Discovery

The steamed rice was fragrant, as were the pickled vegetables. Han Qingyu ate a quick breakfast and, under his parents' earnest, hopeful gazes, wheeled the family's sole old bicycle out the door. Han Youshan and Zhang Jiexia hurried out after him with an umbrella and stuffed some pocket money into their son's pocket. Standing by the courtyard gate, they gave him careful instructions, saying that even though Wen Jifei was his friend and brother, his helping this time meant relying on other people to get things done, and when all was said and done, the proper courtesies and money to be spent could not be neglected on their part... Han Qingyu needed to ask around, and once he had a clear idea, he was to come home and let them know. Han Qingyu knew very well that there was no such thing this time; the reality was that he didn't even have the option to refuse enlisting. But since he couldn't explain the truth, he could only nod and agree for now. He swung a leg over the bike and started down the small slope at the village entrance. Back at the doorway, his parents were already discussing where to borrow money. In these times, rural households had few ways to earn cash; over the past few years, a portion of Han Qingyu's tuition and miscellaneous school fees had always come from loans. Han Youshan was a rural man of few words but possessed an unyielding backbone—unyielding not in refusing to bow his head or ask for favors, but in that no matter how difficult or humiliating it was to bow his head and beg, he would grit his teeth and do it for the sake of his family and children. "Nothing's certain, and we can't speak openly about it. I'm afraid this money won't be easy to borrow," Zhang Jiexia muttered. "Yeah. Even if we told them, they probably wouldn't believe it. Everyone knows the quotas are filled; joining the army is tough," Han Youshan agreed with a nod. Though he said as much, he stepped out the door right behind his words. *** It wasn't raining along the road. The old bicycle's rear rack had broken and been removed the previous year, so it couldn't carry a passenger, nor could it clamp down the large black umbrella. Furthermore, the mountain road was bumpy, making it awkward to hold an umbrella while steering. Han Qingyu slung the umbrella across his back, threading its strap through the top buttonhole of his shirt collar before looping it back and fastening it securely around the folded canopy. It was remarkably snug and steady. He sped along the bumpy dirt trail leading out of the village with the big black umbrella on his back, looking quite imposing—like someone carrying a broadsword on his way to rob a traveler on the highway, or perhaps to raid the execution grounds. Raid the execution grounds? To save whom? Han Qingyu had no idea why such a thought crossed his mind, but in the end, the person he came up with was, naturally, himself. And why conceal the blade inside an umbrella? Maybe to keep it from rusting. Or perhaps it was a disguise, hidden away for an attempt on the King of Qin. And then, *the wind sighs mournfully...* Indulging in these random musings along the way, his mood seemed to shift as well, taking on a grander, more stirring tone. Han Qingyu rode off the trail and put muscle into speeding up along the gravel surface of the provincial highway. Wind heavy with moisture whistled past his ears. Cycling from Fenglong'ao to the county seat took about three and a half hours at the fastest—a figure Han Qingyu had measured through countless rides during his school years. The route was an endless succession of steep climbs and gentle slopes; unless one was a vigorous young fellow, stopping to rest two or three times along the way was practically mandatory. Roughly halfway through the journey, at the wide bend at Lingkou, Han Qingyu habitually paused in front of an old roadside eatery where truck drivers stopped to eat and use the restroom. Glancing at the counter, he didn't feel thirsty, so under the landlady's disappointed gaze, he pedaled on. After riding less than a hundred meters, he suddenly felt something was off. He hit the brakes and stopped... *Wait, did I misread that?