Sunlight spilled like melted honey, warm and golden across the earth.

  The fig tree’s branches twitched in the wind, restless shadows sprawling across the courtyard wall. On the clothesline, white shirts ballooned into sails, their sleeves swelling with the faint whimper of the breeze.

  ChengYu sauntered into the kitchen, crunching noisily on an apple while fishing another from the basket. With his phone pressed to his ear, he muttered between bites,

  “I told you already—I’m not going. I’m staying with my brother.”

  “Oh, come on!” his friend groaned. “It’s been over half a month! You’re still glued to him? We’re on break and I haven’t seen you even once.”

  ChengYu spoke around another mouthful of apple.

  “He’s in a bad mood. I’ve gotta keep him company.”

  “Uh-huh… Then bring him out too! My sister’s obsessed with him. She even told her friends he’s—”

  A shriek cracked the line.

  “AAAH! Sis, that hurts!!”

  A furious female voice roared back:

  “Marcus, what garbage are you spouting?! When did I ever say that?!”

  “You did! I heard you—ow ow ow! Stop hitting me, sis—!”

  Click. The call went dead.

  ChengYu stared at the blank screen for a solemn two seconds, mourning his brother’s tragically short but glorious life. Then he tossed the phone aside, grabbed another apple, and bolted out of the kitchen like a thunderclap.

  ?

  The wind was especially strong that day. YiChen was in the yard with Zhang Han, helping her gather laundry before the gusts tore it loose.

  ChengYu barreled straight into him, smacking into his chest.

  YiChen grunted. “Xiao Yu, are you trying to rearrange my internal organs?”

  ChengYu tilted his head up, eyes curved into crescents.

  “Bro, want an apple? Super juicy, super sweet.”

  He held it aloft like a sacred offering.

  YiChen chuckled, ruffling his brother’s hair with rare fondness.

  “Sure. But let me finish helping Mom with the clothes first.”

  ChengYu spun toward Zhang Han.

  “Mom, do you want an apple too?”

  Zhang Han laughed. “Alright, I’ll have one.”

  “Then I’ll cut them up for you!” Xiao Yu declared, and shot back inside like a streak of silver wind.

  YiChen’s lips softened into a faint smile as he watched him go. But he did not immediately return to the laundry.

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  Instead, he tilted his head, gaze lifting toward the sky.

  Something pressed against his chest.

  The sunlight blazed. The wind was warm. Everything appeared perfectly ordinary—

  yet for a breath, he felt it.

  A faint ripple of spirit-force.

  Subtle as a thread pulled taut beneath the fabric of the air.

  His hand froze around the clothespin, knuckles whitening.

  “Xiao Chen?” Zhang Han’s voice cut in gently at his side.

  “…Hm?” He blinked. In the space of a heartbeat, his expression smoothed into calm.

  “It’s nothing.”

  He bent again to the laundry, folding each shirt with measured care.

  No one noticed—

  that the hand which had clenched tight now glistened with a thin film of sweat.

  ——————

  Dinner came later than usual.

  Mark had sent only a brief text to Zhang Han: the clinic was busy, they should eat without him.

  By the time he finally came home, he looked utterly spent. Shoulders sagging, he collapsed onto the sofa. Zhang Han pressed a glass of water into his hand, and only after draining it did he exhale—a long, ragged sigh.

  “Today was unbelievable,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “The last patient—Mrs. Gray. I shouldn’t mention names, but half the clinic saw, so… She came in for a routine check-up. Everything normal. Then—boom. Like the floor itself jolted. A heartbeat later, Lisa screamed. We all rushed in.”

  “An earthquake?” ChengYu perked up instantly, eyes glinting with mischief.

  “If only.” Mark’s voice darkened. “It wasn’t the ground. It was Mrs. Gray. She… hiccupped. And then breathed out blue fire.”

  “Fire?” Zhang Han’s brows knit. “You mean actual—”

  “Actual fire.” Mark cut her off flatly. “The entire exam room went up in flames.”

  ChengYu burst out laughing. “Pfft—Dad, that’s the best one yet. A hiccup? And whoosh—flames? What, nuclear indigestion? Hahahaha—”

  Even Zhang Han’s lips twitched, though she tried to hide it. “That… is there a medical explanation?”

  “No explanation.” Mark shook his head. His eyes were grave now. “She went into convulsions afterward. Veins bulged all over her face and neck. It looked terrible. We tried resuscitation—failed. She was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. She’d only just given birth, too… I had to notify her family.”

  ChengYu’s laughter faltered, then died. The silence pressed in.

  YiChen hadn’t spoken once. But inside—his heart was a storm.

  Too soon.

  Far too soon.

  In his first life, it hadn’t begun like this. Back then, it crept in as rumor: faint shapes in alleys, dogs barking at empty corners, a haze of black fog dismissed as weather. People laughed it off. Until it was too late.

  But this? A woman spitting fire in broad daylight? That was no illusion. That was spirit-force erupting beyond human control.

  Why now?

  Had his return—had Shixi—shifted the balance?

  Or…

  “Xiao Chen?” Zhang Han’s voice tugged him back. “Your face just went pale. Are you alright?”

  Mark and ChengYu were watching him too.

  YiChen forced a thin smile. “I’m fine. Just… thinking that poor woman was really unlucky.”

  A flimsy excuse. But no one pressed.

  ?

  After dinner, Mark went to shower. ChengYu dragged him to the sofa, forcing anime onto the screen. Zhang Han washed dishes in the kitchen, humming faintly beneath the clatter of water and porcelain. Warm yellow lamplight softened every corner of the living room, as if nothing had changed.

  But in YiChen’s chest, the weight only grew heavier.

  He knew it now.

  It had begun.

  Earlier than before.

  Harsher.

  He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Behind his eyes, he saw it again: the fissure that had split the heavens, the golden hand reaching through fate itself.

  He had come back. ChengYu was alive.

  And yet—every time he closed his eyes, fire surged; flesh tore; souls scattered into the abyss. The memory replayed in endless loops.

  It wasn’t that he felt no fear.

  It was that he had long since learned not to scream.

  Shixi… his heart whispered. You felt it too, didn’t you?

  This time—

  the path had already shifted.