15. This World

The words he spoke at the assembly, though fueled by emotion, were the true voice of Lu Feng’s heart.

It was once said in the previous era that a person’s life is a continual crossing of tribulations; with every trial overcome, a new life is gained. In his nineteen years, Lu Feng had crossed many such hardships, so much so that at times he forgot that there was such a thing as happiness in life.

In his hand, he held two cold, curved blades—one his own, the other Liu Dazhuang’s. The weight of them was substantial. Gazing silently at the knives, he understood that from this moment onward, he would no longer live for himself alone; his vitality now bore the portion that belonged to Liu Dazhuang as well.

Liu Dazhuang had died for him, and so he thought at that time: “You have given me your life; I will give you half of mine.”

Perhaps even Lu Feng himself had not realized how, in just two short days, the fact of his crossing over had already wrought a profound change in him—both in body and in soul.

Human beings are strange creatures. Emotionally, each person is an individual, with unique ways of thinking and personal ambitions—qualities that are difficult to alter. Before he crossed over, Lu Feng always felt the world was shrouded in darkness; no matter how dazzling the events that unfolded, none seemed to matter to him.

In Zone 17, a place marked by extreme social stratification, vast airborne fortresses hung suspended beneath the patchwork starlight, aircraft glided between city and sky, and everywhere was the transformation wrought by science and data.

Liu Dazhuang had been an ordinary man—so ordinary that it was almost invisible—content to serve as a gatekeeper for fifteen years, until, at last, he summoned the courage to sacrifice himself without fear.

The Ninth Bureau would comfort his family with many reasonable and noble explanations. Beyond the inner rings, in lives where material needs trump the spiritual, perhaps a generous compensation would ease the memory of his death.

However difficult that is to accept, it is reality—reality beneath this starry sky, cold and impenetrable as the iron walls that divide the inner and outer rings.

Yet this ordinary man had created something extraordinary before Lu Feng’s eyes. It was a kind of stirring he had never felt in nineteen years.

As the central figure in the incident, Lu Feng had nearly lost control of his emotions when facing Liu Dazhuang’s family. He wanted to atone, to make amends, to even become Liu Dazhuang himself—but Wang Hao held him back.

For those of the Ninth Bureau, life and death seemed long since irrelevant. Their lives belonged to their mission, their everything to the deep sky above.

Before, Lu Feng had thought the world cold-blooded but not cruel. But after crossing over, confronted with the intersection of the mechanical and the marvelous, he realized that under this same sky, there was a group of traversers upholding order, embracing death so that others might live.

They were like guardians on the borders, forging a wall of flesh and magic to shield the opulence of the inner rings and the suffering of the outer.

The monk’s tales of five centuries past seemed too distant; once his thoughts cleared, Lu Feng found them possibly important, yet somehow unimportant.

The Director had called him a once-in-a-century phenomenon, Lin Doudou said he could control space, but he felt utterly useless. He had let another die for him, powerless to do anything.

There was much he did not understand, but he no longer wished to be so fixated. There is a kind of happiness in not knowing; knowing everything is an unbearable weight.

He only wished to live as Liu Dazhuang had—unknown, uncelebrated—simply as an ordinary person.

Lu Feng placed the two curved blades on the table. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of it.”

It was one of the rare promises he had made in his nineteen years.

To erase all traces is a cruel thing.

Of course, there were exceptions. No one knew that his younger sister had caressed his face that night and shed tears. Only the mysterious old man was aware, but few even knew of his existence.

Lu Feng’s small courtyard lay beside the Ninth Bureau’s main building, surrounded by a cordon that separated it from the outside world. A tree-lined path ran down the middle, with three small houses to the left and three to the right; at the end of the path was a mountain, halfway up which sat another small house.

The whole arrangement resembled the villa clusters of the previous era.

Lu Feng had heard from Lin Doudou that the six houses at the foot of the mountain were occupied by himself and five hosts. As for the house on the mountainside, it seemed only the Director had ever entered.

He stood up and wandered to the window. The sky outside glowed white, illuminating the Ninth Bureau’s compound in bright, dazzling light. There were no seasons in this space—only day and night—a unique existence that complemented the Bureau perfectly.

Most of the Timewalkers’ actions took place at night. Their special existence meant their missions could rarely be made public, and the cover of darkness concealed many traces.

A sharp crack snapped Lu Feng’s attention to the window.

Looking out, he saw a thin, dazed boy standing motionless, as a burly man lashed him with a whip.

The boy did not flinch, gritting his teeth and refusing to resist.

“Speak! Why did you steal my knife?” The man’s tone was laced with murderous intent.

Another crack.

“You little bastard! Will you talk or not? If you don’t, I’ll cripple you today.” With that, the man lashed him again.

The boy clutched his bleeding wound with his right hand, glaring fiercely at the man.

“You dare glare at me after stealing from me?”

Another whip lashed the boy’s leg.

Struck on the leg, the boy lost his balance and fell.

“Tough for your age! Let’s see if your bones are harder than my whip!”

The man was about to strike again when he suddenly felt his arm gripped tightly, unable to pull free.

He looked up, and his pupils dilated in shock.

“It’s you?”

He recognized him. Standing before him was Lu Feng, the one who had unleashed a storm of fire in the assembly hall.

“Why are you beating him?” Lu Feng released his grip and asked.

“Oh, it’s like this. This boy sneaked into my SUV’s trunk this morning and followed me here, then stole my knife.” The man was troubled as he continued, “You know, our identities are special. I worried he had some hidden motive, so I…”

He trailed off. Lu Feng could understand his reasoning. He was new to the Ninth Bureau and hadn’t yet grasped every nuance, so he refrained from judgment. It was just that, seeing the man whip the boy, he was reminded of his own childhood—his drunken father lashing him with a belt. He couldn’t bear it, and so he came over.

“May I speak with him?” Lu Feng sought the man’s permission.

“Please do. But… I’ve been questioning him for ages. Beaten him too, and not a sound—maybe he’s mute,” the man offered kindly.

Lu Feng nodded. The man was clearly not a villain, only desperate. The blade was a Timewalker’s badge of office; losing it was no small matter.

He stepped to the boy’s side. The boy stubbornly stood up again.

Lu Feng squatted down. “Why did you steal his knife? That knife is very important to him.”

The boy hung his head, hands clamped over his wounds, and said nothing.

“Children shouldn’t steal. It’s not right,” Lu Feng said gently, like a patient parent instructing his child.

“Where did you hide the knife? Tell me, and I’ll have him let you go.” Lu Feng fixed his gaze on the boy.

After a long moment, the boy lifted his head and muttered, “I lost it.”

“Where?”

“In the water.”

He pointed at the lake ahead.

“Why did you steal his knife? You’re so young, and knives are dangerous,” Lu Feng pressed gently.

“To kill someone.” The boy’s answer made Lu Feng’s brows tighten.