- The Two Keys Rush to the Ford
The carriage hurtled down the post road as if its wheels might fly off at any moment.
Qian Yiyan lifted the curtain. The North China Plain in late spring streamed past the window—wheat fields and chimney smoke, a serene fa?ade plastered over a crumbling age. The jade pendant against her chest burned like a live coal, searing directly through her robes and into her heart.
“Miss, we’ve entered Huazhou. If we take the back roads, we won’t reach Yanjin by nightfall.” The driver, Old Zhao, sounded hoarse from shouting.
“Cover as much ground as we can.” She let the curtain fall and unfolded the tattered Map of Northern Frontiers: Mountains, Rivers, and Strategic Points.
Her father’s handwriting trembled under the carriage’s violent rocking. The area around Yanjin was circled repeatedly in vermillion ink, flanked by jarring annotations in tiny script:
“Old course of the Yellow River. Strange terrestrial veins. Spring of the third year of Jiayou (1058 AD): blue light appeared for three ke (approx. 45 min) at night; minor earth tremors; plants grew in reverse. Suspected ‘Heaven’s Leak.’”
Heaven’s Leak.
Her fingertip traced the two characters. Her father’s late-night lamplight in his study, the inexplicably missing astrological records, his frequent visits to Shao Yong’s old residence before his fall… it all aligned now.
He had known. Perhaps from the night she was born—“the Polaris star shone as bright as daylight for three full ke before fading”—he had known his daughter’s fate was anomalous.
“Father,” she whispered, “if your spirit watches from above, guide your daughter now.”
The jade pendant flared with sudden, searing heat.
This time, the heat carried a frantic, pulsing rhythm. Like a heartbeat, yet more chaotic and heavier, as if some invisible leviathan were gasping laboriously beside her.
She closed her eyes. Shattered imagery slammed into her mind:
A metal room, alarm lights strobing crimson. Lu Baoyi shouting into the air: “Lin Wan! How much longer?!”
An electronic female voice, fraying: “Boss, the Gate’s breathing is accelerating again! The safety window… only three hours left! Changsheng Huanyu’s Harvesters are warming up—they’re draining stability from the surrounding space—”
A desolate riverbank. Several gigantic spider-like machines spread metallic legs. Their central spherical chambers hummed, the space around their surfaces already beginning to distort.
Three hours.
Qian Yiyan’s eyes snapped open, cold sweat beading at her temples.
“Old Zhao!” She yanked the curtain aside. “Faster! Drive the horses to death if you must!”
“Miss, we’re already at—”
“At any cost!” Her voice trembled with an urgency she hadn’t known she possessed. “We must reach Yanjin before dawn!”
The driver cracked the whip. The horses whinnied in protest; the carriage shuddered violently, threatening to disintegrate.
Three hours. Over fifty li. A place of ill omen.
What could she possibly do? She didn’t know.
But she had to go.
Under the same godforsaken twilight, a business jet streaked through the clouds from the Eastern Sea toward Henan, its engines roaring like impending detonation.
The cabin atmosphere was heavier than a server room crashing on the eve of a deadline.
On the holoscreen, a 3D model of Yanjin played a silent horror film.
The red dot representing the Gate’s “breathing” spasmed erratically. With each pulse, vast swathes of the map greyed out—turning into the black of “Rule Collapse.”
Three blue dots—Changsheng Huanyu’s “Rule Harvesters”—converged from three sides. Like mechanical spiders encircling prey. With each advance, the surrounding grey-black deepened.
“They’re ‘draining’ reality’s ‘fluidity,’” Gu Qingya stared at the screen, his tone uncharacteristically tense. “See that grey-black? It’s not destruction—it’s encapsulation. Turning living rules into dead specimens they can package and haul away.”
Old Chen sucked in a sharp breath. “They’d actually dare…”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Lu Baoyi’s lips twisted into a cold smile. “On Changsheng Huanyu’s balance sheet, the whole world is a mine. The Gate’s rules? A scarce resource. If they can encapsulate and list it, turning a hundred li into a rule-barren wasteland is just a footnote. All they care about is how many points their stock will rise.”
Xiao Zhao cursed under his breath.
“Not madmen. Top-tier, ice-cold businessmen.” Gu Qingya pulled up data streams. “The plan is perfect: wait for the Gate’s breathing to peak, then all three Harvesters activate simultaneously, creating a triangular stabilization field. Like a high-dimensional fishing net scooping up rule fragments. Simultaneously…” He paused, glancing at Lu Baoyi, “…it’ll act like flypaper, trapping the Key—Qian Yiyan—inside. Resonance means high-intensity rule interaction. You can’t peel it apart.”
Dead silence in the cabin. Only the engines thundered on.
Lu Baoyi’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened. He remembered the “specimens” in his father’s lab: water that never reached the bottom, flames that ignited in vacuum, metal simultaneously solid and liquid… all early experimental固化 rule fragments.
Now Changsheng Huanyu wanted to turn a living person into a specimen.
“Lin Wan,” his voice was rough, “time to landing?”
“Best case, ninety minutes.” Lin Wan’s voice came through the remote link, backgrounded by frantic keyboard clattering. “But Boss… bad news. The Gate’s breathing is showing spasms. The safety window might compress further. The latest model run suggests… actual usable time may be down to two hours.”
