Twenty-five personal belongings

Thirteen meters underground, in a room with walls at least three meters thick.

His eyelids fluttered for a few seconds before Wu Qingchen suddenly opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Qingchen,” came the familiar voice, the first thing that reached his ears. Wu Qingchen raised his head slightly; a few meters away, Ji Mingming lounged slantwise against the doorway, several paper bags set beside him.

He exhaled deeply, breathing in the faintly conditioned air, his hand brushing over the soft mattress. At last—he was home.

“How are you? Hungry? Shall we switch up breakfast for something different?”

Breakfast…

At the mere mention of the word, Wu Qingchen, who hadn’t had a proper meal in ten days, immediately felt his mouth water. “Link, Adaha…no…no need to change it.”

Damn it, finally home, and the first thing out of my mouth is a phrase from the medieval world.

Wu Qingchen gave a wry smile.

Ji Mingming grinned, then turned and beckoned to someone outside the door. “Hey…he’s awake…bring it in, he wants to eat.”

Four soldiers entered. The first two carried toiletries; the other two pushed in a food cart.

“All right, everything’s here. Go wash up.”

Washing his face, brushing his teeth, stretching his limbs—Wu Qingchen felt lighter all over. He sat before the cart. The table was arranged just as before: the soup dumplings and rice porridge, which he’d finished off last time, were placed closest to him. The rest were laid out in the order of what he’d eaten most of last meal: fish slices, fried dough sticks, bread, cake, preserved egg, pumpkin, all in a row. In the farthest corner, as always, sat two condiments: a small bottle of salt and a bowl of oil.

“This is…truly attentive…”

Seeing such meticulous care taken with even the smallest details, Wu Qingchen couldn’t help but pause.

“By the way, Officer Ji…” Picking up a soup dumpling, Wu Qingchen glanced around the room, recalling how the last time he’d gotten up to wash, the place had been crowded with soldiers and doctors. “So few people here today?”

“No idea, that’s not my department. Maybe they haven’t come yet.”

“Oh…”

Not my concern either…

He let the thought go. Biting into the dumpling and savoring the savory broth, Wu Qingchen gestured toward the cart, mumbling, “Officer Ji, aren’t you going to have something?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Ji Mingming waved him off. “Just to stand here with you, I’ve already been to the hospital six times in two days, three checkups daily… If I so much as touch one of your dumplings, who knows what else they’d put me through.”

“…Just eat, don’t worry about me…” Seeing Wu Qingchen was about to speak again, Ji Mingming shook his head and shifted his stance. “Just don’t choke or burn yourself—I can’t be responsible for that.”

All right…no wonder the dumplings are a little cold…

Realizing even eating carried such risk, Wu Qingchen slowed his pace. Ten minutes later, after finishing the last piece of pastry and two sips of juice, his breakfast was done.

“Had enough?”

Putting down the juice, Wu Qingchen patted his stomach and nodded.

“Good appetite…” Ji Mingming picked up a paper bag from beside his feet and shook it. “I was told to come here—there are some things to return to you.”

Things? What things?

Wu Qingchen frowned, looking at Ji Mingming’s right hand. The bag was small and square, like the kind you’d get from a clothing store.

Just as he wondered, Ji Mingming rummaged through the bag and pulled out a shirt.

“Ah? That’s my shirt!”

To be precise, it was the new shirt Wu Qingchen had bought just last week.

“Yes, your shirt,” Ji Mingming said, stuffing it back in the bag and setting it beside Wu Qingchen. He opened another bag—inside was Wu Qingchen’s wallet. “Didn’t I say? Personal effects, being returned…”

The third bag held his keys.

The fourth, his cell phone.

The fifth, his cigarettes and lighter.

Cigarettes!

After a month without a whiff of smoke, Wu Qingchen snatched up the bag, grabbed the lighter, and deftly flipped open the cigarette box—

Then flung it away in frustration.

It was empty.

Ji Mingming laughed. “Smoking is bad for you. They confiscated the cigarettes.”

“Sigh…”

Wu Qingchen sighed, but it made sense. If they even made sure the dumplings were cool before letting him eat them, for fear of a burn, how could they possibly let him smoke?

“Try to see the bright side—cutting down is good for you. I wish I could quit,” Ji Mingming said, picking up the empty box and dropping it back into the bag, placing it with the rest on Wu Qingchen’s bed.

