The scent of early morning drifted through the air as Lam Pham slowly opened his eyes. Dawn's light filtered through the cracks in the door, casting a soft glow onto the thin bamboo mat. He shifted slightly, noticing that the bruises from the previous afternoon's beating had significantly improved; the sharp ache had subsided into a dull thrum beneath his skin—just enough to remind him of the "crime" of provoking his father.
He lightly ran a hand over his arm, where the flesh remained a pale yellow. He had been beaten many times before, sometimes worse than this, but he had never healed so quickly. Usually, it took two or three days for the pain to vanish, yet after a single night, he was nearly eighty percent recovered.
His gaze immediately dropped to the bronze bracelet on his left wrist.
It remained as silent as ever. The fourteen-pointed star and the intricate spirit birds were etched into his skin, neither glowing nor vibrating. But Lam Pham knew it had done something. Last night, the tiny specks of green light emerging and soaking into his wounds... that was no hallucination.
Could it be... a cultivator's treasure?
Regardless of whether the bracelet truly belonged to a cultivator, Lam Pham decided he could not let anyone else know. Such a power, whether a blessing or a curse, should not be revealed—especially in a small village like this.
He suddenly thought of Lam Ngu.
She was sharp-witted, with eyes as keen as a knife and a habit of noticing the smallest details.
"I must be more careful…"
Knock… knock…
A soft rapping sounded at the door, followed by a gentle voice: "May I come in?"
It was none other than his mother, Linh Chau. Her face bore a strong resemblance to Lam Ngu's: the large eyes and high bridge of the nose, but every feature was softer, matured by years of diligent labor.
She entered carrying a steaming bowl of hot porridge, placing it beside his mat. Her eyes flickered toward the bruises on his arm, and she sighed.
"You silly boy... are you feeling better? Still haven't given up that habit of teasing your sister! How many times have you been hit and still not learned your lesson?"
Lam Pham scratched his head, offering a sheepish grin. "Yes... she just misunderstood, Mother."
"You!" She shook her head, but the corners of her mouth curled upward. "If your father didn't love you, he wouldn't have gotten that angry. Ngu is mischievous, but isn't she the darling of this house? And yet you had the heart to make her cry!"
Lam Pham remained silent, his heart feeling both warm and guilty. It's a good thing... she didn't catch me disappearing.
After finishing his porridge, Lam Pham stood up and went straight to his sister's room. He knocked lightly.
"Ngu, open the door."
A rustling sound came from within, as if someone were hurriedly tidying up. A moment later, the door creaked open. Lam Ngu poked her head out, her hair still slightly tousled, her eyes searching.
"What is it, brother?"
Lam Pham looked her straight in the eye, his voice low but firm. "I have something private to discuss. Let me in."
Lam Ngu hesitated for a beat, then swung the door wide. Her expression was unusually serious, devoid of the sulking or teasing from before.
Once inside, Lam Pham closed the door. He turned to his sister, his gaze unflinching. "Yesterday... you saw everything, didn't you?"
It wasn't a question, but an assertion.
Lam Ngu was silent for a moment, then nodded. No hiding, no dodging. She looked back at him, her voice small but steady. "I saw you... disappear. And then reappear."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Lam Pham broke the silence. "Weren't you... afraid?"
"I was!" Lam Ngu replied instantly, her eyes bright. "Did you think I was just going to go crying to Father?"
Lam Pham's eyes widened, his voice a mix of anxiety and helplessness. "Hey, little ancestor! Don't joke about this... This isn't child's play."
"Hey... do you want to try disappearing?" Lam Pham lowered his voice, his eyes serious. As it happened, he had a few things he wanted to test.
Lam Ngu blinked, tilting her head. "That trick where you take things and vanish? But clearly, that fish you tried to bring over... it stayed in your hand here, it didn't cross over to the other side, did it?"
She paused, then looked deeper into his eyes, her voice dropping lower. "Besides... it's not the same. Objects are one thing, but things that feel pain, things that breathe—it will be different."
"But it didn't die!" Lam Pham countered, his voice rising slightly with urgency. "When I let it go, it swam normally. Let's see..."
"Or... should I try holding my breath to see if it works?" Lam Ngu suddenly chirped, her eyes sparkling.
They tried everything:
* Lam Pham held her hand, focusing his intent.
* Lam Ngu held her breath, gripping his hand tight until her face turned red.
* They tried relaxing, then gripping harder...
They swapped positions and spoke of many things, as intimate as they had been in childhood, but every time, the scenery around Lam Pham only blurred slightly before snapping back. Lam Ngu remained exactly where she was, as if blocked by an invisible wall.
Just as the girl sighed and let her hand go, ready to give up: "Forget it... maybe I just can't..."
Lam Pham suddenly had a realization.
He remembered the feeling when he first entered that space: no resistance, no doubt, only the absolute belief that he had to go.
"It's not you..." he said quickly, his eyes lighting up. "Living things are different from inanimate objects because... they have consciousness. And consciousness breeds resistance. This time, relax completely. Don't think of anything. Don't try to 'go,' just believe... that I will carry you there."
Lam Ngu looked at him for a moment, then nodded. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let every muscle and thought go slack, like a child falling asleep on her father's shoulder.
Lam Pham squeezed her hand gently and focused on the bracelet.
The fourteen-pointed star flashed.
A wave of warmth spread from his wrist into her hand.
They both felt as if they were passing through a thin membrane, like stepping through morning mist.
They opened their eyes—
They had arrived.
Before them stretched the barren land. In the sky, the sun and the moon hung parallel, taking turns illuminating the motionless pocket of heaven and earth.
Lam Ngu gasped, her hand trembling as she touched the air. "Brother... you did it!" she cried out, her eyes shimmering as she looked in every direction.
She gazed up at the two celestial bodies, then knelt to grab a handful of the parched earth.
"Do you know? If time here moves twice as fast... why don't we grow food here? One day outside is two days of growth inside. Wheat, green vegetables... the harvest would be twice as fast!"
Lam Pham froze. He had only thought of cultivation, but his sister had already seen a livelihood.
Lam Ngu's words were like a lightning bolt shattering the fog—he had never imagined the bracelet could be used to sustain life, rather than just for battle.
He hurriedly returned, searching through his bamboo pouch for seeds: glutinous rice, mung beans, cabbage—the things his mother had stored for the next season. His hands shook slightly, not with fear, but with hope.
If this worked... the family would never have to worry about hunger when winter came.
But first, he had to test it.