Chapter 28: A Sense of Security

Consciousness returned once more to the Xiyuan Star.

Ye Han carefully stepped back a few paces. In the virtual space, he had already memorized all the critical information about the Lunar Sect. The Scripture Pavilion was just ahead to his right.

“The overall location is correct, but there’s a mountain in between,” he thought.

Crouching by the stone, Ye Han raised his eyes to gaze into the night. The mountain range was utterly silent beneath the darkness, save for the occasional sound of something whistling through the air—a candidate still sending out his peaceful visions.

“Luckily, the entanglement with each candidate’s home planet doesn’t last long,” Ye Han murmured as he stood up and shifted sideways, his movements exceptionally cautious.

This latest wave of assault had already thrown the civilization of Xiyuan Star into chaos. Nearly every sizable city marked on the map had become a wasteland. If the candidates’ entanglement time had been longer, or their technological progression swifter, the conflict would not have remained confined to ground warfare. More likely, the fighting would spill out onto the surface and directly enter the interstellar battlefield.

Ye Han had heard that those who made it into university fought primarily among the stars. The warfront stretched across vast regions, measured in units of light years. Small-scale wars could last decades, and typically, hundreds of planets would be shattered in the process. This “shattering” was literal: worlds would be reduced to cosmic dust.

“It’s too early to worry about that now,” Ye Han shook his head and focused on the Scripture Pavilion.

Four years of university, with camp resources pouring in, was the golden age for rapid growth among the bonded candidates. Yet, for Ye Han, all that was still far beyond reach. There were only nine universities in the entire pan-human camp, and together, they admitted just one hundred million candidates a year. This year, nearly one billion candidates were competing—ten to one odds seemed promising, but only for those who survived the nine hundred days of the examination. Only then would they qualify for comprehensive scoring.

Now, it was only the second night.

Ye Han already faced discord with Earth’s native group, and Hanlan was working behind his back. In the examination, advantages snowballed, while disadvantages made every step increasingly difficult. The locals’ decision to send him out as a distraction was risky—very much at odds with the cautious, steady approach China was known for.

By rights, the Chinese think tank shouldn’t have made such a hasty decision.

However, since Chen Xu had spoken, Ye Han believed there must be a relatively complete counter-strategy in place.

“We’ll just take it one step at a time,” Ye Han sighed helplessly. He truly didn’t know if he could survive the exam. With ten million candidates, who knew what strange talents might turn up? If he ran into someone whose abilities could restrict his movements, he’d be finished.

His physical strength hadn’t even reached the first tier yet; he was only surviving on the edge thanks to spatial teleportation.

“For now, this will have to do,” he thought.

From a distance, Ye Han looked at the wooden hut, then took advantage of the darkness to retrace his steps and retreat. He found a cave and slipped inside.

Ye Han stayed in the cave for half a month. During that time, he returned to the city devastated by nuclear explosion and retrieved the clothes from the Lunar Sect disciple he had killed.

Over those two weeks, Ye Han had begun to figure out the daily routine of the Lunar Sect candidate. Every night after midnight, the mark’s location would become utterly still, not even the slightest movement. That must be when the other party rested.

“Tonight’s the night,” Ye Han decided. He couldn’t wait any longer.

At noon, a Lunar Sect disciple—a young woman, though similar in build to Ye Han—had flown out of the sect above his cave. Now, dressed in the disciple’s attire, Ye Han hoped to fool the optical and thermal sensors. He hung the dead disciple’s silk pouch at his waist, shouldered his pack, and walked calmly past the hut.

The Scripture Pavilion was behind the peak, and there were only two ways to reach it: fly over the mountain or take the path beside the hut.

“Don’t panic. Stay calm—just stay calm,” Ye Han reminded himself.

He straightened his back, lifted his chin, and walked openly along the mountain path, exposed to the watchful gaze of the hut’s guards.

As Ye Han passed, a guard glanced at him, then lost interest and looked away.

The Lunar Sect, the Scripture Pavilion.

Luan Shuangyu sat quietly at the top floor of the library, wearing a pale robe edged with gold. For half a month, the person sensed by the runes had vanished only once, for half a day on the third day; otherwise, he stayed within range.

“Could I have made a mistake?” Luan Shuangyu propped her chin in her hands, staring out the window with furrowed brows.

She still couldn’t understand why the candidate lingered in the Lunar Sect. Since the third day, the rune’s location had barely changed—its movement over a day was less than a fifth of the fluctuations on the first day.

Luan Shuangyu was baffled by his actions.

“Maybe it’s because of me?” She turned to glance behind her.

Following the rune’s direction, she had traveled from the main peak to the Scripture Pavilion. Compared to her original location, she had moved fifty or sixty miles in a straight line.

Luan Shuangyu’s lips parted softly, her breath fragrant as she murmured, “Based on the angle changes I’ve sensed, either he’s very close but barely moving, or he’s far away and his pace matches mine almost exactly.”

She did not welcome the uninvited guest.

Her technology tree had not yet unfolded. The genetic map of Xiyuan’s natives had only just been decoded, and enhancement agents were still in development. For now, she could only rely on the sect’s power to defend herself.

In such circumstances, without knowing the intruder’s origins, she felt intensely unsafe.

Throughout her life, she had been under her parents’ strict supervision. Everything was arranged by those unyielding hands against which she could not rebel.

She had no childhood worth remembering; her mind contained only a cold, dark study. That room held nothing but a set of chairs, a lamp, and ten books on the desk.

Each time she finished absorbing the knowledge from those ten books, another ten would be placed there.

Once, ten times, a hundred times—Luan Shuangyu had long lost track of how many times the books had changed.

She lived every day under extreme pressure, a feeling that nearly drove her to collapse.

The demands placed upon her were overwhelming.

Luan Shuangyu was resentful—perhaps even hateful. She longed to escape her home.

But she had no power to resist and could only endure in silence.

Now, suddenly freed from that environment, she felt both exhilarated and wary. Even in Xiyuan, she still lacked a sense of security.

Her perpetual anxiety meant she spent every night quietly in a dark room, clutching a book, pretending to accept her restrictions.

She feared returning to the past, feared those hands would again take away her freedom.

So, upon sensing the intruder’s presence, her first instinct was to uncover his purpose—and she acted on it.