Qiguan Gailun Transmigrates

The last thing Qi Guan Gailun remembered was the flickering incandescent bulb in the warehouse.

The torrential September rain hammered the corrugated iron roof of the logistics park, its crackling roar as if it might tear the entire warehouse apart. He was checking the last batch of fresh food orders against his computer when the GPS tracks of the refrigerated trucks on the screen suddenly turned into a mass of gibberish. Then came a blinding white light, not like a bulb exploding, but as if he had been shoved inside a sterilizer, beneath its ultraviolet tubes. Even his bone marrow seemed to burn.

When he opened his eyes again, the rain was still falling, but everything smelled different.

There was no pungent mixture of disinfectant and diesel, only the earthy stench of damp soil, mingled with a herbal fragrance like mugwort. Qi Guan Gailun struggled to sit up and found himself sprawled in the mud, with sharp gravel digging painfully into his bones. Instinctively, he reached for his waist. His phone was gone: the Huawei Mate40 Pro plastered with courier station stickers, along with the envelope containing the quarterly bonus he had just collected from the finance department, had vanished without a trace.

In their place was a coarse hemp outfit with short sleeves, its cuffs worn shiny and its trouser legs stained with some mysterious brown substance.