Two hours. Four hours total.
Lu Baoyi closed his eyes. Time was sand slipping through his fingers, draining away madly.
“What about Director Zhao’s side?” He forced calm into his voice.
Old Chen adjusted surveillance feeds. “The Seventh Technical Support Department’s advance team is on-site, at the periphery. Three armored vehicles, fifteen personnel with heavy gear. They’re not approaching the core—just set up a cordon. By the looks of it…”
“They’re waiting for us and Changsheng Huanyu to bleed each other dry, then they’ll mop up and claim the ‘spoils.’” Lu Baoyi finished the thought, sarcasm dripping. “Or better yet—wait for Changsheng Huanyu to succeed in mining, then ‘requisition’ it all in the name of national security. Standard procedure, zero risk, guaranteed profit.”
Classical bureaucratic calculus. Bear no risk, just wait to pluck the ripest fruit.
Gu Qingya let out a derisive snort. “You people in this era play these convoluted games—more exhausting than rival orthodox sects in the jianghu scheming against each other.”
“How’d they solve it in the jianghu?” Xiao Zhao couldn’t help asking.
“Simple.” Gu Qingya flipped an old bronze coin between his fingers. “If someone blocks your path, you fight through. If you can’t win, you detour. If you can’t detour…” He snapped his fingers closed around the coin, “…you flip the table—ensure nobody gets to play by their own rules.”
Lu Baoyi looked at him. “Time to flip it now?”
“The table?” Gu Qingya raised an eyebrow, gazing out at the night. “The table’s already half-pried up by those miners. Changsheng Huanyu wants rule fragments, Metis wants to reel in its net, and within your own Security Ministry there are those waiting to pick up the pieces. And us…” He turned back, his eyes settling on Lu Baoyi’s face. “…you need to decide, right now. The primary objective of this descent: is it saving a person, or saving this or that so-called world?”
The question hit everyone like a brick to the chest.
Lu Baoyi remained silent. The cabin held only the hum of data streams and engine roar.
“My father probably faced a similar choice back then,” he finally said, slowly. “He chose to save the world. Result? The world wasn’t saved, he got himself killed, and left behind a mess and a traitor’s reputation.”
“So?” Gu Qingya prompted.
“So this time,” Lu Baoyi looked up, the hesitation in his eyes replaced by clear resolve, “I save the person first. Get her out. Then we talk about the rest.”
The logic was simple: if you can’t even protect someone who, across a thousand years, trusts and waits for you without reservation, then saving anything grander is a fucking joke.
It sounded emotional. Maybe even foolish.
But sometimes, living requires that kind of foolish insistence.
The business jet descended, piercing the cloud layer.
Below, the North China Plain lay soaked in darkness. Yanjin County resembled an insignificant ink blot. At the blot’s edges, clusters of unnatural light flickered—Changsheng Huanyu’s forward camp.
Further out, on the dried-up riverbed of the Yellow River’s old course, a point of (cerulean) light pulsed irregularly.
Like a broken streetlamp.
That was the Gate, breathing.
And the mouth of the abyss toward which Qian Yiyan was rushing.
- Shadows on the Desolate Bank
Yanjin, Old Course of the Yellow River.
The river had shifted its course a millennium ago, leaving this expanse of dried-up bed. The gravel was blackened; withered reeds rustled in the night wind like mourners weeping.
Qian Yiyan leapt from the carriage, her legs buckling, nearly sending her to her knees. Four hours of relentless, bone-jarring travel had drained her reserves. Gasping for breath, she looked toward the riverbed’s depths.
A mass of (cerulean) light pulsed there.
Each time it brightened, the sand within dozens of zhang (approx. 60-100 meters) subtly rose and fell, as if the earth itself were breathing. When it dimmed, the air held an eerie echo—not a sound but a sensation, as if something vast and ancient had just turned to glance your way.
“Miss, what… what is that…” Driver Old Zhao’s voice trembled.
Qian Yiyan didn’t answer. The jade pendant in her bosom was now too hot to hold, its burning heat resonating palpably with the (cerulean) glow. She could feel something within that light calling out.
No, not calling. Craving.
Like someone parched begging for water, like a frozen soul begging for warmth.
“Wait here.” Qian Yiyan unfastened her cloak and drew a three-foot slender blade from a hidden compartment—the Zhenying Sword, a Qian family heirloom. The blade gleamed with a (cold, watery) light under the moon.
“Miss! You can’t go alone!” Old Zhao was frantic. “This place is sinister…”
“Your presence wouldn’t help.” Qian Yiyan cut him off, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument. “If I haven’t returned by dawn, drive back to Bianjing and deliver this letter to Second Granduncle.”
She pulled a wax-sealed letter from her sleeve. It contained two instructions: if she died, burn all her father’s remaining manuscripts; and without fail, retrieve and seal the bronze mirror from Miss Cao Yunxiu’s chamber.
The latter was a last-minute addition. During the final leg of the journey, it had struck her—Cao Yunxiu’s comment “the patterns in the mirror look like a star chart” was no coincidence. That Cao family mirror was likely a relic of Shao Yong’s, perhaps even directly connected to the Gate at Yanjin.
