Lord of Mysteries

Ouch! It hurts so much ! My head hurts so much! The bizarre, whispering dream shattered rapidly. Zhou Mingrui, fast asleep, felt an intense, throbbing pain in his head, as if he'd been struck hard with a stick—no, more like a sharp object piercing his temples and stirring! Hiss… In his hazy state, Zhou Mingrui tried to turn over, to cover his head, to sit up, but he couldn't move his limbs at all; his body seemed to have lost control. It seems I'm not truly awake yet, still dreaming… Later, I might even think I'm awake when I'm actually still asleep… Zhou Mingrui, not unfamiliar with similar experiences, tried his best to concentrate, to completely break free from the shackles of darkness and illusion. However, in this half-asleep, half-awake state, his will always drifted like smoke, difficult to control, difficult to gather. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander, and random ideas surface. Why, in the middle of the night, do I suddenly have a headache? And it hurts so badly! Could it be a stroke or something? "Damn it, am I going to die young like this? Wake up! Wake up! " Hmm, it doesn't hurt as much as before? But it still feels like a dull knife is slowly cutting into my head… Looks like I can't sleep anymore. How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow? Why even think about work? With a real headache, of course I should take a day off! No need to worry about the manager's nagging! Thinking about it that way, it doesn't seem so bad, hehe, stealing a half-day of leisure! Waves of throbbing pain gradually built up Zhou Mingrui's illusory strength. Finally, he straightened his back and opened his eyes, completely shaking off his half-asleep state. His vision was blurry at first, then veiled by a faint blush. Before him was a wooden desk, with an open notebook in the center. The paper was rough and yellowed, and a sentence was written in strange alphabetic script, the ink deep and vivid. To the left of the notebook, near the edge of the table, lay a neat stack of books, about seven or eight in total. To their right, on the wall, were embedded gray-white pipes and a wall lamp connected to them. This lamp, with its Western classical style, was about half the size of an adult's head, with a transparent glass inner layer and a black metal grid surrounding it. Below the extinguished lamp, a black ink bottle was bathed in a pale red glow, its embossed surface forming a blurry angel pattern. Before the ink bottle, to the right of the notebook, a dark-colored fountain pen with a rounded belly rested quietly, its nib gleaming faintly. The cap rested beside a brass-colored revolver. A pistol? A revolver? Zhou Mingrui was completely stunned. The things before him were so unfamiliar, bearing no resemblance whatsoever to his own room! In his astonishment and bewilderment, he noticed that the desk, notebook, ink bottle, and revolver were all veiled in a crimson "gauze"—the light streaming in from the window. Instinctively, he raised his head, his gaze slowly moving upwards: in mid-air, above the black "velvet curtain," a crimson full moon hung high, serenely shining. This… Zhou Mingrui was filled with dread. He abruptly stood up, but before his legs were fully straightened, a throbbing pain shot through his head, causing him to momentarily lose his strength. His center of gravity involuntarily shifted, and his buttocks slammed hard against the hardwood chair. Thud! The pain had no effect. Zhou Mingrui pressed his hand against the table, stood up again, and frantically turned around to survey his surroundings. It was a small room with brown doors on either side. Against the opposite wall was a wooden bunk bed. Between it and the left door was a cabinet, opening in two at the top and five drawers below. At about a person's height, along the edge of the cabinet, grayish-white pipes were embedded in the wall, connecting to a strange mechanical device, with gears and bearings exposed in some places. Near the right corner of the wall, close to the desk, were piled what looked like a coal stove, as well as soup pots, iron pots, and other kitchen utensils. Beyond the right door was a full-length mirror with two cracks, its wooden base bearing simple, unadorned patterns. A quick glance revealed Zhou Mingrui's vague reflection: black hair, brown eyes, a linen shirt, a slender build, ordinary features, and a somewhat deep profile… This… Zhou Mingrui gasped, a flurry of helpless and chaotic speculations flooding his mind. The revolver, the classically styled European and American decor, and that crimson moon so different from Earth's—all pointed to something! Could I have transmigrated? Zhou Mingrui's mouth agape. He grew up reading online novels and often fantasized about this, but now that it was actually happening, he found it hard to accept. This was probably what they called "Ye Gong's love of dragons" (a Chinese idiom for someone who professes to love something but is actually afraid of it), right? After a few seconds, Zhou Mingrui bitterly mocked himself. If it weren't for the lingering headache, which kept his thoughts sharp and clear, he would have definitely thought he was dreaming. Calm, calm, calm… He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Just then, as his mind and body adjusted, fragments of memories suddenly surfaced, slowly appearing in his mind! Klein Moretti, a native of Tingen City, Ahova County, Kingdom of Rune in the Northern Continent, is a recent graduate of the History Department at Hoy University… His father was a Royal Army sergeant who died in the colonial conflict of the Southern Continent. The pension he received allowed Klein to attend a private grammar school, laying the foundation for his university entrance exam… His mother was a follower of the Goddess of Night and passed away the year Klein passed the entrance exam for Hoy University… He has an older brother and a younger sister, who live together in a two-bedroom apartment… The family is not wealthy, in fact, they are struggling financially, currently relying entirely on his brother, who works as a clerk in an import-export company… As a history graduate, Klein has mastered the ancient Fusak language, known as the source of the writing systems of the Northern Continent, as well as Hermes, a script frequently found in ancient tombs and associated with sacrifices and prayers… Hermes? Zhou Mingrui's heart skipped a beat. He pressed his throbbing temples and turned his gaze to the notebook open on the desk. The words on the yellowed paper seemed to change from strange to unfamiliar, then to familiar, and finally to decipherable. It was written in Hermes! The deep, dark ink seemed to say: "Everyone will die, including me." A chill ran down Zhou Mingrui's spine. He instinctively leaned back, trying to distance himself from the notebook and the words. He was weak and nearly fell, hastily grabbing the edge of the desk. He felt the air around him become restless, and faint whispers echoed in his ears, a feeling reminiscent of hearing terrifying stories from his elders as a child. Shaking his head, he realized it was all an illusion. Zhou Mingrui steadied himself, looked away from the notebook, and gasped for breath. Then, his gaze fell on the gleaming brass revolver, and a question suddenly popped into his head. "Given Klein's family background, where would he get the money and connections to buy a handgun?" Zhou Mingrui frowned. Lost in thought, he suddenly noticed a half-red handprint on the edge of the desk, its color deeper than the moonlight and thicker than the "veil." It was a bloody handprint! "A bloody handprint?" Zhou Mingrui instinctively flipped over his right hand, which had been pressing against the edge of the desk, and looked down to see his palm and fingers covered in blood. At the same time, the throbbing pain in his head continued, slightly lessened but persistent. "Did I hit my head?" Zhou Mingrui wondered as he turned and walked towards the cracked full-length mirror. A few steps later, a figure of medium build, with black hair and brown eyes, and a distinctly scholarly air, came into clear view. This is me now, Klein Moretti? Zhou Mingrui paused, but because it was late at night and the light was dim, he couldn't see clearly, so he continued forward until he was just one step away from bumping into the mirror. In the crimson moonlight, he turned his head to check his forehead. The mirror, reflecting clearly, showed a gruesome wound looming over his temple, its edges marked with burns and surrounded by blood.