1: Chapter 1 The Dead Don't Respond

Brain lounge! Billion-dollar lottery winners, assemble! May all my foster fathers and mothers live happily every single day! ~~~

Li Li's first reaction upon opening his eyes wasn't "Where am I?" but "What on earth is that smell?"

The stench of cheap Erguotou mixed with overnight vomit hit his brain like a sledgehammer, physically jolting him into consciousness.

He propped himself up on the sofa, his temples throbbing with every beat.

He looked down.

A dozen empty bottles were strewn beside the sofa—Niu Lan Shan, Red Star, and several unlabeled bottles of bulk baijiu. A half-eaten cup of instant noodles sat on the coffee table, the broth dried up, chopsticks stuck straight into the noodle block.

It looked as if someone had offered incense to this pile of garbage.

He stared at the mess for three seconds.

A flood of memories that didn't belong to him rushed into his mind—fragmented, broken, but one piece of information hit him clearly: The original owner of this body died from drinking.

Not just drunk, not just vomiting. Acute alcohol poisoning. Cardiac arrest. Gone just like that.

And then he arrived.

Li Li, twenty-four. In his past life, he was drowning in debt, worked seventeen different jobs—moving bricks, welding iron, delivering food, translating—he'd endured every kind of hardship. He couldn't remember exactly how he died—likely sudden death from overwork; he'd pulled all-nighters finishing translations more than once.

Regardless, he woke up here.

A rented room reeking of alcohol, a body that had gone cold but was now warmed by him.

He had transmigrated.

Li Li wiped the alcohol stain from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unchanged.

Don't panic. Standard procedure.

A man who could keep his cool while a construction supervisor pointed at his nose and cursed, "Your mother giving birth to you was a waste of food," could handle mere transmigration without breaking a sweat.

He stood up, his knees cracking loudly. He stumbled twice, bracing his palm against the wall.

This physical condition was truly pathetic. The original owner had really trashed himself.

The living room was small, about forty square meters, with pitifully little furniture. A piece of architectural design paper hung on the wall, corners curled, tape stuck on crookedly.

A full-length mirror stood on his right.

Li Li walked over.

The face in the mirror was much younger than his previous life, but the state of his spirit was worrying. Dark circles under his eyes, sallow complexion, chapped lips—the standard look of someone repeatedly ground down by life.

But the bone structure was genuinely good.

His messy, short, layered hair stood up in every direction. Without hair wax, the dishevelment actually carried a bit of roguish charm. His features were rugged, the lines of his cheekbones and jaw clean and sharp. When his deep brown pupils focused seriously on the mirror, they carried an inherent sharpness, like a hawk locking onto prey.

He curled the corner of his mouth.

A slightly prominent canine tooth peeked out on the left.

Using this face to move bricks in his past life would have been a waste.

He looked down at his hands. Thin calluses on the knuckles. He touched them; these weren't from moving bricks like in his past life—these were from drafting.

Memory fragments pieced together the original owner's background: a 985-university architecture student, raised in an orphanage, a top student who relied entirely on his own grind.

Same configuration as his past life. Both were ants crawling up from the very bottom.

Except this ant was crushed by a woman halfway up.

Before he could think about who this "woman" was—

The phone in his pocket vibrated.

The ringtone was the default system sound, grating, making his temples throb again.

Li Li fished the phone out of the sofa crevice. A corner of the screen was shattered, but it still lit up.

Incoming call: Unknown Number.

He answered.

"Hello?"

The woman's voice on the other end was unhurried, every word measured.

"Hello, Mr. Li Li. I am Director Pei Zhao, the chief director of the first season of the all-new travel Dating Reality Show, Dating in Travel, produced by ByteDance. Congratulations, you have been selected by our Production Team as the only commoner male guest out of three million applicants."

Li Li paused for half a second.

One in three million.

The probability was more absurd than all the prizes he'd won in his past life combined. No, wait, the only prize he'd ever won was a pack of tissues from a supermarket lucky draw—the kind that tore if you used them once.

"Is your passport still valid?"

"...It should be."

He flipped through the original owner's memories; his passport was in the second drawer of the nightstand, not expired.