What role was that seemingly na?ve girl Cao Yunxiu playing in this game?
Qian Yiyan shook her head, dispelling distractions. Right now, she had to reach that light, find the Gate.
And then… what? She truly didn’t know.
She only knew she had to go.
Gripping the Zhenying Sword, she stepped into the depths of the riverbed. Gravel crunched underfoot; the night wind carried dust. The further she went, the clearer the eerie echoes became. The air grew sharp with ozone, mixed with the strange scent of iron rust and old paper.
After about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, she halted.
Thirty paces ahead, the scenery mutated abruptly.
The sandy ground vanished, replaced by a circular area about ten zhang in diameter, smooth and black as a mirror. At its center lay the source of the (cerulean) light—a hole, suspended three chi (approx. 1 meter) above the ground, constantly twisting and morphing.
The hole had no fixed shape—one moment a vortex, the next a crack, then a slowly blinking eye. With each transformation, fine particles of light drifted out, falling onto the black mirror-surface and stirring ripples.
The surroundings were even more bizarre.
To the left, withered reeds grew upward against all reason, their tips knotting together. To the right, several rocks hung mid-air, slowly revolving around a nonexistent center. Directly ahead, the air seemed kneaded by invisible hands, refracting kaleidoscopic, fragmented light.
“Rule Corruption.” Qian Yiyan recognized it instantly. Ancient texts from the Directorate of Astrology recorded similar phenomena—flaws in the Heavenly Way, where local natural laws went haywire, common principles collapsed.
But no text ever recorded the corruption’s center being a living hole.
She took a deep breath and prepared to move closer when suddenly—
Thwip!
The sound of something cutting air came from her left!
Qian Yiyan sidestepped. A short crossbow bolt grazed her temple, embedding itself in the sand behind with a thud. The bolt was (pitch-black), its head densely carved with sigils that now sizzled, emitting tendrils of (bluish) smoke.
“Who’s there?” She turned, sword ready.
Three figures emerged from the reeds.
The leader was a lean man in his forties, dressed in (dark) martial attire, a curved sword at his waist. His face looked carved from granite, eyes cold as ice. The two behind him, one tall, one short, wore similar attire, each holding a loaded crossbow.
“Director Qian of the Directorate of Astrology. We’ve been expecting you.” The lean man spoke, voice raspy. “I am Kui Lang (Quellar Wolf), Commandant of the Concealed Division, Imperial City Bureau. By the Empress Dowager’s secret decree, we are here to cleanse this demonic anomaly.”
The Concealed Division. Qian Yiyan’s heart sank. A secret agency directly under the Emperor (now the Empress Dowager), handling matters “not of men.” Its members were imperial guard death warriors, masters of assassination, tracking, and邪 suppression, ruthless and leaving no witnesses.
“The Empress Dowager’s secret decree?” Qian Yiyan steadied her mind. “This official was not informed.”
“Because the decree contains only one line.” Kui Lang slowly drew his curved blade. In the moonlight, the metal gleamed with a (venomous green) sheen—it was poisoned! “All persons involved in this matter, official or commoner, are to be executed without exception. That includes you, Deputy Director Qian.”
As his words fell, the two men behind him fired simultaneously!
Two poisoned bolts shot toward her, angled to block evasion left or right.
But Qian Yiyan had no intention of dodging.
The Zhenying Sword left its sheath!
The blade light flashed like a burst of autumn water, tracing two precise arcs in the night air. Clink! Clink! Two crisp sounds—both bolts were deflected. Qian Yiyan flicked her wrist, the sword momentum flowing seamlessly into three points of cold starlight aimed at Kui Lang’s face, throat, and heart.
“Splendid swordsmanship!” Kui Lang exclaimed, yet he didn’t retreat but advanced. His curved blade rose, its light like an unrolling bolt of silk, meeting the stellar points head-on.
Clang——!
The sound of metal striking metal echoed across the riverbank. Qian Yiyan felt tremendous force transmit through her sword, numbing her tiger-palm, forcing her back three steps. Kui Lang merely swayed slightly, standing firm.
“The Qian family’s Zhenying Sword lives up to its reputation.” Kui Lang shook his wrist. “A pity your internal energy is far inferior to your father’s. If Qian Weiyan were here, I’d already be defeated.”
Qian Yiyan didn’t respond, adjusting her breath, sword tip slightly lowered into a defensive stance. She knew she couldn’t win by force. Her opponent was a death warrior specialized in killing, superior in skill, experience, and ruthlessness.
She had to outwit, not overpower.
“You two, destroy that demonic hole.” Kui Lang ordered his men. “I’ll handle Director Qian.”
The tall and short men acknowledged, holstering their crossbows and drawing short axes densely carved with sigils, advancing toward the (cerulean) hole.
Qian Yiyan grew desperate, trying to intercept, but Kui Lang’s curved blade already coiled toward her like a venomous serpent. The blade work was dense and vicious, each strike aimed at vital points, forcing her into full defense with no chance to intervene.
Watching the two men reach within three zhang of the hole, raising their axes—
Sudden Aberration!
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The hole convulsed violently, emitting an invisible shockwave!
