Morning light crept over the horizon, casting a pale glow across the quiet village. Tang San awoke before the sun had fully risen, his body already moving into the rhythm of his morning training. Each motion flowed with instinctive precision, yet today there was an unfamiliar weight behind them.
Both sides of his face were visibly swollen, marked by a pair of symmetrical handprints. The pain was dull but persistent, and though he did not speak of it, his mind lingered on the events of the previous night. Try as he might, he could not recall what had truly happened. His thoughts circled in silence, searching for an answer that refused to surface.
Not far from him, Eren stirred awake.
Unlike Tang San, he did not rise for practice or cultivation. Instead, he reached beneath his pillow and retrieved a folded piece of enchanted cloth—soft, embroidered with pale symbols, and faintly pulsing with stored magic. It was a [Gourmet Tablecloth], capable of conjuring meals when given a spoken order.
He spread it carefully upon the ground and sat down cross-legged atop it.
"Garlic toast with sausage. A cup of coffee," he said quietly.
A subtle shimmer passed across the surface of the cloth. Moments later, two crisp slices of garlic toast appeared alongside a thick sausage and a cup of black coffee, still steaming. Without further ceremony, Eren began his breakfast.
When he had finished, he rinsed his face, changed into fresh clothes, and took a seat near the edge of the bed. In his hand, he held the silver pen, still faintly luminous, and a single sheet of parchment, nearly filled with script from the day before.
That page was all he had left.
There was one more sheet in his possession, but it had not come from ordinary means. It had been given to him by the blind god Su Yuntao, and it has value for admission in nouding academy. He would not use it here.
No merchant in this small village could offer a replacement. If he wished to acquire more suitable parchment for the pen, he would need to travel to a town or city. Time, at least, was still on his side. Nearly three months remained before the start of the academy's entrance trials.
But now, he would need to prepare for departure.
Eren examined the pen in his hand. Though it had not yet fully recovered, its glow had returned to a stable, usable state, more than sufficient for what he intended to write.
He brought the pen to an empty space near the bottom of the parchment and began to write:
[ In the pocket of my robe lies a silver storage ring. Within it are ten thousand soul gold coins and a spatial treasure—an Anywhere Door, capable of transporting its bearer to any location they desire.]
When the final word had been inscribed, the pen dimmed slightly, its light retreating as if exhausted. Eren paused, then reached into the pocket of his robe.
His fingers brushed against cold metal.
From within the folds of fabric, he drew out a silver ring, ornately carved, humming with soul power. Its aura was real, its existence unquestionable.
He studied it for a moment in silence,
Eren held the silver ring in his hand and sent a thread of soul power into it. A moment later, his perception extended inward, revealing the space within.
It was vast—at least three times the size of his former home. Along one side lay a neat stack of gold coins, their numbers reaching well past ten thousand. Near the center stood a single object: a pink door with rounded edges, faintly glowing. Though simple in design, its presence felt out of place, like a dream folded into reality.
Eren recognized it instantly.
That was the Anywhere Door—identical to the one used by the future-traveling cat in the cartoons from his previous world. Despite the childish memory, the object before him was real, and its power was unquestionable.
Without delay, he stood and placed a small phantom mark over the bed—a simple glyph bearing his name, Eren, to signal his return. Then he slipped on his shoes and summoned the pink door from the storage ring.
It materialized before him with a shimmer. He approached it, resting his palm on the surface. The wooden texture was warm to the touch, slightly polished, almost inviting. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he visualized a familiar location: Nuoding City, as he remembered it from the animated series of this world.
The image took shape in his mind, its gates, the layout, the color of its buildings.
When he opened his eyes, he grasped the doorknob and turned.
The door swung open soundlessly, revealing a narrow, empty alley. He stepped through without hesitation. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron, the scent of a city already stirring from slumber.
Once he was across, he turned back, touched the side of the door, and stored it once more in his ring. Then he walked toward the market.
The city around him was exactly as he had imagined. Bustling streets, merchant stalls, and children running past in worn shoes. The layout matched the Nuoding City of his memories, though the colors were duller, the people more grounded in their routines.
After walking for a short while, he came across a small shop with a weathered sign and a wooden door. Inside, behind a narrow counter, sat an elderly woman with grey hair and deep lines around her eyes.
She looked up as he entered.
"What do you need, child?" she asked, her voice calm and steady.
Eren met her gaze. "Three rough books. Good ones."
She studied him for a moment, then replied, "Six silver coins. Best quality pages."
He hesitated. Rough books of such quality were more than he needed—he only required pages his pen could write on, but then he remembered the pen's worth. It had changed everything. Giving it poor paper felt almost insulting.
He reached into his pocket and, with a discreet motion, pulled a gold coin from the ring stored within. He placed it on the counter without a word.
The woman blinked, then quietly handed him three high-grade rough books and returned four silver coins as change.
Eren gave her a slight nod, took the books, and exited the shop. He stepped into a quiet alley, confirmed that no one was watching, and stored the books within his ring.
Then he summoned the pink door once more.
With a quiet breath, he turned the handle and stepped through, returning to the same spot in the village. The bed remained untouched, the courtyard unchanged, and Tang San was still outside, absorbed in his training.
As though he had never left.