- Bolt Through the Window
The first crossbow bolt pierced the window paper as Qian Yiyan was staring at the book in the cellar.
The bolt-head glimmered green—poisoned, unmistakably—and embedded itself in the pillar behind where she had just been standing. Its fletching quivered violently.
No warning. No challenge.
Direct murder.
Qian Yiyan did not move. Her gaze remained locked on the ninth page of Traces of Stars and Mountains—the red rust-mark was writhing, like new granulations in a wound, every three breaths sucking a thread of golden pulsation from the air.
The second bolt came.
This time, two of them, in a triangular formation that blocked her options to dodge left or right. The crossbowman was a veteran—he had preempted every possible reaction.
Still, Qian Yiyan did not move.
She merely extended her left hand and pressed it against the damp earthen wall of the cellar.
Astral force poured from her palm into the earth.
*Huummm. *
From deep underground came a satisfied, greedy suckling. The rust-mark on the page flared abruptly; the red halo flowed as if alive, then… turned a corner.
It did not lunge at Qian Yiyan.
Instead, following the guidance of her astral force, it surged upward toward the cellar's ceiling—directly toward the second floor of the teahouse, where the crossbow bolts had originated.
A brief, stifled grunt came from the third floor. The sound of a body hitting the floor.
Only then did Qian Yiyan rise, brushing the dirt from her hands. The rust-mark's appetite had been briefly sated. The cost was that the crossbowman upstairs had just lost at least three years of his life span—or, more directly, was now an empty husk capable only of drooling.
"Astronomer." Zhang Nu's voice came from the cellar entrance, pitched low. "Four charcoal carts at the street corner. Wheel ruts deep enough to bury a man. Eight men, trained in the Imperial Guard style—synchronized breathing, military formation."
"The Empress Dowager's people." Qian Yiyan tucked the book into her bosom. "Two in the back alley. Give them half an incense stick to sleep."
"And the eight at the front?"
"I'll handle them." She drew a three-inch iron spike. "The Starlight Thorn hasn't tasted blood in a long time."
Zhang Nu was silent for a beat. "Your left shoulder…"
"Which is why we must be quick." She cut him off. "Finish them before they drag me into a war of attrition."
With that, she pushed off the ground and flowed upward along the stairs, her form dissolving into the shadows like ink.
The rust-mark on her left shoulder burned. Beneath the greyish-white skin, countless fine needles seemed to prick her. With every movement, the alien sense of the body not belonging to her intensified—as if her left hand were watching a shadow-puppet play about 'Qian Yiyan' through frosted glass, and the stage itself was slowly rusting away.
But she did not stop.
The play must go on.
Even if the lead actress was inch by inch transforming into something else.
- Data Severance
The instant the link established, the first sentence that exploded in Lu Baoyi's mind was:
"There are eight men here trying to kill me. You'd better be useful."
No greeting. No small talk.
Just a chunk of ice-cold killing intent slammed directly into him, mixed with the earthy reek of a cellar, the burning pain of the rust-mark, and a certain… hollow hunger.
"Holy shit." Lu Baoyi nearly jumped out of his chair. "Qian Eyes, you skipped the startup chime and went straight to murder mode? That's a pretty unique way of saying hello."
The second wave of information arrived.
Images: an open ancient book, the red rust-mark on its ninth page pulsing like a heart. Each contraction sucked a wisp of golden mist from the air. Below it, a line of annotation in small characters:
"Rule-abscess. Feeds on existential presence. Location: seven feet beneath my feet. Trait: hungry."
Lu Baoyi stared at that line. His right hand was already flying across the keyboard, fingers leaving afterimages.
"Lin Wan!" he yelled. "Old Gentleman's Furnace contamination data, Bianjing real-time spectrum—merge analysis! Now!"
"But Zhou Keran just went out—"
"Which means she won't be back!" Lu Baoyi grabbed the jade pendant with his left hand; its surface was scorching hot. "Thirty seconds! Give me thirty seconds of a clean link! This thing is hungry enough to swallow a whole server room! I don't want to be its work-related injury appetizer!"
The keyboard clattered wildly.
Data streams cascaded down the screen like waterfalls. Lu Baoyi's eyes were fixed on them, but his mind was simultaneously processing the hunger sensation Qian Yiyan had transmitted.
It was not a metaphor.
It was a real, ontological appetite. As if something were crouched beneath the Bottom layer of reality, licking at the energy exuded by all cognized things.
The best way to deal with appetite is not to feed it.
It's to make it vomit.
"Got it." Lu Baoyi grinned, looking like a madman tap-dancing on high-voltage wires. "Lin Wan, write me a 'Reverse Overflow Protocol.' Encapsulate it with the Liu Ren algorithm, frequency locked to 17.3 Hz—yeah, that thing's heartbeat!"
