Chapter 57 · The Blank Month

  “Whoa—!”

  ChengYu’s delighted exclamation shattered the morning stillness.

  He stood on tiptoe, eyes gleaming.

  “Breakfast looks amazing today!”

  Steam curled gently above the table.

  Golden millet porridge shimmered under the morning light.

  Braised beef lay sliced at a perfect angle; steamed chicken glistened with red goji berries.

  Shredded potatoes rose in a neat, golden pyramid.

  The steamed egg quivered like custard.

  Fresh broccoli sparkled with water droplets.

  The entire table was wrapped in a soft haze of warmth—glowing white against the cool morning air.

  “Prepared it last night,” Zhang Han said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Her eyes flicked toward the hallway.

  “Your brother didn’t eat a bite yesterday… these will be easy on his stomach.”

  She gave ChengYu a gentle push between the shoulders.

  “Go see if he’s done washing up.”

  The boy bolted down the hallway like an eager puppy, feet thudding softly on the floorboards.

  The water had just stopped running.

  ChengYu pressed his ear to the frosted glass of the bathroom door, listening to the soft rustle of towel against skin.

  “Brother ~” he called, tapping lightly.

  “Mom says breakfast’s ready!”

  “All right. Coming.”

  The voice inside was calm, light—freshly washed.

  ChengYu’s nose prickled.

  He crouched by the wall, tracing idle circles on the floor with one finger as he waited.

  The door opened with a soft breath of steam, carrying the clean citrus scent of soap.

  YiChen stepped out, towel draped over damp hair.

  A cotton T-shirt clung to his shoulders, the fabric outlining the curve of his collarbone.

  The drawstring of his sweatpants swayed with each step.

  In the gentle light, his skin held a quiet, healthy glow.

  Every wound had been mended by Shixi.

  Even his nails were clean. New.

  “Why are you sitting there?”

  YiChen bent down and tousled his brother’s hair.

  A droplet slid from his wet hair and landed on ChengYu’s hand—

  a perfect little bloom of water.

  The boy tilted his head up, then reached out and gently clutched the hem of his brother’s shirt.

  The fabric was warm from the sun.

  No blood. No ash. No smoke.

  “Come on,” YiChen said, smiling faintly.

  “I can already smell the beef.”

  ChengYu beamed, freckles dancing across his nose.

  He pressed close to YiChen’s side as they walked down the hall, stomping a little harder than necessary on the carpet—

  as if to announce some small, hard-won miracle of wholeness.

  ?

  It was one of those rare mornings—

  a moment of peace so fragile it felt dangerous to breathe on.

  YiChen’s voice drifted through the warmth of the kitchen as he recounted the previous night’s battle—

  but the violence had been gentled, sanded down into something softer.

  The Fiends’ howls became “a bit noisy.”

  The brush with death—“a minor accident.”

  ChengYu leaned on his elbows, chin in his hands, eyes shining like a child listening to a bedtime legend.

  Beneath the table, Zhang Han’s fingers twisted the cloth in her lap, knotting it into deep creases.

  Mark’s brow furrowed a little more with every word.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  His fingertip tapped the rim of his coffee mug—slow, deliberate.

  “So… two of your teammates were hurt?” he asked at last.

  “They’re in the hospital now?”

  “Yeah.”

  YiChen picked up a slice of braised beef.

  “Nothing serious. I’ll check in on them later.”

  “You should.”

  Mark nodded once. His coffee had long gone cold.

  Zhang Han stood abruptly.

  “I baked almond cookies last night,” she said too quickly.

  “They’re your favorite. Take some with you. For them.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  YiChen paused, chopsticks stirring absently through his porridge.

  “And… one more thing.”

  The porridge began to cool.

  The fragrance of steamed egg stalled in the air.

  “I’m planning to head into the Black Pine Forest,” he said quietly.

  “This time… it might be longer.”

  Mark’s finger froze mid-tap.

  “How long?”

  “A month.”

  ChengYu’s head snapped up, color draining from his face.

  Zhang Han turned to fetch the cookie tin—

  and the ceramic jar in her hand trembled faintly.

  Outside, the morning sun spilled across the yard.

  —————

  City Hall · Morning Conference

  “A month?!”

  David Coleman’s fist slammed against the conference table, sending coffee cups rattling.

