Everyone Is Born Again

Have you ever seen a live bean? I've seen it. Among my parents' belongings. There are lines flowing on the surface, slowly moving like blood vessels. The tentacle was warm, and the moment my fingers touched it, something "responded" to me from inside the bean. Then it disappeared in my hands. The roof of my house, the walls, the light of the oil lamp—all shattered like glass. I stumbled into a forest of beans. The giant trees are towering, the moss is glowing green, and the air is filled with a sweet smell, as if the whole forest is breathing. An old man sat on a tree stump and said he was waiting for me. He smiled kindly, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes did not deepen when he smiled. He said this place is called "The World in Beans". He said this was my "opportunity". I asked him where my parents were. He was silent for a moment, and then my vision went dark. When I woke up, I was back in my house. It's like nothing happened. But I turned over my wrist—under the skin, there was a strand of green roots growing. This version puts "weirdness" at the forefront, using "living beans" to cut directly into it, and then progresses layer by layer to Gen Weng's inhumanity, the suspense of disappearance, and the growing roots on his wrist. The ending lands on a concrete, physical anomaly, leaving the reader turning the pages with a clear question: What is that root?