"Excellent." Director Pei Zhao's tone softened a degree, like a sugar coating wrapped in an even sweeter shell. "Please arrive at Terminal 3 of the Capital International Airport by 7:00 AM tomorrow. Staff will meet you in the arrival hall. Your ticket has already been booked."

"Where to?"

"The Middle East. We are filming in Dubai."

A pause.

"Mr. Li Li, let me give you a heads-up." There was a hint of almost considerate amusement in Director Pei Zhao's voice. "Our show has received significant attention from the group. The guest lineup this season consists entirely of A-list artists and top influencers. You are one of only two commoners; the other is a commoner female guest, selected from one in ten million. The Production Team chose you both because we need a pair of 'commoner perspectives' to create topic collision."

Translation: You are being brought in as cannon fodder.

"This is a very rare opportunity."

Translation: It's free, and you still want to be picky?

Li Li subconsciously twisted his left wrist.

"Fine, I'll be there tomorrow morning."

"Then we shall see you tomorrow. I look forward to your performance."

The last four words were bitten off lightly, as if saying, "I look forward to your struggle."

The call ended.

Li Li stood there with the phone for two seconds, the information in his brain automatically organizing.

Dating Reality Show. Commoner. A-list celebrities. Middle East.

A dating show that throws commoners picked up from the roadside into a pile of top-tier celebrities.

Back then, this was called serving yourself up on a platter.

What is it called now?

—Never mind, he had already transmigrated. Could it be any worse than his past life?

He looked down and swiped open the phone screen, preparing to check the original owner's social connections.

The WeChat interface popped up.

The latest message. Pinned.

Remark name: Tang Tang.

The profile picture was a selfie of her profile. Cold tea-brown wavy hair draped over one shoulder, revealing her collarbone and a snake-shaped ear cuff. The tail of her fox-like eyes was slightly upturned.

The message was only one line.

"Li Li, let's break up. We aren't compatible."

Sent time—one day ago.

Li Li's thumb hovered over the screen, unmoving.

Memory fragments were triggered by this line, rushing in like a flood, dense enough to make it hard to breathe.

Livestream room. Tips. Connecting. Bullet comments.

A smiling woman said to the camera—

"Me and my ex-boyfriend? Hahahaha, don't even mention it. Just someone who draws blueprints, monthly salary less than twenty thousand. Girls, tell me, should I keep a guy like this for the New Year?"

The bullet comments went wild.

"Sister Tang Tang is so cool!"

"Is this what you guys call a 'common-but-confident' guy? Hahahaha."

"Good breakup! He doesn't deserve our Tang Tang!"

Breakup via livestream.

Public execution.

The original owner bought the first bottle of Niu Lan Shan that night.

Then the second bottle, the third, the tenth.

Then he died.

Li Li pulled his thumb back and gently placed the phone face-down on the sofa.

He didn't delete the message.

He didn't reply either.

He just stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, and took another look at the face in the mirror—in a wretched state, but with an excessively good foundation.

He rotated his left wrist once.

"...Fine."

He said the word to himself in the mirror. His mouth didn't curve much, but that canine tooth still showed a little.

Then he turned and walked toward the nightstand, pulling open the second drawer.

The passport was still there.

Red cover, gold-embossed national emblem.

He flipped it open and glanced at the photo page—

The deep brown eyes in the lens were much cleaner than they were now, no bloodshot veins, no dark circles, like someone who hadn't been crushed by anyone yet.

Li Li stuffed the passport into his pocket.

The curtains in the rented room weren't drawn. Outside, the sky was just turning dark, and the city lights were flickering on one by one.

He didn't look at those lights.

He turned and walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, cupped a handful of cold water in both hands, and splashed it over his head.

The water dripped down his messy hair, landing on the sink, drop by drop.

He raised his head. The person in the mirror had wet hair, water droplets hanging from his eyelashes, and those sharp, deep brown eyes were finally completely awake.

The phone on the sofa in the living room vibrated again.

Not a call.

It was WeChat.

Remark name: Tang Tang.

New message.

"By the way, I've decided on the theme for tomorrow's livestream: 'The Common-But-Confident Guys Who Loved Me Back in the Day,' you don't mind, right? After all, you don't watch my livestreams anyway."