Luo Yang knelt on the water, his knees submerged in the shallow azure. The temperature was neither cold nor hot. He stared at the face in the reflection—the plain glass spectacles perched on his nose, the hair a bit longer than it had been on Earth, and the color slightly different.
He had looked at this face for eighteen years, perhaps even longer than the one he’d had on Earth.
“The way back?”
His lips moved on their own.
He wasn’t sure who he was saying this to, nor why he was asking such a thing now. That old face had already dissipated into the depths; now, only he remained.
“The way back...”
His voice drifted through the windless space above the Sea of Consciousness. There was no echo, and it didn't even bother to stir a single ripple.
His thoughts were a complete blank.
He rolled those few words around in his mouth again, his voice growing fainter. The hands supporting his body gradually lost their strength, and without warning, he collapsed toward the water’s surface.
He thought he would sink, that he would be swallowed by this azure ocean, but the surface held him. It was like leaning back in a bathtub as a child—the water would rise from behind, cradling his shoulders and the back of his head.
Warmth spread from his back through his entire spine, then branched out into his limbs. The water pressed against his ears, filling the shallow grooves of his auricles and sealing out all external sound.
He closed his eyes at the final moment before exhaustion swept over his consciousness.
Darkness claimed every sense, leaving only the sound of waves to fill his ear canals and pour into the deepest corners of his mind.
...
When he woke again, the azure water was still beneath his feet.
Luo Yang sat where he was. The ripples beneath his knees were motionless, reflecting his own image.
He looked around.
The golden tree was gone. The water’s surface was clean and empty; there was nothing but himself.
Was this a dream within a dream, or something else...
Before he could wonder where the tree had gone, a sudden warmth touched his back.
Someone was leaning against him. Their heads were almost touching, and their shoulder blades pressed against each other through their clothes.
Luo Yang didn’t turn around; he didn't even move. The moment his consciousness touched that warmth, it automatically made a judgment. He didn't need his eyes to confirm who it was; it was a realization more certain than sight.
Just as one doesn't need to check how many fingers they have, this was an established fact.
Two eighteen-year-old boys sat back-to-back on the water, their posture as casual as if they were cooling off on the steps of their own front door.
“Not bad,” a voice said from behind him, tinged with a smile.
The voice was almost identical to his own, yet there was a subtle difference.
“Looks like life after transmigrating is quite exciting.”
Luo Yang froze for a beat, his mouth moving before his brain could catch up.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s okay?” The person behind him laughed heartily. “You call a life where you’re constantly living on the edge, fighting for your life against those freaks, ‘okay’?”
“...It’s not like that every day.”
“Give me a break.”
The other “Luo Yang” leaned his back against him further. The sensation of bone pressing against bone was so real it was almost painful.
“Let me ask another way: what’s it like having superpowers? Is it a thrill?”
Luo Yang thought about it. He thought for several seconds, even reaching out to touch his fingers halfway through. There was nothing there; his space ring wasn't in this place.
“I’m used to it.”
“Hmm?”
“Once you’re used to it, you don’t really feel that much excitement or thrill. Superpowers... at first, they’re novel, but later you realize they’re just like breathing. If you have them, you have them; if you don’t, you don’t. But whether you have them or not, life has to go on.”
The person behind him was silent for two seconds.
“...You’ve changed a lot.”
“What?”
“The version of me in my memory isn't this dead-inside.”
Luo Yang didn't respond.
“Are you unhappy?” the other “Luo Yang” asked softly.
“It’s not that I’m unhappy.” Luo Yang rested his hands on his knees, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his pants. The water was unnervingly calm, not even a single bubble rising. “I just feel like...”
His lips moved, and he paused for a moment before continuing.
“This place... doesn't belong to me.”
The warmth behind him didn't change. The other “Luo Yang” remained silent, waiting for him to go on.
“Ever since I arrived in this world, I’ve subconsciously felt that this isn't where I belong. I’m just an outsider. Everything in this world, and even the current me, is actually borrowed. The name is borrowed, the identity is borrowed, and the relationships are borrowed.”
He paused.
“Sometimes I wonder if any of this is real. This bizarre world... could it just be a particularly long dream? What if I wake up one day and all these people, all these things, are just gone?”
“To be honest, I’m really afraid of that. I’m afraid that all the sincerity I’ve given will turn out to be nothing but a complete void in the end.”
His voice was almost inaudible by the end, completely absorbed by the windless void.
The silence lasted a long time, long enough that Luo Yang thought the other wouldn't speak.
“You really are something,” the other “Luo Yang” finally spoke. The playfulness was gone, replaced by something very sharp. “Since when did you become such a coward?”
Luo Yang’s shoulders tensed.
“A coward?”
