Qi Fan's fingertips had barely touched the rusty pocket watch when every clock on the street corner suddenly began running backward.
As an antiques restorer, he should have been used to the things in his hands acting strangely: a Republican-era storybook that rewrote its own ending, with one more character dying every time he repaired it; a bronze mirror that showed corpses ten years in the future, including one with half a dagger sticking out of his chest.
But this time was different.
The instant the pocket watch's gears stopped with a click, bloody words appeared on Cang Nan's black notebook by themselves: [Rule 1: At three in the morning, do not answer if you hear a knock at the door.]
Yun Zhi, in a white lab coat, came hurrying after him with a scanner. The red ripples on its screen were painfully bright. “Qi Fan, you've triggered another new rule. The last one, ‘A woman in red shoes must be given the right of way,’ has already killed seventeen people.”
Qi Fan stared at the “0” engraved inside the watch. His Adam's apple bobbed. He knew all these rules were pointing toward him, just like the countless versions of himself staring across time from that blood-seeping mirror.
