Indecipherable

It was past one in the afternoon when Luo Yang returned home.

The sun had bleached the concrete in the courtyard a stark white. As Luo Yang pushed the door open and stepped inside, he was greeted by a sudden rush of cool air.

Yan Ya was sitting on the living room sofa with a thick, hardbound book spread across her lap. On the coffee table, a cup of freshly poured hot tea was swirling with rising steam. She looked up and glanced at him.

“You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

Luo Yang set the box on the coffee table. Its metal edges hit the glass surface with a dull thud.

Yan Ya’s gaze fell upon the box.

“What’s this?”

“A sword.” Luo Yang flipped the latches and opened the lid. The pitch-black sword lay quietly nestled in dark red velvet, the old cloth wrapped around the hilt looking even more worn under the indoor lights.

Yan Ya closed her book and set it aside. She didn’t reach for the sword immediately; instead, she looked up at Luo Yang.

“What’s its history?”

Luo Yang sat down opposite her and summarized the essential details. “This sword is a relic from my… classmate from the Qiu family. It’s very strange. The Qiu family couldn’t figure out what was going on with it, so they basically dumped it on her to let her deal with the trouble.”

Yan Ya nodded. She didn’t press him for details about the house and instead reached out to lift the sword from the box.

Her fingertips paused on the scabbard. The low hum of the air conditioner continued, but her breathing slowed for a beat.

“Hmm?” she murmured.

She laid the sword across her knees, sliding her thumb from the throat of the scabbard to the tip. She paused at a certain seam in the wood grain, then rubbed it back and forth a couple of times.

“This scabbard looks like wood and feels like wood,” she said softly.

Luo Yang nodded.

“But it isn’t wood.” There was a new quality in Yan Ya’s tone—not quite confusion, but a long-lost sense of curiosity.

“The year I reached the Dao Manifestation level, I visited many places that produced high-grade timber. I can distinguish over twenty different types of grain with my eyes closed. This thing has the grain of wood and the hardness of wood, but it lacks the one thing any wood should have: ‘vitality.’”

As she spoke, she tapped the scabbard lightly against the edge of the table.

The sound it produced wasn’t like wood or metal; it was more like a dull response from something with extremely high density.

Nearby, Yan Zhi tilted her head to take a peek before turning her attention back to the TV.

Yan Ya set the scabbard down and gripped the hilt. Like Luo Yang, she could only pull it out a small fraction. Sunlight slanted in from the floor-to-ceiling window, flashing briefly across the seven silver-white characters on the blade.

She condensed her blood energy into a thread and probed along the blade. This was the standard method Punishers used to identify materials, and the higher a Punisher’s realm, the finer their perception.

Yan Ya was at the Star Initiation level, a powerful existence even on a national scale. She held an important position and was incredibly well-traveled.

If she couldn't identify it, the hope of finding someone who could recognize this material would be even slimmer.

Her blood energy went in and came back out. She tried twice more. On the third attempt, she placed the sword back into the box, her movements a beat slower than usual.

“Something’s wrong.”

Luo Yang raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“The color of the blade isn't pure black; it looks like there are other colors mixed in. The way it reflects light isn’t like an alloy, nor is it like any of the rare metals I’m familiar with.”

She made a small gesture with her fingers. “The frequency the blood energy feeds back after entering isn't within the spectrum of any metal I know.”

“In other words—”

“I don’t know what this is,” Yan Ya said bluntly. “The scabbard and the blade are both made of materials I’ve never seen before.”

The room fell silent for a moment. On the TV, the protagonist of the anime had just sent the villain flying, and the background music was reaching its climax.

Yan Zhi finished the last sip of her cola, letting out a short, soft “glug.”

Luo Yang stared at the sword for several seconds.

He had originally thought he would be able to get something out of Yan Ya—even just a direction or a guess would be better than him fumbling around blindly in a fog of confusion.

But even Yan Ya said she couldn't tell.

“Mom, could you take a closer look?”

Yan Ya picked up the sword again. This time, she tapped on the throat of the scabbard and lightly scraped her knuckle against the small section of the blade that was exposed.

She shook her head helplessly and put the sword back in the box.

“Just by looking at the section of the blade that can be drawn and the craftsmanship of the scabbard, it’s clear that whoever forged this was no ordinary craftsman. But as for the material… I really can’t tell.”

