The rain was still falling.
But to Lin Xingchen, it no longer sounded the same.
He didn't hear it as a single blanket of noise anymore.He heard every droplet—each impact, each splash—like the world had turned up the volume on reality itself.
The three men in the alley still hadn't moved.
Not because they didn't want to.
Because they couldn't.
Lin saw the tremble in their muscles, the way their throats worked as they tried to swallow fear, the panic flooding their widened pupils—as if an invisible hand had seized their bodies by the spine.
Lin barely moved either.
Not at first.
Because after what just happened—time stopping, the bullet freezing, that voice imprinting itself into his mind—he no longer trusted his own body.
Yet the rain resumed. The street remained filthy and old.The city didn't change.
Only he did.
Lin lowered his gaze to the bullet on the ground.
Rainwater clung to the metal. Convenience-store light shimmered across its surface.That bullet should have drilled through his skull and ended his cheap, unwanted life.
But it hadn't.
He raised his hand, fingers spreading slowly.
The air had resistance now—like water, like gel.He could feel invisible "lines" flowing and weaving beyond his palm, as if space itself was no longer empty, but structured—touchable.
He moved without thinking.
A gentle push.
Boom.
The nearest gunman launched backward like he'd been hit by a speeding truck.His body slammed into the wall. The concrete caved. Dust and broken brick exploded outward.
The crack of bone was sickeningly clear.
The man slid down, blood foaming at his mouth, eyes rolling back—still alive, still twitching like a crushed fish.
The other two finally snapped.
They turned and ran.
One fumbled for his phone with shaking hands—calling someone, anyone.Their footsteps splashed through puddles in frantic rhythm.
Lin didn't chase immediately.
He stood still and listened to his heartbeat.
It wasn't fast.
It was heavy.
Each beat felt like a hammer striking deep inside his chest, feeding him a strange, addictive sense of power.
So this is what strength feels like.
For the first time, Lin understood that the last twenty-two years of his life—every humiliation, every compromise, every quiet "it's fine"—had all come from one thing:
He had no power.
Without power, you were something to be stepped on.
Lin stepped forward.
Water splashed around his shoe.
But in his eyes, the droplets bloomed in slow motion. He could track each one like a tiny comet.
He looked at the two fleeing men.
Their backs were pathetic.
Almost funny.
Lin lifted his hand and curled a finger slightly.
The air made a soft, sharp crack—like a structure twisting.
The two men froze mid-run.
One stumbled and fell, face-first into the puddle, choking on muddy water.The other's knees buckled and he dropped, as if gravity had suddenly doubled.
They turned back, tears mixing with rain.
"Please—don't kill me!""We were just paid to do it!"
Lin stared at them.
And suddenly, something felt wrong.
Not them.
The word human.
That voice had called him a vessel.
If he was the vessel… what was the power?
And who—or what—was forcing it into him?
He took a step forward.
Then his vision flickered.
Text appeared at the edge of his sight like a projection:
Star Meridian Activity: 1.2%Warning: Neural Overload (Minor)
The words vanished.
A moment later, a sharp spike of pain drove into his skull.
Not an ordinary headache—more like nails tapping along his nerves.
Lin exhaled through clenched teeth, sweat mixing with rain on his brow.
So it wasn't free.
This strength would consume his body—
—and tear his mind apart.
Far away, sirens wailed.
Distant, but approaching.
The two men saw Lin hesitate. They seized the chance, scrambling up and limping away in panic.
Lin didn't need to chase far.
At the end of the street, an old security camera hung above a pole.
It had been "broken" for years.
No one fixed it.
But now…
Its red indicator light blinked faintly.
As if it had just awakened.
As if it was watching.
Lin stopped and stared up at it.
He didn't know if it was paranoia.
But the feeling he got from that tiny red dot wasn't gang-like.
Not police-like.
Not human at all.
It felt… clinical.
Technological.
Cold.
He remembered the faded clan emblem on his family's wall: stars forming meridians, the human body overlapping the universe.He had always thought it was an old man's fantasy.
Now, it felt like a warning.
Lin turned and walked toward the old house.
Rain soaked through his clothes, but it couldn't cool the heat rising inside him.
Then his ring finger tingled.
Something was forming beneath his skin.
A thin black outline—the shape of a ring.
And the voice returned in his mind, colder than before, with a hint of system-like clarity:
—Artifact Response Detected.—Name: Star Bury.—Soul Integrity: 97%.
Lin's pupils tightened.
The phrase Soul Integrity sent a chill down his spine.
The rain kept falling.
The city stayed filthy.
But Lin knew—
From tonight on, the world had begun to glitch.