He was already preparing to go back and get all sorts of weapons ready—knives, alcohol for ignition, strong pepper spray, and so on—after all, it was better than having nothing at all.

Everything, anything that could be of help, should be put to use.

He also needed to prepare food and drinks, in case he managed to escape that monster with the human face but remained trapped in a dead end and couldn’t get out, he’d still need to replenish his nutrition.

And there was the cassette player—he probably entered the dead end before by playing music on that tape.

So, after going back, the first thing was to put that away safely.

Besides...

‘That’s right!’ Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him.

‘The pattern on the back of my hand! That pattern looks mysterious, maybe it can help me!’

A glimmer of hope quickly rose in William Thompson’s heart.

He raised his hand, but there was nothing visible on the back of it; the pattern could only be seen reflected in a mirror.

He quickly walked to the display window of a clothing store, and using the reflection, looked at the back of his hand.

At this moment, the writing on the back of his hand had already disappeared, returning to the previous black pattern.

‘So, how do I use this thing? What’s it for?’

Looking at the black pattern on the back of his hand, William Thompson thought of an idea. He turned on his phone’s camera and pointed it at the back of his hand.

Sure enough, on the phone screen, he could clearly see the black pattern on the back of his hand.

It was a cluster of small black flowers forming a patch of floral design.

They seemed to sway in the wind, the whole posture slightly tilted. It also looked like black flames burning, flickering and deep.

‘Maybe there’s some trick to it?’ William Thompson stared at the black pattern and reached out to gently touch it, but his fingertips couldn’t feel anything at all, as if the pattern didn’t exist.

‘Can’t wait any longer, the more time I waste, the less I have. Better get the other things ready first!’

With no idea what use the pattern had, William Thompson quickly turned around and jogged toward the bus stop.

He needed to get everything he needed as quickly as possible.

Even though that middle-aged man said weapons and such were useless, he was just a stranger—his words couldn’t be fully trusted.

Without any delay, he got on the bus. This time, nothing went wrong, and before it got completely dark, he was back at the entrance of his own Xingfu Community.

He didn’t go home right away. Instead, he walked along the road outside the community to a chain supermarket by the roadside and started buying up long-lasting food in bulk.

Compressed biscuits, jerky, bottled water—he bought a big bag, packed full.

He also bought a folding fruit knife, a pointed kitchen knife for cutting meat, several windproof lighters, and some filter masks.

Faced with a threat to his life, William Thompson unleashed a thousand percent of his efficiency, finishing all his preparations in just half an hour.

Then he used his phone to check for anything he might have missed.

Finally, he picked up a small first-aid kit from a pharmacy next to the supermarket.

Everything was ready.

By then, it was 7:40 in the evening.

Carrying bags in both hands, William Thompson entered the community, glanced up at the window of his fifth-floor apartment—no lights.

Only then did he quickly enter the building and press the elevator button to go upstairs.

While waiting for the elevator, he was still pondering the use of the black pattern on the back of his right hand.

‘Surely, before me, others have made the same preparations. If such ordinary, simple preparations were enough to survive the dead end, then people online wouldn’t be so pessimistic. So...’

William Thompson had a feeling that his real hope of survival might lie in the pattern on the back of his hand.

But as for how to unlock its function, he was completely clueless.

Ding.

The elevator arrived on the first floor.

The doors slowly parted, revealing a dim, somewhat shabby space inside.

William Thompson was about to step in, but as he looked at the faint, gloomy light, he hesitated, a vague sense of dread rising in his heart.

He paused for a moment, but in the end, he pulled his leg back, turned around, and chose to rush up the stairs with his things instead.

He dashed up to the fourth floor in one go. Luckily, he often exercised by running; otherwise, carrying more than ten kilos of stuff and running up four flights of stairs so quickly would have left most people gasping for breath.

He took out his keys and opened the door—no one was home.

The three-bedroom apartment was shrouded in darkness, with only a sliver of moonlight and the glow from the neighbor’s window shining into the living room.

Whew.

William Thompson exhaled deeply, set the big bag down on the living room floor, and changed his shoes as he entered.

As soon as he walked in, he noticed faint, dirty footprints left on the floor.

Clearly, someone had entered the house without changing their shoes.

‘Was it Henry Thompson’s guest?’ he wondered.

He found a place to sit, took a sip of water, and once again picked up his phone to use the camera to carefully study the pattern on the back of his right hand.

‘Maybe it needs some kind of incantation?’

He started muttering all sorts of random incantations at the pattern.

Things like “Open Sesame,” “Ali Baba,” and all sorts of nonsense incantations—he tried them all, but the range was too broad, and nothing happened.

‘Maybe it needs a drop of blood to recognize its master?’ The logic from all those novels in his previous life influenced William Thompson’s thinking again.

He gritted his teeth, took a small knife from the kitchen, and gently pricked the tip of his finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the black pattern.

Unfortunately, it still didn’t work.

‘Could it be that I need to trace it with a pen?’ he suddenly thought.