A mirror sat in the corner of the wall, cracked down the middle.
Ryan looked up at his reflection.
Pale.
Emaciated.
Dark circles under his eyes.
His lips were completely devoid of color, making him look like a man on the brink of death.
The only anomaly lay in his eyes.
As the light of the kerosene lamp caught them, a faint, golden afterimage flickered deep within, as if something had not yet entirely faded.
Ryan stared into the mirror for a few seconds before finally turning away.
He did not want to look at his own eyes right now.
He had a lingering feeling that if he kept staring, something terrible would happen.
After washing up, he recounted the money he had left.
Six shillings.
Along with the laudanum, this was his entire net worth.
Ryan tucked the coins back into the deepest corner of the drawer, then retrieved the small brown bottle from his pocket.
Under the glow of the kerosene lamp, the laudanum shimmered with a deep brown luster.
He pulled out the cork, and a sweet yet bitter aroma immediately drifted out.
It smelled a bit like alcohol, mixed with an indescribable herbal scent.
Ryan recalled Harvey's words.
“Fifteen drops at a time.”
He searched around for a long time.
In the end, he had to use an old teaspoon as a makeshift measuring tool, slowly pouring a small amount into it.
The deep brown liquid flowed sluggishly.
Ryan stared at it for a couple of seconds, then swallowed it in one gulp.
It did not taste terrible—it was actually somewhat sweet—but the moment he swallowed, a burning warmth spread down his throat.
A few minutes later, the effects of the drug began to kick in.
The tearing pain in his chest finally eased, his head grew heavy, and a wave of exhaustion washed over him like a rising tide.
Ryan leaned against the side of the bed, slowly exhaling. He could finally breathe a bit more easily.
Outside the window, the distant sounds of carriages and chiming bells could still be heard.
Someone was arguing downstairs, and the baby next door began to cry again, but these sounds gradually drifted away.
The laudanum made the entire world feel as if it were separated from him by a thick veil.
Blurry.
Sluggish.
Warm.
Ryan lay down on the bed, the worn-out mattress creaking softly beneath him.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, half-wondering if he had already gone mad.
But soon, the drug slowed his thoughts to a crawl.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and his consciousness began to slip away.
Finally, Ryan closed his eyes.
...
...
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing under the sun.
It was not the gray, overcast sky of London, but true, bright, warm sunshine.
There was no smell of coal smoke in the air, nor any scent of dampness and rot.
Only the fragrance of the wind blowing across a grassy field.
Ryan froze. Looking down, he saw that he was wearing clean clothes, and his hands were no longer terrifyingly emaciated.
There was no pain in his chest, and breathing felt incredibly effortless.
He walked forward slowly. Before him lay a vast meadow.
A river wound in the distance, and the sky was a brilliant, clear blue.
Sunlight danced upon the water's surface, scattering glittering golden light.
And the wind.
A warm breeze.
Ryan could not remember the last time he had felt such weather.
He stood frozen, almost afraid to move.
Just then, a laugh echoed from the distance.
Very soft.
Very gentle.
Ryan slowly turned around.
He saw a blurry figure standing in the sunlight.
He could not make out her face.
He could only see the hem of her white dress swaying gently in the breeze.
She was smiling at him.
The smile brought an inexplicable sense of peace.
No hunger.
No illness.
No thick fog of the London East End that never seemed to clear.
No basement.
No lung disease.
Nothing at all.
Only the sunshine.
The grass.
And a peace so long forgotten that it made his nose tingle with unshed tears.
Ryan stood there dazed.
Suddenly, he did not want to wake up.
Ryan stood on the grass.
The breeze was light.
The feeling of the sun on his skin was so real it did not feel like a dream.
He took a few slow steps forward.
A familiar voice suddenly sounded in his ear.
“Lin Yuan!”
In that instant, Ryan froze completely.
It had been so long since anyone had called him by that name—so long that he had almost forgotten it. The mere span of a few days felt like years.
He slowly turned his head. A woman was standing in the distance.
Dressed in a simple, light-colored dress, she stood beneath the shade of a tree, waving to him.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling her shoulders.
Her face finally came into focus.
Ryan's breath caught.
“Mom...”
His voice trembled slightly as the word left his lips.
The woman smiled.
“What are you standing there for?”
“Dinner is getting cold.”
The sound of a spatula clattering against a wok drifted from the nearby courtyard.
The aroma of cooking food filled the air—very ordinary dishes.
Tomato and scrambled eggs.
Stewed ribs.
