All the heavens, starting as the ruler of the universe

It was late at night, but the fire was still burning. The soldiers sat together, some talking in hushed tones, others dozing off.

In the distance, insects were chirping, one soft, distant chirp after another.

Xu Che leaned against the railing, burying his face in his knees.

My stomach was still mostly empty; the hard, brick-like dry food was only a thin layer at the bottom of my stomach, as if I hadn't eaten anything at all.

After an unknown amount of time, Xu Che could no longer resist the sleepiness and fell asleep with his head down.

After he fell asleep, Lin Yan appeared next to the prison van, but no one saw him.

He stood outside the prison van, looking at the young man curled up in the corner.

Even after Xu Che fell asleep, his brows were still furrowed. The whip marks on his shoulder rubbed against the railing; the blood had dried and formed a dark red scab.

His lips were chapped and peeling, and his face was covered in tear stains and dust, making him look like a cat covered in dirt.

Lin Yan looked at his forehead.

There was a faint light there, so faint that ordinary people couldn't see it at all, but in Lin Yan's eyes, the light was as clear as a lantern in the dark.

The light seeped from between Xu Che's eyebrows, in wisps like mist or flowing water, slowly swirling across his forehead. Something was dancing within that light. Lin Yan extended his consciousness and touched a thin barrier.

farm.

That panel, those grids, those white radishes, and that thatched hut—all were in that ball of light.

It wasn't attached to Xu Che's body, but grew on his soul, like a tree with roots deep in his soul and branches extending from his brow, connecting him to the world.

"A very special soul."

Lin Yan had seen this kind of special soul before, and Ao Qing and Kara's souls were the same, but Ao Qing and Kara didn't have a farm system, only a chat group.

Lin Yan snapped out of his daze and looked at Xu Che.

The young man was still asleep, his brows furrowed even more, his lips moving as if he were talking in his sleep.

"Don't take my radishes..." The voice was very soft, indistinct, and tinged with tears.

Lin Yan raised his hand, and a ray of starlight seeped from his fingertips and landed on Xu Che's shoulder.

The light seeped into the wound, circled the flesh, and then dissipated. The wound wouldn't heal immediately, but it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Xu Che's brows relaxed a little.

He rolled over, face up, his eyelids twitched, and in his dazed state, he saw a white figure standing outside the prison cart.

He was very tall and thin, wearing a long white robe, and looked like a lamp in the night.

The person's face was obscured by the light, only their eyes shone brightly, like two stars.

Xu Che tried to reach out and grab it, but his arm felt like it was made of lead and he couldn't lift it.

He could only watch the white shadow stand there, watching him, motionless and silent.

Then the shadow flickered, like a reflection in water being blown away by the wind, fading away little by little until it disappeared.

Xu Che suddenly opened his eyes; there was nothing outside the prison van.

The fire was still crackling, the soldiers were still asleep, and insects were chirping in the distance.

He stared at that spot for a long time, but saw nothing. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was dreaming.

His shoulder no longer hurt. He paused for a moment, then touched the wound. It didn't hurt anymore, as if he had never been injured.

He looked down and saw that his clothes were still torn and the blood was still dry, but the wound no longer hurt.

Xu Che remembered something and quickly brought up the farm panel.

Inside the grid, six white radishes had already sprouted. He stared at the six white radishes, his eyes lighting up.

I harvested the six white radishes, then went to the store and bought six seeds, which I then planted.

The grid became bare again, but Xu Che knew that it would grow back in four hours.

He leaned against the railing and let out a long breath.

The sky was beginning to lighten.

Xu Che leaned against the railing, watching the sky gradually brighten. It was still hazy, just like yesterday, but he felt that the sky seemed a little brighter today than yesterday.

At daybreak, a man came to the prison cart. He was dressed in a brown short coat, wore a small crown on his head, had a wooden plaque hanging from his waist, and carried a scroll of bamboo slips and a pen in his hand.

He walked to the front of the prison cart, unfolded the bamboo slips, dipped his brush in ink, and looked up at the people in the prison cart.

"Name."

No one answered.

He asked again, "Name?"

No one spoke in the prison van. He frowned, put down his pen, and took two steps forward.

"Are they all deaf?"

"You, the one with the short hair, it's you. What's your name?"

Xu Che looked up and met a pair of impatient eyes.

He swallowed hard, opened his mouth, and his voice was hoarse like a broken gong. "Xu...Xu Che."

The man dipped his brush in ink and wrote a few strokes on the bamboo slip. "Who is it?"

Xu Che was stunned for a moment.

Xu Che's mind went blank, and he suddenly remembered the TV series he had watched before he transmigrated.

He blurted out: "Dongjun."

The man paused, looked up at him, and asked, "Dongjun?"

Xu Che was stunned again.

Dongjun? How would he know where Dongjun was? He didn't even know where Dongjun was, so he could only bite the bullet and make something up: "Anyang."

The man glanced at him, said nothing, and wrote a few words on the bamboo slip: "What do you do?"

Xu Che reacted quickly this time: "Farming."

The man glanced at him again.

Xu Che shrank his neck, feeling that his lie was not convincing at all.

His hands, though exposed to wind and sun while delivering food, don't look like those of a farmer, especially not a farmer from ancient times.

The man didn't ask any more questions. He simply wrote a few words on the bamboo slip, rolled it up, hung it on his waist, glanced at the prison cart, and turned to leave.

Xu Che leaned against the railing and let out a long breath.

When Duan Yi returned to the camp, the commander was reading a scroll of silk.

The gray-robed advisor stood to the side, holding a bowl of water in his hands, but he didn't drink it; he just held it.

The tent flap was lifted, a cold wind rushed in, and the candlelight flickered. The commander didn't look up, but simply grunted in response.

"Have you found out?" the gray-robed advisor asked.

The man in the short jacket bowed respectfully, straightened up, glanced at the commander, and seeing that the commander did not intend to raise his head, turned to the gray-robed advisor and said, "Reporting to the sir, I have inquired and found out."

"Apart from the man with the cut hair, the other people in the car were all remnants of the six kingdoms and also from prominent local families."

"The man with the cut hair was clearly not from the Six Kingdoms. He said he was from Anyang in Dongjun and was a farmer, but he was lying."

The commander paused for a moment as he turned the pages of the silk scroll.

The gray-robed advisor put down his bowl and took two steps forward: "Dongjun Anyang? What a joke, I've never heard of such a place as Dongjun Anyang."

The commander was silent for a moment, then tapped on the table.

"Just received news that the battle is over. There's no need to fight anymore."

The gray-robed advisor paused, taken aback. "Is it over?"

"Hmm." The commander pushed the silk scroll forward. "The order from above is that the rebels have been quelled, and the remaining forces will no longer be pursued. All troops should rest and reorganize on the spot and await further orders."

The gray-robed advisor took the silk scroll, unfolded it, read it once, then read it again, before slowly rolling it up and placing it back on the table.

He didn't speak, he just stood there, looking at the commander.

The commander looked at him, and the two stared at each other for a moment.

"The prisoners in the car?" the gray-robed aide asked.

The commander did not answer immediately; his fingers were still tapping the table, one tap at a time, very slowly.

"It's no use," he said. "Kill him."

A wind was blowing outside the tent, making the flags flutter.

The man in the short jacket kept his head down and didn't dare to make a sound. The gray-robed advisor also remained silent, only looking at the commander.

The commander's fingers stopped.

"The one with the short hair, stay."