  “We just reported the ninetieth case of Phantom Body Syndrome this morning! Do you even understand what that means?”

  Mayor Carter sat motionless, hands steepled beneath his chin.

  Behind his glasses, his gaze was glacial.

  “The Comprehensive Stability Initiative is entering its critical phase,” he said evenly.

  “You are its core anchor.”

  “I’m not a safety pin jammed into a sandbag,” YiChen replied—calmly.

  The room froze.

  “If this city can’t survive a single month without me,” he continued,

  “then the future you’re building is nothing but paper scaffolding.”

  “But that thing at the hydro plant—” Police Chief John Mitchell tugged at his collar.

  “—has already been dealt with,” YiChen cut in, voice flat.

  “What we need now is structure. A team.

  Not another all-in bet on one man.”

  His gaze swept the room—cold, deliberate.

  “Precisely because I’m not strong enough…

  I have to go to the Black Pine Forest.”

  A short, dismissive laugh broke the silence.

  Secretary Leo didn’t even look up.

  “With your little squad of half-crippled soldiers?”

  “They’ll make their own choice,” YiChen said.

  His fingers tapped three slow beats against the table.

  “Now. Call them in.”

  The room erupted.

  “The citizens need a symbol!”

  The Minister of Supplies half-rose, face flushed.

  “You know they play your battle footage on the plaza screens daily?”

  “The agricultural district only just stabilized—if you leave—”

  “Public polling shows eighty-seven percent of the city only feels safe when you’re here—!”

  YiChen lifted one hand.

  Silence fell—

  like a dropped curtain.

  As if someone had reached out and crushed every throat at once.

  “I didn’t come here for permission.”

  He rose.

  His full height cast a long shadow across the glowing city map behind him—

  a line slicing clean through the projected skyline.

  “Screen the new Spirit-awakened.

  Expand Moonshadow Wheat cultivation.

  That’s your homework.”

  The double doors swung open.

  A blade of sunlight cut across the floor.

  Standing in that divide between light and shadow, YiChen looked back over his shoulder.

  “When I return,” he said,

  “don’t let me find a city still living off yesterday’s glory.”

  ?

  Recording Room · Noon

  Segment 1 – Moonshadow Wheat Catalyst Training

  On screen, YiChen held a single stalk of Moonshadow Wheat in his palm.

  The silvery-gray grains shimmered with soft, pearlescent light.

  “Look,” he said. “Its veins carry the same energy that flows through us.”

  His fingertip brushed the awn.

  It stirred—though no wind moved in the room.

  “You don’t need incantations.

  Just think of this as your child’s breakfast—

  or the warm bowl of porridge for your elders.”

  The camera zoomed in.

  Several grains visibly swelled, ripening beneath the lens.

  “Offer ten minutes of prayer to your Moonshadow Wheat each day,” YiChen continued,

  his voice gentle, clear as glass.

  “Not for me.

  For the scent of bread in your kitchen tomorrow morning.

  For that one warm sip of porridge—when you’re sick.”

  ?

  Segment 2 – Basic Spirit Circulation

  YiChen sat cross-legged on a meditation mat,

  his pale training robe falling in clean lines around the quiet strength of his posture.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  “Find the pause between your breaths.”

  A faint silver aura shimmered around him—

  like morning mist catching the edge of sunlight.

  “That warmth you feel—it’s not your imagination.

  It lives in the space between each heartbeat.”

  The camera inched closer.

  The fabric over his abdomen pulsed—subtle, rhythmic—

  as if something stirred beneath the skin.

  “Picture a silver bead pushed through a narrow tube,” he murmured.

  “Slow isn’t wrong.”

  The Spirit current rose.

  At his collarbones, it split into two clear streams.

  A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple—

  but before it could fall, the rising Spirit Force caught it,

  lifting it into the air.

  It hovered—

  a drop of moonlight suspended in stillness.

  “See?” he whispered.

  “That’s your potential.”

  ?

  Surveillance Room

  Mayor Carter watched the monitor in silence, lips curled into a thin sneer.

  “He’s thought out every exit, hasn’t he.”

  Across the room, Leo spun a pen between his fingers.

  “You’re really letting him go?”

  “Letting?”

  Carter removed his glasses, polishing the lenses—slow, deliberate.

  “He was never someone we could keep.”