"Water..." A faint voice rose.
"He's alive? The kid's got luck."
"Water..." The voice kept at it.
"A miracle, a real miracle. He didn't choke to death even in the black snow — a miracle."
"Water..."
The third plea in a row finally got an answer: a spoonful of cool liquid was poured into his mouth. The clear water brought not only returning awareness but a sliver of strength, and after three spoonfuls had gone down his throat, the unconscious Wuchang finally woke.
Where is this? Apart from a plain-faced woman with yellowish hair, all that met his eyes was a silvery white ceiling.
"Where am I?" Wuchang's question left the people around him utterly baffled.
"Are you soft in the head, kid? You're at the mine, of course."
"The mine?" Wuchang still didn't understand.
"Oh, that's bad. Where did Eileen pick up an idiot? This is obviously amnesia. Look at that lump on the back of his head and the wounds on his body — something must have hit him and knocked him stupid."
The onlookers bickered and gossiped every which way, but their chatter actually got Wuchang off the hook — at least no one would keep pestering him with questions. The woman called Eileen looked at him with disappointment, set a cup of water and a bit of food down beside him, and turned and left.
An idiot clearly wasn't going to hold anyone's attention. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving Wuchang shivering in the corner of the room.
Wuchang examined the wound on his left shoulder. He distinctly remembered it as a clean puncture that had gone right through, one that had hit bone and by all rights should have cost him his left arm. But now the wound was enclosed and bandaged under a metal shoulder guard, and the spot felt distinctly cool. It looked like some kind of special medical device.
He looked around. This was a simple hall of over a hundred square meters, but unlike any ordinary building, the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling were all made of metal.
Wuchang had no idea what these strange metals were, but the mottled discoloration and the circuit boards exposed where some panels had broken told him this had to be a pretty low-grade place.
The whole hall was laid out like a restaurant, with countless tables and chairs inside and a dozen or so people eating here and there. Judging by the number of seats, though, it could feed a hundred at once.
There were only three windows on the metal wall, and one glance told Wuchang they were pure decoration. One window showed a summer beach, bare-skinned beauties strolling across the sand. The second showed a scenic range of mountains amid drifting white snow.
What was even more astonishing was that the view beyond the third window was outer space — the magnificent Horsehead Nebula hanging right in front of him.
By now Wuchang was certain of one thing: he had definitely transmigrated. And into a future world, no less?
Even as that thought crossed his mind, a stab of pain shot out from the middle of his back.
"Ow—" His low moan caught the attention of an old man nearby, a reeking old fellow who suddenly leaned in with a conspiratorial air.
"Hey, kid, what's that tattoo on your back supposed to be?" Then he fished a greasy terminal out of his coat, jabbed a few keys at random, and projected an image into the air.
"Take a look. That's the tattoo on your back. I saw it while I was treating your wounds. I just can't make out what in the world it is..."
Wuchang ignored the dirty old man's rambling. The moment he saw that familiar shape, his vision went black and he collapsed straight onto the camp cot.
Good heavens, that shape was far too familiar. Wasn't that the mantra wheel of the Shurangama Mantra? The Shurangama Mantra was the mantra of mantras, the king of mantras, the one Buddhism used to cut down devils and demons. But why am I so familiar with this mantra wheel? What secrets does my past life hold? Wuchang's mind was in complete chaos, and with the weakness left by his grave wounds, passing out was only natural.
While Wuchang lay unconscious, in his subconscious every memory had shattered into fragments that simply would not glue back together. Sarira. A moonlit night. The reliquary pagoda that held his master's remains after his passing. And, of course, the panicked gunfire and the desperate chase.
Could this mantra wheel have something to do with that sarira? I clearly remember that white light boring into my back — was that what made the tattoo?
"May my death cut off every last knot of karma that binds you to this world. From this day forth, your master bestows upon you your dharma name: Wuchang."
The familiar voice echoed through Wuchang's consciousness, until at last a peal of thunder rang out and his mind went utterly dark.
Since Wuchang had already come around once, that proved he was out of danger. Over the following days, the waking Wuchang began to familiarize himself with this world bit by bit.
It turned out this place was called the Ration Center, and the woman with the slight limp was Eileen, the boss lady here.
The Ration Center served a played-out mine numbered B1313. The people here all made their living digging up "rainbow crystal," and there were about a hundred of them. The owner of the pit was a yellow-haired, high-nosed drunk who was never seen working but always seen drinking. Everyone called him Smith Pan — Boss Pan, for short.
Passing himself off as an amnesiac, Wuchang spent this stretch of time quietly observing his surroundings. He had once been a bandit, and he knew better than anyone how important it was to case a place first. Surviving in an unfamiliar environment takes brains, and the foundation of it all was keeping a low profile.
