Ten minutes left on the countdown.
For someone waiting for the impossible to descend, it felt agonizingly long.
In the dimly lit guest room, Huang Wei leaned against the TV stand. He didn't rush to leave, nor did he try to fill the silence with talk. He just smoked quietly.
"…What are you doing after this?" Ren Ye finally asked, needing to distract himself from the gnawing fear.
"File your status report. Then go home, play some games," Huang Wei replied flatly.
Ren Ye pushed down the dread, grasping for mundane conversation. "You never married?"
"Divorced."
"Why?"
"We were both… passionate souls. Married ten years. Then we discovered a terrifying truth." Huang Wei's face was half-hidden in smoke, seemingly unbothered by the topic. "Ten years in, all that was left was the doing. The love was gone. Hard truth to swallow. So… we parted ways. Mutually."
"Huh. Makes sense." Ren Ye pressed. "No kids?"
"Didn't want them at first. Then, when we thought about it… the love wasn't there anymore."
"Sounds like you were both romantics. People say marriage turns into family love eventually. Why fight it?"
"Sure. You can choose that. Most people do…"
They talked of nothing consequential – domestic trivia, shared regrets – avoiding the Star Gate looming over them entirely. Huang Wei, weathered by professional setbacks and personal loss, wasn't usually chatty at work. Yet, he talked with Ren Ye for nearly ten minutes.
Sensing the time, Huang Wei stubbed out his cigarette. He gave a casual wave. "Alright. Good luck in there."
"Take the letter on the table. If I don't come back… give it to my dad." Ren Ye nodded towards the small desk.
Huang Wei picked up the handwritten note – Ren Ye's goodbye. He walked to the door.
Huuuh.
The impossible was moments away. Ren Ye's mouth was dry. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
Huang Wei paused at the threshold. He tossed the letter onto the mini-fridge instead. "Don't think you'll need this. Save that heartfelt stuff for your old man. Tell him yourself."
"…" Ren Ye blinked, surprised.
Huang Wei looked back. "Rules, details about the Gates… it's all in that notebook I gave you. Rest is up to you. But listen. You're a survivor. Borderlands, prison… you adapted. This is just another fucked-up assignment. Keep your head straight."
The words, blunt and confident, cut through Ren Ye's tension. A flicker of the old resolve sparked.
"Later." Huang Wei opened the door and left.
Alone, Ren Ye sat cross-legged on the bed, forcing calm.
Huang's right. Border ops: buried alive, locked in cages, thrown in water cells. Death row, the execution pit just feet away in lockup…
So what if it's weird? So what if it's unknown? I'm here. Stop sweating bullets.
His breathing steadied. His eyes opened, clear now. The cold voice echoed in his skull again.
The final seconds.
"Nine!"
"Eight!"
"Seven!"
"…!"
Ren Ye's heart hammered against his ribs. Above the bed, a single point of starlight bloomed, rapidly unfurling into the familiar, swirling vortex of the Star Gate.
This time, Ren Ye didn't flinch. He stared straight into the heart of the distortion – the impossible blackness at its core, framed by rivers of flowing starlight.
So… fucking… beautiful.
"One!"
WHOOSH!
The countdown ended. The world spun violently.
Ren Ye was yanked off the bed, swallowed by the luminous darkness.
The room was empty.
Elsewhere in the Building:
The young woman called Nian Nian snapped her eyes open. "Star-source fluctuation detected. The Seven-Shot Warrior… he's gone."
In the hallway, Huang Wei froze mid-step. He forced himself to keep walking, muttering under his breath, "Buddha's mercy… spare me another fucking memorial service…"
First Order Star Gate World – The Great Qian Dynasty, Residence of the Prince of Huai.
Cold. A tremor.
The suffocating darkness dissolved. Blinding sunlight stabbed at Ren Ye's eyelids. He groaned, consciousness returning.
He blinked, eyes gritty and sore. Instinct took over – a swift, assessing scan of his surroundings.
A spacious bedchamber. The scent of sandalwood incense hung thick. Sunlight streamed through latticed paper windows, illuminating ornately carved furniture. He lay on an enormous, opulent canopy bed.
