Even though the future Jing Pei had assured her that her present self would trust and help her, Min Yue still felt anxious as she dialed the number.
Her fears vanished soon enough. Just an hour after making the call, she saw Jing Pei pull up outside Nevergone District.
Watching Jing Pei step out of the car, Min Yue felt as if a savior had descended. Tears welled in her eyes, and she struggled to resist the urge to drop to her knees.
“During my first few loops, I kept waking up at nine in the morning, right when my mom was heading out. In those timelines, I died within twenty-four hours of the incident. But once, I survived past that mark before dying, and the reset point shifted forward. I was so slow to realize how it worked. Now, the loop starts at noon, right when my mom gets back.”
Jing Pei nodded. “So every death resets time by forty-eight hours. But that anchor point moves forward depending on when you die, and it only advances—it never goes back.”
Jing Pei already understood the rules. Min Yue possessed a unique loop of immortality. Each death sent her back forty-eight hours, but only forty-eight hours. If she reset and immediately took her own life, time would not roll back a single minute further; she would simply return to the exact same starting anchor.
In theory, Min Yue could not die. If she refused to give up on changing a specific outcome, she had to keep repeating this endless loop of death and reset. Only when she stopped using her life to freeze time would the world move forward again.
Min Yue nodded, watching Jing Pei fall silent. “Can you use your influence or the Tribunal Division to make everyone leave Nevergone District for a bit?” she pleaded. “If they are gone, the monster will have no one to feed on. Then you can alert the Tribunal Division, and we can resolve this.”
Jing Pei met her gaze. “Have you forgotten how they reacted when your mother tried to make them leave? If I step in, or if any official group gets involved, it will only trigger their suspicion. They won’t take a single step out of Nevergone District. Besides, I lack the authority and evidence to pull Tribunal Division officers from their duties just to wait around here for a disaster that has not happened yet.”
“But why?” Min Yue asked. “Would the government really burn this place down? Is it just because it looks bad next to the rest of Yunjin Prefecture?”
Min Yue had lived in Nevergone District for as long as she could remember. Growing up there, she accepted everything as normal, the way people rarely question their hometowns. Only now, with crisis looming, did she realize how little she knew about its history and secrets.
Nevergone District was a chaotic slum, almost entirely cut off from the outside world. Home to nearly a hundred thousand souls, it served as a refuge for vagrants. Unless the residents reported a crime themselves, outsiders almost never bothered to step in.
But Min Yue couldn’t understand why. Even if these wanderers didn’t create any wealth, they were still citizens of this country, weren’t they?
Jing Pei sighed. “The answer is right in front of you.”
A few days after the 8.20 Conference, Madam President fulfilled her promise to Jing Pei. A research team equipped with advanced sensors arrived in Nevergone District.
The residents, not used to seeing people in sharp suits, peeked out of their shelters with curiosity and suspicion.
The team members were also stepping into the slum for the first time, looking around with a mix of shock and confusion. The air smelled foul, thick with a lingering stench. Ruined buildings stretched as far as the eye could see, interspersed with filthy, makeshift tents and outdoor bedding. It looked like this place had once been a decent town.
“How can a place like this exist in Yunjin Prefecture, right next to the capital? Was there a problem with the demolition years ago?”
“Even so, why leave it undeveloped for so long? There are so many people living here. Look, there’s even a little shop—worn out as it is. They probably don’t have a license.”
“Boss, do you know anything? Since they sent us to test the soil, water, and air, are they planning to redevelop this land? I wonder what the property values will be…”
A young researcher asked the middle-aged man leading the group. Some nearby residents overheard his words. Their expressions shifted, and they quickly ran off.
The leader nodded, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “They must be planning something, but that is none of our business. Let’s set up here. Turn on the scanners and check the air for any strange energy signatures.”
“Atavist waves?”
The man shrugged. “Who knows.”
Unlike the young recruits, the leader knew the dark history of Nevergone District. He did not expect to find anything. If centuries of research had yielded nothing, why would they succeed now?
Yet, the moment his subordinate turned on the device, a shrill alarm blared, startling everyone.
The leader’s face paled as he rushed over. The screen was covered in a dense grid of blinking red dots.
“This…”
“What is this? How?”
