When I woke up, the taste of the fourth glass of iced Americano I drank while working overtime until three in the morning was still lingering in my mouth.
Then I saw a face enlarged.
His face was full of beards, his eyes were as cold as a frozen lake in winter, and he was wearing black armor from an unknown dynasty, with blood stains still stained on the sides of the armor. The man was holding a knife in his hand, and the tip of the knife was only about three centimeters from my neck.
"Keeping this trash is also a waste of food. It's better to kill it and exchange it for army rations."
My mind buzzed.
It wasn't because he wanted to kill me, but because something suddenly didn't feel right with my body - I lowered my head and glanced at my hands. They were white, tender, chubby, and the five fingers were as short as lotus roots.
This is not my hand.
I tried to move and found that I was wearing a tattered blue robe and my whole body was tied to a pillar. The height was probably just as high as the bearded man's knees.
I've traveled through time.
