Lu Zong hurriedly stopped the fatty, saying, "Hold on, don't rush. Let me explain it to you slowly. The situation here probably can't be summed up in just a couple of sentences."

The fatty impatiently cut him off, "Then make it brief, the shorter the better. Even if I had the patience, I doubt your state of mind has the focus for it; perhaps by the time you finish speaking, your soul will have scattered. Hurry up, your time is running out."

Lu Zong quickly summarized suitable battlefield vocabulary in his mind and began his account: "The scene was utter devastation, filled with cries of agony everywhere, dripping with blood. There wasn't a single patch of yellow earth to be seen across the entire expanse..."

The fatty’s rough voice boomed from outside: "Damn it, Lu Zong, what are you doing? This isn't a briefing or recording a TV show. You're in a life-or-death moment, how can you not know how to get to the point? Just tell me the absolute core of what shocked you."

Only then did Lu Zong stutter out, in a tone thick with astonishment, "I saw that the opposing sides on the battlefield were wearing identical uniforms, and there was only one flag present!"

The fatty seemed to grasp something and said, "Oh, then this must be an internal conflict, they’re fighting a civil war. But what does that have to do with you? Why would they let you witness this scene?"

Lu Zong shook his head. "I don't know. If I knew, would I need you?"

The fatty didn't argue, simply urging Lu Zong to continue.

Lu Zong went on: "I discovered something bizarre amidst the strange. Do you know what the oddest thing I noticed here was?"

The fatty offered no reply, so Lu Zong quickly answered, "I saw that in the whole scene, each warrior's combat partner remained constant. They were all fighting the exact same person. Moreover, even though both sides were horribly mangled and bloody from being hacked at, they showed no outward distress; they continued fighting just as desperately. Furthermore, the warriors on both sides looked exactly alike. I honestly suspected they might all be the same person."

"What? The warring parties are the same person?" the fatty questioned doubtfully.

Lu Zong immediately replied, "You could put it that way, but more accurately, every warrior looked strikingly similar to their opponent, practically indistinguishable. Do you have any idea what's going on here?" Lu Zong asked anxiously.

"Look exactly alike? Does that mean every warrior is identical to his opponent?" the fatty muttered to himself.

Lu Zong confirmed, "Yes, yes! I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but now I’m close enough to clearly examine their faces. I swear on my integrity, they were absolutely minted from the same mold."

Hearing this, the fatty frowned deeply. He let out a confused "Huh?" and rubbed his few remaining strands of hair on his bald head, clearly baffled.

Inside, Lu Zong felt the temperature rising steadily, yet the fatty outside offered no response. He began to despair and asked, "Fatty, think of a solution quickly! I’m feeling hotter and hotter. Are you even capable of getting me out of here?"

The fatty didn't give a direct answer, merely grunting an acknowledgement before falling silent. Lu Zong slowly sank into hopelessness. The fatty's non-explosive response meant he probably wasn't confident he could save him. He shouted with all his might, "Fatty Lord, please hurry and save me! I really don't want to be buried alongside that old fellow Cao Cao."

"Right, Cao Cao! How could I forget that?" Upon hearing Lu Zong mention the name Cao, the fatty immediately spoke the sentence above.

Lu Zong instantly recalled the few banners he had seen earlier and replied, "I saw them! I saw Cao Cao’s banners just now. What, do you have a way to save me?"

The fatty only grunted again, and then Lu Zong heard him begin muttering, sounding as if he were chanting some kind of spell. Lu Zong felt it was inappropriate to interrupt. He realized that since the fatty had been trying so hard to save him earlier, he must still have some use to him. He would certainly exert his utmost effort to save him; there was no need to beg.

After a moment of silence, the fatty suddenly exclaimed with relief to Lu Zong, "Lu Zong, there's a way! Look around quickly—are there many white tents pitched anywhere? That’s where the army quarters are. Run over there and check it out, go!"

Hearing this, Lu Zong's heart, which had cooled considerably, instantly warmed up. He anxiously swept his gaze around and indeed spotted, slightly elevated to the far right of the battlefield, a small rise where vague patches of white could be seen.