“This concentration is absurd! Wait, is this even an Atavist signature? It feels strange. Why is it so dense? It… it feels like we are standing inside something’s stomach…”
A cold chill ran down everyone’s spine. They looked around, terrified they had walked right into the jaws of some giant beast without realizing it.
“There are two distinct signatures here. One is much weaker, mixed into this dense mass of anomalies. It matches known Atavist patterns.”
“Collect samples of both right away and send them to the Tribunal Division,” the leader ordered. He turned to the watching residents. “Can any of you tell me if something happened here recently? Did Atavists fight a battle in this area?”
It made no sense. If this massive signature belonged to an Atavist, it would mean a combatant of terrifying scale had fought here. A clash of that magnitude should have shaken the city, much like the battle between Qiu Fa, Shi Gang, and Qiao Ming. They could not have missed it.
But the residents only stared back with cold, hostile eyes. No one spoke.
“Send the preliminary data up first,” the leader whispered to his assistant. “The higher-ups are waiting for this.”
The Chief of Staff delivered the report to Madam President right after her meeting.
“So she had a reason for making that demand,” the President remarked, nodding. “The crisis in Nevergone District has likely been resolved—by her. In that case, it falls on me to provide a proper solution.”
“What exactly is that place?” the Chief of Staff asked.
“Nevergone District,” the President sighed. “Originally, it meant the land where life must never go.”
Over the centuries, however, people had forgotten the terrifying warning behind that name.
Five hundred years ago, the area was a thriving town in Hanlin City under Yunjin Prefecture, home to sixty thousand residents. But one day, it became a tomb. Every single citizen vanished overnight. The government launched a massive investigation, but found no clues, leaving the incident an unsolved mystery.
Decades later, people slowly moved back, forgetting the tragedy. But without warning, the nightmare repeated itself. None of the monitoring devices recorded a thing; every piece of technology had failed that night.
Once again, the investigation yielded nothing. Following this second disaster, the government sealed the town, banning anyone from settling there.
Yet, Yunjin Prefecture was a sprawling metropolis home to hundreds of millions. It was impossible to keep a massive plot of land completely empty, especially when the structures remained intact. Vagabonds and outcasts eventually slipped in to live off the grid, and others from neighboring prefectures followed.
Even after the government demolished the buildings to turn the town into an uninhabitable wasteland, they could not keep people away.
As the population grew, the government tried to establish a local administration to manage them. But decades later, the mass disappearances struck again. This time, even the powerful Atavist guards stationed there vanished without a trace, a devastating blow to the military.
These strange events occurred at irregular intervals—sometimes years apart, sometimes decades or even a century. With the flow of migrants unstoppable, the government eventually abandoned all attempts at governance. The slum became a lawless sanctuary, a beautiful but lethal haven.
As rumor-mongers grew more curious about forbidden zones, the government classified the truth to prevent reckless thrill-seekers from entering.
The district devoured people, but the cause remained a mystery. Why couldn’t they detect any energy waves for centuries? Now, the answer was finally coming to light.
“I read about it in the Illustrated Compendium of Species from the Great Convergence,” Jing Pei explained. “There is a creature called a Spacetime Worm. It hunts by slipping into adjacent dimensions. Given what you experienced, it fits the description. I suspect Nevergone District sits right on top of its nest. Every time it needs to feed, it breaches our reality to feast. That explains the mass disappearances over the centuries.”
The beast struck quickly and retreated back into its pocket dimension, making it impossible to trace. Furthermore, it was not an Atavist—which refers to humans with awakened ancient bloodlines—but a pure monster.
The scientific instruments of the past could not detect its unique residual energy. While modern gear could, the beast had not fed in a hundred years, meaning any trace had faded long ago.
“So that’s why!” Min Yue’s eyes widened. Her features, naturally resembling a leopard cat, made her look like a startled kitten. “But why can I feel it? And how can I turn back time?”
The sensation of something slithering around was not her imagination. A massive entity was indeed moving, just in an adjacent fold of space, which made it invisible to the naked eye. She had assumed it was a ghost.
Jing Pei looked at her with a quiet, knowing expression, deciding it was best to keep the full truth to herself for Min Yue’s own safety.
“It’s two o’clock. Seven minutes left,” Min Yue whispered, swallowing hard. “The monster appears at exactly 2:07:48 AM.”