Thump! The tall man caught it head-on, as if struck by an invisible mallet. His chest caved in instantly, and he flew back over ten zhang, landing without a sound. The shorter man reacted quicker, diving into a roll, but was still grazed by the residual force. Crack! His left arm bent at a grotesque angle, white bone shards piercing through skin and muscle.
“Aah——!” A piercing shriek tore through the riverbank.
Kui Lang’s expression shifted, his blade work faltering for an instant. Qian Yiyan seized the opening, her sword technique transforming abruptly!
She abandoned forceful clashes, her footwork shifting to the “Seven Stars Steps,” her figure drifting like a ghost. The Zhenying Sword no longer sought power but targeted the minute flaws in Kui Lang’s technique transitions. The sword light flickered left, right, high, low, clinging like persistent bone-marrow rot, fraying Kui Lang’s focus.
The “Entanglement” technique of the Qian swordsmanship—using softness to overcome hardness, exhausting the opponent’s spirit. Knowing her internal energy was insufficient, this was her only way to buy time.
But she knew time was short.
Because Kui Lang’s blade grew heavier, his killing intent thicker. And that (cerulean) hole, after its outburst, began flickering rapidly, its transformations growing increasingly violent, like a pot about to boil over.
Worse, from the corner of her eye, she spotted more figures approaching swiftly from further down the riverbed—their attire not Song… but… Khitan?
The leader, with shaved forehead and knotted hair, gold rings in his ears, was none other than Yelü Yixin, whom she’d seen at the Cao residence that very day!
“Damn it all…” Qian Yiyan gritted her teeth.
Wolves ahead, tigers behind, and a Gate about to explode in the middle.
A true dead end.
- The Mechanical Snare
Yanjin Perimeter, Changsheng Huanyu Forward Camp No. 3. The aesthetic was pure sci-fi film set, minus the craft services. Only lethal intent on the menu.
Lu Baoyi and his three companions lay prone behind a dune, night-vision goggles reflecting the camp’s activity.
At the camp’s center, the three Rule Harvesters were fully deployed. Each stood two stories tall, eight mechanical legs like giant spider limbs dug deep into the sand. The central spherical chambers rotated slowly, their surfaces studded with thousands of sensors glowing with an eerie luminescence—like countless cold, compound eyes. Thick conduits linked the chambers to a specialized transport vehicle, within which several transparent cubic containers were faintly visible—empty, waiting for cargo.
“They’re running final diagnostics,” Gu Qingya murmured. “See those ripple-like distortions on the sphere surfaces? The spatial stabilization field is generating. Once fully deployed, all physical rules within a fifty-meter radius will freeze into标本 for the taking.”
Old Chen adjusted his binoculars, swallowing hard. “Six empty containers in the transport… they plan to collect six samples?”
“No.” Lu Baoyi stared at the containers, expression grim. “Five for rule fragments. The last one… its dimensions and energy-shielding specs are custom-made for the Key.”
Xiao Zhao nearly slid off the dune. “They actually intend to… encapsulate and take a living person?!”
“Why wouldn’t they dare?” A strange, languid voice suddenly spoke up from behind them.
All four whirled around, guns and sword points aimed at the newcomer.
Atop the dune stood a man who hadn’t been there moments before. In his thirties, impeccably suited, gold-rimmed glasses, holding a steaming cup of coffee—utterly incongruous with the desolate backdrop. Behind him stood two guards in full exoskeleton armor, energy rifles already trained on the group.
“Relax, everyone.” The suited man adjusted his glasses, smiling. “Allow me to introduce myself. Director of Special Projects, Changsheng Huanyu Group. Just call me Director Zhang.”
Lu Baoyi slowly lowered his gun but kept his finger near the trigger guard. “Director Zhang, what brings you out here eating sand on a fine night instead of video-conferencing from a five-star hotel?”
“To discuss a transaction.” Director Zhang took a sip of coffee, casual as if negotiating a procurement deal. “We know you’re pressed for time. The Gate’s breathing window is down to under two hours. We also know… the Key herself has already reached the riverbed over there.”
He gestured with his coffee cup toward the distant (cerulean) glow. “It’s quite the lively scene now. Imperial death warriors, Khitan shamans, and the Key—a three-way melee. And the Gate, overstimulated, is entering respiratory失控. Optimistically, it’ll reach eruption phase in half an hour. When that happens, everything within a ten-li radius becomes a physics junkyard. Step in and you won’t even know how you died.”
“And so?” Lu Baoyi remained impassive.
“So, we cooperate.” Director Zhang’s smile was ingratiating. “Our Harvesters can forcibly stabilize the Gate during eruption, preventing catastrophe. In return, we only need to collect a modest quantity of rule fragments for research, and… extend a sincere invitation for the Key to visit our cutting-edge laboratory for a period, to assist in some completely harmless, mutually beneficial studies.”
“Harmless? Mutually beneficial?” Lu Baoyi laughed, the sound utterly devoid of warmth. “Locking her in a custom transparent coffin to use as a human-shaped rule detector—that’s mutually beneficial?”
