High above the Pacific Ocean, a white Boeing 747 cruised steadily at ten thousand meters.
Inside the cabin, most passengers were already asleep. Chen Mo sat by the window, quietly staring at the clouds outside.
The crisp lines beneath his shirt, the sharp and resolute face, and the steely glint reflected in the cabin window—all of it made the two young girls sitting next to him sneak glances now and then, whispering softly to each other.
What they couldn't see, however, was the silver lighter in Chen Mo's hand—something that should never have passed airport security—appearing and disappearing from his palm without warning.
If one looked closely, it wasn't a magic trick. The lighter didn't vanish because of sleight of hand. It literally disappeared into thin air… and then reappeared the same way!
This was a flight from Bincheng to Los Angeles. Most passengers were heading abroad for business, tourism, or to visit family.
But Chen Mo—he was escaping.
He had killed someone.
A villain.
A few days earlier, Chen Mo's grandfather, Chen Jingde, had been struck by a car and left in a vegetative state. The driver had been sent by Zhou Tianhao, a ruthless developer angered because the old man refused to move out and blocked his business interests.
There was no evidence, so the matter was ruled an "accident." No one paid the medical bills.
The family's savings soon ran dry—ordinary people might have been forced to watch helplessly as their loved one faded away, powerless against Zhou Tianhao.
But Chen Mo was not ordinary.
He carried a secret—one that granted him strength beyond human limits, and the power to take revenge.
Yet at this very moment, revenge was not on his mind. What he was thinking about was the strange change that had occurred in him afterward.
Twelve hours earlier, at 2 a.m., outside Zhou Tianhao's suburban villa.
The cold wind stirred the treetops, rustling the leaves. Under the dim streetlights, their shadows danced in broken patches.
A faint smell of blood drifted out from the villa.
Dressed all in black, cap pulled low, Chen Mo carried a travel bag as he quietly left the house. Moments later, bright flames erupted behind him—fire burst from the windows, devouring the villa in a roaring blaze.
Sin and bloodshed were consumed in that fire.
Without looking back, Chen Mo strode away.
Suddenly, he stopped. The cold sharpness left on his face from killing began to fade, replaced by astonished joy.
He focused inward. In his mind appeared a cubic space, fifty centimeters on each side. A few throwing knives, a wallet, keys, and other odds and ends occupied one corner—most of the space was still empty.
He remembered clearly: before tonight, that space had only been twenty centimeters across, crammed full with those same items.
How had it suddenly grown so much larger?
That mysterious space was the secret Chen Mo carried.
He had first discovered it years ago.
A traffic accident—an out-of-control truck hurtling toward him. At that instant, Chen Mo felt his mind clear and his heart pound violently. Power surged through his body. The truck seemed to slow down before his eyes.
In that split second, his instincts exploded. Chen Mo leapt aside and narrowly escaped death.
Afterward, he realized his body had changed—stronger, faster. His thinking, memory, and reflexes all sharpened drastically. And most unbelievable of all, a cube-shaped space had appeared in his mind, like a floating Rubik's Cube, where he could store real objects with just a thought.
For a while, the newfound power thrilled him. Dreaming of becoming a superhero like those in movies, Chen Mo began training relentlessly—physical workouts, martial arts, knife throwing—honing himself in secret, waiting for the day he would emerge from his cocoon.
But fate played tricks on him. His power grew too slowly.
After several years, the space only expanded from ten to twenty centimeters per side. His physical abilities improved—strength, speed, endurance, and reflexes all reached the level of elite athletes. His learning, memory, and reasoning were far beyond normal.
He became a formidable fighter, easily able to handle four or five strong men at once.
To match his spatial ability, he trained with throwing knives until he could hit a flying sparrow from ten meters away. At close range, his knives were as deadly as a handgun.
Addicted to his extraordinary abilities, Chen Mo devoted all his energy to perfecting them. Yet he remained cautious, hiding his secret from everyone.
Years of quiet growth had made him powerful, but still not enough to defy the law or change the world. So he lived peacefully, building strength in silence.
Then Zhou Tianhao's cruelty shattered that peace.
Freed from restraint, Chen Mo struck with the cold precision of an executioner. He slipped into the villa like a shadow, eliminating Zhou's henchmen one by one without a sound.
Finally, he forced Zhou to reveal everything—bank accounts under fake names, hidden safes full of cash, escape plans.
After taking the money, Chen Mo ended his life with a single blade. No one in the villa survived. Before leaving, he set the place ablaze, burning every trace.
The moment he sensed the expansion of his inner space, Chen Mo didn't linger to investigate. The explosion would soon draw the police. He had to go.
He stored the travel bag inside the enlarged space and left quickly.
From Zhou Tianhao, he had obtained over eight million yuan—enough to cover his grandfather's care for years. He hurried to the hospital, secretly passed the bank cards and cash to his parents, gave them a few brief words, and left for the airport.
He boarded the earliest flight to Los Angeles.
Even though he had prepared carefully, caution drove him to hide abroad for a while.
Only after the plane took off did he finally have time to think.
He'd always felt that his ability held something more—something deeper, still dormant.
After killing Zhou Tianhao, the sudden expansion of the space confirmed it.
He could sense it now—the key to evolving his power was within reach