Jing Pei glanced at her, imagining the despair Min Yue must have felt, standing alone in the dark, watching lives snuffed out as she carefully noted the time.
Under the cover of night, Jing Pei and Min Yue stood near the Qianlong Gang’s villa. The surrounding area was eerily quiet. It was hard to imagine the building was packed to the gills, stairs included, like a tin of sardines staring blankly at the sky.
Min Yue’s mother and the other residents would soon arrive. There was no way to stop them from coming; the Spacetime Worm would emit a pheromone to draw its prey to its feeding ground if it sensed they were not in position, or it might move to a different area to feed.
Trying to prevent them from gathering beforehand was useless. However, they had already blocked the roads leading to the villa, which would slow them down even if they were lured by the pheromones.
“Don’t worry,” Jing Pei said, her smile reassuring. “I’ll save your family. Every last one of them.”
Warmth surged in Min Yue’s chest, breathing life into her exhausted, battered heart. She managed a small smile.
Tonight, she would finally escape this living nightmare.
Less than an hour after the research team arrived, the leaders of several local factions in Nevergone District rushed over, including Min Jing and Min Yue from the mutual aid association.
Once the rumors of redevelopment spread, everyone’s expressions turned grim. Min Yue kept pace with her mother, grumbling, “Redevelopment? Administration? They ignored us for years, and now that someone else fixed the problem, they want to swoop in and claim credit? What a joke!”
“Hush. Keep those thoughts to yourself,” Min Jing scolded gently.
Min Yue muttered under her breath but remained silent.
By the time they arrived, a massive crowd had gathered, surrounding the research team in thick circles. Voices rose in a chaotic clamor.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why are you here?”
“Speak up, or you aren’t leaving!”
“Smash their gear!”
“Everyone, please stay calm. We’re just checking the soil and water…”
“We asked why you’re testing it!”
“You people are impossible! There are plenty of housing options outside, yet you choose to rot in a slum and beg for scraps like dogs! You’re completely mad!” one frustrated young researcher shouted, losing his temper.
“What did you just say? Who are you calling beggars?”
The researchers looked ready to lose their minds under the barrage of shouting. Tempers flared, shoulders were shoved, and a fight nearly broke out until Min Jing arrived and called for order. Since the resolution of the Spacetime Worm crisis, her reputation in the district had surged. Even the leader of the Qianlong Gang, who once looked down on her group of women and children, now treated her with respect.
Still, the tension remained thick enough to cut with a knife.
Just then, a sleek black sedan pulled up. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit stepped out—the Mayor of Hanlin City, the municipality overseeing the district.
“Everyone, let’s sit down and discuss this quietly. If you have concerns, tell me, and I’ll find a solution,” he said, his gaze settling on Min Jing and the other faction leaders.
Moments later, they gathered inside a makeshift shelter.
They sat around a salvaged wooden table. An old tea set rested on top, alongside a stainless steel kettle whistling on a small stove.
The Mayor looked around, a gentle smile on his face. “Is the prospect of proper housing and a better life really that unappealing to you?”
Silence met his question.
“I understand the circumstances of Nevergone District,” the Mayor continued softly. “Some of you severed ties with your families to hide from the world. Others are fleeing responsibilities, or simply have no one left. And some were born here… children growing up without schooling, scavenging through ruins and trash just to survive. It’s a harsh existence. I doubt anyone truly prefers this.”
“But we have our freedom!” the leader of the Qianlong Gang barked, slamming his fist on the table and sending the teacups rattling.
“Is that so? It seems to me that only the faction leaders enjoy that freedom. The people at the bottom don’t have it quite as easy,” the Mayor replied, turning his eyes to Min Jing.
After all, she had started the mutual aid association because without working together, the weak would always be oppressed. Wherever people gathered, hierarchy and exploitation were bound to follow.
Before Min Jing could respond, Min Yue slammed her hands on the table and stood up. “Save your hypocritical speeches! If you knew all this, why didn’t you step in sooner? You’re only here now because the secret danger has been cleared. But do you even know how it was resolved? You’re just trying to steal the credit!”
Trembling with emotion, her eyes red, Min Yue delivered a demand that left the Mayor speechless. “You want to govern Nevergone District? Fine. But we will only accept Long Jin as our administrator. Anyone else, and we refuse to cooperate!”