“Ah, Section Chief Lu, a tremendous misunderstanding!” Director Zhang waved his hands placatingly, expression sincere enough for a commercial. “We are a lawful, compliant, publicly listed group. Respect for human rights is Article One of our corporate culture. We merely wish to invite Miss Qian to assist in perfecting the ‘Human-Anomalous Rule Compatibility Model.’ Should this research succeed, the benefits to her would be immense—she might even shed the burdens of her Key fate, live a normal girl’s life, date, shop, binge dramas. How wonderful.”
Lies. All exquisitely packaged lies.
Yet Director Zhang spoke with such conviction, as if he believed every word.
Lu Baoyi was done pretending. He raised his gun muzzle. “Stand aside.”
“Tsk. Negotiations broken, then.” Director Zhang sighed regretfully, stepping back. “Proceed with contingency plan, then.”
As he spoke, the two guards behind him fired simultaneously!
Not bullets, but two globs of (viscous, squirming blue) energy, moving slowly but compressing the air around them into groaning, watery ripples.
Gu Qingya moved first. He stepped forward, an ancient bronze mirror—palm-sized, edges carved with cloud-and-thunder patterns—already in his hand. He aimed the mirror face at the energy globs and uttered sharply: “Return!”
An uncanny scene unfolded. The two globs struck the mirror—no explosion. Instead, they vanished as if sucked into a vortex. The mirror’s surface glimmered faintly—and the same two energy globs shot back along their original paths!
The guards, clearly unprepared, scrambled to dodge. The globs grazed their exoskeletons, striking a utility vehicle behind them. No deafening blast—the vehicle crumpled like a soda can in an invisible fist, instantly compressed into a neat metal cube less than a meter per side.
“Spatial compression weaponry…” Old Chen’s voice tightened. “They’re not planning to leave survivors.”
“Move!” Lu Baoyi wasted no more words. All four charged from behind the dune.
Xiao Zhao and Old Chen laid down suppressive fire, pinning the two guards. Lu Baoyi and Gu Qingya lunged straight for Director Zhang—a decapitation strike.
Director Zhang, however, showed no panic. He even had time for another sip of coffee and to straighten his tie. Just as Lu Baoyi closed within three meters, the sand beneath the director’s feet suddenly gave way!
No—not collapse. The sand instantly transformed into a vortex of high-speed quicksand, terrifying suction yanking at Lu Baoyi and Gu Qingya’s ankles, pulling them toward the depths!
“Gravity trap!” Gu Qingya reacted instantly. His bronze mirror shone downward, emitting a beam of (pale golden) light. Where the light touched, the quicksand solidified as if frozen, its pull drastically reduced.
The two leveraged the moment to leap clear of the trap zone. But that one- or two-second delay was enough for Director Zhang to retreat beside the mechanical leg of a Harvester.
“Oh, I forgot to mention.” He tapped the冰冷的 metal leg leisurely. “These three darlings aren’t just harvesters. They’re also… fully automated defense towers.”
As he spoke, the spherical chambers of all three Harvesters lit up with blinding (crimson) light!
Countless hair-thin, spine-chilling crimson beams shot from the chamber surfaces, weaving madly through the air, instantly forming a death-net enveloping the entire camp. Where the beams passed, space groaned under strain, scenery warping, folding, fragmenting.
“Rule-Shear Net!” Gu Qingya’s face changed. “Fall back! Get touched by those threads, and your body gets segmented across Different spatial discontinuities!”
The four retreated hastily. But the crimson net expanded with alarming speed, about to overtake them.
Lu Baoyi gritted his teeth, pulled out the cyan jade ring his father left him, and smashed it onto the ground!
The ring shattered.
An无形, gentle yet irresistible wave spread from the point of impact. Where it passed, the crimson shear-net trembled violently like ice meeting its nemesis, Distortion, then poofed into nothingness.
Director Zhang showed genuine surprise for the first time. “That’s…a symbol of the Gate’s primordial rules? You actually possess such a… prototype?”
Before he could finish, Gu Qingya ghosted before him, thrusting with his sword!
It was an ancient bronze short sword, but the point of (icy) brilliance converges at its tip made every hair on Director Zhang’s body stand on end—mortal danger. He retreated swiftly while jamming a hidden button on his wrist.
Click.
The spherical chambers of all three Harvesters opened simultaneously.
Not a physical opening. The space on their surfaces folded inward like curtains, revealing three fathomless, slowly rotating black vortices. From within came the teeth-grating sound of metal grinding glass, and… something wet, greedy, breathing.
“Since you gentlemen reject civilized cooperation,” Director Zhang retreated to a safe distance, all trace of smile gone, replaced by cold calculation, “then experience the… professional solution Changsheng Huanyu has prepared forCleaning unstable experimental variables.”
He produced a small remote, pressed theScarlet red button.
From the three black vortices erupted ear-splitting, inhuman roars!
Three indescribable things crawled out.
They had similar mechanical skeletons overlaid withSquirming, flesh-like biotissue. Their torsos were studded with dozens of compound eyes of varying sizes glowing with (eerie multi-colored) light. Eight limbs—half precise metal prosthetics, half tentacles covered in suckers, constantly writhing. Where the head should be… no head, only a circular maw lined withSpiral serrated teeth, ceaselessly opening and closing.