"But we haven't tested it—"
"We're testing it now! Call it open beta! The feedback channel is 'don't die'! User experience: zero negative reviews accepted!"
Lu Baoyi shoved the protocol into the link channel, like dropping a bomb into a deep well.
Then he shouted into the void: "Qian Eyes! Catch! This thing is a laxative—it'll make it puke up everything it's eaten! But you gotta open a hole for it—on your end!"
Silence from the other end of the link for a moment.
Then came two words:
"Location."
"Under your feet! Seven feet! Now!"
No response.
But Lu Baoyi could feel it—the astral force on the other end began to Rampage, hammering into the earth's veins like a high-pressure water cannon. Qian Yiyan wasn't opening a "hole." She was blasting a crater.
"Are you fucking insane—" Lu Baoyi didn't finish.
The explosion from the cellar direction came through the link simultaneously, mixed with the shatter of brick and stone and a certain… scream so shrill it didn't sound biological.
The contamination source had been blasted out.
A red, semi-transparent "abscess" erupted from underground like a wounded octopus, countless tendrils flailing wildly at the air. Each lash made the surrounding space ripple—the mark of existential presence being violently churned.
"Now!" Lu Baoyi slammed Enter.
The "Reverse Overflow Protocol" activated.
Not virus killing. Emesis induction.
The red abscess convulsed violently. Thousands of tiny fissures burst across its surface; golden mist gushed from the cracks like a fountain—the existential weight it had swallowed over the past twelve hours from every living thing on this street.
The golden mist returned to the air, to the bricks, to every person and object that should rightfully possess it.
The abscess shriveled, like a deflating balloon. Finally, it collapsed into a pool of red slime, seeping into the earth without a sound.
The link began to fluctuate violently.
Lu Baoyi could feel the searing pain on Qian Yiyan's end—the wound on her left shoulder had torn open, blood flowing, astral force overdrawn, and eight Imperial Guard were breaking down the door. That pain was as sharp as an ice pick being driven into his own temple.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Hold on," he said into the link, not knowing if she could hear him. "I'll… set off a fireworks display for you. Consider it a bonus for coordinated ops—no extra charge."
He switched out of the protocol interface and opened another Back-end program—a gift he'd planted three days ago, triggered by high load on the link.
The program activated.
Three streets away from Moyun Studio, the stove in a certain private residence suddenly exploded.
Not gunpowder—methane. Lu Baoyi, while forging the geological report, had also tweaked the underground pipeline map, leaving a little surprise. The explosion wasn't loud, but thick smoke billowed—enough in the silent night to attract all attention.
The sound of the door being broken ceased.
The禁军的 footsteps redirected toward the explosion.
Qian Yiyan had gained at least half an incense stick's worth of breathing time.
At that moment, the link severed completely.
Lu Baoyi slumped in his chair. The greyish-white on his right arm had spread to his elbow. Beneath the skin, those circuit-like patterns burned as if about to melt through. He looked down and saw several fine cracks opening in his palm; silver fluid seeped out, dripping onto the keyboard, etching small, smoking pits.
"Boss!" Lin Wan rushed in. "Your hand—"
"Workplace injury experience package, includes self-harm option." Lu Baoyi gasped, forcing an ugly smile. "Qian Eyes over there… should be fine too. She's tough. Probably got another eight kills in her."
He closed his eyes.
In the last instant before the link broke, he heard her response.
Not words.
A very soft, blood-tinged sigh.
As if to say: Thanks.
Or: Next time, don't be so crazy.
- Pei Ji's Blade
Under the same starry sky, a thousand years earlier.
By the time Qian Yiyan climbed out of the cellar, the front door had already been smashed open.
Eight禁军 poured in, forming a wedge formation. Blades drawn, steps synchronized, breathing rhythm identical. The squad leader said nothing; he simply raised his arm and slashed straight at her face.
Qian Yiyan did not dodge.
She stepped forward to meet him, her iron spike touching the side of his blade—not a block, but a force break. The instant the spike's tip contacted the edge, astral force exploded. The blade's trajectory was deflected by three inches, whistling past her shoulder into empty air.
The second blade came from the left, a horizontal slash.
Qian Yiyan pivoted, her iron spike flicking backward to touch the man's wrist. Again, a light touch and immediate withdrawal. Astral force detonated a second time; his entire arm went numb, and the blade fell from his grip.
Third, fourth…
She moved like a ghost weaving through a storm of steel. Each collision was only the lightest touch; each light touch temporarily incapacitated one Imperial Guard. Not killing—dismantling. Using minimal cost to nullify their offense.
After ten breaths, four of the eight Imperial Guard were down. The remaining four's expressions changed.
They finally realized: this was not a siege.
It was a lesson.
"Enough."
A voice came from the second floor.
