Lin Mo didn't believe in fate.
Things happened because something caused them to happen. That was it. No mystery. No grand design. It made life easier that way. Fewer questions. Fewer excuses.
It didn't help him that afternoon.
The rain came down fast. Not dramatic. Just heavy enough to turn the street into a gray blur and make standing still uncomfortable. Lin Mo slowed, then stopped, water dripping from his hair, and looked up.
The sign above him was faded and crooked.
Antiques For Cheap.
He frowned.
He walked this street every day. Not sometimes. Every day. He knew the cracks in the pavement. The timing of the lights. The shops that closed too early.
This one hadn't been here.
He stood there longer than he meant to. Three seconds, maybe four. Long enough to feel a little stupid for stopping at all.
Then he went inside.
A bell rang overhead. The sound was dull, uncertain, like it had forgotten its job.
The shop was narrow. Too narrow for how much it tried to contain. Shelves crowded the walls, stacked with objects that didn't seem to agree with each other—cracked porcelain pressed against rusted blades, polished jade leaning beside warped bits of wood.
Nothing was arranged. Nothing was highlighted.
Behind the counter sat a fat man.
Middle-aged. Soft around the edges. His eyes, though, were sharp. They flicked up the moment Lin Mo entered, and his face split into a smile that arrived too fast.
"Customer," the man said, pleased. "Rare day. What brings you here?"
Lin Mo nodded once. He didn't answer. He drifted past the counter and began looking without any clear direction.
The shopkeeper didn't mind. He leaned back in his chair and watched, hands resting on his stomach, as if this were entertainment.
Something felt off.
Not threatening. Not dangerous.
Just wrong in a quiet way. Like furniture placed an inch too close to the wall.
Lin Mo stopped in front of a small bronze mirror sitting in a shallow wooden box. It was old. Scratched. The surface barely reflected anything at all.
It wasn't impressive.
It didn't call to him.
That bothered him.
"How much for this?" he asked.
The shopkeeper's eyes lit up.
He laughed. "Good eye! Ancient piece. Rare. One of a kind. Worth thousands, I tell you."
Lin Mo waited.
"Ten thousand," the man added.
Lin Mo put the mirror back and turned away.
"Too expensive," he said. "If it's worth that much, why sell it?"
The shopkeeper's smile stayed put. "Five thousand, then."
Lin Mo headed for the door.
"Two thousand!" the man called. "My good brother, I still need to eat."
Lin Mo didn't slow.
"One thousand," the shopkeeper said quickly. "Final price."
Lin Mo stopped.
He turned around this time. Really looked at him.
A merchant who dropped his price that fast either knew the item was worthless—or wanted it gone badly enough to lie about it.
Neither explanation felt comforting.
"Why so cheap now?" Lin Mo asked.
The shopkeeper shrugged. "Bad luck item. People say it brings trouble."
Lin Mo thought about that.
Not long. Five seconds, give or take.
"I'll take it."
The shopkeeper froze.
Just for a moment. Then relief flickered across his face before the smile returned, wider than before.
"Excellent choice," he said.
The exchange was fast. Too fast. Coins changed hands. The mirror was wrapped in old cloth and pushed across the counter like something that burned.
As Lin Mo took it, the shopkeeper hesitated.
"Once you leave," he said, suddenly serious, "no refunds."
Lin Mo met his eyes. "I wasn't planning to come back."
The shopkeeper laughed. Loudly. A little too much.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
The rain had stopped when Lin Mo stepped outside.
He took three steps.
Then stopped.
The storefront was still there—but not the shop. The windows were boarded up. The sign was gone, lying broken and faded against the wall, like it had been abandoned for years.
Lin Mo stared.
He checked his phone.
No signal.
He looked down at the bundle in his hand.
The cloth had shifted. The mirror's edge had sliced into his palm. Blood pooled slowly, thick and dark.
One drop fell onto the bronze.
The mirror glowed.
Pain tore through his skull.
The street vanished.
Lin Mo hit the ground hard.
Cold stone. Thin air. He rolled without thinking and came up in a crouch, heart hammering, breath sharp.
The world was wrong.
Mountains rose in the distance, vast and unmoving. The air pressed against his skin, heavy in a way Earth's air never had.
He inhaled.
Something entered his lungs.
Not heat. Not electricity.
Something alive.
A voice echoed inside his head.
[Blood Contract Established]
Artifact Bound: Thousand-Realm Exchange Mirror
Descent Initializing…
Lin Mo clenched his fists.
This wasn't a dream.
Dreams didn't hurt like this.
As light swallowed his vision, one thought remained, steady and unpanicked.
So this is how it starts.