“Rule Devourers,” Director Zhang’s voice came through an amplifier, tinged with pride. “Bio-weapons designed specifically to digest disobedient variables in Experimental Field They feed on chaotic rules. The more anomalous the environment, the stronger they become.”
The three monstrosities landed, dozens of eyes locking onto Lu Baoyi’s group in unison.
Viscous, highly corrosive drool dripped from their maws, sizzling and burning pits into the sand.
“Well then,” Director Zhang gave an elegant half-bow, turning toward the transport vehicle, “I wish you all… an… enlightening experience.”
He clearly didn’t plan to witness the conclusion.
And the three creatures, maws gaping wide with rows of Sharp teeth charged forth on Screaming wind and the screech of grinding metal.
- Shared Abyss Across the Void
Deep in the riverbed, the battle had devolved into pure chaos.
Qian Yiyan, Kui Lang, Yelü Yixin, and three Khitan shamans—a three-way melee where each fought for themselves. At the center, the (cerulean) hole—the Gate—breathed faster and faster, its spewing rule turbulence expanding.
In mere moments, the surroundings had become a nightmare:
A patch of sand floated mid-air, grains drifting upward against gravity. Clumps of reeds would suddenly shoot up three zhang tall, then shrink back into stubs. Air temperature swung wildly from blistering heat to frost-forming cold.
Most terrifyingly, space itself began to wrinkle.
Qian Yiyan saw Kui Lang’s blade slice toward Yelü Yixin, only for the blade’s front half to seemingly snap off mid-strike—not truly broken, but entering another spatial dimension, leaving the rear half behind. Bizarrely, Kui Lang seemed unaware, continuing his swing until realizing his blade had shortened, then retreating in shock.
“This place hasCollapse!” Yelü Yixin roared in broken汉语. “Fight on, and we all perish here!”
“Then why are you Khitans here?!” Kui Lang shot back.
“For this land’s dragon-veins!” Yelü Yixin was blunt. “This anomaly is theRampage of heaven-earth’s vital energy! If guided back to theGrassland, it ensures thirty years of favorable winds and rains, thriving herds for Great Liao!”
So that was it. Qian Yiyan understood. The nomadic Khitans prized natural spiritual energy above all. They didn’t comprehend rules or dimensions, viewing the anomaly simply as “Heaven-Earth Qi-Ling” to be plundered.
Ignorant? Perhaps. But at least their goal was clear.
And her? Why was she here?
To prevent disaster? To uncover truth? Or… for the person in the visions who said “trust me” and “I’ll wait for you”?
Another wave of rule turbulence hit. This time: gravity inversion.
Qian Yiyan’s feet went light. She suddenly began “falling” upward—not falling, but gravity’s direction had shifted toward the sky. She gasped, instinctively stabbing the Zhenying Sword toward the ground to anchor herself.
But the tip didn’t strike solid earth. Instead, it pierced a suddenly appearing “water surface.” The blade entered soundlessly, ripples spreading. Reflected in the water wasn’t her own image, but…
A metal room. Lu Baoyi, covered in blood, grappled with a half-mechanical, Half-flesh creature. Weaponless, he relied on an Unconventional Boxing Technique, each strike trailing weak electrical sparks to barely ward it off.
Behind him, Gu Qingya’s swordsmanship was divine, holding his own against two. But the other two companions—Old Chen and Xiao Zhao—lay in pools of blood, Unidentified status of life and death
Further off, three giant machines fired countless crimson beams into a central (cerulean) hole. Each time a beam struck, the hole convulsed, ejecting more Scrap of light.
Qian Yiyan’s pupils constricted.
He was wounded. Companions down. And those machines… were harming the Gate?
No, more than harm. The crimson beams were draining power from the Gate, like drawing blood!
She suddenly understood their goal—they weren’t destroying the Gate, but turning it into a mine for sustained extraction. And she, the Key, was the perfect miner, or… the most valuable ore itself!
“Stop…” she whispered.
But her voice couldn’t reach. A thousand years and an impassable dimensional barrier lay between them.
Unless…
Qian Yiyan looked down at the jade pendant in her bosom. It was scorching hot now, fine cracks spiderwebbing its surface. She could feel the thread of the Gate’s primordial rules contained within resonating intensely with the hole before her.
If she amplified that resonance to itsLimit, what would happen?
She didn’t know. But it was the only chance.
No more hesitation. She bit her tongue, spraying a mouthful of滚烫 heart’s blood onto the pendant.
“By blood as guide, by soul as bridge—” Qian Yiyan chanted the forbidden Qian-family incantation, her voice trembling with决绝 in the night wind. “—pierce Beyond this world, connect the other side!”The pendant didn’t shatter—it melted.
Like ice meeting flame, it liquefied in her palm into aFlowing, gentle, (jade-white) luminous fluid. The fluid followed her palm lines, climbing her arm, flowing over shoulder and neck, finally coalescing over her heart into a swirling vortex of light.
Qian Yiyan’s body began to semi-transparent.
Not vanishing, but becoming like glass-like veiled in thin mist. Through her form, one could glimpse the illusory nighttime streets of Bianjing behind her—the nightwatchman’s lantern, shuttered shops, slumbering homes.
