Darkness folded away.
The portal released them into the dead, grey world inside his chest—
heavy air, cracked soil, the muted ceiling swallowing all color.
Wuyan's tail tightened around his neck immediately.
A heartbeat later, she shifted.
Then shifted again.
Then twitched.
Her fur puffed up just a little, her nose scrunching as she stared at the lifeless ground with open suspicion—ears slowly pinning back like the space itself offended her existence.
Yanwei felt it instantly.
She hated it here.
Not scared.
Not panicked.
Just… deeply, spiritually uncomfortable.
As if this place violated every rule she believed a "world" should have.
Yanwei rubbed her head gently.
"Hey," he said softly.
Wuyan froze, still glaring at the cracked soil like it personally wronged her.
"Don't be like that," he continued, voice light, almost awkward.
"I know the environment is different, but… this is going to be our home from now on."
Wuyan's eyes slid toward him.
Judgmental.
Accusing.
Almost pitying—like why would you live in this dump?
Yanwei coughed once, the faintest hint of embarrassment touching his expression.
"As long as the situation stabilizes, I'll find a way to fix the environment," he added, trying—and failing—to sound fully confident. "Really. I will."
Wuyan slowly blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she pressed her head against his collarbone with a quiet, reluctant acceptance—
not because she agreed with him…
…but because he said it.
Yanwei let out a small breath.
"Good girl," he murmured, patting her gently.
He lowered her to the ground.
Wuyan landed softly, paws sinking a little into the dry soil. She stood still for a moment, tail flicking once in annoyance, then reluctantly followed him with her eyes as he walked forward.
Yanwei lifted his hand.
With a thought, the slit of darkness opened again—silent, oval, waiting.
The logs he gathered earlier spilled out in neat stacks, thudding onto the ground like obedient soldiers returning to formation.
Wuyan flinched at the noise, fur bristling.
Yanwei gave her a glance.
She glared back.
He pretended he didn't see it.
He crouched beside the wood, running a hand along the first trunk. The rough texture, the weight, the familiarity of the material—it grounded him in a way this dead world never did.
"Let's build something simple," he murmured to himself.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing impossible.
Just a place for the two of them.
He began arranging the logs—measured, efficient movements, stacking and slotting them with quiet confidence. No tools. No nails. Just strength, precision, and a bit of merit-guided control.
Slowly, the outline formed:
A broad, two-story structure.
Wide, not tall.
Sturdy.
Rooms divided by wooden frames—some for storage, some for rest, one he intended for cultivation later. A simple staircase. Thick walls to keep the stale, cold air from seeping straight in.
No ornaments.
No carvings.
Just a clean, solid house rising from dead soil.
Wuyan wandered closer, sniffing the wood, then the half-built frame, then Yanwei's ankle—as though making sure he wasn't doing something insane again.
He ignored the look she gave him.
The one that said:
You're building a house… in this wasteland? Really?
Yanwei set the final beam into place with a quiet exhale.
"It's not perfect," he said, stepping back to look at it. "But it's a start."
The house stood quietly under the grey void—simple, wooden, grounded. A lone piece of life in a lifeless pocket.
Wuyan sat beside him.
Still judging.
But… less than before.
Yanwei stood a few steps back, arms crossed, looking at the house from the outside.
Silence.
Rain-less silence.
Then he slowly raised a hand…
and scratched the back of his head.
"This…" he muttered, expression tightening just a bit. "This is so damn bland."
The house stood there—plain wood, no color, no shape beyond basic survival.
Functional.
Sturdy.
Utterly soulless.
Even the grey ceiling above looked like it pitied him.
"I definitely need some furniture and stuff," he sighed, holding his jaw, thumb rubbing along the corner of his chin as he studied his own handiwork with the judgment of a disappointed architect.
His eyes drifted to one side of the house—the room he mentally marked for alchemy and weapon refining.
"Especially that room," he added with a frown. "I'm okay with ordinary, but…"
He glanced down.
Wuyan sat by his foot, tail wrapped neatly around herself, staring at the house as if it personally offended her aesthetic values.
"…Wuyan might complain."
Yanwei watched the house for another moment, Wuyan judging it beside him.
Unknown to Yanwei…
he was already treating her like family.
Not a pet.
Not a companion.
Just—someone whose opinion mattered without him noticing.
He let out a breath and stepped inside the house.
The wooden door creaked faintly as he entered the largest room—the one he intended to use for future work.
The moment he reached the center, he tapped his spatial ring.
FWUMP.
Books exploded out of it like an avalanche.
Stacks hit the floor.
Shelves he didn't own yet were instantly overloaded.
A few wayward tomes bounced off his foot.
In seconds, the room transformed from empty to absolute chaos—
piles of leather-bound manuscripts, scrolls, thick tomes, and assorted notes everywhere.
Yanwei stared at the disaster he just created.
"These books…" he muttered, stepping over a stack taller than his knee, "…are one of my preparations."
Useful.
Necessary.
Annoyingly heavy.
He crouched, picking up one book at random.
"They're for testing and referencing. Even if I stay on a single technique path, more knowledge never hurts."
He glanced around the room—hundreds, maybe thousands of books, filling the floor like a library had exploded.
"About seventy percent are technique manuals," he murmured. "The rest…"
He let his finger trail over a few familiar covers—his own handwriting, his own diagrams.
"…the thirty percent are my compilations."
He flipped through a few, reading the labels he once wrote:
• Illustrated Materia Archive (spiritual plants, artificial variants, uses)
• Illustrated Index of Alchemy (ingredients, reactions, failures included)
• Archive of Treasures, Tools, and Substances (every heaven-and-earth treasure he'd ever catalogued)
• Blade Inventory (weapon records—ranks, natural blades, extinct ones)
And that was only the popular section.
He had dozens more—side-records, niche studies, personal theories—evidence of how obsessive he used to be.
He closed the book with a small exhale.
"…I don't have photographic memory. Not at this rank."
So this was necessary.
Very necessary.
He looked around again.
The room was a mess.
A library without shelves
A scholar's nightmare
His nightmare.
Yanwei pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…Great," he muttered. "Now I need furniture even more."