Zhang Han increasingly found her eldest son difficult to read.

  He was no longer a boy. He had grown—and with that growth came depths she could not reach.

  Just days ago he had seemed lighter, almost at ease. Now he was withdrawn again—tight-lipped, distant. Worse, she had overheard him muttering strange incantations while teaching ChengYu some “inner mantra technique.” She told herself it was good for boys to train, to toughen their bodies—but the way they moved… it was supposed to be martial arts, yet something about it felt wrong.

  She shook the thought away, briskly tidying the kitchen, setting out plates, carrying dishes to the table.

  Outside, the sky pressed low and heavy. Dusk came early, shadows swallowing the neighborhood long before five. A few nights ago, when she stepped out to dump the trash, she could have sworn she heard eerie wails drifting across the blocks—half human, half not.

  Now the community chat overflowed with messages about “hauntings,” “hallucinations,” “possessions.”

  Her hands did not stop moving, but unease churned beneath her ribs.

  “Xiao Chen, Xiao Yu—dinner’s ready!”

  She called out, grabbed the trash bag, and swung the front door open before the last thread of twilight vanished.

  And froze.

  Something stood outside.

  It had no feet.

  Its outline was vaguely human, yet it hovered inches above the ground. Black mist curled tight around its frame, face smothered in haze.

  Zhang Han’s breath locked. Icewater poured down her spine, rooting her to the threshold.

  Then—

  The thing twitched. Its body convulsed like a seizure. Scenting prey, it began to drift toward her.

  Her scream ripped through the house.

  Almost at once, an arm hooked around her shoulders, yanking her backward.

  “Mom, watch out!”

  YiChen’s voice—cold, steady. One arm shielded her, the other snatched a dry branch from the corner. Spirit flared through the wood; silver light raced along its grain.

  “Go.”

  The branch cut the air like a blade, rending fabric.

  The shadow gave no resistance. Its body ripped apart like paper, unraveling into smoke that the night wind scattered to nothing.

  Bang—!

  YiChen slammed the door shut, sealing out the draft that had slithered in.

  Zhang Han collapsed onto the floor, face drained of color, her back drenched with sweat, heart hammering.

  YiChen crouched at her side, voice low yet steady.

  “Mom, are you hurt?”

  She forced a nod, lips trembling. “Th-that… that thing… what was it? Did you—did you drive it off? What’s happening?”

  “It’s gone,” YiChen murmured. “Just a low-level fiend. It can’t enter the house.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  From the hallway, ChengYu came running, eyes wide. He had seen the strike—the shadow scatter—and for a moment he could only stare, speechless.

  YiChen’s gaze flicked to his mother. “Dad still not back?”

  Zhang Han blinked, gathering herself, then whispered, “This afternoon he said he was going to see a patient at the hospital… he hasn’t called since.”

  A heaviness sank into YiChen’s chest.

  He crouched lower, meeting her eyes, his tone calm but edged with iron:

  “Mom, listen carefully. That thing was a wraith. They feed on fear—grow stronger the more you panic. But as long as your spirit holds firm, they can’t touch you. For now, lock every door and window. Keep reciting the Great Compassion Mantra—it will form a ward, however simple. And no matter what happens, no matter who knocks—don’t open. Don’t answer.”

  Zhang Han trembled, but she nodded.

  YiChen turned to ChengYu.

  “Stay here and protect Mom. Run the Taiwei Guiyuan Art. It’ll steady your mind and guard your spirit.”

  ChengYu’s eyes blazed, as though staring at a hero made flesh.

  “If I practice it… will I be as strong as you someday?”

  YiChen ruffled his brother’s hair, a faint smile breaking through.

  “Yes. If you practice earnestly.”

  ChengYu puffed up at once, chest straight.

  “Don’t worry, bro! I’ll guard the house no matter what!”

  YiChen nodded, snatched the car keys from the wall, and strode to the door.

  “I’m going to pick Dad up from the hospital—before the streets fall into chaos. Remember: lock the door. Open it for no one.”

  He wrenched the door open and vanished into the night.

  The wind outside had already turned colder.

  ———————

  The engine roared to life, tires scraping tile, grinding out a low, heavy note.

  YiChen sat behind the wheel, gaze locked razor-sharp on the road ahead.

  So it was true. The world had already changed.

  Even the smallest ripple—his father’s trip to the hospital—was enough to fracture history into a new course.

  In his past life, Father had fallen ill and stayed bedridden. The family had never left the house and, by sheer accident, survived the deadliest three nights.

  But now—East City Hospital had become ground zero.

  ?

  At first, everything seemed deceptively normal.

  The streets lay deserted. Traffic lights glowed green, unbroken. Crosswalks stretched bare, washed pale beneath streetlamps. His right hand clamped the wheel, his left rested on the window ledge, fingers loose—yet his whole body sat taut, a bowstring drawn to its limit.

  Because he knew—

  the quiet before the storm was always the most suffocating.

  Lamps cut jagged strips across the windshield, slicing his face into fractured silhouettes.

  Then the car swung onto the road leading to East City Hospital.

  And the world—shattered.

  ?

  Traffic lay in ruin. Cars were scattered across sidewalks and medians, doors left hanging open, seats empty.

  Ahead, a mass of people surged toward the hospital. Some stumbled. Some sobbed. Some bolted in blind terror.

  YiChen’s gaze hardened. His foot slammed the brake. His eyes cut right—

  An empty slot.

  The wheel jerked. Tires shrieked. He slid into the space in one clean arc, killed the engine, yanked the keys.

  Every motion crisp, precise, without hesitation.

  The door banged shut. His stride cut through the night like an arrow loosed—straight toward the inpatient wing of Block E.

  Father had to be there.

  ?

  Then the air shifted.

  Fear was being devoured.

  Five shadows slithered among the crowd.

  Tall as men, blurred and wraithlike, their frames sheathed in black mist. Hollow sockets gaped where faces should be. At the center of each brow, a dim spirit-core pulsed faintly.

  Fiend. Feeding.

  The more terror they consumed, the stronger they grew.

  YiChen’s gaze turned to ice.

  “…So fast.”

  His hand swept back—branch drawn. Spirit flared through the grain.

  Starlight Sword Intent.

  Silver brilliance burst forth. The branch hardened into a blade, veins of light cascading across its surface—like the Milky Way bound into plain wood.

  He struck.

  ?

  The first strike—landed.

  A core burst. Black mist shredded, vanishing into the night.

  His pace never slowed. One vault forward—the blade drove clean through a second core.

  The second strike—shattered.

  The third lunged, claws raking the air.

  A cry rang out: “Watch out—!”

  YiChen twisted. The blade flashed. One slash severed its claw; the arc spun back, spearing the core in a single thrust.

  Boom—!

  Three strikes. Three slain.

  The last two faltered. Their hunger cracked into terror. In an instant, they melted into fog, gone.

  ?

  Silence slammed down.

  The panic ebbed. What remained was awe.

  Hundreds of eyes turned to him—the young man standing with blade lowered, coat snapping in the cold wind.

  His gaze was dark as midnight. His expression, cold and unyielding—like a shard of light fallen into the mortal world.

  He said nothing. He only glanced once at them, distant, before turning to leave.

  But as he moved—he froze.

  Countless phones had risen.

  Screens aimed.

  Recording. Streaming. Broadcasting.

  Light bore down on him. Every lens caught his figure.

  And so—YiChen’s first battle against fate was laid bare before the world.