“Listen to what you just said. Doesn't it sound like you’re looking for an escape route?”
“All that ‘this isn't where I belong’ and ‘everything is borrowed’—are you summarizing your life of a mere eighteen years? You’re actually just hiding. You’re hiding behind the shell of being an ‘outsider,’ labeling yourself as ‘going with the flow’ so you can comfortably escape your true impulses.”
Luo Yang opened his mouth to speak.
“Don't be so quick to argue.” The other “Luo Yang’s” voice rose, as if sparked by anger. “You’ve lived in this world for eighteen years. Eighteen years, do you understand? You’ve walked this ground, drunk this water, and eaten this food. You went to school here and fought on the battlefield here. You’ve made friends, you have attachments, and you even—”
He paused. “...Let’s not mention that for now.”
“Everything that happened in these eighteen years, every single thing you did with your own hands, every person who walked beside you—which one of them isn't real? Were the times you fell fake? Was the blood you shed fake? When you fought until you were covered in wounds in South City, nearly losing your life in the South City Industrial Park—was that fake too?”
Luo Yang’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You are you. You are the Luo Yang who lived his life in this world. Everything you’ve experienced is proof of your true existence here. Just because you have a memory that doesn't belong here, are you going to negate eighteen years of your life?”
“Of course not,” Luo Yang replied quickly and firmly, as if a nerve had been touched.
“But you always put on this fearless act, always thinking ‘whatever happens, happens,’ yet you know exactly what you want deep down. Since you’ve already transmigrated, what is there to stop you from living an unprecedented, more magnificent life?!”
“You are me, and I am you. I know what’s in your heart. You want to get stronger, you want to see further horizons, you want to know what this transmigration is all about, and you want to uncover the secrets hidden in the depths of this world. And like many guys your age, you’re waiting for a romance of your own, longing to write a story that belongs only to you.”
“Now that the mystery of transmigration hasn't been solved, and you haven't become the strongest in this other world like some novel protagonist, are you just going to stay huddled in that ‘outsider’ shell and wander aimlessly through this world for the rest of your life?”
The other “Luo Yang” took a breath, as if dumping out everything he’d been holding back.
“Since you’ve come to this world, stop thinking about the way back.”
“Live through the things you’ve already experienced once more, and taste everything you haven't yet. Whether it’s happiness or pain, it all counts.”
The air above the water changed.
The other “Luo Yang” stood up from behind him.
Luo Yang felt the warmth vanish from his back, replaced by a breeze that had appeared from nowhere above the Sea of Consciousness. The wind wasn't strong; it was cool, with a faint hint of saltiness.
He stood up as well.
The two finally stood face-to-face.
The other “Luo Yang” stood before him. His short black hair was a bit messy, and he was dressed casually, radiating an irrepressible vitality.
That face was rounder than the one he currently possessed, and the eyes were brighter. It truly seemed like someone who hadn't been worn down by major hardships—like a freshly charged flashlight, finding interest in whatever it shone upon.
The other “Luo Yang” extended his right hand, his index finger pointing straight at Luo Yang’s chest.
The fingernail on that finger was trimmed short, with a slight callus on the edge from grinding against a keyboard.
“After all, you said it yourself—”
“A hero can’t run away at the critical moment.”
He looked up, his lips curling into a sharp, reckless, and uninhibited grin that belonged only to youth.
Then, he shouted at the top of his lungs:
“Go! Go master your destiny!”
The voice exploded over the Sea of Consciousness. The water beneath their feet trembled, and ripples spread outward from between them in all directions, circle after circle, racing toward the invisible distance.
Luo Yang looked at the finger pointing at him, at the face that once belonged to him, and at the eyes that were an entire level brighter than his current ones.
The corners of his mouth lifted uncontrollably. He tried to press it down, but he couldn't.
He blinked.
Golden light rose from deep beneath the water, as if someone had opened a skylight at the bottom of the sea. Pillars of light pierced through the azure water, casting their glow onto his face, his shoulders, and the motionless mirror-like surface at his feet.
He looked up.
The golden tree was back.
Its trunk radiated a brilliance even brighter than before. Not a single leaf was missing, and every one of them swayed gently in the windless air. Roots spread out from the base of the trunk, anchoring themselves into the deepest parts of the Sea of Consciousness. The shimmering light flowing through those roots was in perfect sync with his heartbeat.
He looked down at the water.
The reflection was still there, but it was no longer his current face.
It was the other “Luo Yang”—himself in his prime on Earth, the high-spirited eighteen-year-old boy from before he had fallen through that door.
Luo Yang looked at the face in the water and finally smiled from the bottom of his heart.
I guess this counts as making peace with my “past self.”
Rate on N.U.