Ancient China. Okay. At least it's familiar turf.
Ren Ye pushed himself up. His prison-issue sweats were gone, replaced by a robe of deep, vibrant crimson. The fabric felt impossibly smooth, expensive.
He swung his legs over the side, every sense on high alert. Cautiously, he began to explore the room.
A writing desk stood to one side, holding brushes, inkstone, paper. Beside it, an oval bronze mirror leaned against the wall.
Ren Ye moved towards it, glancing casually at the reflection.
He froze.
The face in the mirror… was changing. Features shifting, reshaping before his eyes, like clay sculpted by unseen hands. It was deeply unsettling.
Ren Ye recoiled, stumbling back two steps.
By the time he stopped, the transformation was complete. Staring back at him was the face of a completely unremarkable young man.
Holy shit!
Where's my goddamn face?!
A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his skull. Foreign memories erupted, accompanied by a disembodied voice narrating his new life…
(Memory Fusion Sequence):
I was born into obscene wealth.
Concubines at fourteen.
A political marriage at fifteen.
Honestly, I lost count of the women…
My family's riches? Endless. Before sixteen, hardship was a myth. Disobedience unheard of.
Grandfather built this empire. Sired countless sons, but favored only two: my father, and his elder brother – my Uncle.
Grandfather split his domain. Half to Uncle. Half to Father.
Uncle was kind back then. Called me "Little Bean." Always took my side against his own sons when we fought…
Heaven smiled only on me. My birthright was indulgence.
Father was… formidable. Master of arts, scholar, warrior. Me? I mastered wine, revelry, and bragging about my conquests between dancers' thighs.
I knew my limits. I'd never match Father. So why try? Just avoid mistakes, inherit his legacy.
Grandfather died when I was sixteen…
Father and Uncle clashed over the inheritance. Ugly.
I even stayed with Uncle for a while. He gave me money. Women…
But he never smiled. Never called me "Little Bean" again.
Father and Uncle must have reached some agreement. We kept our half of the lands, stayed in Qingliang Prefecture. Father still managed his share.
Good. I feared a rift. Family matters. More wealth, less wealth… what difference? We couldn't spend it all.
Soon after, Father left. Took many men. Our family feuded with another great house. Only Uncle, he claimed, could settle it.
Before leaving, Father told me: "I grow old. It's time you grew up."
I understood. Tried managing the estates. But ledgers were dull compared to songstresses. I didn't grasp it. Couldn't do it.
At eighteen, Father returned. He'd settled the feud after a year… but was wounded. Died on the road back to Qingliang.
Not long after, Mother fell ill. Died suddenly in her chambers.
Overnight, everything vanished.
Servants grew insolent, whispering behind my back. Father's loyal men? Dead of "illness," or distancing themselves… some even dared to bully me, pressure me…
They flocked to Uncle. Obedient. Groveling like dogs.
Fury drove me. I tried to regain control. But the wasted years mocked me. I was powerless.
Perhaps… that was my salvation.
After Father's death, Uncle looked at me once. In his eyes… I saw murder.
But my weakness, my utter uselessness… that stayed his hand. I lived. Still within these endless walls.
Now? I'm a caged songbird. An object of pity and amusement.
Every meal I eat… is a charity granted by Uncle, by Father's former men clinging to shreds of loyalty.
Ah, Father once said… Uncle searched obsessively for one marked by "Tian She Ru Ming" – Heaven's Pardon. Claimed such a person could alter the family's fate. Found nothing…
Pathetic. Grandfather started as a beggar, became a bandit, clawed his way to build this empire.
Can the rise or fall of a great house hinge on some mythic "Heaven's Pardon"? Only a cold old man's delusion.
Enough.
I am Zhu Zigui.
I am the last Prince of Huai of the Great Qian Dynasty!!!
(End Memory Sequence)
The torrent of memories ceased. Ren Ye stood before the bronze mirror, eyes snapping wide open.
"Holy shit! 'Tian She Ru Ming'? Heaven's Pardon mandate?! That's… that's ME they were looking for?!"