* Han Qingyu shook his head, then turned his bicycle around and rode back. The shop's landlady sat behind the counter, watching him return with pleased eyes. Yet Han Qingyu didn't look at her; his eyes were fixed on the clock hanging on the wall behind her. "Ma'am..." "Hey there! Need some water?" If someone didn't buy anything else, water and herbal tea still cost money, though not much. Han Qingyu asked, "Is your clock accurate?" The landlady looked over her shoulder. "Of course it is." She glanced down at her wristwatch, checked the time against it, and said with certainty, "It's right." Accurate? Worried that his eyes were playing tricks on him, Han Qingyu simply squinted and asked, "Then what time is it right now?" Looking at her watch, the landlady said, "Seven... around seven-forty." "...Oh." Han Qingyu responded numbly, completely ignoring the landlady's disappointment and chagrin as he pedaled away once more. This time, however, he rode rather slowly, lost in thought. *I left home at six-thirty. That's definitely right—I checked the wall clock, and just as I cleared the village entrance, the village loudspeaker started broadcasting songs...* *Which means it took me only an hour and ten minutes to get here today? At least half an hour faster than usual?* *Even if I was preoccupied and unconsciously riding unusually fast—say, extraordinarily fast—there's no reason it should be this much faster! And on top of that, I don't even feel tired.* Further ahead, he checked the time at a few other places, and the result was the same. Something truly strange was going on. Han Qingyu pondered it, then tuned his attention carefully to his own body. In the end, he pulled over at a secluded stretch of the road, parked his bicycle by the wayside, scrambled into the roadside woods, and found a small clearing. Running, jumping, throwing punches. Running, jumping, throwing punches. ... After ten-odd minutes, Han Qingyu stopped and stood there with a wooden expression. He was now certain: his physical functions had improved compared to before. Not drastically, but the degree of improvement was distinct enough to notice by comparison. Moreover, compared to explosive metrics like speed, strength, and leaping ability, the gains in his stamina were likely even greater. *I...* Had he not witnessed so many unfathomable things the night before, Han Qingyu would probably be completely bewildered right now. But he *had* witnessed them... which meant he could now attempt to reason it out. *Right now, the only explanation seems to be that missing source energy block... Otherwise, none of this makes sense. It's not like I'm carrying one of their metal boxes.* He recalled Lao Jian and his people dashing through the mountain forest, faster than Olympic champions, and how much importance they placed on the source energy block. *Did I... absorb it?* An instant later, alarm surged within him. *If they found out about this, they'd definitely kill me!* In Han Qingyu's eyes, Lao Jian and his group were hardly righteous figures—just yesterday, they had nearly killed him to protect a secret. Reliving that scene in his memory, Han Qingyu repeatedly cautioned himself that this secret had to be buried deep; under no circumstances could it be spoken aloud. Then, he quickly caught onto another detailed point: back then, Lao Jian's subordinates had searched through the pit for the source energy block with their bare hands. Bare hands! *Then what happened to me?! If my reasoning is correct... why was I able to absorb it directly in such a short amount of time?!* This point lay beyond Han Qingyu's reasoning, utterly inexplicable, and was also something he could never ask about. Thinking it through to no avail, Han Qingyu gave up dwelling on it. He merely added another layer of warning in his mind, telling himself to keep this secret absolute until there was a clear, rational explanation. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, looking down cautiously at that inexplicable "bruise" over his heart. In just a few hours, Han Qingyu noticed it had already faded significantly, like a piece of food swallowed down, constantly absorbed and digested. What remained now looked merely like a faint birthmark. It seemed to be fading at a pace beyond normal comprehension. Perhaps it would vanish entirely before long. *Did I... digest the source energy block?* Unease, dread, bewilderment... calm... excitement. Standing in the woods with his head bowed, Han Qingyu kept silent, but a stormy tempest surged in his heart. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists tight, as if he had regained a hold on something vital that he thought he had lost forever. It felt as though he had stepped into a dark tunnel leading to certain death—murky, cold, devoid of direction, with no way to turn back—only to suddenly look up in this moment and discover: ahead, there was light. He saw something that could perhaps be called hope—the hope of survival. It was also the fraying edge of destiny... and now, his fingertips were touching it once more. *This stuff can strengthen my physical functions. If I can get stronger, I'll have a better chance of surviving, maybe even reach the day where my fate isn't controlled by others... And they have this stuff.*