**Race:**? Human
**Gender:**? Male
**Age:**? 21
**Biological Level:**? 1 Star
**Attributes (Normal Adult Male Baseline: 10 Points):**?
- ?**Strength:**? 10.5 (Muscles 11, Physical Fitness 10)
- ?**Agility:**? 9.75 (Hand-Eye Coordination 9, Flexibility 11, Reaction 11, Balance 8)
- ?**Constitution:**? 10 (Health 9, Stamina 11)
- ?**Intelligence:**? 7 (Learning 6, Reasoning 8)
- ?**Perception:**? 9.25 (Willpower 12, Common Sense Judgment 8, Sensory Awareness 7, Intuition 10)
- ?**Charm:**? 7.2 (Courage 10, Persuasion 7, Personal Magnetism 7, Leadership 5, Appearance 7)
**Skills:**? Shooting (Proficient), Military Combat (Proficient), Electrician (Beginner)
**Special Abilities:**? None
**Evolution Points:**? 0
**Possessions:**? None
“Damn! What the hell is going on here?”
Wei Xiaobei, waking up hungover with a dull headache and weak limbs, stared blankly at the ceiling, utterly bewildered by his circumstances.
Merely getting drunk with friends and sleeping it off had resulted in this so-called “attribute panel” appearing in his mind. Could it be related to that copy of the Classic of Mountains and Seas he’d picked up? He vaguely remembered the thread-bound book emitting a faint glow before he passed out drunk.
His hand groped by the pillow—the book was gone.
The light filtering through the window was unnaturally dim, as though nightfall were imminent. Dismissing the attribute panel in his mind, Wei scratched his greasy, week-unwashed hair and rolled out of bed shirtless. His stomach growled fiercely after a full day without food.
His head felt like it was weighed down by a mountain. Clutching his skull, he sighed and exhaled a breath reeking of alcohol. Cooking was too much trouble—instant noodles would do.
He took two steps toward the kitchen before freezing.
“Wh-what’s happening here?”
Overnight, the rental room had decayed into ruins. Dust blanketed the floors and tables. The Zhang Liangying poster he’d pasted on the wall days ago had yellowed and frayed at the edges, the pop star’s once-charming face now distorted by paper decay into a grotesque, laughing hag.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Cobwebs draped the walls like mist. The oranges and apples on the side table had rotted into shriveled husks, their mold-covered surfaces pitch-black. The fruit beneath had liquefied into dried sludge. Even the landlord’s recently replaced aluminum windows were furred with white crystalline growths, their glass clouded and cracked.
The computer screen by the bed was veiled in spider silk. The cup held not a drop of water, only the desiccated corpse of an unidentifiable insect. The air stung with chalky dust.
Everything existed in monochrome, as though viewed through a sepia filter from an old black-and-white film. The room appeared to have aged decades—no, centuries—in a single night.
“Holy mother, this has to be a nightmare!”
He threw himself back onto the bed and shut his eyes tightly. When he woke from this dream, everything would return to normal.
After tossing and turning multiple times, Wei realized with dawning horror this was no dream. The reality was undeniable.
Sitting up, he rubbed his face vigorously. What could have caused this? He’d only been drunk for one night! Was this a haunting? A prank? Yet no human could have engineered the floating attribute panel in his mind.
His throat burned with thirst. The terror of the room’s transformation had momentarily eclipsed his physical needs. Now, the dehydration gripped him. He lifted the thermos—empty.
“Guess I’ll have to buy water.”
His wallet was missing. The clothes in the wardrobe had disintegrated into rags resembling trash-picked relics. Only the sweat-and-liquor-stained shirt discarded by his bed remained intact, emitting a pungent fermented stench.
Grimacing, Wei dressed and slicked back his hair with both hands. Pushing open the door, the hallway greeted him with further desolation—peeling wallpaper, shattered wall sconces. Time’s decay permeated every corner.
He knocked fiercely on the neighboring door. No response. The occupant, Zhou Lijun, was a reclusive sophomore who’d turned his dorm into a gaming den, reportedly earning real money through virtual battles.
Wei systematically knocked on every occupied room. Silence. With gritted teeth, he rammed Zhou’s door. The landlord’s cheap locks gave way instantly.
Inside mirrored his own room’s ruin: floors and furniture buried under powdery residue, every object aged beyond recognition.
Wei sprinted to the main entrance. Beyond the door lay the courtyard planter where the landlord grew garlic and scallions. Now it stood barren, soil cracked and yellowed. Fallen leaves carpeted the concrete around rust-eaten bicycles. The sky hung heavy and gray. In the distance, crumbling buildings loomed like post-nuclear relics.
“Goddammit! This is actually happening!”
Ten minutes had slipped by before Wei grasped the urgency. No one—not even battle-hardened soldiers—could remain composed upon waking to such surreal horror. Would he be trapped in this necrotic world forever? Had the same cataclysm struck elsewhere?
As a peacetime military veteran, Wei’s legs didn’t buckle. His 12-point Willpower stat—the highest among his attributes—anchored him.