Preface

In the most populous nation on this planet, the name Wang Lei may well be as ordinary as names come. Among the more than ninety million people bearing the surname Wang across the country, there are exactly two hundred and nineteen thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven individuals named Wang Lei (as of 2014). Every child of the eighties, during their school years, could be certain that there was at least one, if not several, Wang Leis among their classmates. This fact alone speaks to the popularity of the name, but also to its utter commonness.

In a so-called major city of the northwest, our protagonist Wang Lei sat quietly in his rented room.

During summer in the northwest, the sun lingers late into the evening. At nine o’clock, many ordinary people, having finished dinner, emerge onto the streets to enjoy the coolness that comes as the heat of the day begins to fade.

Street vendors and nearby shops set up their grills; the scent of lamb mingled with cumin rises from the flames, filling the air with a rich aroma.

The smell seeped through the window, assailing Wang Lei’s nostrils. He had not eaten for an entire day. The spasms in his stomach reminded him that his body needed fuel, but mentally, Wang Lei felt surprisingly little.

All his life, Wang Lei had believed himself destined for something extraordinary. He longed for passionate love stories, a life as dramatic as those on television, or perhaps he felt he ought to leave a mark upon the world.

Yet, regrettably, in the first thirty years of his life, Wang Lei had amounted to nothing. To be exact, he was a thoroughbred literary youth, and to put it less kindly, a failed, useless literary youth—accomplished in nothing, as fat as a pig.

Life is unflinchingly realistic; it never wavers for the sake of one person’s spirit.

A spiritual giant yet a fool in the ways of life, Wang Lei had been beaten down by reality until he was utterly exhausted—and so, he became depressed, so much so that he was prepared, in the very next moment, to give up on life entirely.

There is an old saying: “A bad life is better than a good death.” Some can abide by it, but others simply cannot, especially those suffering severe depression. When all confidence and hope are lost, Wang Lei could not see any way forward.

Though he still had family members who cared for him, people are creatures of habit and easily overlook what they take for granted. At the same time, those who are healthy rarely understand the depths of pain endured by someone with depression. Particularly in certain underdeveloped regions of this ancient country, people are used to struggling through hardship to survive. Wang Lei, clearly, was an anomaly.

Night deepened. The streets remained lively; the sounds of dice games, laughter, and haggling over prices marked the everyday rhythm of life.

The cool breeze that followed the dispersal of the daytime heat brought goosebumps to Wang Lei’s arms. He picked up a fruit knife, intending to end his brief and unremarkable life in the most ordinary of ways.

Simultaneously, in another space and time, another young man named Wang Lei was making the same decision—to conclude his far from ordinary life in a conventional manner.

Compared to the first Wang Lei, this second Wang Lei had experienced much in his twenty-six years.

Born into a family steeped in sports, his father was a basketball legend of the republic, his mother a volleyball star. From a young age, he received the most rigorous basketball training, and thanks to fortunate genetics and a comfortable upbringing, his physical gifts were among the nation’s best.

Everything changed two years prior. At twenty-four, the “extraordinary” Wang Lei had earned a trial with the world’s premier basketball league across the ocean. He dropped everything to seize the chance to compete at the highest level. Just after he left, tragedy struck: both his parents died in a car accident. Upon receiving the news, he abandoned the trial and rushed home, only for misfortune to strike again—he was severely injured in a car accident himself and lost his left leg above the knee.

Within just a month, the “extraordinary” Wang Lei had plummeted from being fate’s favorite to an object of universal pity—his life, at least on the surface, far more dramatic than his namesake’s.

If this were the setup for an inspirational drama, Wang Lei would have borne his grief, found new resolve, and become the cherished focus of all. He would have persevered under the gaze—curious or otherwise—of the world.

If this were a suspense story, perhaps Wang Lei would have investigated his parents’ deaths, uncovered clues, and brought down a string of powerful figures, enough for a forty-episode television series.

But life seldom follows the scripts we imagine. Wang Lei’s parents gave him talent and pride, but they did not teach their son how to live.

After fiercely driving away all those who tried to exploit his misfortune for fame or gossip, Wang Lei was left with just one person—a woman, the daughter of his mother’s old teammate, who once led the national volleyball team to global glory.

For two years, this straightforward, spirited woman did all she could to save Wang Lei’s life and spirit, but to the stubborn young man, her efforts felt like acts of pity. He refused to live like someone to be pitied.

Over two years, life drained the extraordinary Wang Lei of all courage to go on. The world forgot him in his decline; the woman’s foolish persistence only deepened his self-negation.

The cold fruit knife pressed against the skin of his wrist. In different worlds at the same moment, the pain of the blade cutting through their veins made both Wang Leis shiver involuntarily.

Blood flowed to the floor, first spurting, then dripping steadily. The cold crept in, encroaching upon them both.

Writers with cancer have left behind diaries of death; zoologists dying of snake venom have penned their final words. But no words can fully capture the terror of dying.

Every species’ greatest goal is survival; even the simplest life forms evolve the instinct to cling to life, and humankind is no different. Death is the ultimate horror for any living thing.

As both Wang Leis faced death together, they realized—though life had been agony, dying was far worse.

Time slipped by. The cold intensified. Their breathing grew shallower, the darkness closing in.

Perhaps the master of time and space sneezed at that moment, or perhaps the myriad deities were hungover, or—most likely—it was simply that this book had only just reached its prologue. Whatever the reason, as darkness fell, the two Wang Leis’ souls began to merge. In the extraordinary Wang Lei’s world, a boisterous tomboy kicked open the locked door…

To avoid wasting the time-lord’s sneeze, the gods’ hangover, or the author’s painfully squeezed inspiration, the two souls—having tasted death and rediscovered the will to live—were granted a chance to begin anew.

And so, congratulations to the name Wang Lei: at last, it had been chosen for a journey across worlds. The odds were good, given the sheer number of Wang Leis, but finally, after the many Ye, Qin, Lin, Xuanyuan, Ouyang, and other famed surnames, the Wang clan, too, had its own traveler.