One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Before the dawn of the second day had fully pierced the darkness, Nie Lingfeng was "burned" awake by an almost tangible gaze.

He opened his eyes in the darkness, his pupils not yet adjusted to the light, but he first felt a burning gaze fixed on his face—a gaze that was a mixture of confusion, surprise, fear, and a hint of the desperate urgency of a drowning person grasping at a piece of driftwood.

The field of vision gradually became clear.

Zhang Chulan's face hung less than twenty centimeters above his bed, forming a blurry silhouette in the dim morning light. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot in the whites, and dark circles under his eyelids—clearly, he hadn't slept all night. He stared unblinkingly, his breathing so light it was almost inaudible, his whole being like a frozen sculpture.

"Holy crap!" Nie Lingfeng jumped in fright, his body instinctively jerking backward, his head slamming against the wall with a thud. "Chu Lan, what the hell are you doing! Dressing up as a ghost to scare people this early in the morning? I'm gay and I like women. If you dare to have any improper thoughts, I'll make you regret it—"

He stopped before he could finish speaking.

Because Zhang Chulan didn't smile. That face, which always wore a fawning or lazy smile, now only had an almost pale seriousness. Morning light slipped in through the gap in the curtains, shining on his taut jawline and into his unfathomable pupils—the emotions surging within were too complex, like an overturned palette, all the colors mixed together, eventually settling into a heavy dark color.

The two faced off in silence. The only sounds in the dormitory were the rhythmic hum of the old air conditioner unit and the lingering echo of Xu San's snoring from the previous night. Outside the window, the tentative chirping of early birds drifted in, and in the distance, the cafeteria's ventilation system began operating, carrying the faint, sizzling aroma of fried noodles.

An ordinary university morning.

But Zhang Chulan knew that ever since that ice-blue giant blade cleaved through the night last night, his world could never return to this "ordinary" state.

"Brother Feng," he finally spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper repeatedly rubbing against rusty iron, "If you don't give me an explanation, I'm sitting here and not leaving today—I really am not leaving."

There was a stubbornness in that voice, a determination to burn one's bridges.

Nie Lingfeng stared at him for a few seconds, sighed, and sat up, throwing back the covers. The early autumn morning chill raised a layer of fine goosebumps on his exposed skin. He grabbed a T-shirt from the bedside and put it on. As the fabric rubbed against his chest, the dark red Qilin tattoo could be vaguely seen rising and falling slightly beneath it.

"Okay." He got out of bed, his bare feet touching the cool terrazzo floor, and bent down to pull out a pair of faded canvas shoes from under the bed. "You've had a good night's rest, your mind should be clearer now. Come on, let me show you the... B-side of this world."

He paused in tying his shoelaces, looked up, and met Zhang Chulan's eyes directly: "But before that, I'll ask you one last time—Chulan, are you sure you want to know? Once you know, you can never come back. You can still pretend nothing happened, continue being a college student, go to class, play games, chase girls, graduate, find a job, get married, have children, and live a normal life..."

"My grandfather's grave was dug up." Zhang Chulan interrupted him, his voice trembling, but each word was enunciated firmly. "Last night, those people said I was a successor of the 'Qi Body Source Flow.' Brother Feng, do you think I can ever go back to being 'ordinary'?"

Nie Lingfeng looked at him. The morning light now fully flooded the room, illuminating the faint glimmer in the young man's eyes, a mixture of anger, resentment, and an inescapable sense of responsibility that fate had forced upon him.

Like a fire that has been forcibly ignited and doesn't yet know how to burn.

"Understood." Nie Lingfeng straightened up, patted his shoulder hard, and said, "Let's go then. I'll show you around. Remember, you chose this path yourself."

The two quickly washed up. As the cold water splashed on his face, Zhang Chulan stared at his pale face in the sink mirror, feeling a vague sense that the face was both familiar and strange. The edge of the mirror was covered with years of limescale, and a thin crack ran through it—just like his world, intact on the surface, but riddled with cracks inside.

Stepping out of the dormitory building, the campus was still half asleep in the early morning. A few prematurely withered yellow leaves from the sycamore trees trembled in the breeze and fell onto the damp cement road. In the distance, early-rising students were already queuing at the library entrance, carrying thick books, their breath lingering briefly in the cool air.

Everything was so normal, so normal that Zhang Chulan felt an absurd sense of disorientation.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice carrying clearly through the empty, tree-lined path.

"A place that can tell you 'who you really are'," Nie Lingfeng said, suddenly increasing the pace of his steps.

At first, his pace was slightly faster than usual, then it became almost race walking, and finally—his figure swayed, and his footwork suddenly became mysterious.

It's not running, it's "slipping".

Like a wisp of wind drawn by an invisible force, each touch of his toes was incredibly light, his figure leaving a faint, almost imperceptible afterimage in the morning light. The first move of the Wind God Leg, "Catching the Wind and Shadows"—he only used 30% of his strength, but the speed far exceeded the comprehension of ordinary people.

