The next day, at a café.
In a corner seat.
Yuhran narrowed his eyes and glanced at his watch. 9:45 a.m.
The other party was already fifteen minutes late.
He stirred his long-cold Americano, his finger scrolling on his phone, the screen paused on a page titled "Composite Crossbow Buying Guide."
At the bottom of the page was a calculated figure:
1 kg of impure gold ≈ 450,000–550,000 yuan.
He tapped the tabletop. Another fifteen minutes passed.
"Excuse me, are you Yuhran?"
A woman in a beige suit stood by the table, a clearly knockoff designer handbag slung over her arm.
Yuhran looked up slightly when he heard her.
"Miss Li? Please, have a seat."
Over the next thirty minutes, the woman interrogated him about his financial situation with the characteristic caution of a bank employee.
When she heard the words "recently optimized," the corners of her lipstick-painted lips twitched subtly.
And when the topic shifted to "whether your parents have pensions," Yuhran's gaze drifted unconsciously toward the window.
The sunlight was dazzling. The scattered rays reminded him of the gold mine in the other world, and he found the whole situation rather boring.
After all, that world was still waiting to be developed.
Why was he sitting here, being questioned like a criminal?
"Buzz."
At that moment, the woman's phone on the table vibrated twice.
The screen lit up, revealing an unclosed WeChat chat window.
The latest message, from her mother, read: "If this one doesn't work out either, you'll really be a leftover woman."
Her eyelid twitched slightly. She quickly locked the screen, then prepared to stand up and say, "I don't think we're very compatible."
In her view, what did it matter if his looks were slightly above average?
Money—that was all she wanted. With money, what kind of man couldn't she find?
However, Yuhran stood up before she could.
"Sorry."
Just two words—and her expression froze.
Obviously.
"You—"
She watched him pay the bill and turn away with an easy, unhesitating stride.
The veins on her forehead began to throb as an indescribable feeling surged in her chest.
Then a snort of laughter from someone nearby snapped her back to reality.
"Guys, you wouldn't believe this…"
That person held up their phone, apparently typing something, unable to suppress the grin at the corner of their mouth.
Seeing this—
She clenched her fists.
Damn it!
She'd been completely shattered.
...
A gold shop.
"Too many impurities. At best, it's 18K."
A middle-aged man took off his reading glasses.
"Converted at today's gold price, minus refining losses and my service fee… I can give you 468,000 yuan per kilogram."
"Five hundred thousand." Yuhran glanced at his phone, where his mother was still furiously lecturing him.
As he replied that he simply didn't feel anything and that he'd paid the bill—so it wasn't rude—he reflected that this was the modern age.
Everyone was busy.
If there was no spark at first glance, then part on good terms.
After replying, he looked at the shop owner.
"I've got plenty of stock on hand. No risk. Do you want a one-time customer, or a repeat customer?"
The owner's small eyes narrowed to slits, his fingers freezing midair as he tried to judge whether Yuhran was bluffing.
But this involved a six-figure profit.
Considering the risk, he asked about the source, and in the end got the answer "a family-inherited technique." Knowing that if anything went wrong later, the responsibility wouldn't fall on him, he thought it over.
He picked up his reading glasses and slowly put them back on, his tone contemplative.
"Young man, you're impressive."
"In that case—480,000. Cash. Take it now or leave it."
...
An hour later, Yuhran walked into an outdoor equipment store with a backpack stuffed full of cash.
He scanned the shelves and first picked up a set of German-made stab-resistant armor—Kevlar fibers interwoven with ceramic plates.
It could stop knife thrusts.
Next came U.S. military-style tactical boots, with Vibram soles suitable for mountain terrain.
With both pieces of defensive gear in hand, he began thinking about offense. Using the excuse of wanting to go wilderness survival camping with friends, he asked the shop owner about weapons.
"Want to take a look at this?" the owner thought for a moment and pointed at a black device inside a glass case.
"Barnett Ghost 400. Draw weight 185 pounds, initial velocity 400 fps, comes with an optical sight."
Yuhran tested the trigger pull. "Can it penetrate a wild boar's skull?"
"Last year, a customer used this to take down a three-hundred-jin adult male boar," the owner lowered his voice.
"But it requires registration…"
After paying an extra three thousand yuan in "handling fees," the crossbow and twenty carbon-fiber bolts were packed into a guitar case.
As he stepped out of the shop, Yuhran's attention was caught by a display vehicle at the dealership next door.
A matte-black mountain bike, its carbon-fiber frame gleaming faintly in the sunlight.
Seeing this, he frowned slightly.
Then he looked down at his own two legs…
He wondered whether that world held dangers beyond just humans.
—Might as well try.
Better safe than sorry.
...
Back in his rental apartment, Yuhran adjusted the mountain bike to the perfect angle.
The front wheel was turned slightly to the right, just enough to slip past the edge of the doorframe.
He touched the crossbow hanging at his waist, thinking that this run would either make him filthy rich—or get him killed.
Of course, before leaving, he hadn't forgotten to give his mother his bank card PIN.
In case something happened…
"Forget it. No point thinking too much. Opportunity always comes with risk—you can't work a dead-end job your whole life."
He quietly let out a breath and reached for the handlebars.
After taking care of some necessary odds and ends, he slung a backpack full of food over his shoulders, shook himself, and when he opened his eyes again, the damp smell of sulfur flooded his nose.
He looked up.
Mottled, dim sunlight filtered through rustling leaves. In the distance, the setting sun dyed the sky a deep crimson.
He was standing at the entrance to the mine, beside piles of ore stacked in animal-hide bags.
He glanced sideways.
"So it really does return me to where I left last time…" Yuhran muttered. "But how does time flow here?"
"This world doesn't even have a standard calendar."
A trace of worry crept in.
After all, if time passed very slowly here, then even if he managed to escape danger once, the next time he entered, he might run straight into an ambush at point-blank range.
"Whew… this really is a dangerous world…"
"I need to be careful. I absolutely can't get taken out by some corpse-camping bastard."
"And come to think of it, I wonder if the beasts here have territorial instincts."
Warning himself internally, Yuhran steadied his breathing, checked and fine-tuned his equipment, and prepared to move out.
This time, he'd brought more glass marbles, as well as some lighters.
In a primitive society, fire was vital. If he ran into a town, he might be able to sell them at a high price and trade for the capital needed to explore this world long-term.
Suddenly—
"ROAR—!"
Afraid of exactly what he'd feared, Yuhran had barely pushed the bike forward when a low, bestial roar suddenly echoed from not far away.
A gust of wind followed, carrying with it a stench of blood and rot.
Yuhran froze, his eyes sharpening.
The next second—
"Whoosh—"
He dashed behind a nearby rock and crouched down, gripping the crossbow at his waist as he lowered his breathing.
Leaning against the stone, he strained to glance toward the road outside the cave from the corner of his eye—the only entrance.
An invisible tension instantly enveloped the area.
"…What is that?"