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Old Liu slowly raised his gun, cautious but steady.
Li Xingyuan noticed the movement. His senses were sharper now, attuned to details he’d previously overlooked. They flooded his mind in waves—nuances of light, shadow, and texture that had once escaped him.
He understood Old Liu’s wariness completely. Without it, he might have doubted whether this man was truly Old Liu.
After all, even Li Xingyuan himself wasn’t sure what state he was in anymore.
“Old Liu,” Li Xingyuan responded to the call.
He saw Old Liu exhale softly, though he remained on guard. The older man was covered in blood and soot from the explosion, his appearance disheveled and weary. Multiple keyholes dotted his body—more than a dozen, varying in size and complexity. Some were simple, almost rudimentary; others intricate, like locks designed by an ancient artisan. What did they signify?
Li Xingyuan flexed his fingers. Since his rebirth, he’d felt an inexplicable urge—to unlock closed things or seal open ones. It was a compulsion that tugged at his fingertips, relentless and strange.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to resist.
“Mr. Li, what happened?” Old Liu asked, concern etched into his voice.
“I don’t know.” Li Xingyuan shook his head. To say he felt terrible would be a lie. “I think… I died. And then I came back. Changed.”
As for the visions—the doors, the keyholes, the infinite universes—he kept those to himself. Even if he wanted to explain, words failed him. How could he describe something so far beyond human comprehension?
He didn’t know how else he might have changed. Physically, he no longer felt the cold, despite standing naked in the snow. The silvery glow of his skin had faded, vanishing as quickly as water slides off polished stone—a phenomenon strange enough on its own.
“Your eyes,” Old Liu murmured, his tone tinged with unease. “There’s a keyhole in them.”
Li Xingyuan froze, instinctively reaching up to touch his face. He couldn’t see any keyholes on himself—not one. Meeting Old Liu’s wary gaze, with the gun still slightly raised, Li Xingyuan replied calmly, “Then I guess I should see a doctor.”
Old Liu chuckled nervously, lowering his weapon. Approaching Li Xingyuan, he helped him to his feet. “We’ll need to find a good one.”
As Old Liu pulled him up, Li Xingyuan’s hand accidentally brushed against a keyhole on Old Liu’s left shoulder blade. An intense craving surged through his fingers, demanding they become keys—but he resisted, stifling a groan.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Li?”
“Nothing. Just… still hurts a bit.” Li Xingyuan lied reflexively, then deflected. “Where’s Lin Song?”
Lin Song had been tasked with detonating the gas station—a job he’d executed flawlessly. But where was he now? The explosion nearly killed Li Xingyuan, who was farther away. What about Lin Song?
“The area near the gas station is practically leveled,” Old Liu said, worry creeping into his voice. “If I hadn’t dropped to the ground in time, I’d have been blown away too.”
So what had become of Lin Song? Li Xingyuan’s heart tightened as he scanned the distance.
“Let’s go check.”
Before Li Xingyuan could move, Old Liu stopped him. “Mr. Li, your clothes.”
“There’s nothing else to wear,” Li Xingyuan sighed, resigned. He wasn’t accustomed to being naked outdoors, but the cold didn’t bother him. “For now, this will do.”
Barefoot, he trudged through the snow. Keyholes appeared beneath his feet, shimmering briefly before fading as he looked away.
The flames from the gas station explosion still burned fiercely, filling the air with the acrid stench of scorched flesh. Remnants of the monsters littered the ground—limbs torn apart as if from some grotesque bonfire. Thick plumes of smoke billowed skyward, carrying with them floating keyholes amidst the fire.
What did these keyholes mean? If he used his finger as a key, what would he unlock?
The thought tormented him. He tried closing his eyes to escape their influence, but it was futile. The doors and locks persisted, unyielding. His attempts to ignore them seemed to irritate some primal instinct within him. A key existed to open a lock—what purpose did a key serve if it refused to turn?
Li Xingyuan sighed again, frustration mounting.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Li?” Old Liu watched him closely, concern evident.
“Nothing.” Li Xingyuan pointed toward a distant mound of snow. “Lin Song’s buried under there. Let’s dig him out.”
Old Liu glanced at him, skepticism clear in his eyes. Though he said nothing, the question hung in the air: How do you know?
“My… hallucinations,” Li Xingyuan offered hesitantly. “They’ve grown stronger since my rebirth. I can see keyholes everywhere. There are more beneath that pile of snow.”
“Mr. Li, hallucinations are just that—hallucinations,” Old Liu said firmly. “Indulging them will only make them worse.”
Li Xingyuan knew Old Liu meant well, but irritation bubbled up anyway. What did Old Liu know? How could he understand the weight of these visions pressing down on him?
“Old Liu,” Li Xingyuan said, forcing calm into his voice. “Trust me this once. Please?”
Old Liu nodded reluctantly and began digging where Li Xingyuan indicated. At first, his movements were slow, but soon they quickened. “Mr. Li, he’s here!”
Li Xingyuan hurried over, helping Old Liu excavate the snow. Lin Song’s clothing emerged first, followed by his arms and face. As they dug faster, Old Liu eventually grabbed Lin Song by the torso, dragging him free from the icy grave.
Lin Song bore few external injuries, but his complexion was deathly pale, devoid of color. He must have found shelter from the brunt of the blast before triggering the explosion, only to be buried by the avalanche of snow propelled by the shockwave. His breathing was shallow, and hypothermia had set in.
The situation was dire. Old Liu wanted to take Lin Song directly to the fire to warm him, but Li Xingyuan intervened. In cases of severe hypothermia, sudden exposure to heat could cause blood vessels to dilate rapidly, sending cold blood rushing back to the heart—a fatal risk given the fragility of Lin Song’s cardiovascular system.
They were powerless, watching helplessly as Lin Song teetered on the brink of death.
Old Liu struggled to accept this. His brow furrowed deeply as he stared at Lin Song, torn between trying to help and fearing that even the slightest misstep could hasten his demise.
Meanwhile, Li Xingyuan gazed at Lin Song, then suddenly looked up at Old Liu. “I have an idea.”
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