Zhang Chulan froze for a moment, then gritted his teeth and chased after him. At first, he could barely hang on for ten meters thanks to his stamina, but Nie Lingfeng's speed increased, and the figure was about to disappear around the corner—

"Damn it!" Zhang Chulan cursed under his breath, as the "Qi" within his body, which had been dormant for more than ten years and was forcibly awakened last night, surged uncontrollably.

Thunder Magic - Little White Snake!

Fine, almost invisible white lightning bolts shot up from his ankles, like a group of awakened silver snakes, coiling around his legs. The next second, he shot forward with a "whoosh," his speed increasing dramatically! The air was torn apart, making a slight "crackling" sound, and the fallen leaves on the roadside were swept up and fluttered in the wind.

He barely caught up with Nie Lingfeng, maintaining a distance of about five meters, his chest burning from the intense exertion.

Nie Lingfeng glanced back, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips.

As expected of the protagonist of this world. After wasting more than a decade, he can still use his lightning magic to keep up with 30% of the power of his Wind God Leg technique, relying solely on instinct. This talent is truly heaven-defying.

The two rushed out of the school gate one after the other, disappearing into the city streets in the early morning. A milkman slowly pedaled past on his tricycle, a sanitation worker swept up dust with his broom, and office workers hurried toward the bus stop—everyone only felt two blurry shadows "whoosh" past them, the wind they stirred up ruffling their clothes, and when they turned around to look, there was nothing there.

Ten minutes later, Nie Lingfeng stopped in front of a building that looked unremarkable.

The building has a gray exterior and blue roller shutter doors. Several vans painted with the words "NaDuTong Express" are parked in front. A slightly worn sign hangs on the side of the building: "NaDuTong Express North China Branch".

Zhang Chulan caught up, panting heavily, his hands on his knees, fine beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked up at the signboard, then at Nie Lingfeng, his eyes screaming, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"The courier company?" His voice was broken and intermittent due to his panting.

"On the surface, yes." Nie Lingfeng pushed open the heavy glass door.

Inside, it was a typical logistics warehouse scene: tall shelves piled high with cardboard boxes, conveyor belts turning slowly, and several employees in dark blue overalls and baseball caps were busy sorting packages. Hearing the door open, someone looked up—their gaze lingered briefly on Nie Lingfeng before settling on Zhang Chulan.

It wasn't scrutiny, nor curiosity; it was a calm, knowing gaze, as if he had known all along that the man would come.

The hairs on Zhang Chulan's back stood on end.

"This way." Nie Lingfeng led him through the work area piled with packages and toward an inconspicuous metal back door.

Behind the door was a downward staircase, and the light suddenly dimmed. The cement steps were worn down from years of footsteps, the walls were painted a rough green, and the air was filled with a faint smell of dust and machine oil. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the narrow space, and with each step, Zhang Chulan's heart sank a little deeper.

At the end of the stairs was another door. Nie Lingfeng pushed it open.

Suddenly, everything became clear.

A basement space almost as large as the warehouse upstairs. White light shines evenly from the ceiling, illuminating rows of neat office cubicles. Huge electronic screens hang on the walls, scrolling through dense data and surveillance footage. People in casual clothes move between workstations, the sounds of ringing telephones, typing, and hushed conversations blending into a buzzing background noise.

This place doesn't resemble a courier company; it's more like an intelligence agency or command center.

But Zhang Chulan's attention was completely drawn to the figure squatting at the door.

Feng Baobao.

She had changed her outfit today—a white shirt, impeccably ironed, with a navy blue pinafore dress over it, and her hair styled in two low pigtails that fell over her shoulders. She looked like a high school student who had just finished school, clean, well-behaved, and even a little childish.

If you ignore the fact that she was currently squatting on the ground, intently poking a passing toad with a dry twig she had picked up from somewhere.

The toad croaked and jumped half a foot away when she poked it. She would then silently move her feet, squat down where the toad had just landed, and continue to gently poke its back with the tip of a twig. The toad would jump again, and she would move again. Over and over again, she enjoyed it immensely.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up. When she saw Nie Lingfeng, a faint, almost imperceptible ripple seemed to flicker in his usually vacant eyes.

"Little Wind is here." Her voice was flat and even.

Then his gaze turned to Zhang Chulan, and he tilted his head as if to confirm something: "Where is my slave?"

Zhang Chulan: "..." He felt he would never be able to get rid of this demonic nickname in his lifetime.

Nie Lingfeng chuckled: "Sister Bao'er, I've brought the person. Are Third Brother and Fourth Brother here?"

"I'll be waiting for you in the office." Feng Baobao stood up, patted off non-existent dust from her skirt, walked up to Zhang Chulan, and without warning leaned in close, her nose almost touching the side of his neck, and sniffed him hard.

Zhang Chulan was startled and took a half step back, his back hitting the cold wall.

"That's right," Feng Baobao stepped back, her tone still calm, "It's this Qi. The Qi that you've always kept hidden deep in your bones."

Zhang Chulan felt a chill run down his spine—just who was this woman? Why could she always find him and see through him like a precise detector? That feeling of being completely understood was more unsettling than facing swords.

"Let's go." Nie Lingfeng patted his stiff shoulder, signaling him to follow.

The office was at the far end of the space, the door ajar. Pushing it open, Xu San and Xu Si were already inside.