Chapter 1: A Person on the Verge of Death

“Did you remember everything I said?”

Coming to his senses in a daze, Shade looked at everything before him, feeling somewhat bewildered. The last second of his memory was spent helping a close friend with funeral arrangements; the next second, he had arrived here.

This was a bedroom. It was definitely not a bedroom from the twenty-first century. The dim, warm yellow light in the room was not very bright, and the slightly darkened wooden floor was clean enough, but the walls had already begun to yellow. A stack of books was piled in the corner, crooked as if about to topple over, and on the bookshelf next to the pile sat some metal pots, picture frames, and other ornaments.

Those photographs were all black and white.

Besides oil paintings, there were two metal pipes on the walls. One could vaguely see that the joints connecting the pipes were already somewhat rusted, and one of the thinner pipes branched off toward the desk. The brown wooden desk was covered in sheets of paper, and the drawers on both sides were half-open, revealing the documents inside.

On the desk, the desk lamp connected to the brass-colored pipe was still glowing. The style of the heavy lamp’s flared shade was very novel—

“Hmm? Not an electric lamp? A gas lamp?”

It was difficult to tell through observation alone whether it was a gas lamp, but the pipes clinging to the walls and the wall lamps connected to them could not possibly be electric lights. The warm yellow glow was not bright, illuminating only the area of the desk, yet it inexplicably made Shade feel a sense of warmth.

By this light, he saw the decorative oil paintings on the walls, the black-and-white portrait on the desk, and the newspaper spread out in the shadows of the floor. He couldn't make out any of the content on the newspaper, but he could see that it wasn't composed of Chinese characters, but letters.

With this sense of age, no matter where this place was, it was no longer his home.

The air was permeated with a smell of decay, but it was more like the scent of a funeral home. Shade remembered this smell; after all, just a moment ago, he had been helping a friend who had unfortunately passed away.

“Did you remember everything I said?”

The voice sounded again, and only then did Shade fully wake from his trance. The young man reacted quickly, sensing someone gripping his right wrist. Only when his consciousness and body had fully merged did he think to look down.

He was standing by the bed in what appeared to be a nineteenth-century man’s bedroom. The bed was a four-poster, but only three sides were draped with curtains. The bed frame and the visible parts of the headboard all shimmered with a metallic luster under the gas lamp.

The bedside lamp was shaped like a little angel holding up the light, and Shade was momentarily captivated by its exquisite design.

The person holding his hand was the man lying in the bed. This middle-aged man, who was likely the owner of the bedroom, wore dark plaid pajamas and was hidden under the covers except for his head and right hand.

He had a distinct Caucasian facial structure, but his eyes were sunken, his cheeks were sagging, and the right hand gripping Shade’s wrist was frighteningly thin. He looked like someone about to starve to death; Shade even believed that if he spoke a little too loudly, he would have to beg the man not to die.

Shade knew nothing at this moment and needed to understand the situation from this man.

“So... this is a transmigration?”

He thought to himself, gaining a rough understanding of his current situation.

Fortunately, although the man in the bed was weak, at least there were no signs of rigor mortis. Otherwise, Shade would really have to worry about his current predicament.

“Did you remember everything I said?”

The frail man in the bed asked for the third time, his brown eyes deep in their sockets, yet staring fixedly at Shade. Although Shade did not understand why he had inexplicably transmigrated here, he knew that at this moment, it was best to play along—at least until he understood the status quo and could plan for the future.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to realize that the other party was not speaking Chinese, nor any language he knew, yet Shade could inexplicably understand it. He wanted to answer in the other party’s language, but he opened his mouth slightly; he could understand it, but he couldn't speak it at all.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? I can understand it but can’t speak it?”

A buzzing sound appeared in his ears for an instant, and his back itched from nervousness. Being unable to speak the language of the inhabitants of this other world was not something he could have anticipated; this was the worst-case scenario.