Qian Yiyan looked up. A man in indigo close-fitting attire sat on the railing, a black cloth masking his face, toying with two crescent-shaped short blades in his hands. No one had seen him arrive.
"Pei Ji." Qian Yiyan spat out the name.
"Hard to believe you still remember." Pei Ji laughed, a rasping sound. "Should have died three years ago. Now you're the Empress Dowager's lapdog—how's that feel?"
"Better than being yours."
Pei Ji's smile froze.
Then he moved.
Not jumping down—sliding down. His body flowed like liquid from the railing; the instant his toes touched the ground, he was already upon her. The twin blades swept up a curtain of silver light—not slashing, but coiling, like two venomous snakes striking for her throat and heart.
Qian Yiyan retreated, her iron spike flicking repeatedly.
Clang clang clang clang clang!
The clash of metal rang out like torrential rain.
Pei Ji's mandarin-duck blades were too fast—too fast for the eye to follow. But Qian Yiyan didn't need her eyes. She relied on astral perception; each time a blade edge cut through the air, its trajectory was as clear in her perception field as slow motion.
She dismantled seventeen moves.
On the eighteenth, Pei Ji suddenly changed his pattern.
Left blade feinted; right blade released—not a mistake, but deliberate. The released short blade traced a bizarre arc through the air, curved around behind her, and flew straight at her back.
At the same time, his left blade thrust at her throat.
Attack from front and rear.
A certain kill.
Qian Yiyan did not dodge.
She lunged forward, taking Pei Ji's left blade with her left shoulder—the tip pierced the edge of the rust-mark, emitting a piercing screech of metal scraping metal. Then… it stuck.
The greyish-white skin was as hard as iron.
Pei Ji's pupils contracted.
In that instant, Qian Yiyan's right-hand iron spike moved.
Not at him.
At her own left shoulder—the spike's tip precisely struck the blade lodged in her skin. Clang! The short blade was knocked flying. Simultaneously, her left hand seized Pei Ji's wrist. Astral force erupted.
Crack.
The snap of wrist bones was unmistakable.
Pei Ji grunted, staggering backward, his right hand hanging limp. He stared at the wound on Qian Yiyan's left shoulder, from which only a thread of greyish fluid seeped. His expression was that of a man seeing a ghost.
"You…" he rasped. "What the hell are you?"
"Qian Yiyan." She flicked blood from her spike. "Daughter of the Qian family, blade of the Empress Dowager, future daughter-in-law of the Cao family—which answer do you want?"
Pei Ji was silent for three breaths.
Then he laughed, his shoulders shaking: "The Empress Dowager this time… has truly raised a monster."
The corner of Qian Yiyan's mouth twitched. She said nothing. The greyish fluid from her wound dripped from her fingertip to the ground, emitting a faint sizzle, corroding the surface of the blue brick.
She merely stared at his shattered right wrist. Her eyes held nothing—no triumph, no mockery, not even killing intent. Only an ultimate, icy emptiness.
As if the battle just fought were nothing more than swatting an annoying fly.
Pei Ji's smile froze on his face.
He bent down, picked up the copper tube, and tossed it to her, his movements unsteady: "The medicine's inside. Take it or not, up to you. Read the note yourself."
With that, he turned and vanished into the night in a few bounds.
The remaining fourImperial Guard also withdrew, dragging their unconscious comrades, leaving swiftly and cleanly.
Moyun Studio fell silent once more.
Qian Yiyan unscrewed the copper tube.
On the note, cinnabar small characters:
"Anomaly at Cao family mines. Will erupt within three days. Go, and you may trace your father's Trace. Stay, and the wedding date will be advanced."
No signature.
She tucked away the note and looked at the wax-sealed pill. Through the translucent wax shell, the red core gleamed with a metallic sheen. She did not hesitate. She tossed it into her mouth, chewed, swallowed.
Bitter, metallic, cloyingly sweet.
Then a cold warmth rose from her stomach, like a small snake钻进 her blood, coiling there to rest.
Another shackle.
She turned and walked out of Moyun Studio.
Dawn light pierced the clouds. The jade pendant in her bosom suddenly transmitted a faint pulse—quietly synchronizing with her accelerating heartbeat in her chest.
Like a distant response.
Like an illusion.
- Amber and Copper Coin
Deep in the Alps, the cold light of server racks reflected off Isabelle Laurent's gold-rimmed glasses.
She was not tasting wine.
She was encapsulating artifacts.
In her left hand, a fragment of copper coin bearing reddish rust traces—from the fourth year of Tiansheng, Northern Song, recovered three hours ago from the cellar of Moyun Studio in Bianjing, delivered through a special channel. In her right hand, a tube of specially prepared amber resin, heated to precisely flowing temperature.
Tweezers picked up the fragment and gently placed it into a mold.
