Instant noodles
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“Li Nuo, your brain MRI shows no abnormalities.”
“Hmm, should we run more tests?”
“We’ve done all the tests we can.”
“All right, then…”
“So, could you stop playing ‘spot the difference’ with your own brain scans?”
Following Dr. Xu’s words, Li Nuo gathered up the two MRI images covered in circles, looked up at the doctor, and said solemnly, “But I really think there’s something wrong with my head.”
“I’m glad you’ve realized that,” Dr. Xu said, taking a sip from his tea mug like some senior official. “I still remember when you were fifteen and convinced an old man suffering from constipation that ‘if you stuff something in and then squeeze it out, it means you’re cured.’ I suggested to your mother then that she should get you an appointment in psychiatry.”
Li Nuo remembered that old man. “Look on the bright side: at least after that, he started confronting his own sexual orientation with courage.”
Dr. Xu set his cup down, his face stern. “Trying to have a normal conversation with you is a mistake… All right, let’s be serious. What’s wrong with your head?”
Li Nuo replied, “I’ve been having dreams lately. Like a TV series. It’s been going on for a month.”
Dr. Xu’s expression turned odd. “Most people can’t even remember what they dream about each night.”
Li Nuo answered, “A month ago, I dreamt I was inside a video game. At first, I was a green-shelled turtle in Super Mario. Then Mario turned me into soup. The worst part was that plumber didn’t even eat me, just drank the soup and poured me down the drain. That’s when I realized Mario only drinks soup, not the meat—I was just a garnish.”
“Wait a second.” Dr. Xu pulled several walnuts out of his drawer, cracked one with his stethoscope, and gestured for Li Nuo to help himself.
Li Nuo’s profession was “comic artist”—his mind always teeming with wild ideas. Sometimes he’d come to Dr. Xu and narrate his comic plots just like this.
But today, what he said had really happened.
Li Nuo went on, “When I opened my eyes in the dream again, I was surrounded by mist. A group of nurses dressed very… boldly approached me, wanting to inject me.”
Dr. Xu said, “I know this one—Silent Hill.”
Li Nuo nodded. “Then I blasted them to bits with Kamehameha.”
Dr. Xu: “…”
Li Nuo: “I thought that was the end. I walked out of the mist, and a line of text appeared: ‘Welcome to Yharnam…’ In the Victorian era, having Kamehameha lets you do whatever you want.”
Dr. Xu handed over a piece of walnut. “Bloodborne. I’ve played it. Very enthusiastic game. But it’s got nothing to do with Dragon Ball-style energy blasts.”
Li Nuo nodded, crunching the walnut as he spoke. “Exactly. So, I drew my silver sword, turned into a Witcher, and after finally slaying a few werewolves, a 300-pound female sorceress jumped down from a gothic building and stomped me to death. My pelvis shattered. The pain woke me up… That was the fourth day.”
Dr. Xu said, “You dream about what you think about during the day. You must be playing too many games.”
“At first, I thought so too…” Li Nuo stared at the walnut in his hand with dead-fish eyes, helpless. “So on the fifth day, I spent the whole day watching ‘Two Girls, One Cup.’ Once I was sure my brain was full of crap, I went to sleep… But the sorceress sold me to pirates. I joined a brotherhood… They sent me to Sky City to assassinate Jing Ke… This kind of TV series went on for twenty-nine days.”
“Last night, I was in Hoenn catching 2B when suddenly a train rushed through the clouds and hit me.”
Li Nuo picked up a pen and drew a train on a piece of paper, narrating as he went:
“Inside the train, I heard a mechanical voice like a system prompt—‘Trailer has ended, thank you for watching. You have received a closed beta qualification and will board our train on April 11, 2030.’”
“After the open beta, your world will experience the Conjunction of Spheres. At that time…”
“Sorry, before that, please pass the newcomer screening.”
Ten days from now would be April 11, 2030.
“So if you never see me again, just assume I’ve traveled to another world. After all, I fit the criteria for transmigration perfectly.” Li Nuo pointed at his own face. “No parents, good-looking.”
As he spoke, he pulled a tissue from his pocket, tore off a piece, and dabbed his nose.
The tissue was stained red. He tossed it nonchalantly into the wastebasket.
Dr. Xu saw this without surprise.
A patient with a congenital immune deficiency—someone who could die from a common cold, living with death as a constant companion. This was the foundation of Li Nuo’s twenty years of life.
There were about 60,000 people nationwide with similar diseases.
Less than 5% made it to the age of 20.
As one of that five percent, recent checkups indicated that Li Nuo’s time was nearly up.
Normal people at this stage can hardly spare the energy to ponder dreams; their bodies won’t allow it, nor do they have the mood for it.
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But Li Nuo—he was a strange one.
He was twenty, a comic artist (or you could call him unemployed), full of odd habits. Not quite insane, but most of his quirks were beyond comprehension.
For instance, a few years ago, a high fever left him with a reading disorder.
So Li Nuo tried to learn fragmented memory techniques and developed the “bad habit” of looking at problems from multiple angles.
