Yan Shuo stopped in front of a rusted iron gate. Beyond it stood a small, extremely modest house, its white paint yellowing with age and several roof tiles sitting unevenly. He gazed at the building for a moment, letting a faint warmth seep into his heart amid the cold night of Buldam. He took a deep breath, then stepped inside and opened the front door, which let out a soft creak.
"I'm home," he said as he took off his shoes at the threshold, arranging them neatly in the corner.
"Shuo? You're back already, dear?" A voice called out from the kitchen, gentle yet tinged with fatigue.
"Yes, Mom. Where's Dad? He should've been home by now, right?" Yan Shuo walked toward the kitchen, illuminated by the yellow glow of a single lightbulb.
There, his mother stood by the stove, stirring a pot of clear vegetable soup. She was forty-five years old, yet the marks of age seemed reluctant to settle on her face. Her skin remained firm, her posture ideal—traces of her former beauty still clearly visible beneath the dim light.
"Your father hasn't come home yet," she replied without turning around. "He said he has extra work at the workshop."
Yan Shuo approached the wooden dining table, its surface rough from years of use, and placed his grocery bag on top.
"I bought some meat and extra vegetables, Mom. Just put them there—we'll have a big dinner tonight."
His mother turned around, wiping her hands on her white apron. She opened the plastic bag, her eyes widening slightly at its contents.
"That's so much, Shuo. This must've been expensive. You didn't spend all your money, did you?"
Yan Shuo chuckled softly, trying to ease her concern.
"Relax, Mom. I got a small bonus today, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to buy more for the three of us. But… why does Dad have to work late again? Did you call him?"
A faint shadow crossed his mother's face.
"I called him several times. He kept saying he'd be home late. He said there are a lot of orders that need to be finished tonight." She sighed, then smiled again as she took the meat from the bag. "Alright. Go rest for now. I'll cook this quickly so we can have a nice meal tonight."
"Okay, I'll go to my room first, Mom," Yan Shuo said with a forced smile. He wanted to look cheerful for her sake, even though unease still lingered in his heart from earlier.
He stepped into his cramped bedroom. The room reflected the chaos in his mind: pillows and blankets lay scattered on the bed, snack wrappers littered the floor around the table legs. Yet in the corner stood a computer setup with three monitors, starkly modern—the most advanced thing in the entire house.
Yan Shuo turned on the light, then fished out a charging cable from beneath the wooden desk supporting his computer. He plugged in his nearly dead phone and left it on the table.
Without taking off his jacket, he dropped onto the bed and stared at the cracked ceiling. The sizzling sound of the pan and the aroma of meat cooking drifted into his room, but his thoughts had already returned to Lan Bushen's story.
Four thousand people dead in Laskas. An entire district wiped out.
Burning curiosity pushed him back up. He sat in his gaming chair, its cushioning already thinning, and pressed the power button on his computer. The machine hummed softly, casting a blue glow across his pale face. Once the system loaded, his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
He typed in keywords: "Laskas City Tragedy," "Laskas Stellar Attack," "Laskas Security Update."
Ten minutes passed. Seventeen minutes.
Yan Shuo frowned, his eyes darting as he scanned every line of international news articles. Nothing. There were no reports of destruction, no mention of thousands of casualties—not even a single amateur video, the kind that usually spread instantly across social media when a major city fell into ruin. Laskas was described as perfectly fine; the top headline was about an upcoming autumn festival.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Was that taxi driver just making things up?"
He leaned back in his chair, feeling both confused and relieved. If Lan Bushen had been lying, then the world wasn't on the brink of apocalypse. But something still felt off. The fear on Lan Bushen's face earlier had seemed far too real to be a spur-of-the-moment fabrication. And what troubled him most was the sight of fighter jets he had personally seen tearing across the sky during his trip.
Why had those jets disappeared the moment he reached downtown Buldam? Where had the aerial patrols gone—the ones Lan Bushen claimed were on "full alert"?
