I Transmigrated Along with My Car

At 4:17 a.m., Wang Li stuffed the last parcel into his modified three-wheeled truck.

He drove straight into a bank of fog.

He slammed on the brakes, and the world changed. Beneath his wheels lay moss-covered, dark green rocks. The trees were thick enough to take two people to wrap their arms around. A forest wolf with a silicon-armored hide was lunging at him at twenty-five kilometers per hour.

Then he discovered he could see the structure of everything. The handlebar was made of “a mixture of plastic and fiberglass,” the mist contained “poisonous plant spores,” and, more incredibly, he could rearrange things: rubble became stone slabs, iron turned into breastplates, and scrap wood assembled itself into tables and chairs.