Luo Yang woke up on his own before the alarm could even go off.
A beam of light leaked through the gap in the curtains, falling onto his eyelids with a warm glow. He rolled over, intending to snooze for a bit longer, but his mind was already starting to churn.
He picked up his phone to check the time: 7:40 AM.
He pushed himself up from the bed. There was no sound coming from the living room; Yan Zhi probably wasn't up yet. That girl had likely stayed up late watching anime again.
After a quick wash, he changed into a clean hoodie and felt around in his pocket.
The key was still there.
Walking into the kitchen, he found an insulated container sitting on the table. Lifting the lid revealed several meat buns, and a cup of soy milk beside them was still warm.
A sticky note was attached to the side of the container with Yan Ya’s handwriting.
It seemed she had already left.
“Come home early.”
Just a few short words. He looked at them for a moment before peeling off the sticker, folding it neatly, and tucking it into his pocket. He stuffed the buns into his mouth in two bites and took the soy milk with him as he headed out.
Old Man Zhou was moving a thermos of hot water into the security booth at the entrance. He nodded when he saw him.
“Early today, aren't you?”
“Got some things to take care of.”
“Don't go getting into fights again.”
“I won't.” Luo Yang gave a small smile. “I'm just going to pick something up.”
He used a ride-hailing app to call a car, which arrived after a three-minute wait. The driver was a young man. Upon hearing the address in the city center, he smacked his lips while opening the navigation.
“That area, huh? Only rich people live there.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I've even picked up a few celebrities from there. Man, every single one of them is fully geared up, acting like they want to cover their entire faces.”
Luo Yang didn't respond, instead leaning back in the rear seat and closing his eyes.
As the car drove onto the viaduct, the city morning was unfolding. The sun hadn't yet climbed above the rooftops. The sky over Yuanxing City was a pale blue, with clouds stretched into wisps by the wind, drifting from the left side of the windshield to the right.
It took over an hour to arrive. The driver pulled up at the entrance of the residential area. Luo Yang checked the meter, paid, and got out.
Access to the neighborhood required a card, but it was also open to visitors who registered via a QR code. He gave the house number. The guard checked the reservation list on a tablet—Qiu Shubai must have registered him in advance last night—and waved him through.
It was incredibly quiet inside.
The floor tiles were laid out perfectly, the greenery on both sides of the road was of a uniform height, and even the pruning marks along the flower beds looked like they had been measured with a ruler. Aside from a nanny pushing a stroller in the distance, no one else could be seen on the main road.
He followed the navigation, took two turns, and arrived in front of the detached house.
It was a small three-story building with an exterior of grayish-white stone. The floor-to-ceiling windows were large enough to occupy almost the entire wall, with the curtains drawn tight from the inside. Two potted plants sat on the steps at the entrance, their leaves looking a bit wilted; it seemed they hadn't been watered for days.
He didn't see any cameras, nor did he see any security at the door.
Luo Yang stood at the bottom of the steps for a moment, spreading his mental power to probe the surrounding hundred meters.
Nothing.
Not only were there no sentries, but even the infrared sensors or smart lock circuits that a normal household would install were completely absent.
This house was as clean as a piece of glass that had been specifically wiped down.
He didn't overthink it and pulled out the key.
The lock cylinder turned smoothly, sounding well-oiled. The door opened with a slight push, and a faint woody scent drifted out, mixed with leather and cold air—the kind of smell found in a house that has had the air conditioning running for a long time and feels almost devoid of human presence.
“Excuse me,” Luo Yang said in a low voice, though even he felt it was unnecessary.
The living room was ridiculously large.
The sofa was light gray, a three-seater plus a single chair. One look at the brand told him it was very expensive, yet it didn't have a single decoration—not even an extra throw pillow.
The coffee table was also empty, with no vase, no ornaments, and not even a single book.
There was a television on the TV stand, but nothing else.
The walls were a clean off-white latex paint. A painting hung on one wall, but the frame was the same color as the wall, making it almost invisible from a distance. When he moved closer to look, he saw it was an abstract piece with a few strokes of white amidst cold-toned blues.
In the entire living room, this was the only thing that could be considered a “decoration.”