Resin slowly poured, enveloping that rust-eaten sliver from a thousand years ago.
"Another fragment of civilization's detritus," Isabelle murmured, her voice echoing in the cavernous server room. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
The fragment froze in the resin, the red rust like congealed blood.
She placed it beside the console, alongside seventeen other encapsulated "specimens"—fragments of Warring States silk manuscripts, torn pages from medieval alchemical notebooks, the melted core of a failed twentieth-century supercomputer experiment.
All were carriers of rule-contamination.
All were scars left by civilizations attempting to touch the forbidden.
She pulled up the freshly written file, numbered [Amber-2026-██-001]. At the archivist's signature, she signed her name with the stylus, then added a remark:
【Note: Individual-level synchronization has drawn the attention of 'The Other Side.' Suggested focus for next observation phase: Mine Fissure. Predicted trigger window: Within 72 hours.】
File uploaded.
She shut down the screen, leaned back in her chair, and gazed at the virtual reality view of an Alpine sunrise beyond the window.
Golden light stained the snowline.
Like amber burning.
"Keep performing, children," she murmured. "Let me see… whether this time you'll turn the entire mine into the next specimen."
- Mark and Mirage
Lu Baoyi stared at the silvery-grey fluid oozing from his palm for a long time.
Then he picked up the empty vial of neural sedative Zhou Keran had left behind and brought it to his nose.
Besides the scent of chemical agents, there was a faint, sweetish undertone—a biological tracer. Xihe Technologies' signature. The model was probably Hummingbird-7, implantable, capable of emitting encrypted pulses for seventy-two hours.
"Cold-blooded." The corner of his mouth twitched. "This after-sales service includes a lifetime GPS tracker, huh. If this AI took an exam, it'd probably crush a whole room full of programmers."
Lin Wan stood beside him, pale-faced: "Boss, how about I perform surgery right now—"
"No need." Lu Baoyi tossed the empty vial into the trash. "Keep it. It'll be useful."
"But—"
"She knows I know." Lu Baoyi cut her off, his tone eerily calm. "And I know she knows I know. If I remove it now, how are we supposed to keep playing this scene? The audience has already bought tickets; we can't deprive them of the post-credits scene."
He stood up, walked to the tent flap, and lifted it.
Morning light stabbed his eyes.
The camp was stirring awake. The diesel generator roared; cooking smoke rose. In the distance, Zhou Keran was talking to someone from the hydrology team, her smile warm, her profile in the light appearing clean and professional.
Lu Baoyi watched for a moment, then let the flap fall.
He sat back down at the computer and opened the jade pendant's real-time spectrum.
That pulse, representing Qian Yiyan, was still beating—steady, but eight percent faster than last night. Elevated heart rate. She was tense, or hurrying.
He pulled up last night's link log.
In the last 0.0-something seconds of data residue, he discovered a "sandwich layer" of information he hadn't noticed before.
Not transmitted by Qian Yiyan.
It was an "environmental echo" that the link channel itself had scraped off the underlying fabric of spacetime while carrying high-intensity data exchange.
He amplified it. Decoded.
The noise faded, leaving two characters:
"Save me."
The voice was very soft, very blurred. Its pronunciation was so ancient that the database had no matching entry.
But Lu Baoyi understood.
Because behind those two words came a fragment of broken visual residue—a mine tunnel, a fissure, red rust like blood vessels crawling up the rock walls. A "figure" covered in glowing rust-marks stood deep in the fissure, reaching out toward whoever was watching.
That figure's outline twisted and shifted within the corrosion—
One instant, it was the thin, stooped profile of Qian Weiyan, consulting a star chart;
The next instant, it blurred into the weary, blurred stance of Lu Yuan, his own father, from a photograph in his laboratory—a stance engraved in Lu Baoyi's memory.
Lu Baoyi's entire body convulsed, as if that rust-eaten hand, pointing simultaneously at both fathers, had seized him by the throat. His heart pounded wildly in his chest; the greyish-white patterns on his right arm writhed violently, almost bursting through the skin. An icy shudder exploded from the base of his spine, shooting straight to the crown of his head.
He slammed the interface shut, gasping.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
The screen went dark, reflecting his own pale, twisted face. And beside his reflection, the small pits etched by the silvery-grey fluid on the table were silently spreading, connecting, gradually forming an eerie shape—
Like a hand.
Reaching out of the screen, grasping at reality.
Lu Baoyi stared at that shape for a long time.
Then he opened a new document. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly.
But eventually, they descended:
Analysis of Potential "Living Contamination Source" at Mine Fissure and Cross-Temporal Paternal Correlations (Highest Urgency).
The clatter of keys in the dawn light.
Like a heartbeat.
Like a countdown.
Like…
a rusted call across a thousand years, chiseling its way into reality through his fingertips, bit by bit.