Steamed rice.
They were all the most mundane, home-cooked meals.
Yet Ryan—no, Lin Yuan—suddenly felt his nose grow warm.
He had not smelled anything like this in far too long.
It wasn't the cheap, watery soup of the London streets, nor the moldy black bread. It was the smell of a real "home."
The courtyard was peaceful, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
In the distance, the sounds of children playing ball could be heard.
The wind rustled the clothes drying on the balcony, and the faint murmur of a news broadcast drifted from a television.
All of this was so ordinary, even mundane. Yet it was precisely because of this ordinariness that it made him want to weep.
Lin Yuan walked over slowly, his steps quickening until he was almost running, rushing into the courtyard as if fleeing from something.
He was suddenly terrified that all of this would vanish in the next second.
“Why are you running?”
His mother was startled by him.
“You're a grown-up now.”
Lin Yuan opened his mouth, but found himself unable to utter a single word, his chest incredibly tight.
He could only stare intently at the woman before him, as if she would disappear the moment he looked away.
“What's wrong?”
She finally sensed that something was amiss.
She reached out and touched his forehead.
“You look so pale. Did you stay up late at school again?”
The moment her warm hand touched his forehead, Lin Yuan's eyes welled with tears.
He lowered his head, biting his lip hard.
The emotions he had suppressed for so long suddenly surged to the surface.
The terror of transmigration.
The lung disease.
The crushing poverty.
The endless, suffocating fog of the London East End.
And the constant, maddening pressure of losing his mind.
It all shattered in this very moment.
“Mom...”
His voice was incredibly hoarse.
“I'm so tired.”
His mother paused.
Then, she let out a gentle sigh.
“If you're tired, then rest.”
“The sky isn't going to fall.”
She gently patted his back, just as she had when he was a child.
“Let's eat first.”
“Don't worry about anything else.”
Lin Yuan kept his head down.
Tears spilled from his eyes, completely out of his control. He had not cried in a very long time.
Or rather, in that freezing, cruel world of London, he didn't dare to cry.
Because crying was pointless. No one cared.
The cold basements wouldn't cut you any slack just because you broke down.
The landlord wouldn't lower the rent because you were suffering.
And the lung disease wouldn't stop ravaging your body just because you were afraid.
Over there, simply staying alive took every ounce of strength he had.
Yet here, a simple "Let's eat first" nearly broke him completely.
“You silly child,” his mother said with a helpless smile, “what on earth is wrong?”
Lin Yuan shook his head vigorously.
He didn't dare say it, nor could he find the words.
How could he tell her that he had transmigrated to nineteenth-century London?
That he was on the verge of dying of illness every single day?
That strange, bizarre knowledge was starting to take root in his mind?
No one would believe him. Even he found it utterly absurd.
The wind in the courtyard blew gently as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon.
The steam from the dishes rose slowly. The warm, quiet atmosphere made Lin Yuan almost forget who he was.
Until—a bell suddenly tolled in the distance.
Dong—
Dong—
The sound was deep and icy cold.
Exactly like the church bells of London.
The sunlight in the courtyard suddenly dimmed.
Lin Yuan's body stiffened.
In the next second, the entire world began to blur.
His mother's voice grew more and more distant.
The wind died down.
The sky faded, slowly turning gray.
“Wait—”
Lin Yuan lunged forward, reaching out.
But everything before him was already beginning to shatter.
The courtyard.
The sunset.
The food.
All of it dissolved rapidly, like paint washed away by water.
Until finally, only her fading voice remained in the distance.
“Remember to eat your meals on time...”
...
...
Ryan snapped his eyes open.
“Haaah—!”
He gasped for air, panting heavily.
His chest throbbed with a sharp, agonizing pain.
The dull, gray light of dawn was filtering through the attic window.
It was raining outside.
The rapid pattering of rain against the glass filled the room, and cold, damp air rushed back into his lungs.
Ryan stared blankly at the ceiling.
A long time passed.
Only then did he slowly raise a hand to touch his face. It was drenched in tears, and a large patch of his pillow was soaked.
He sat in silence for a long time.
Until footsteps echoed from next door.
Until the shouting matches resumed downstairs.
Until the rumble of carriages and the morning bells sounded in the distance.
Only then did Ryan slowly lower his head. The dream was over.
This was not his home, and he was no longer Lin Yuan.
He was now just a dying archive clerk in the East End of London.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.
An unknown amount of time passed.
He finally took a deep breath of the freezing air and slowly stood up.
Rate on N.U.
