley and slammed into him, knocking him and his bike to the ground.
Gao Yang scrambled up, unharmed, and got a good look at the man under the dim streetlight. He was gaunt, deathly pale, and dressed in tattered hospital scrubs stained with blood. His face was twisted in terror.
"Uncle, are you oka—"
"Run!" The man seized Gao Yang's shoulders with inhuman strength. "Monsters! They're everywhere! Get out of here!" His voice reeked of desperation and blood. "Don't trust anyone—"
BANG!
A bullet tore through the man's temple, bursting out the other side in a spray of crimson.
The hands gripping Gao Yang slackened. The man's terror-stricken expression froze in place, his bulging eyes glazed over with despair.
Two seconds later, the corpse collapsed.
Gao Yang stood paralyzed, his shoes soaking in the spreading pool of blood. The ringing in his ears faded, replaced by the deafening hammer of his own heartbeat—thump, thump, thumpthumpthump—
"You okay, kid?"
"Don't be scared, you're safe now!"
"Close your eyes—don't look down!"
Police swarmed in. One officer pulled Gao Yang into a hug, shielding his eyes.
The next day, the incident made local headlines: "Mentally Ill Patient Kills Two Nurses, Flees, and Is Shot Dead After Attacking High School Student."
Gao Yang took a day off to recover.
The trauma was real—watching a man's head get blown open wasn't something anyone could shrug off. But something about the "mentally ill patient" story nagged at him. Something didn't add up.
That night, Gao Yang took a sleeping pill.
And he dreamed.
Most of his host's pre-six-year-old memories had long since merged with his own, but fragments remained buried.
In the dream, he was four years old.
It was a summer night. He'd eaten too much watermelon and woke up needing to pee. As he passed his grandparents' room, he heard a strange, rustling noise.
Curious, he pressed his ear to the cold door.
The sound became clearer—and utterly alien.
It was like the whimper of a beast, or the mournful cry of a deep-sea creature. A twisted mix of agony and excitement, underscored by wet, ragged tearing.
Gao Yang's blood ran cold.
His kindergarten teacher had just read him Little Red Riding Hood. Was there a big bad wolf in the house, eating his grandparents?
Heart pounding, he pushed the door open a crack.
What he saw terrified him so badly he bolted back to bed, hiding under the covers—even forgetting to pee.
The next morning, he wet the bed.
He thought it had just been a nightmare—until his mother walked in, tears in her eyes, and hugged him tight. "Gao Yang," she sobbed, "Grandpa is gone."
When he followed her out, medical staff were carrying Grandpa's body away on a stretcher, covered in a white sheet. By the funeral, all that remained was an urn.
Neither Gao Yang nor his sister ever saw Grandpa's face one last time.
Now, looking back, things didn't make sense.
Grandpa had adored them. Why weren't they allowed to see him?
And if his memory was right, the shape under that white sheet… one of the arms had been missing.
Grandpa died of a heart attack. So why was there no arm?
In the dream, Gao Yang stared at the shrouded corpse, puzzled—
When suddenly, it sat up.
The sheet fell away, revealing the bloodied face of the mental patient. His eyes were hollowed out, black ooze pouring from every orifice. He seized Gao Yang's shoulders—
"Monsters! They're everywhere! Run!"
"Don't trust anyone!"
Gao Yang woke with a gasp.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains. It was 10 AM, and the city hummed outside.
"Bad dream?" His sister sat on the edge of his bed, tilting her head.
Gao Yang blinked. "Why are you in my room?"
She rolled her eyes. "Mom told me to wake you up. You've been sleeping forever!"
After she left, Gao Yang gulped down a glass of water, still shaken.
Then his phone buzzed.
He opened WeChat—
And spat out his water.