Yan Shuo then typed something else: "Kotva Nation Stellar Assistance."
The next second, his monitor was filled with official articles. President Fun Jin of the Kotva Nation had announced the deployment of special Stellar units as a form of global security assistance. This news was real. The information was valid.
Cold sweat began to soak Yan Shuo's back. If the part about Kotva was true, then why was there nothing about Laskas on the internet? Was the government covering something up? Or did Lan Bushen have access to information far deeper than what the mass media could reach?
He remained frozen in his chair, his gaze empty as it pierced through the static news page on the screen. Cold sweat slid from his temples, traced his jaw, and disappeared into the collar of his jacket. Thoughts of Lan Bushen, of Laskas City, and of a truth that felt deliberately concealed spun endlessly in his mind like jammed gears. He didn't know what to believe—or who to trust. The world he knew felt as if it were beginning to crack, even though from the outside it still appeared whole.
"Shuo."
His mother's voice came from outside the room, gentle yet firm enough to pull him from his thoughts.
"The food's ready. Come eat before it gets cold."
Yan Shuo flinched slightly, then wiped his face with his palm, brushing away the lingering sweat. He stood up, grabbed his phone from the table, and stepped out of his room toward the kitchen. The warm glow of the lightbulb greeted him, along with the aroma of food that suddenly made his stomach growl.
On the simple wooden dining table were several dishes: a large plate of steaming white rice, slices of browned stir-fried meat, fresh green vegetables, and clear soup with chunks of carrot and potato. There was far more food than usual. Yan Shuo paused, staring at the table, then pulled out a chair and sat down slowly.
"Dad still hasn't come home?" he asked, his voice flat.
His mother, seated across from him, remained silent for a few seconds before answering softly, "Your father will be fine." She placed an empty plate beside her. "We'll set his portion aside."
Yan Shuo nodded. He took his own plate, scooped some rice, and added a modest portion of meat and vegetables. "It looks delicious," he said shortly.
His mother smiled faintly, the fatigue on her face easing a little. Before they started eating, Yan Shuo propped his phone on the table and turned on the screen, opening a video app.
His mother glanced at it. "It's not good to eat while using your phone."
"I'm not playing, Mom," Yan Shuo replied casually. "Just watching. It's boring to eat without something to look at."
She sighed softly. "Alright. Just don't choke."
Yan Shuo smiled faintly and scrolled until he found a movie. Once the video started, he began eating. Bite after bite went down quickly. "This is really delicious," he said while chewing. "Your cooking is always the best."
His mother simply smiled, then asked, "How was your day today?"
"Same as always," Yan Shuo answered without hesitation. "Nothing new."
In his heart, he resolved to keep Lan Bushen's story to himself. He didn't want his mother burdened by fears he himself didn't yet fully understand.
She nodded gently, then spoke carefully. "Shuo… do you want to go to school?"
The question made Yan Shuo's hand freeze midair. His spoon hovered above the plate. He didn't answer immediately. His head lowered slightly, his eyes fixed on the rice before him. He wanted to go to school—he really did. But he knew his family's situation all too well, knew how heavy each day was for both his parents.
His mother noticed the silence and quickly said, "It's alright. Forget I asked."
But Yan Shuo's thoughts were already in turmoil. He took a few more bites, then lifted his head and looked at his mother with a seriousness he rarely showed.
"Mom," he said softly but firmly, "I want to go to school."
She was startled, her eyes widening slightly.
"I'll gather the tuition myself," Yan Shuo continued. "You and Dad should just focus on yourselves. I can work harder."
His mother smiled faintly, relief evident in her expression. "You've really grown up," she murmured. "Then… where do you want to study?"
Yan Shuo answered without hesitation. "Noxward."
She fell silent, clearly shocked. But before she could ask further, a knock sounded from the front door.
Both of them turned toward it at the same time, and the world seemed to stop breathing.