"It must be the tents?" Lu Zong murmured to himself, then ran forward frantically on his own initiative. He headed towards the tents, trying his best to skirt around the warriors currently engaged in fierce combat. Since they were all focused on their own opponents, they paid Lu Zong no mind, allowing him to pass easily through their ranks.

Finally, he cleared the battlefield and left the bloody expanse. He noticed his feet were coated red, the color deeply absorbed into his skin. He tried wiping the blood off, but it wouldn't budge. Giving up in frustration, he stopped trying to clean himself and turned, preparing to dash toward the tents.

But just as he turned, he felt a wave of hot air wash over him. He quickly focused his sight ahead, and what he saw nearly made him collapse: standing before him was a person, a living figure clad in thick armor, wearing a gold-inlaid helmet, towering like a pine tree. He was about Lu Zong's height, his eyes gazing at him intensely, laced with a hint of challenge.

Lu Zong stared intently into those eyes, then his peripheral vision involuntarily caught sight of the man's nose—broad and flat, the tip slightly protruding, the corners of his mouth curving up faintly, as if smiling at him, though it was a challenging smile, a precursor to danger.

The face suddenly felt intensely familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before. Fear caused him to take a few backward steps, but the figure remained completely motionless.

"Can he not see me?" Lu Zong wondered, feeling increasingly hot. Worried he might melt if he stayed much longer, he decided to ignore the person in front of him and not investigate his origin; the priority now was to reach the tents.

Saying this internally, he pivoted his body forty-five degrees, intending to skirt around the man, deliberately taking several cautious steps for safety.

The man stood there without moving, showing no irritation at his departure. Lu Zong’s tense heart finally eased. If that thing had decided to fight him to the death, he probably wouldn't stand a chance. After all, the man held some sort of rank in ancient times, and his uniform alone felt capable of crushing him, not to mention the steel spear in his hand and the aggressive glare—Lu Zong felt he had already lost by a large margin.

As he walked, Lu Zong replayed the encounter, feeling increasingly strange. A peculiar sensation was slowly rising from the bottom of his heart.

"What could it be? Why do I feel so uneasy?" Lu Zong scratched his head. He recalled the man's appearance again—so familiar, so close, and most importantly, he had found him so handsome and captivating. If he had lived in ancient times, he would probably be a heartthrob just like me, he mused. Of course, I would be the one charming thousands of beauties.

"Just like me?" Lu Zong suddenly repeated the phrase, and then he guessed the man's true identity: "Could that person be... me?" he whispered, his voice softer than a mosquito's buzz.

However, thinking of the man inevitably led him to compare them. Medium height, a low nose bridge, and full lips—weren't those his own facial features? When had they transferred to that man's face?

Unfortunately, the man’s face shape was obscured by the helmet, preventing Lu Zong from seeing his full appearance. If the man took off his helmet, he ought to look just like me.

Yes, it must be that way. This person must be me. On this battlefield, everyone has another version of themselves; I shouldn't be an exception. Yes, that person must also be myself. Having concluded this, he turned back to look in the direction he had come from, but the spot where he had encountered himself moments ago was now empty. No one was there, only the distant warriors continuing their tireless fighting.

"This is strange," Lu Zong grew more perplexed. How could the man appear and vanish so quickly, like a phantom? Did he simply evaporate? The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, so he finally decided to stop dwelling on the bothersome subject. The man’s disappearance was best; he still couldn't tell if the figure was friend or foe.

He sighed helplessly and turned back, ready to continue forward. He had roughly estimated the distance earlier; it should be about a hundred meters left.

The instant he turned his head, he felt that warm air wash over him again. He looked sharply and this time his mouth fell open in astonishment, unable to close, because he realized the hot air was emanating from the nostrils of a person standing right in front of him—the very same 'self' he had just encountered.

He stammered, "Y-you, why are you in front of me again? Who are you? Can you take off that helmet so I can see?"

The figure gave no reply, simply staring blankly at Lu Zong, showing no reaction at all.

Lu Zong grew impatient and prepared to walk around again. He wouldn't be shaken off by this person; damn it, he’d circle him if he had to.