The furniture was all high-quality; the leather of the sofa, the wood of the floor, and the metal handles of the cabinets were all brands Luo Yang recognized. Yet every piece had been chosen for its practical design—no patterns, no inlays, none of the designs that sacrificed utility for aesthetics.
The owner of this house placed functionality above all else.
Luo Yang stood in the center of the living room for a few seconds, letting out a bit of his mental power.
It was just a thin wisp, like a finger testing the temperature of water.
As soon as that wisp of mental power spread out half a meter, it felt as though it had hit something.
It was an invisible layer, both soft and sticky. It felt like being wrapped in something; he could move forward, but every step required more effort.
Luo Yang narrowed his eyes.
He pushed his mental power forward a few steps, and the wrapping layer thickened along with his output. Every time he increased the strength of his mental power, it would grow a layer thicker.
It was like a person stepping into sand—the harder you pushed, the deeper you sank.
He withdrew his mental power slightly, letting it spread out into a thin net, no longer exerting force to probe, keeping only the most basic perception.
Once the intensity dropped, the wrapping layer also softened, and the resistance almost vanished.
He tried adjusting the intensity back to its previous level, and that feeling of being wrapped immediately rose again.
After trying three times, Luo Yang understood.
This domain didn't have a fixed intensity; it adjusted its own back-pressure based on the intruder's mental power output. If you were weak, it was weak; if you were strong, it was strong.
Since he knew its temperament, he wouldn't fall for its trick. Luo Yang suppressed his mental power to the minimum, just enough to sweep the general area.
Right now, he only wanted to find that sword and then go home.
He bypassed the sofa in the living room and walked further in. When he pulled open a kitchen cabinet door, a cold light turned on inside. The pots and bowls were arranged neatly, but there were very few—one soup pot, one frying pan, a few plates, and a few bowls.
The refrigerator was still plugged in, and cold air puffed out when he opened it. He leaned in to look and saw a few scattered bottles of ice water, a carton of eggs, half a bottle of soy sauce, and—
Four or five bags of potato chips.
They were all different flavors.
Luo Yang picked up a bag and flipped it over to check the production date. It was from this month.
He was stunned for a moment, then flipped over the other bags to check them all. The dates varied, but even the earliest was from the end of last month.
He closed the refrigerator door.
He pulled it open again halfway and took another look.
He muttered to himself, “Miss Chief... actually has this kind of hobby?”
There was also an empty drink bottle on the counter next to the fridge. He recognized the bottle; it was the same brand of happy water that Yan Zhi liked to drink.
His lips twitched.
Although the sense of absurdity in his mind wouldn't dissipate, it wasn't like he could go and ask her about these things.
Whatever.
Closing the fridge, he continued further in.
Besides the kitchen and living room, the first floor also had a storage room and a guest room. The storage room only contained a few empty cardboard boxes, and the bed in the guest room wasn't even made; it likely had never been slept in.
The second floor was the main living area. The study, master bedroom, and a bathroom were all located here.
A desk lamp that hadn't been taken was still on the desk in the study. Luo Yang pulled open the drawer; it was empty.
The duvet cover had been removed from the bed in the master bedroom, and a dust sheet was spread over the mattress. The closets were all wide open and completely empty.
Luo Yang swept through the rooms one by one, following the guidance of his mental power, but he still couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the sword.
Although that domain wasn't strong, it made all the energy traces in the house muddled and indistinct.
He could only use the most primitive method.
Searching with his eyes.
The walk-in closet was at the very back of the master bedroom. He pushed the door open to find a typical high-end custom design, with a wall of wardrobes where every compartment was empty.
Except for the very bottom compartment, where a long black box lay flat.
The box was roughly one hundred and twenty centimeters long and twenty centimeters wide. There were no markings on the surface, only a simple metal latch on the side of the box.
He squatted down, lifted the box out, placed it on the floor, and pressed the latch.
The interior was lined with a layer of dark red velvet, and a sword lay in the middle of the velvet.
The blade was about a meter long, and both the scabbard and the hilt were pitch black. There were no inlays or patterns on the scabbard. The hilt was wrapped in a layer of old cloth, the fibers of which were frayed, and the color had faded to the point where the original hue was unrecognizable.
It was as ordinary as could be.
If he hadn't known he'd found it in a box in the deepest part of a walk-in closet, he might have truly mistaken it for some craft piece worth a few hundred coins at a second-hand market.