Little by little Wuchang learned that he had been saved by the lame Eileen. On her way to Huang'e City to buy supplies, right when the black snow was falling thickest, she had spotted him unconscious on the ground. Eileen had rescued strangers more than once — at least twelve people in this mine owed her their lives.
Knowing the drill, she had loaded Wuchang into her vehicle and brought him back, treating his wounds and giving him food, drink, and a place to sleep. His lodgings amounted to a camp cot in a corner, but Wuchang was deeply grateful to her.
Food, drink, and a roof over his head — in Wuchang's eyes that already counted as paradise. Unfortunately, it didn't last. On the seventh day after he woke, Eileen, who had never once spoken to him, suddenly planted herself in front of him.
"Your wounds have more or less healed, so it's time you did some work. Food, board, and lodging — you owe me ten gold coins in all. Until that debt is cleared, don't even think about leaving this place." With that, Eileen tossed him a set of mining gear and turned on her heel.
Beside Eileen stood a hulking man built entirely of muscle. Wuchang knew him: the security chief of the B1313 mine, a brute nicknamed the Warmonger's Bull. Eileen had saved his life too, and he was fiercely loyal to her. He stood behind her flexing at Wuchang the entire time, plainly itching to pound this stranger into the ground.
Wuchang was not that childish. He knew perfectly well when to bow his head. He understood nothing about this strange world yet — even if they drove him off, he wouldn't go. Work? Wuchang had never thought working was shameful.
"Come on, kid. I'll show you the ropes first. We'll start by sorting the waste ore." It was the dirty old man, Lane, the one who had treated Wuchang's wounds. Evidently these people had held a meeting behind closed doors; they surely had several plans ready for dealing with him. If he played nice, old Lane would handle him; if he didn't, the Warmonger was all too eager to stretch his bones.
Wuchang's docility left everyone a little surprised. This stretch of dead mining country was crawling with criminals, stowaways, thieves, bandits, and whores. A man as badly hurt as he was shouldn't be the docile type — so why was he so meek? Doing whatever he was told?
As Lane led Wuchang out, he didn't bother looking back; he simply tapped a finger against his own head. Now everyone present understood: this fellow was an amnesiac simpleton. Maybe the kid thinks he's a harmless little lamb right now. At that, the people in the hall visibly relaxed.
"Looks like our mine got itself a real bargain in this laborer."
Wuchang had never imagined that the Ration Center would have a double airtight door. Past the inner door was a small vestibule where people changed into their outdoor clothes.
"Hurry up and put your mask on, you dumb kid. There's no black snow outside today, but the weather's still nothing to write home about — mind the dust doesn't choke you to death..."
"I know you've lost your memory, so once we're out there, don't talk and don't go wandering. Stick tight to me and don't run off, or the cannibals out on the flats will snatch you up and eat you..."
"You did well today, no fuss out of you. If you'd gotten uppity, the Warmonger might well have stuffed you down a mine shaft. With that frame of yours, going down there would've been the end of you..."
The dirty old man Lane nattered on without end, but his heart seemed to be in the right place: he checked Wuchang's gear three times over before he opened the outermost metal door.
When this world first presented itself before Wuchang's eyes, he was scared witless. Buddha above, what kind of world is this? Is this hell?
Right before Wuchang's eyes, an enormous volcano soared into the sky, its summit nowhere in sight, everything above the halfway mark already blotted out by black-red clouds. Just how big this mountain was, Wuchang truly could not describe. He had seen Mount Fuji in Japan before, but set beside this volcano, the difference was that between a sparrow and a wild goose.
On the pitch-black volcanic slopes, countless buildings gleamed with lights, stretching away farther than the eye could follow.
"That's Huang'e City, the main city of our Huang'e Planet. No need to be scared of that volcano — the scientists have surveyed it. It's a dead volcano..."
"A dead volcano?" Wuchang was speechless. A dark red waterfall of lava was clearly pouring down the mountain's left flank. And you people called that a dead volcano?
But when he stretched his gaze across the whole landscape and swept a full 360 degrees, he finally understood why the scientists said so. Within sight there were six volcanoes erupting furiously; the firelight blazing into the heavens dyed half the sky crimson, and churning smoke and dust formed heavy leaden clouds pressing down on the world above.
Now Wuchang knew what "black snow" meant. Wasn't it just volcanic ash? It blanketed everything, drifting down like snowflakes, and the whole land was washed a grayish white.
"Ah, lovely weather today. Let's put in some extra effort, you and me, and try to earn three days' living expenses." With that, Lane hauled him off toward the mine pit not far away.
Wuchang really wanted to cry. Holy hell. Ash drifting around like gray butterflies, and you call this good weather? If the black snow you keep talking about ever starts falling, how is anyone supposed to stay alive?
Only later did Wuchang learn that the planet he was on was very young, in a period of frequent geological activity, with extremely violent volcanism. Earth's own history had once passed through such a period too.
In scientific terms, that period is called the Archean.