Luo Yang slumped back against the sofa. “If even you can’t tell, then this thing can’t be from outer space, can it?”

Yan Ya looked up. “You’ve been watching too much anime.”

“I’m serious.” Luo Yang sat up straight. “If it’s something even you haven’t seen, then it’s either been buried miles underground for thousands of years, or it fell from the sky.”

“Not necessarily.”

Yan Ya moved her teacup closer. “There are indeed many materials in this world that humanity has yet to discover. Who knows what’s hidden within the reclusive families, at the bottom of deep-sea trenches, or within tectonic faults.”

“I’ve heard of Qiu Lin before. He was from the Jiangnan Province Ability Bureau and spent most of his time out in the field. If he really did find a special material in some remote corner and then commissioned a master craftsman to forge a fine sword for him, that would explain it.”

Luo Yang thought about it. This explanation did seem much more plausible than “it’s from outer space.”

“Then can you tell why the sword can’t be drawn?”

Yan Ya touched the scabbard again. Her thumb slid back and forth three times over the junction between the scabbard and the hilt, and she tried to pull it out again.

The blade slid out half an inch, but beyond that, it wouldn't budge, as if it were welded shut.

“I can’t tell that either,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like it’s locked. It feels more like… it doesn't want to come out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t quite put it into words. If it were locked by some kind of mechanism or energy structure, I would get some kind of feedback when I probed it with blood energy. But there’s nothing. The scabbard and the blade are just pressed together, as if that’s exactly how they’re supposed to be.”

Luo Yang remained silent for a long while before reaching out to close the lid of the box.

“Alright, let’s leave it at that for now.”

Yan Ya didn’t stop him and went back to drinking her tea.

Luo Yang stood up with the box and looked down at it once more.

“Mom.”

“Hmm?”

“When you go back to the capital, could you help me look into this man, Qiu Lin?”

Yan Ya didn’t even look up. “No problem.”

Having secured his mother’s agreement, Luo Yang carried the box to the other side of the living room and set it down. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

He scrolled through his contact list to Qiu Shubai’s name and stared at the input box for a few seconds.

“I’ve retrieved the sword. Where should I bring it to you?”

After sending the message, he tossed his phone onto the sofa and collapsed beside it, tilting his head back to stare blankly at the glow of the ceiling light.

The shadows of a few flying insects floated inside the lampshade. The cold air blowing down from the air conditioner made the back of his neck feel a bit tight.

He played a newly downloaded racing game for a while, losing two matches in a row until his fingers started to feel stiff.

Twenty minutes passed. Just as he was about to head to the kitchen to raid the fridge for an iced cola, his phone vibrated.

Qiu Shubai: “Turn left out of your house and go to the end of the road. It’s Building 19.”

Luo Yang stared at that line of text for three seconds.

Then he read it a second time, and a third.

“Hiss—”

He definitely hadn't misread it.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed the box, and headed for the door.

“Going out?” Yan Ya asked without looking up.

“Yeah.”

“Be back early.”

“Got it.”

He put on his shoes twice as fast as usual, not even bothering to tie the laces properly. Open door, close door, taking the steps two at a time.

The heatwave in the courtyard slammed into his face. He walked along the main road toward the left, switching the box between his hands twice.

Turn left out the door, go to the end—it was clearly a very short distance, but Luo Yang’s pace grew slower and slower.

When he reached the building, he stopped.

It was a three-story villa with a minimalist, restrained exterior. There were no redundant decorations, and the building number was embedded in the greyish-white stone of the porch.

Building 19.

Luo Yang stood at the bottom of the steps. He pushed his glasses up and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The concrete beneath his feet was still radiating heat.

He looked down at the box in his hand, then up at the door. He took out his phone and re-read Qiu Shubai’s message one more time.

He hadn't misread it.

He walked up three steps, then stepped back down one. Finally, he stopped at the very bottom step and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He didn't knock, and he didn't ring the bell.

A bird kept in a neighbor’s yard chirped twice in a tree before falling silent. The wind snuck into his collar, chilling the back of his neck for a moment before the sun warmed it again.

Luo Yang looked at the door, his eyes filled with endless bewilderment.