“Long Jin?” the Mayor echoed, startled. “The young heir of the Long family?”
Right on cue, the results of the energy scan sent to the Tribunal Division arrived.
An assistant whispered to the Mayor, “Sir, the abnormal signature is still unidentified. But the secondary one matches the Dragon Atavist energy waves from Long Jin’s file.”
The Mayor understood. The young heir must have fought a massive battle against a rogue element in the district, earning the deep gratitude of the residents. If she took charge, they would accept government oversight without resistance.
Knowing a final decision could not be reached in a single day, the Mayor and the research team took their leave soon after.
Anxious murmurs rippled through the slum. Uncertainty, fear, and confusion hung heavy over the residents.
Nevergone District belonged to Hualan, and its people were citizens. If the government insisted on taking control, they would eventually have to comply. Isolated from the internet, with no access to phones or computers, they had no platform to make their voices heard.
“Min Yue, tell me the truth,” Min Jing asked once they returned home, unable to contain her worry any longer. “Did something else happen that night? Something we don’t know about?”
Her daughter was typically bright, cheerful, and thick-skinned. Though slightly small due to poor childhood nutrition, she possessed boundless energy, resembling a playful leopard cat. As a child, she would shove anything she scavenged into her mouth to taste, laughing even when her hands were swatted away.
The night of the attack had been terrifying, and they would have suffered immense casualties without Jing Pei. But in the end, they had survived, and most residents had recovered from the shock. Yet Min Yue’s behavior was off. She acted as if she carried a much heavier burden.
That sharp question—”Do you even know how it was resolved?”—nagged at Min Jing. The truth had to be far more complicated than a heroic Dragon Atavist descending from the sky to slay a giant worm in a flawless victory.
“I can’t tell you,” Min Yue replied.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a secret weapon, and it has to stay that way.” A small ray of light broke through the gloom on Min Yue’s face.
Her ability, which she once viewed as a cruel curse, no longer haunted her. All because of one person. She knew that no matter how many times she reset, someone in this world would always believe her and stand by her side. As long as Jing Pei existed, she would never have to face that terrifying loneliness again, drifting solo through the cracks of time.
Yet, that very bond birthed a different, terrifying fear.
Just thinking about it made her entire body shudder.
In that first successful loop, she thought she had finally beaten the countdown. Her ally was a legend—the strongest of the Azure Dragons, one of the Four Symbols.
At 2:07:46 AM.
Min Jing and the others found their path blocked by a rusted truck, slowing their progress as they struggled to climb over it.
At 2:07:47 AM.
The pheromones began to take hold. Controlled like marionettes, the residents shuffled toward the villa. Blocked by ruins and debris, they clawed forward like mindless zombies.
At 2:07:48 AM.
Through the dense mist, a translucent, massive body materialized. It lunged at the villa, its gaping maw ready to swallow them whole, like a whale devouring krill.
Min Yue’s heart leapt into her throat, seized by cold terror.
But in a flash of jade, a figure sliced through the dark like a razor-sharp blade. The black head of the worm severed cleanly from its pale body, crashing to the ground. The massive torso froze, and Jing Pei landed lightly on the roof.
Min Yue exhaled, relief washing over her, followed by a surge of joy. Was that it? Is it over? Of course she could do it…
The pheromones had been controlled by the severed head. With the connection broken, the dazed residents suddenly regained their senses. Panicking, they scrambled out of the villa, only to freeze in horror as they looked up at the towering monstrosity.
“What is that thing?”
“Who is she?”
Perhaps because the head was gone, or simply because they were paralyzed with shock, they did not run. Instead, they stood staring like idiots.
The calm broke in an instant. The frozen torso erupted, shooting out countless pale tentacles that whipped toward the crowd.
“Still trying to eat without a head?” Jing Pei muttered. Her energy manifested as sharp blades of wind, slicing through the tentacles. But they regenerated instantly, lashing out at her and the crowd.
“Run, you idiots!” Jing Pei yelled.
The crowd snapped out of their stupor, fleeing in a chaotic scramble. People tripped, fell, or shoved others behind them as shields. In the madness, tentacles skewered several runaways, dragging them backward.
Min Yue screamed, trying to direct the crowd, but her voice was lost in the din.