And before her, deep within the light-vortex, the scene of Lu Baoyi’s metal room grew clearer and clearer—clear enough to see the track of a blood drop rolling down his cheek, to hear his ragged gasps.
“This is…” Lu Baoyi sensed something, whirling around.
Eyes met—truly, directly “seeing.”
Not through a screen, not fragmented visions. Their spacetimes overlapped in this instant.
Qian Yiyan saw the mechanical wreckage behind him, The scarlet color alarm lights, the (azure-gold) aura bursting from Gu Qingya’s sword tip.
Lu Baoyi saw the flickering Bianjing night behind her, the silhouette of withered reeds, the glint of Kui Lang’s curved blade.
Their worlds, in this moment, brutally spliced together.
“Qian Yiyan?!” Lu Baoyi cried her name aloud for the first time, not in his mind but with his voice.
Qian Yiyan’s lips moved. Her voice pierced the millennial barrier, sounding directly in his ear: “Destroy… those machines… they’re draining the Gate…”
Her voice carried immense strain; with each word her body grew more translucent.
Lu Baoyi understood instantly. He looked at the three frantically operating Harvesters, A wicked smile flashed across his eyes. He pulled a palm-sized metal cube from his chest—his father’s rule-disruptor prototype.
But he didn’t act immediately.
Because he saw the light-vortex over Qian Yiyan’s heart fluctuating violently, the Bianjing street scene behind her shaking, fragmenting. This forbidden art was consuming her vitality at a Crazy rate.
“You’ll die!” he roared.
“Then hurry!” Qian Yiyan’s voice was now as faint as a spider’s thread in the wind.
Lu Baoyi hesitated no more. But as he raised the disruptor, his expression changed—this device required an infusion of极高纯度 rule energy to activate, and his own reserves were nearly depleted from the fight.
“Damn it…” He looked at Qian Yiyan, a Crazy idea exploding in his mind. “Yiyan! Can you stabilize the Gate?! Not resonate—control its output for one instant—send me the purest rule pulse you can!”
Qian Yiyan froze for a heartbeat.
Then she understood.
She stopped trying to maintain the forbidden art’s stability. Instead, she released all control, making herself utterly into a conduit between the Gate and Lu Baoyi.
“Catch it——!”
Her嘶声 cry tore out.
The next moment, A sudden mutation occurred..
The Bianjing illusion behind Qian Yiyan collapsed. In its place bloomed the full projection of the (cerulean) hole. From within that hole, a Tide of rules—vast, pure, terrifying—coursed through the light-channel toward Lu Baoyi’s world.
The disruptor in Lu Baoyi’s hand blazed withObtrusive white light!
Gritting his teeth, he slammed the device against the spherical chamber of the nearest Harvester.
Not a mere impact.
The moment disruptor met chamber, the ruleTide transmitted by Qian Yiyan injected precisely. Primordial energy source from the ancient world, paired withTargeting destruction protocols of modern tech, achieved a Fatal Combo across a thousand years.
Craaaack——!!
A sound sharper than thunderclap erupted.
The first Harvester’s chamber didn’tSplit—it began disintegrating from the molecular level. As if shredded from within by An invisible hand transformed it into a swirling mass of uncontrollable energy.
The creature on Lu Baoyi’s shoulder was the first casualty, It was swallowed up and annihilated by the turbulent current, without even making a sound.
Chain reaction commenced.
The other two Harvesters, their energy fields deeply linked to the first, now contracted the contagion. Their chamber surfaces simultaneously spider-webbed with cracks.
“No——! Stop it!” Director Zhang’s scream came from afar.
Too late.
Three astronomically expensive Rule Harvesters, under theAcross time and space rule resonance forged by Qian Yiyan and Lu Baoyi, simultaneously overloaded, collapsed, detonated.
The shockwave flipped the entire camp.
And in the instant before the explosion engulfed him, Lu Baoyi did one thing—
With his last strength, he hurled theFragment of his father’s shattered cyan jade ring into the light-vortex.
“Take this… survive!”
The jade shard passed through the vortex, coalescing in Qian Yiyan’s palm into a warm, crack-webbed jade pendant.
Simultaneously, through the vortex into Qian Yiyan’s mind flowed a strand of incomprehensible information—Lu Baoyi’s core memories and conjectures about his father, the Gate, this cruel trial.
Bidirectional Gift.
The bridge snapped.
Visions faded.
Qian Yiyan collapsed onto the sand, blood seeping from her seven orifices, a lock of her hair visibly turning white. The forbidden art’s backlash was worse than she’d imagined—she’d paid not just vitality, but part of her lifespan.
Yet she clenched the jade pendant in her palm, a pale smile touching her lips.
Worth it.
She’d destroyed those machines. She’d helped him. And they’d… exchanged what was most precious.
That was enough.
- Embers and Echoes
The dust from the explosion settled slowly over the Yanjin perimeter.
When Gu Qingya dug Lu Baoyi from the wreckage, the latter was unconscious but breathing. Old Chen and Xiao Zhao were also found, severely wounded but alive.
The three “Rule Harvesters” were now scrap. Changsheng Huanyu personnel were dead or fled. Director Zhang had leapt onto the transport at the last moment, making a awkward escape into theA blanket of dust and smoke.
