In 2016, 33-year-old Song Dawei was a mobile game engineer. He had both parents and was unmarried and in a relationship. He had a decent job and a decent salary, and his life was very ordinary. Until his Samsung phone exploded while he was making a call while it was charging. His life was almost uneventful. He read online novels, fantasized about Korean girl groups, followed popular manga about migrant workers, collected a large number of popular love and action movies, downloaded and watched American TV series, and collected beautiful pictures of Victoria's Secret Angels. He was a complete technology geek with all kinds of fantasies.
To be honest, apart from being able to program, it was simply a fantasy for him to write novels. Of course, he had read a lot of online literature, and he could still learn from all kinds of wild ideas. With the integration of soul memory, writing in English was not a very difficult thing.
Hollywood! Andy muttered to himself. In his previous life, his favorite thing was to watch American blockbusters. Why not find a future blockbuster movie and adapt it into a novel? Anyway, after having the skeleton of the novel, all he needs to do is add content to it. It should be easy to compile a book.
An inexplicable thought suddenly popped up in his head, making his breathing quicken and dizzy. Song Dawei supported his hands on the floor-to-ceiling glass, shook his head in pain, and tried to drive out the fragments of memory in his mind that were like dozens of high-speed trains running through each other.
With a buzzing sound.
Song Dawei struggled to stand up straight. He tasted a hint of blood in his mouth. He wiped it with his hand, and his nose started bleeding again. He went into the bathroom to wash off the blood, then looked at himself in the mirror with a wet face.
If this is the perk of time travel, will I die from a nosebleed? Just now, the fragments of memory in my brain went haywire, reassembling into their original form. That was to blow up the several movies, music, American TV series I was following, and a dozen novels stored in my phone's memory.
However, the sad thing is that only two or three of the dozen or so novels can be used, and the rest are all Chinese online novels. Several of the movies are series that should have been filmed long ago, so there is no chance of plagiarism at all. A lot of the music is in English. Although no one can say that there is anything wrong with him as a writer suddenly starting to write songs, he still needs a reasonable opportunity to bring it out, doesn't he?
What made Song Dawei most depressed was that all the mobile games in the phone memory did not appear. Of course, even if they were not in the memory, he could still develop them. After all, he made a living by developing mobile games.
The first thing he has to do now is to continue Andy Smith's identity. Any sudden changes may cause doubts among the people around him and his relatives. Therefore, he should be a good writer, write novels to make money, develop mobile games when smartphones are launched, start a company and go public to make money, and become a new IT tycoon. Those beautiful women who once made him fantasize about them through the screen may also be able to get his hands on them.
He wiped his dry and pale face, combed his dark hair, and looked at his facial features in the mirror. "He's quite handsome, a bit like a younger version of Keanu Reeves." Song Dawei stroked his face narcissistically, and his pair of lake blue eyes in the deep eye sockets exuded a deep glow.
He is 188cm tall but weighs only 110kg. How could he be so suicidal? Song Dawei looked at his frail body. Against the backdrop of his pale skin, he looked like a terminally ill patient.
The most important thing at the moment was to take good care of his body. Looking at the yellow liquid that urinated out of his satisfying penis, Song Dawei knew that his body was on the verge of collapse.
Walking barefoot into the luxurious cloakroom, looking at the dazzling array of clothes and shoes, Song Dawei couldn't help but sigh, "The world of the rich is so happy." He opened all the drawers, and watches, glasses, ties, underwear, and socks were neatly arranged in all the space.
Song Dawei used to be nearsighted and always wore glasses. Although there is no problem with his eyes now, he still found a pair of black-framed glasses with light brown lenses and put them on. He took out a Cartier watch, put it on his wrist, and caressed it lovingly.
I casually picked up a rectangular black velvet-wrapped box and opened it.
Inside was a black Montblanc pen. Song Dawei took out the pen and opened it, shaking his head and smiling bitterly. What a fucking rich guy.