Because he lacked a sense of security, he also had a compulsion to collect information. If anything might affect his life, Li Nuo would spare no effort to gather data and prepare for any potential crisis.
Like that time a panty thief was operating near his home—Li Nuo learned how to make Molotov cocktails because of it.
Even after his reading disorder faded, he couldn’t shake these habits.
Dr. Xu had watched Li Nuo grow up and sometimes felt the world was lucky this kid was too sick to act on his ideas more often.
“Can we wrap up the dream talk now?” Dr. Xu asked.
Li Nuo shrugged. “Uncle Xu, that transition was a bit abrupt.”
Dr. Xu ignored him, staring at the computer screen.
Li Nuo’s lab results were displayed there.
“Instead of worrying about strange dreams, you should focus on real problems. Your physical indicators are concerning. You need a thorough checkup. Hospitalization, Li Nuo.”
“Sorry, I want to die at home.” Li Nuo’s answer was calm. “Uncle Xu, people can sense when their end is near. I can’t explain it, but I feel my time is almost up.”
Dr. Xu said, “Your illness can wait for a bone marrow transplant. Once we find a match, our Cairo Hospital has the capacity for the procedure.”
“Do I have money?” Li Nuo asked.
Dr. Xu fell silent. “We could try crowdfunding.”
“Best of luck.” Li Nuo picked up the cane leaning against his leg and, supporting his shaky frame, limped out of the consulting room.
Dr. Xu gazed at the closed door, took a quiet sip of tea.
“Feels like he came to say goodbye, knowing he’s almost done for… This kid…”
Whatever others thought, Li Nuo had genuinely come to the hospital today because of the dream.
Since the nightmare “TV series” began, Li Nuo had been searching for information, preparing for either transmigration or death.
On certain private forums, others had mentioned similar dreams.
Apart from differences in dream content, all involved the fusion of video game worlds.
For example: sealing the demon gate in Raccoon City (Resident Evil + Devil May Cry); hunting ghosts in the Wild West (Red Dead Redemption + Fatal Frame); delivering packages in Gotham (Batman + Death Stranding); battling eight gyms in the world of Monster Hunter (Monster Hunter + Pokémon).
The only constant: the final scene always froze inside a train.
Yet these posts all abruptly ended, like pranks. The posters’ IPs could be traced, but none could be contacted; all traces vanished like torn diary pages, with only a past, no future—as if they’d evaporated from the world.
“Ruling out scientific causes and coincidences, the only possibility left is the supernatural.”
After returning home, Li Nuo sat at his computer, staring into the faintly glowing screen. He dropped his head slightly, left hand supporting his right elbow, right index finger pressed between his brows, sliding down along his nose.
“The only useful clue is that it’s game-related. The best preparation is to get familiar with games. So far, they’ve all been big titles or classics. I can’t rule out the appearance of flash games, but the range is too broad. I need a screening plan…”
Li Nuo took out the thermometer tucked under his arm: 38.2°C.
“Not bad, not too high.”
He set the thermometer aside, planning to eat something before taking his medication, then figure out his next steps.
There were still ten days until the ultimatum date in his dream: April 11th.
What can I do…
Leaning on his cane, Li Nuo went to the kitchen, took instant noodles from the pantry, poured in boiling water, and carried the bowl back to his desk, ready to strategize while eating.
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The straight line from his kitchen door to his desk was five meters.
With just one meter left to go,
Li Nuo slipped.
The back of his head struck the corner of the desk, dead center.
A dull “thud” resounded in his brain, and as darkness swallowed his vision, his last heartbeat ceased.
When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at his own corpse.
Li Nuo was completely stunned. He could no longer feel his body, like a ghost, but his mind was still there.
—I’m dead…
—After twenty years of illness, I end up dying like a gag manga character?
—How anticlimactic!
Li Nuo couldn’t make sense of it, nor could he understand what was happening.
Just then, he heard the wind pouring into the room, smelled the acrid scent of burning gas, and saw a train track stretching through the window, grafted right in front of him.
—“Woooo.”
As the whistle of a steam engine reached his ears,
The rumble of a train followed. A steam-belching locomotive crashed through the window, barreling along the track, and struck Li Nuo.
[Collecting memory fragments]
[Li Nuo…]
[From “Cairo Game World”]
[Should board on April 11th, entered ten days early, no special abilities]
[No special abilities]
[No special…]
[None…]
[Found talent: Identity “Low Blood”]
[Health level below normal range]
[Due to unique identity, 26%~37% of reward items will be related to “low health”]
[Primary function of current identity cannot yet be activated]
[This train’s final stop: “Endless Corridor”]
[Passing through “Newcomer Screening” task site]
[Confirming your personal stats… Matching you to a suitable Newcomer Screening]
[Located—You must complete the Newcomer Screening to officially become a player. Succeed, and you’ll be revived; fail, and you’ll remain dead]
[Your task: Escape the Abandoned House. Difficulty: D. Participants: 5. Team survival. Time limit: 1 hour]
Li Nuo opened his eyes and found himself sitting in an empty train car.
[You will begin a new life]
[You will journey to a new world]
[You will open up a new future]
[May your travels be pleasant]