But before the vehicle sped away, he glanced back at the ruins, His eyes were like frozen ice.
“Lu Baoyi… and that Key… This isn’t over.”
Deep in the riverbed.
The tremor from the explosion reached here weakened, but still made the sand shiver.
The (cerulean) hole—the Gate—underwent aWondrous change after Qian Yiyan’s art ended and the light-bridge severed.
It ceasedDistortion, stabilizing into a perfect circle. Within was no longer (cerulean) light, but an abyssal darkness, deep within which starlike points of light slowly rotated.
Stranger still, the chaotic rules around the hole Completely quelled. Floating sand fell, wild reeds withdrew., spatial wrinkles smoothed.
Yet the sensation of thatColossal creature breathing grew even clearer.
Clear enough that… everyone present heard its voice.
Not language, but information stamped directly onto consciousness:
“Detecting Key's extreme resonance and synergy… ‘Gate’ stabilization protocol activating…”
“Welcome, inheritors.”
“First Trial: Civilization Self-Identification, passed.”
“Second Trial: Rule Selection, commencing shortly.”
“Prepare yourselves—prove your worth before the ‘Cleansing’ arrives.”
The message ended there.
The (cerulean) hole—now truly the Gate—closed and vanished. Only ordinary sand remained, as if nothing had ever happened.
Only the lingering ozone scent, the jade pendant in Qian Yiyan’s hand, and that stark white lock at her temple proved it wasn’t illusion.
Kui Lang and Yelü Yixin, recovering from their shock, looked at Qian Yiyan with complex expressions.
Kui Lang moved first. He didn’t approach Qian Yiyan, but strode to where the Gate vanished, crouched, and dug something from the sand—
A palm-sized, irregular multifaceted crystal, its surface With a dim (azure) light flowing through it, the interior seemed to have a galaxy rotating within. The sand grains around it floated against all logic, held aloft by an intangible force field.
“A rule fragment…” Kui Lang murmured, carefully placing it into a lead-lined case. He stood, looking at Qian Yiyan, gaze deep. “Deputy Director Qian. Today’s events will be reported faithfully to the Empress Dowager. As for her judgment…” He paused. “…you had best be prepared.”
With that, he departed swiftly with the crystal and his surviving subordinate, disappearing into the night.
Yelü Yixin did something else.
He produced a bone vial carved with shamanic sigils, chanted ancient, Obscure incantations toward where the Gate vanished. A faint suction formed at the vial’s mouth, pulling an almost invisible strand of (grey) wind-twist from the虚空. The strand struggled, then was sucked inside.
Yelü Yixin swiftly corked the vial. Darkness light-patterns immediately surfaced on the bone.
He lifted it with satisfaction., looked at the weakened Qian Yiyan, and suddenly grinned, revealing Whitish teeth. “Director Qian. You are an interesting woman. This wisp of heaven-earth’s essence today is sufficient for me to report to my Khan.”
He took two steps closer, voice dropping. “Should the Song court have no place for you, theGrassland always has a yurt and mare’s milk wine waiting. Consider it.”
Without awaiting reply, he turned and left with his shamans and the vial of “essence.”
Supported by Old Zhao, Qian Yiyan Difficult boarded the carriage.
It began moving, leaving behind the riverbank that had nearly claimed her.
She looked back. Yanjin blurred into the night.
But the “voice’s” words were etched clearly in her mind:
Second Trial, commencing shortly.
What was the “Cleansing”?
To whom must they “prove their worth”?
She didn’t know. But the jade pendant in her palm warmed slightly, and the foreign memory fragments in her mind were slowly integrating.
And before that, she had to grow stronger.
Strong enough to protect herself. Strong enough to… stand beside him again.
As the carriage reached the main road, Qian Yiyan glimpsed something perched on the shaft.
Not a normal insect.
It was a structurally precise, (bronze-colored) mechanical insect, its compound eyes composed of hundreds of tiny crystal lenses, swiveling slightly to observe her.
As she reached to touch it, the mechanized insect poofed into fine dust, scattering on the wind.
Old Zhao rubbed his eyes. “Miss, what was that…”
“Nothing.” Qian Yiyan withdrew her hand, though her fingertips trembled slightly. “A trick of the light.”
A thousand li away, a thousand years later.
Lu Baoyi was carried on a stretcher toward a rescue helicopter. Unconscious, but his right hand was clenched tightly.
Medics pried open his fingers to check for wounds.
Resting in his palm was a shard of distinctively - distinctive pale-brown glaze stamped porcelain from the Tiansheng era of the Northern Song.
Its edges were sharp, glaze (surface) is smooth and lustrous., stained with a dried trace of Vermillion does not belong to this era..
No one knew when it had appeared there.
The night was thick, impenetrable.
Over Yanjin’s ruins, the red-and-blue Lights of Rescue vehicles flashed, a belated footnote to This ridiculous battle.
And in deeper, farther dimensions, beyond human perception, an immense, incomprehensible gaze seemed to stir slightly.
The Second Trial’s countdown, in a place unknown to all, had already quietly reached zero.
As for the form and scale of its arrival?
The warmth of that porcelain shard in Lu Baoyi’s palm, and the scattered dust on the carriage shaft, might already have given their silent reply.