Star Gate - Those who enter becomes Gods

Shanghai, Qingfu Prison.

The air in the small office hung thick with the acrid scent of tobacco, clinging to every corner, suffocating the very walls.

A young man, handsome but worn in a way that suggested an unspoken story, sat languidly in a chair. His posture was relaxed—almost defiant—as he leaned back, his feet tapping rhythmically against the floor, causing the chair to creak with each motion. His bald head gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the orange prison vest that clung to his frame. This was Ren Ye, prisoner No. 00848, a familiar face in the ordinary wing of Qingfu's reformation facility.

Across from him, a middle-aged man sat, disheveled, a graying beard draped across his chin. He held a cigarette loosely in his right hand, the ember flickering with each drag as he fumbled with his coat button. His voice was low, filled with a languor that seemed to infect the room.

"You've been here over three years, huh?" he asked, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

"Three years, three months, and five days," Ren Ye replied, his voice even, betraying none of the turmoil beneath the surface.

The man, who identified himself as Huang Wei, offered a lazy smile. His clothes were worn—an old leather jacket that looked more suited to a different time, eyes half-closed, his movements sluggish. There was nothing about him that spoke of authority. He resembled a man who had long since given up on the world.

"Ah," Huang Wei muttered absently, then expelled a violent cough, followed by a yellowish phlegm that he spat onto the table, pinning it with an empty cigarette case.

Ren Ye studied him in silence, his gaze unreadable. Is this man an inspector? A correctional officer? His habits—vulgar, careless—didn't fit the profile, but Ren Ye had learned long ago to question everything, especially appearances.

Taking another long drag from his cigarette, Huang Wei finally asked, "How much longer until you're out?"

"Two years, eight months, and twenty-five days," Ren Ye responded without hesitation.

A small chuckle escaped Huang Wei's lips. "Regret it?" he asked, as if talking about the trivialities of life.

Ren Ye's lips quirked into a brief, sardonic smile.

"You're young. Impulsive," Huang Wei said, pointing a finger at him with little care for formality. "I've read your file. What a shame."

Ren Ye's smile widened, darkening just slightly. "Only when you're young do you have the chance to make mistakes. As for me, six years later, and I'm still here. Nothing's changed." His eyes held a distant glint. "Prison's not so bad. My roommates are all craftsmen—blowing, playing, singing... Keeps the days from feeling too long."

Huang Wei's lips twitched into the rarest of smiles. For a brief moment, something resembling humanity flickered in his tired eyes.

Three years ago, Ren Ye had been just another officer in border anti-fraud operations. Until, during a routine escort, two suspects had opened fire, seven shots in total, tearing into him and marking the end of his former life. His attempt to prevent a violent escape had sealed his fate.

Just a week before, a close colleague had met a grisly end at the hands of those very same suspects—buried alive in foreign soil. His body, mutilated beyond recognition, had left behind only remnants. A husband, a son, and a life shattered by violence.

Ren Ye had tried to do what was right, but justice was cruel. The two suspects—those responsible for both his colleague's death and his own downfall—might have walked free had the case gone to court. Fraud, money laundering… a slap on the wrist. But Ren Ye's hands had not wavered when the gunfire erupted, and in the end, the heads of the suspects had been shattered, leaving no room for mercy.

He had been sentenced to six years and ten months.

Regret?

It had become a question Ren Ye asked himself often, though never aloud. There was a peculiar kind of weight to regret, one that not only burdened others, but one that gnawed at the self. The transition—from lawman to murderer, from protector to pariah—had been harder than he could ever admit.

But as the days bled into one another, he had learned that regret, like everything else, was a cycle. The kind of regret that, if given the chance to relive it, would still happen, no matter how many times you turned back the clock. Life, in its cruel irony, had a way of making you repeat your mistakes, no matter how much you wished to escape them.

This left Ren Ye tangled in contradictions he could not share with another soul.

Huang Wei crushed the last embers of his cigarette into the ashtray, his fingers moving with practiced indifference. He pulled a fresh pack from his jacket, each movement a seamless continuation of the last, lighting another cigarette with a slow, deliberate drag.

"I'm from a special unit," Huang Wei murmured, the words hanging in the air.

Ren Ye didn't flinch. "I figured as much," he said, his voice even.

Huang Wei paused, his face suddenly hardened by something far deeper than the smoke curling from his lips. "What I'm about to tell you... will be hard to digest. Confusing, even. It might shock you. You may struggle to understand it," he said, his tone deepening, pulling Ren Ye's attention fully into the room. "But given your history, I trust you can keep your temper in check."

Ren Ye raised an eyebrow, though something within him stirred—a curiosity, a flicker of unease. "Shocked? Confused? I don't see how," he replied, his words light, betraying none of the tension coiling in his chest.

Huang Wei ignored the retort, his eyes narrowing as he carefully selected his next words, as if the weight of what he was about to reveal could shift the air itself. "Let me tell you two stories."

Ren Ye leaned back in his chair, letting out a small, amused exhale. "Is it going to be long? I've got to get back to my 'craft' tomorrow. Trying to gain another centimeter," he teased, but the edge of his voice was gone—drowned by Huang Wei's intensity.

Unperturbed, Huang Wei pressed on, his voice cold, like the beginning of a storm. "In 1973, there was an incident. A rebirth incident. In the south, a family by the name of Jiang had a young son—only three years old. One day, this child, Xiao Jiang, turned to his parents and said something they couldn't comprehend. 'I'm not your son,' he told them. 'I am the son of a family in Danzhou. More than ten years ago, I died in battle, but I was reincarnated into your home. I want to go back and see my real parents.'"

Ren Ye's eyes narrowed, his lips pulling into a thin line. Was this... some kind of folk tale? A scientific anomaly? The man across from him—a scruffy, tired figure—couldn't possibly be the kind to deal in such nonsense.

But what was he really after?

Huang Wei's eyes, bloodshot and hollow, betrayed no emotion, though they tracked Ren Ye's every subtle shift, every reaction, studying him like a hunter waiting for its prey to make the slightest misstep. His voice lowered, quiet and haunting. "The Jiang parents didn't believe him at first. They thought the child was cursed or possessed, but the boy persisted. He spoke of his past life with a chilling clarity, recounting events that had been long buried. Reluctantly, his parents took him to Danzhou when he turned six."

Ren Ye's mind began to race, a thousand questions flooding his thoughts. Is this a myth? A psychological case? Or something darker? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. This wasn't a typical story. Not by any means.

"Science? Folklore?" Huang Wei's voice cut through his thoughts, a dry rasp. "It's not about that. It's about something far beyond your understanding."

Ren Ye's stomach twisted. Something about this man—the way his eyes glazed over as he spoke—felt like a touch too close to madness. But it wasn't insanity that clouded Huang Wei's gaze. It was something colder, deeper.

"Upon arriving in Danzhou, the child led them to a house. The parents were reluctant, but the boy knew the way. Every turn, every path—exactly as he had described. And when they reached the house, the child looked up and recognized the man who had been his father in a past life." Huang Wei's voice tightened, his words hanging in the air, pregnant with significance. "But the man didn't believe it. He thought the child was mad. Until the boy spoke—about details only the real father could know. Personal, intimate details, down to the smallest nuance of their life together."

Ren Ye could feel a knot forming in his chest. This was no longer just a story. It was a warning, an invitation into something far more terrifying than mere folklore.

Huang Wei leaned forward, his eyes locked on Ren Ye with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "Every detail was the same," he continued, his voice taking on a grim finality. "No difference. No mistake. It was as if the boy had lived that life before. And somehow, he had returned."