“Sigh…”

He stroked the boxes, gazing at his wallet, phone, and keys, and sighed again.

“All right, don’t overthink it…” Ji Mingming gently tapped the table. “Take your things. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Hm?” Ji Mingming, already at the door, turned back and pointed at the five paper bags on the bed. “Returning your things. What, you thought that was all?”

Gathering the bags, Wu Qingchen followed Ji Mingming out of the room and into a corridor.

The corridor was wide, about four meters high, with bright white lights at intervals along both sides. If he hadn’t walked this passage before going to rest, Wu Qingchen would never have believed such a bright, spacious, labyrinthine place existed thirteen meters underground.

“All right, we’re here.” They turned at the second intersection, walked another ten or so meters, and stopped at a door. Ji Mingming gestured to Wu Qingchen.

“Hm?”

“Open the door,” Ji Mingming nodded at it.

“Open it?” Wu Qingchen was taken aback. You want me to open it?

Ji Mingming tapped a paper bag in his arms. “Your keys are in there.”

“Ah?” Wu Qingchen pulled out the keys from the third bag, slipped them into the lock, and turned. He heard a click.

Well, I’ll be damned!

The moment the door creaked open, Wu Qingchen couldn’t help rubbing his eyes.

At that instant, he understood perfectly what “returning personal effects” meant—and why Ji Mingming had brought him here.

Such a thorough “return” would take more than ten arms to carry.

As the door swung open, the first thing he saw was a small living room—furniture simple, placement messy. Every item was arranged exactly as in the room he rented thousands of miles away in Jiang County.

Beyond the living room, through a half-open door to the right, Wu Qingchen saw a small bed. Next to it, tossed just so, was the shirt he’d accidentally knocked to the floor one morning!

“This…this…”

“Qingchen, my friend, you’re home. Don’t you think you should invite me to sit?”

“Please, come in, come in…”

Wu Qingchen stepped inside, his gait slightly unsteady. Out of habit he headed straight for the sofa, sat down, glanced at Ji Mingming, then at the messy sofa. Hastily, he grabbed a crumpled pair of pants and, looking around, saw a lounge chair in the corner piled with dirty laundry.

“Sit, please, sit…”

Tossing the pants onto the lounge chair, Wu Qingchen couldn’t help but scan the room. After a dozen seconds, the excitement faded, and a slight frown creased his brow.

The ashtray under the coffee table showed no sign of smoke. The mug by the water cooler wasn’t chipped. The keyboard he’d taken apart last month—and never thrown out—was dust-free.

These…aren’t mine, are they?

“Haha, impressive. Noticing so fast?”

No wonder—it had only been two days on Earth, but more than half a month had passed in the medieval world. With the coaches’ guidance, Wu Qingchen had become accustomed to observing his surroundings with a vigilant, meticulous eye.

Brushing aside a few magazines and two cigarette packs, Ji Mingming sat down beside him. “You’re right. None of these are your originals. Everything you see here is the result of the logistics department’s best efforts to recreate your home. Of course, anything with a safety risk or not quite suitable has been altered. Don’t worry, though—the changes are minimal, nothing inconvenient.”

“What about my real things?”

“No need to worry about those…” Ji Mingming grinned. “Everything of yours is right where it belongs. Your place in Jiang County is sealed up tight, inside and out. Not even a mosquito could get in, and any research or observation is done with the utmost care—not a single extra footprint.”

“And these…”

Wu Qingchen glanced at the five paper bags in his arms.

“These…” Ji Mingming glanced at them. “The logistics department made copies.”

Clothes, keys, cigarette box, lighter, wallet, phone.

Placing them all on the coffee table, Wu Qingchen looked them over, picked up the phone at the edge. It was powered off, the screen dark. “Does this work?”

“Yes,” Ji Mingming nodded. “It’s a copy from the logistics department. At least as good as your original.”

“Oh.” Wu Qingchen responded softly, fingers gliding over the keypad. After a moment, he hesitated. “Can I use it?”

“You can…but…”

Hearing the first part, Wu Qingchen pressed the power button.

Two seconds later, as the screen flickered to life, Ji Mingming glanced sideways and smirked, just in time to add, “…but at this moment, your number is probably very busy.”