The music from just now had already faded away, and now, in the headphones, only a faint electric current noise remained.

Frowning, he picked up the device and shook it, but the music still didn’t return.

William Thompson took off the headphones and glanced around the bedroom.

At some point, the streetlights outside the window had gone out, leaving only pitch darkness.

There wasn’t much furniture in the bedroom; paired with the white walls, it felt a bit cold and empty.

A wardrobe, a desk, a storage cabinet, two high-backed metal chairs placed askew with two backpacks hanging from them, and a pair of white plastic slippers with their toes facing each other.

Other than these, there was nothing else.

‘I keep feeling like something’s not quite right.’

William Thompson furrowed his brow, a subtle sense of unease welling up inside.

He had slept in this room for many years in his previous life, and was familiar with every corner, but now...

‘Could it be that nothing happened to the previous owner for over twenty years, but as soon as I arrive, something goes wrong?’

He looked around once more, his gaze slowly coming to rest on the door to the room.

The door was open!

A chill crept into his heart.

He was sure he had locked it before getting into bed!

But now, the door was ajar.

In the darkness outside, he could vaguely make out a human-shaped shadow crouching at the doorway, peeking inside.

In the darkness, William Thompson felt his hair stand on end, his eyes fixed tightly on the crack in the door.

Outside that finger-width gap, he couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a hallucination, but it seemed as if a black eye was staring straight through the crack at the bed—at him, sitting on the bed.

Creak.

A cold wind blew into the room through the door crack.

The bedroom door, pushed by the airflow, opened a little wider.

A faint cold sweat broke out all over William Thompson, and his vision blurred slightly.

When he looked carefully again, he saw only darkness at the door crack—no eye, no shadow.

It seemed everything just now had been his imagination.

He paused for a moment, sitting quietly on the bed without making a sound.

He waited several minutes, until his body was no longer overly tense, then slowly relaxed his breathing, quietly slipped on his slippers, and got out of bed.

Taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, he calmed himself. He gently gripped the metal baseball bat standing between the headboard and the wardrobe.

That was something the previous owner had bought specifically for self-defense.

The cold bat, with its solid feel, brought him a bit of reassurance.

Silently lifting the bat, he began to move, stepping around to the back of the door, out of sight from the crack.

Standing behind the door, from this angle, he could see the window and the night scene outside the gap in the curtains.

But what startled William Thompson was that, with just a glance from the corner of his eye, he saw that outside the curtain gap, there was still only pitch black—nothing at all.

‘A hallucination? Am I dreaming??’

His throat felt dry; he swallowed, gripping the bat with one hand and slowly reaching for the doorknob with the other.

Whoosh!

Suddenly, he yanked the door open.

Turning to face the space beyond the open door, he raised the bat high, ready to strike down.

------------

002 Confusion II

The bat froze, suspended in midair.

William Thompson stared in astonishment at everything before him, momentarily unsure how to react.

In front of him—

Was a vast, dimly lit parking lot.

A square, empty space with not a single car, like a sealed long box, illuminated only by dim lights on the ground.

The lights were a ghastly white, of two types.

One, on the right, was a long strip fixed to the black ceiling, stretching off into the distant darkness.

The other, on the left, was a meter-long segment light; every ten meters or so, one hung horizontally from the ceiling, one after another, also extending into the distant darkness.

The black, slightly reflective floor was tinged white by the lights, and faint white parking lines could be seen.

‘What the hell? Am I dreaming?’ William Thompson gently lowered the bat and pinched his thigh hard.

A sharp pain shot through his body, snapping him awake.

‘Doesn’t seem like a dream.’ He quickly realized.

After all, he’d already transmigrated—what’s a little more weirdness?

Taking a deep breath—in, out—he managed to calm his expression a bit.

Standing at the doorway, he paused.

‘First, I need to confirm if this is a dream.’

He picked up the bat, brought it close to his face, and carefully examined its texture up close.

The surface of the bat had tiny, smooth rust spots; the silver paint reflected the distant lights.

In the middle was an engraved scroll-like pattern, with a line of small characters inside: 生命在于痛击.

Below the small characters was the brand: 必加运动. Further down were two neat, identical letters representing the company.

‘Dreams never have details this vivid!’

William Thompson felt a chill in his heart, gripping the bat’s anti-slip handle tightly; the dense texture felt rough in his hand, confirming once again that this was no dream.

From his experience, to tell if he was dreaming, he just needed to observe the details—flaws would always show.

Dreams were always blurry in the details.

But now...

Standing at the doorway, he took a deep breath, looking at the parking lot outside, with no desire to step out.

Instinctively, he took a step back, wanting to retreat into the room and close the door.

‘Maybe if I close the door and open it again, things will go back to normal.’