“This is it?” Luo Yang muttered. “It looks pretty unremarkable.”
He reached out to grasp the hilt.
The old cloth felt rough to the touch but fit his grip surprisingly well. He pressed his left hand against the scabbard and pulled upward with his right, but only managed to draw out a small section.
He paused for a moment, then tried again.
This time he used some strength, sending a wisp of blood energy into his arm, but he could still only draw it out that same small section.
He changed his posture, placing the box on his lap. He pressed down firmly on the scabbard with his left hand and yanked the hilt upward with his right, but it still didn't work. The scabbard and hilt seemed to be glued together, making it impossible to pull the sword out.
Luo Yang frowned.
“What kind of trick is this?”
He laid the sword back in the box and stared at the short section of the exposed blade for a few seconds.
Was there actually a sword in this world designed specifically so it couldn't be drawn?
He first looked at the scabbard. It was made of wood, but he couldn't tell exactly what kind. There were no carvings or inlays on the surface, and the wood grain at the joints was perfectly aligned.
He flipped it over; the back was the same, offering no clues.
He then looked at the hilt, squeezing it with his fingers. Beneath the old cloth was a metal grip, but it was equally bare, with no inscriptions or patterns.
The guard was a simple cross-guard. There were a few scratches from use, showing that this sword had actually cut things in the past, but that was all.
He looked down at the section of the blade that could be drawn out.
The blade was black—a very pure black that hardly reflected light—and the edges were frighteningly sharp.
He turned the box at an angle, allowing the bit of light leaking from the window to shine more directly onto the blade.
The moment the light swept over it, a few characters suddenly appeared on that section of the blade.
They seemed to shine through from inside the blade in a faint silver-white, visible only under light at a specific angle.
“I dedicate my blood to Xuan Yuan.”
Luo Yang’s breath hitched, and he couldn't help but lean in closer.
The seven characters were all there, written in a semi-cursive script with a sharp edge in their strokes.
He recognized these seven characters.
Not just recognized them—this was a line of poetry from Earth!
His fingertips stopped just above the blade without touching it. Those seven characters were truly there. It seemed that as the light moved, they would adjust their brightness accordingly; they remained those same seven characters, never changing into anything else.
He recited the full couplet of the poem under his breath.
“My thoughts go to the cold stars, the fragrant herbs do not notice; I dedicate my blood to Xuan Yuan.”
His voice wasn't loud, and it was swallowed by the wooden floor in the empty walk-in closet, leaving no echo.
Brother Xun’s poem. It was quite famous.
But why would it appear on this sword?
He couldn't be sure how old this sword was, but based on the craftsmanship alone, it was at least several decades old.
Not to mention, this was another world.
Blue Star was not Earth. Blue Star had no Republic of China era, no thin figure standing on the streets of Zhabei writing these words, and certainly none of that magnificent history.
Then where did these seven characters come from?
He thought of the most direct possibility: that this sword, like him, had come from Earth.
But in the next second, he completely dismissed that idea.
He had only been an eighteen-year-old youth when he came here, swallowed by a door, starting his life over from the beginning for another eighteen years. Aside from himself, he hadn't brought anything with him. If something else could bring these words over, it could only mean...
A chill crawled up the back of his neck.
In this world, he might not be the only person who had come from Earth.
He didn't let his thoughts go any further. He repositioned the sword, closed the box lid, and snapped the latch shut. He stood up and stretched his calves, which had gone numb from squatting, then took the box in his hand.
It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. He had no idea how deep the secrets hidden in this thing went.
Regardless, he should head home first.
He planned to give the sword to Yan Ya to look at and then contact his father. The Luo family had deep roots in Shenzhou; perhaps they could find some clues.
He walked out of the walk-in closet, closed the door, and looked back once to make sure he hadn't left any traces. His steps were faster going downstairs than they had been coming up, and he closed the kitchen cabinet door on his way out.
Reaching the entrance, he switched the box to his left hand and reached out with his right to turn the doorknob.
Just at that moment—
“Young Master Luo, please wait.”
A voice rang out from behind him.
It was cold and calm—a woman’s voice.
Her tone carried an air of command that brooked no refusal, as if the speaker knew exactly who he was and exactly what she was doing.
Luo Yang’s hand stopped on the doorknob. He did not look back.
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