“Min Yue! What are you doing? Get out of there!” A frantic voice pierced the noise. Min Yue turned, horrified to see her mother pushing through the fleeing crowd toward her.
A pale tentacle shot toward Min Jing like an arrow.
Just as her mother was about to be skewered, Jing Pei materialized, severing the tentacle with a claw and snatching Min Jing away. But a second tentacle, hidden behind the first, lunged from the blind spot. Jing Pei twisted her body to shield Min Jing, taking the blow directly to her back. An electric shock pierced her dragon scales, striking her flesh.
Though she bore no physical wounds, her movements slowed. Trapped in a sluggish state, she took several more heavy blows.
Having dragged her mother to a safe distance, Min Yue finally breathed a sigh of relief. A few people had died, but compared to the total massacres of her previous loops, it was a miracle. Most of her mutual aid members had survived.
She had beaten the loop. The nightmare of the reset was over.
“Mom, go call for help! I’m going to take a look,” Min Yue said, climbing onto a high pile of rubble to peer back at the battlefield.
Her pupils contracted.
Jing Pei hung limp, her head bowed as a tentacle hoisted her high. From the worm’s severed neck, a new head sprouted, opening its gaping mouth to swallow her whole.
For a moment, Min Yue thought she was dreaming. How could this be? Everyone she cared about was safe, but the person who saved them had died?
Min Jing scrambled up beside her, witnessing the horror. She grabbed her daughter’s arm, pulling her down. “We have to move! Even a powerful Atavist couldn’t stand against that thing! We aren’t safe here!”
“No… No… Mom, we can’t let this happen…” Tears streamed down Min Yue’s face. She yanked her hand free, scanning the ground. Her eyes locked onto a sharp, rusted rebar jutting upward from the rubble.
Without a single second of hesitation, she sprinted toward it.
Squelch!
“The Spacetime Worm is an ancient beast. I underestimated it,” Jing Pei mused calmly after Min Yue explained the loop. “Since I had no external wounds but lost my ability to fight back, there is only one explanation—I was poisoned. Those tentacles must emit a current laced with a powerful neurotoxin that penetrates the tiny gaps in my scales. Quite deadly, indeed.”
Hearing her analyze her own death with such detachment, Min Yue found herself unable to go completely hysterical. “Then… what do we do now?”
“We fight it again. Now that we know its tricks, I’ll just avoid getting hit.”
Jing Pei’s casual tone eased Min Yue’s anxiety. She felt reassured, believing they would succeed this time now that they understood the enemy’s abilities.
So, in the next loop, the moment Jing Pei decapitated the worm and the residents stumbled out of the villa, Min Yue screamed at the top of her lungs, “Run! The monster is still alive! It wants to eat you!”
Panic spread like wildfire. The residents scattered instantly. By the time the worm recovered and unleashed its flurry of tentacles, the crowd had already reached a safe distance or scrambled behind cover.
To prevent her mother from running back into danger, Min Yue immediately ran toward Min Jing’s position after raising the alarm.
This time, the battlefield was cleared quickly, leaving Jing Pei to face the Spacetime Worm in a clean one-on-one duel.
Min Yue climbed the high pile of rubble again to watch.
Without the burden of protecting civilians, Jing Pei moved with flawless agility, avoiding every strike. She severed the tentacles one by one, outstripping the beast’s ability to regenerate. Bit by bit, she closed the distance.
Just as she drew near, the worm’s head sprouted anew, snapping at her in a surprise attack. But forewarned by Min Yue, Jing Pei dodged effortlessly. Her massive Atavist power gathered into a giant blade of energy, splitting the clouds above and cleaving a clear path through the sky as it crashed down on the monster’s body.
Min Yue watched with bated breath, her blood pumping—only to freeze in the next second.
The blow struck nothing.
The Spacetime Worm had vanished.
Even Jing Pei seemed taken aback, hovering in mid-air.
In the blink of an eye, a tentacle materialized just inches behind her, striking her back. Jing Pei twisted to dodge, but the tip grazed her, delivering that dreaded numbing shock.
“Get out of there! Run!” Min Yue screamed in terror. With the residents gone, Jing Pei had a chance to escape. Even if she was poisoned, she should have enough strength to flee the district.