A buzzing sound emerged in his head, and he immediately realized that this sound was not caused by his own nervousness. He understood the voice in his head—it was a woman, a woman speaking in a whisper

[The Sixth Epoch, Common Calendar 1853, Summer, the Day of the Silver Moon’s Radiance, you have arrived in this dark world. You understand that you need an identity, so you must inherit everything of this inexplicable body. Now is the first step: prove it. Prove that you can enter this world.]

“System?”

His instinctive reaction was that this was the legendary system, but he immediately realized this was definitely not a system.

The woman’s voice was exceptionally elegant and soothing, like someone reciting poetry in a whisper, making one intoxicated. But the language she used was different from Chinese and different from the language of the frail man in the bed.

That language was more ancient, more profound, as if a breeze from an ancient era had crossed the curtain of time and suddenly blown into the present. The language itself was a manifestation of mystery; even just understanding its meaning made Shade feel as if he were looking into the deepest darkness.

Although Shade understood this second language, merely understanding it made his head buzz, and his new body’s stomach reacted with nausea.

This was mental pressure; the language used by the voice in his head possessed extraordinary power.

“This is the language system of this world! What’s in my head isn’t a system; it’s something that already existed in this body!”

Shade made his judgment, his pupils shrinking slightly, while a more terrifying speculation arose from what he saw before him

“A new world, this world that looks like the Victorian steam age, is a world where the extraordinary and the mysterious exist!”

He was not the type of person who couldn't accept reality. Since transmigration had already occurred, the existence of the extraordinary was not entirely unacceptable. But his first task now was to figure out the current situation, answer the man’s question, and clarify his own identity.

Thus, Shade tried his best to convey information to the voice in his head using his own language

“Whoever you are, listen carefully. I want to accept everything about this body, but I don’t have the memories of this body, nor its linguistic habits.”

[Now, you do.]

It felt as if a brick had been forcibly shoved into his skull and stirred around maliciously. Shade thought it was a miracle he hadn't passed out.

He didn't gain the original body’s memories, but was forcibly stuffed with some knowledge—knowledge regarding the “Northern Kingdom Human Common Language, Darian Kingdom Language.” But this knowledge just existed, like a translator; he couldn't immediately master it, understand all the slang, dialects, religious culture, allusions, or linguistic habits.

“Sorry, sir, I’m not feeling very well. Could you repeat what you asked me to remember?”

Relying on this knowledge, he intermittently translated his Chinese thoughts into the otherworldly “Northern Human Common Language” in his head, then deliberately spoke it with a translated accent. The frail man gripping Shade’s hand suddenly exerted force; it was hard to imagine such a thin wrist could have such strength

“You’re still the same, your head isn’t very sharp... Fine, I’ll say it again.”

It seemed the original owner of the body wasn't very bright either, so Shade’s words didn't arouse suspicion for the time being.

“Shade.”

The pronunciation of the name was very similar.

“I am going to die. I knew three months in advance that I would die, so I chose you from among the drifters. I changed your life, gave you a new name, taught you to read simply, and helped you understand some common sense. After I die, you will receive everything of mine: my detective agency, all my property. But you need to do one thing for me, a very simple thing—”

Although his tone was very weak, his terrifying eyes stared at Shade like a dying lone wolf. The great horror revealed in his gaze made the outsider, who already knew nothing about this world, feel a chill in his heart.

But Shade kept his breathing as steady as possible, though he did not bravely meet his gaze. It wasn't that Shade was afraid at this moment, but rather that from that last sentence, he had gained a preliminary understanding of the original owner’s situation.

Therefore, at this time, he absolutely should not look the man in the eye, but should instead look away in fear; this was consistent with the established character setting.

“Inherit my detective agency. No matter what you want to use this place for, at least keep it in business. Until September 5th, 1853, three months from now. You will receive a letter then; retrieve the letter and burn it. That is the price for you to obtain my entire inheritance.”

His hand gripped Shade’s tightly. Even though Shade acted out a slight struggle, he didn't think for a second that he could break free; the other party’s strength was truly great

“This is the only requirement for me, Sparrow Hamilton, to leave my inheritance to you, Shade Hamilton.”