I changed into white CK underwear and found a set of gray trefoil hooded clothes and pants to put on. The pants were a little long and dragged on the ground. I picked up some socks and stuffed them into a pair of white Adidas sneakers.
Holding the shoe in his left hand and playing with a pen in his right hand, he walked into the living room. The luxurious large sofa almost surrounded the entire living room. The coffee table in the middle could almost be used as a bed. The carpet on the floor was very delicate, soft and felt good to the touch. After all, he fainted on it for a long time last night.
I threw my shoes on the floor and headed for the kitchen. The villa, spread over two floors, boasted four bedrooms and five bathrooms, two fireplaces, a study, a gym, a game room, and a movie theater. Outside, a large, geometric swimming pool surrounded by a dozen tall palm trees was framed by a lawn and a variety of vegetation. The entire villa covered an area of approximately 700 square meters. The kitchen was spacious, open, and had a center island-style cabinetry, which felt quite inviting.
When I opened the large double-door refrigerator, it was empty except for neatly arranged bottles of high-end mineral water and a few cans of milk.
I took out a 1000ml bottle of FIJI Spring natural mineral water, opened it and took a few sips. The refreshing feeling went straight to my heart. I wiped the corners of my mouth and looked at the various sticky notes on the refrigerator door.
I put down the bottle of mineral water, returned to the living room, and pulled out my Nokia N93 from my trouser pocket, which was still on the floor. I shook it meaningfully, a hint of a sneer on my face. Next year, the bitten apple will release its first generation, and the death knell for Motorola and Nokia has already sounded.
He called the food delivery number and ordered a very hearty breakfast. When Song Dawei asked for a well-done veal steak, the person on the other end of the phone was slightly stunned and continued to ask for the delivery address.
While holding a large bottle of mineral water and drinking it, hoping that the coolness could dilute the discomfort of the hangover, I turned on the large-screen LCD TV.
I changed several channels in a row, and all I saw were news about Neil Patrick Harris, the actor who became famous for playing Uncle Barney in "How I Met Your Mother", coming out, and several Republican congressmen stepping down due to scandals.
Because of the fusion of souls, Andy found that English became his second mother tongue, and he sat bored on the sofa waiting for takeout.
The phone buzzed and vibrated. He picked it up from the table and answered it without even looking at it. He said weakly, "Hello, who is this? Calling so early?"
"Damn it, you finally answered my call! It's Carl. Where the fuck are you now?"
The deafening roar made Song Dawei feel inexplicably irritated. "I'm at home," he said, and hung up the phone. He looked at the call log, which showed his agent's name. The image of a middle-aged, bald, fat man appeared in his memory...
Ding Dong
Song Dawei rushed out of the living room impatiently, opened the door, and watched the delivery guy carry all the food through the messy living room and put it on the dining table. He stuffed the US dollars he had prepared long ago into the waiter's hands, watched the waiter close the door and leave with joy after receiving a 20 yuan tip, and then he couldn't wait to start eating.
Pizza and steak filled my empty stomach. I drank some water while touching my belly comfortably and burped with satisfaction.
The banging on the door startled him. He slowly walked to the door and saw a wretched fat face through the peephole. Andy felt a sense of disgust for no reason.
"Damn, Andy's negativity is really affecting me!" He patted his face, calmed himself down, and took a few deep breaths. "Just keep a straight face, talk less, and showing impatience will be fine."
"Open the door, Andy, it's Carl, open the door quickly! I..." Fatty Carl looked at Andy who opened the door with a cold face, and the roar on his lips was suppressed.
Song Dawei, no, it should be Andy Smith turned around and walked back into the house with an expressionless face. He ignored his agent who was chattering away and slumped into the large and soft sofa again. He changed the TV programs with the remote control with a look of despair.
Then came the opening scene where Andy looked at his agent and started to complain. Rubbing his swollen temples, Andy, who had escaped back to the bedroom on the second floor due to illness, got up from the bed and went downstairs. Without the noisy agent, the villa returned to silence.