The waves of the Thames hit the rocks, rolling up layers of spray.

The sky is mottled in gloomy gray fog, and in the distance, the towering Big Ben stands amid the thick industrial smoke, no different from what it was fifty years ago.

198, Wu's Orphanage, London.

This is a square, gloomy and old-fashioned building.

The origin of the orphanage is unknown. Some say it was to help the children of soldiers who died in World War I. Some say it was a place where prisoners of the Black Death were held in medieval churches. The various origins only indicate one thing.

It's very rundown here.

Dense wires are tangled in the sky, and houses are piled haphazardly on the gray stone ground, which has no sense of beauty at all.

A large iron gate completely separates this place from the busy streets outside. The stench of white smoke fills the ground, and the rusty manhole cover spits out water vapor. Even rainwater will clog in front of the sewer opening.

Room in the basement of the orphanage.

A little boy has his eyes closed and seems to be sleeping.

He was only about eleven years old, with short black hair, pale skin, and a somewhat mixed-race face that was quite delicate, but his bruised forehead completely ruined his appearance.

He lay on the bed, twitching from time to time, as if he was in great pain.

Dong Dong.

There was a polite knock on the door, but the boy did not wake up.

After a while.

DONG DONG DONG!!

The knocking on the door got louder.

…

Hoffa woke up from his nightmare. He stood up suddenly and touched his head and crotch. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that there were no missing parts.

He is still alive.

Sniffling, he smelled a sour musty smell.

In front of him was not the blazing scene of an exploding movie theater, but a dirty and dark room.

Hoffa looked at his palm in shock, it was white and thin.

Suddenly, a severe pain surged up on his forehead. He rolled his eyes and fell straight down again. Dimly, he heard a knock on the door outside that seemed a little urgent.

…

I don't know how long it took before Hoffa slowly recovered from the pain.

There was an extra memory in his mind that was completely not his.

He is still called Hoffa, but he is no longer the Hoffa on Earth. The Hoffa on Earth is an ordinary high school student in China, alone. He has no house, no car, no money, and his only hobby is saving money.

Buy some books, watch movies or something.

But while watching an IMAX movie, an explosion suddenly occurred in the theater, and he came to this ghost place.

His full name is now Hoffa Bach.

He was a child who grew up in an extremely ordinary orphanage.

Some remaining memories told him that the original owner of this body was deceived into a cave on the seaside during a picnic organized by the orphanage, fell off the cliff, and fell into the cold sea water. After being carried back to the orphanage, he had already died.

He was dying, so Hoffa took advantage of it.

All the child could remember was the sewage-filled streets of London. Apart from that, he had never been to other places. He didn’t know what a phone or a computer was, or the Internet.

Old cars with black smoke, and black umbrellas everywhere...

Hoffa thought hard, trying to find some information that would help his survival from the broken memories.

Shaking his head, some scattered memory fragments came up again.

My father in this life was actually a native Chinese, a Chinese who came to Europe to escape the war, but died in a foreign land during the First World War.

The Bach surname behind his name is probably related to an exotic mother.

It's just that Hoffa has no memories of his mother at all.

…

"The orphan... actually traveled through time!"

Hoffa rubbed his head and exhaled a turbid breath. He didn't care about time travel. After all, he had nothing to worry about in his previous life, but the template he started with was a bit too bad.

He looked at his surroundings more carefully.

There was a dirty bed, a broken wooden table, and a few faded soldier posters on the wall.

There is also a British short blue cat hanging from the ceiling.

That's right, the cat hung stiffly and rigidly from the ceiling, it was extremely miserable.

The cat's name came to Hoffa's mind.

Ado.

It is the best friend of the previous owner of this body.

Inexplicable annoyance appeared in his heart, and Hoffa felt an extreme feeling of disgust. Who is it? He wants to hang an innocent and pitiful cat here, or in front of his owner!

Before he had time to look up the culprit from his memory.

…..

There was a gentle knock and the sound of a key opening the door.

Snap!

Suddenly, the closed door popped open, as if someone had kicked it hard.

Hoffa took a step back in fright.

There were two people standing outside the door, a man and a woman.

He was familiar with the woman, and Hoffa recalled her identity from his memory the moment he saw her.

It's Mrs. Cole.

The administrator of Wu's Orphanage is a skinny, always anxious woman.

And standing next to her was a very unexpected visitor.

This is a weird old gentleman, Hoffa can only think so. Because this man's dress is incompatible with the environment here. He has blue eyes, a long nose, and the nose seems to be broken. His long auburn beard and

His long hair was neatly tied up, he was wearing an elegant velvet suit, and he held a cane and a top hat in his hand.

Hoffa had no doubt that the clothes were custom-made on Savile Row, but what surprised him was not the old gentleman's attire.

But because of his beard and hair, he always felt that this man looked a bit strangely familiar.

"Tom, someone comes to see you..."

The skinny Mrs. Cole said casually, but then she jumped up like a cat whose tail was stepped on.

"Wait a minute, why is it you? Hoffa! Did he rob your room?"

Hoffa was still wondering who the familiar old man in front of him was, and did not respond to Mrs. Cole's words for a long time.

The old man had already walked into the room, looked around, and sighed in front of the hung cat. He stood in front of Hoffa again, looking at Hoffa calmly with a pair of dark blue eyes under his long nose.

Then he stretched out his long fingers and gently stroked the bruises on Hoffa's head.

"Poor child..."

The wound on his forehead felt healed, and a bolt of lightning flashed through Hoffa's mind. He looked at the door number on the room in disbelief.

It says in crooked English:

【Tom Marvolo Riddle】

Holy shit! Ha…the world of Harry Potter?

I am Voldemort!?

Hoffa's brain was a little confused for a while, but soon he realized that he was thinking too much.

He was Hoffa, but he just stayed in Voldemort's room. He knew the reason immediately from his memory.

This is an orphanage. In his previous life, he was a well-behaved child who was loved by the administrator of the orphanage. His room was on the first floor and could be exposed to sunlight. Tom's room was in the basement.

Tom Riddle, the young Voldemort, coveted his room, so he tricked him into the cave. After a series of threats to no avail, he pushed Hoffa off the cliff.

There was no time to express too much about the tragic experience of his predecessor, the world view, the era, the story... All kinds of complicated information flooded into his brain, and Hoffa's eyes widened.

The old man treated Hoffa's wound a little, then turned to look at Mrs. Cole and sighed softly: "Take me to see Tom."

Mrs. Cole nodded and prepared to take him away.

The two walked to the door, and Hoffa finally reacted. He pointed at the old man's back and almost blurted out.

"Deng...Deng...Deng Li..."
To be continued...