Enraged, the worm vanished and reappeared directly in front of Min Yue, its gaping jaws closing in. Min Jing scrambled up just in time and shoved her daughter aside.
“Mom!” Min Yue cried, watching her mother tumble across the rubble.
Jing Pei, trapped in the beast’s mouth, jammed her claws and legs against its jaws to keep them open. But escape was impossible. Several toxic tentacles wrapped around her, paralyzing her limbs. Slowly and surely, the massive mouth began to close.
Min Yue stumbled as her mother tried to pull her away. Breaking free once more, she sprinted toward the sharp rebar.
“My mistake. I didn’t expect a mere worm to possess actual intelligence,” Jing Pei reflected on the next reset. “The neurotoxin on its tentacles is very potent, piercing even armor unless it is completely seamless. Decapitation does little since it regrows, which means slicing its body probably won’t kill it either.”
“It slips between dimensions at will, making its sneak attacks hard to counter. A highly dangerous creature. We must destroy it completely, or Nevergone District will eventually face another tragedy.”
This time, Jing Pei’s calm analysis failed to soothe Min Yue. She broke down, her eyes filled with immense guilt. If not for her ability to reverse time, this legendary, brilliant youth would have died repeatedly because of her.
But she had no choice. Jing Pei was her only hope, and she couldn’t let her mother die.
“It’s fine,” Jing Pei assured her, patting her head. “I’m worried the beast has more tricks up its sleeve. Just remember its attack patterns and directions from each attempt. Once we map out its entire arsenal, we’ll put an end to it.”
The third attempt began, and the third attempt failed. They hadn’t anticipated that the severed head could regenerate into a second, independent worm.
The fourth attempt began, and it failed too. Jing Pei had taken massive risks, testing dangerous methods to slay the beast before it could retreat into its pocket dimension.
Yet, through every single loop, whenever Min Yue made that phone call, Jing Pei believed her without a shred of doubt and rushed to her side.
Even when Min Yue confessed that Jing Pei had died multiple times trying to save the district, the Dragon heir showed no fear or regret. She simply smiled. “What is there to fear? As long as you are here, I can’t truly die. This allows me to fulfill my promise. I will save every single one of your people.”
With the Spacetime Worm’s abilities, patterns, and weaknesses thoroughly mapped out over five gruelling trial runs, the sixth battle was flawless.
The battlefield was cleared in record time. Jing Pei severed the worm’s head and kicked it into a nearby water reservoir like a soccer ball; the water would suppress its regeneration.
She danced past the incoming tentacles, slicing them down like loose hair. When the neck began to sprout another head to bite her, she severed it again, separating body and mind once more.
She then reached into a spatial pouch borrowed from her subordinate, pulled out a massive drum of gasoline, and poured it directly down the open neck cavity.
With a soft click, she flicked a lit lighter into the opening.
Flames erupted inside the pale flesh, turning the translucent white worm into a pillar of roaring red fire. The beast thrashed in agony, its wild tentacles smashing the Qianlong Gang’s villa to splinters. Jing Pei kicked the other severed heads on the ground into the roaring inferno.
Pausing to think, she grabbed another can of gasoline from her pouch, dousing the scattered tentacles to burn them to ash just to be safe.
The devouring secret of Nevergone District, which had taken countless lives over centuries, was completely reduced to ashes.
Min Yue, who had been forced to watch her savior die over and over, collapsed into Jing Pei’s arms and sobbed hysterically once the threat was truly gone.
“Hey, don’t cry. It’s over now, isn’t it?” Jing Pei wrapped her arms around the trembling, exhausted girl. She looked down at her tear-stained, messy face with a helpless smile. “People are going to laugh at you.”
“Wah! Who cares what they think!” Min Yue wailed, clinging tightly to her shirt. Her tears quickly soaked a large patch on Jing Pei’s chest.
Jing Pei looked down at her. Having written the lore of the Spacetime Worm herself, she naturally knew all its abilities and weaknesses from the start.
But she also knew that people only value what is hard-won. The more difficult the victory, the deeper the impression.
From this day forward, her secret weapon’s greatest fear would be her death. And to keep her alive, Min Yue wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her own life.
Jing Pei stared at her for a few silent seconds. Then, a slow, gentle curve touched her lips as she leaned in and embraced her back.
