Shi Galen's Transmigration

Shi Gairen felt as if he had been thrown into a washing machine, spinning round and round until his stomach churned. His last memory was of a torrential downpour outside an office building. He had been riding a shared bicycle at full speed along the slippery road to deliver an urgent document to Mr. Wang of the taxi company when the blinding headlights of an out-of-control truck came into view. Then came a violent impact and endless darkness.

“Ugh...”

A piercing chill made him suck in a sharp breath. His consciousness struggled up from the depths like a swimmer breaking the surface. He forced his eyes open, only to find a low, dilapidated wooden beam overhead instead of a white hospital ceiling. Bundles of dried herbs hung from it, filling the room with a bitter scent.

He lay on a hard earthen bed, on coarse bedding that rubbed his skin raw. He moved his fingers and felt a cold mud wall. Its pitted surface was dotted with several patches of mold.

“Where am I?” Shi Gairen rasped. The voice that came out sounded nothing like his own. It had the clear timbre of a young man, but was weak all the same.

He struggled to sit up, only to discover that his entire body ached and felt weak. Looking down, he saw he was wearing a drab, coarse hemp tunic, its rough fabric and crooked stitching worlds apart from the custom suit he had worn before he transmigrated.

Just then, a flood of memories that didn't belong to him surged into his mind