The faint glow of the morning sun filtered through the cracks in the old blinds, casting a soft amber light across the room. Xian groaned, rolling over in his makeshift bed. His alarm hadn't gone off yet, but the natural rhythm of Terra's bustling mornings had done the job.
"Another day, huh?" Xian muttered to himself, sitting up and stretching. His muscles were still sore from yesterday's training, a reminder that he still had a long way to go. He glanced at the corner of the room where his sword—a crude, unpolished blade he had salvaged from the factory's scrap—leaned against the wall.
"Alright, let's get to it."
After a quick wash and a sparse breakfast of bread and water, Xian stepped into his backyard. It wasn't much—a patch of uneven dirt surrounded by a broken fence—but it served its purpose as a training ground.
He began with basic stretches and warm-ups, feeling his body loosen up with each movement. His first task of the day was modifications training. He closed his eyes and focused, channeling the faint hum of Originium energy through his body. Tiny sparks danced across his fingertips, a testament to the limitations of his current abilities.
"Still rough around the edges," he muttered, trying to sustain the energy longer. After a few moments, the sparks fizzled out, leaving him panting. "At least I didn't blow anything up this time."
Next came swordsmanship practice. Xian picked up his blade, its weight awkward in his grip. He adopted a novice stance, recalling the basics he had picked up from observing Terra's guards.
"Footwork first," he reminded himself, stepping forward with a clumsy lunge. The blade wobbled in his hand as he swung it downward. "Not good enough. Again."
He repeated the movements over and over, sweat dripping from his brow as he corrected his posture, adjusted his grip, and refined each strike.
Finally, he moved on to general exercises—push-ups, squats, and a few agility drills. By the time he finished, the sun was higher in the sky, and his shirt was soaked through.
Xian sat down on the ground, catching his breath. "Still too slow," he muttered, clenching his fists. "If I want to survive in this world, I need to push harder."
He looked at the sword lying beside him, a dull reflection of his own progress. "Today's goal... Improve stability with my modifications, sharpen my strikes, and gather more intel at work."
With that, he stood up, dusted himself off, and prepared for the day ahead.
The bustling noise of the factory greeted him as he entered the mechanic halls. Workers moved about, shouting over the hum of machinery as sparks flew from various workstations. Xian blended in easily, donning his usual uniform and heading to his assigned post.
"Morning, Xian," one of his coworkers called out.
"Morning," Xian replied, giving a brief nod as he started his work. He spent hours tuning machinery, fixing broken components, and documenting his progress in reports.
By the time he was done in the mechanic halls, it was late afternoon. Xian made his way to the main building, handing in his reports to the supervisors.
"Good work today," the supervisor said with a curt nod, flipping through the papers.
"Thanks," Xian replied, his tone neutral. He didn't linger, heading outside to breathe in the fresh air.
Just as he stepped out of the building, his communicator buzzed. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. The message was brief but to the point.
Ch'en: I need to see you. Meet me at the usual spot.
Xian raised an eyebrow, tucking the device back into his pocket. "Ch'en, huh? Wonder what this is about."
Without wasting time, he adjusted his jacket and started making his way to their meeting place, his mind already racing with possibilities.
The bell above the restaurant door jingled as Xian stepped inside. The warm aroma of freshly cooked meals wafted through the air, mixing with the chatter of diners and the clinking of plates. It wasn't the fanciest place in Lungmen, but it was quiet and reliable—a perfect spot for discreet meetings.
"Ah, Mr. Xian." A staff member in a neat apron greeted him with a slight bow. "This way, please."
Xian nodded and followed the staff through the cozy dining area, past groups of patrons laughing over meals, to a private room in the back. The door slid open, revealing a small table and a familiar figure seated on one side, her sharp gaze scanning some documents.
"Ch'en," Xian greeted casually as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Xian," Ch'en replied, looking up from her papers. Her tone was neutral, but her sharp golden eyes carried their usual intensity. She gestured to the seat opposite her. "Take a seat."
"Don't mind if I do," Xian said, pulling the chair back and settling in. "So, what's the occasion? Or are we just here to talk about your piles of paperwork again?"
Ch'en smirked faintly, setting the documents aside. "You wish. I've had enough of these reports for one day. Let's start with something simpler—how's work at the factory?"
Xian leaned back, crossing his arms. "Same old. Machines breaking down faster than I can fix them, supervisors yelling like their lives depend on it. You know, the usual."
"Sounds thrilling," Ch'en said, her voice dry with a hint of amusement.
"And what about you?" Xian shot back. "Still scaring rookies at the LGD?"
"They're not scared," Ch'en replied, narrowing her eyes. "They're... appropriately motivated."
"Sure, let's go with that." Xian chuckled, earning a glare from Ch'en.
Their casual back-and-forth continued for a while, covering mundane topics like work, recent news in Lungmen, and the occasional complaint about their respective responsibilities. Despite the sharp edges in Ch'en's demeanor, Xian found these moments of normalcy oddly comforting.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to more serious matters.
"So," Ch'en began, folding her arms on the table. "The investigation. Any progress on your end?"
Xian reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small USB drive. He held it up between two fingers. "Here. Everything I managed to dig up. Names, transactions, and some chatter about upcoming shipments. It's not a complete picture, but it's a start."
Ch'en took the USB, nodding as she inspected it briefly before tucking it into her coat. "Good work. This might be just what we need to move forward."
"Well, don't thank me yet," Xian said, resting his chin on his hand. "You still need to connect the dots. I'm just the guy who finds the pieces."
Before Ch'en could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Delicious dishes. Bowls of steaming rice, a platter of stir-fried vegetables, and plates of grilled meat were laid out on the table.
"Food's here," Xian said, straightening up.
"Finally," Ch'en muttered, picking up her chopsticks. "I was starting to think they forgot."
They both began eating in relative silence, the occasional clink of chopsticks against plates filling the room. Xian, however, found himself absentmindedly poking at his food, his thoughts drifting.
Something's off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but a nagging sense of unease had settled in his chest ever since he handed over the USB.
"You've been staring at that bowl for a while," Ch'en said, breaking the silence. Her tone was calm, but her eyes were sharp as they studied him. "What's on your mind?"
Xian blinked, realizing he'd zoned out. "Huh? Oh, nothing." He forced a smile. "Just tired, I guess."
Ch'en raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Tired, huh? That's the best excuse you've got?"
"Hey, I've been working nonstop," Xian said defensively, waving his chopsticks. "Machines don't fix themselves, you know."
"Neither do investigations," Ch'en retorted, though her gaze softened slightly. "If something's bothering you, just say it. Otherwise, I'm going to assume it's something I need to worry about."
Xian hesitated, then shook his head. "It's nothing worth mentioning. Trust me."
"Fine." Ch'en leaned back in her chair, clearly letting it go for now. "But if this 'nothing' turns into something, I'll hold you responsible."
"Noted," Xian replied with a dry chuckle, trying to shift the mood.
As they continued their meal, the atmosphere lightened, and the two fell back into their usual rhythm of conversation.
"You know," Xian said between bites, "I still don't get how you manage to juggle this many cases. Don't you ever take a day off?"
Ch'en smirked. "A day off? What's that?"
"It's that magical thing where you stop working for 24 hours and remember what it's like to be human," Xian quipped, earning a small laugh from her.
"Maybe I'll consider it when Lungmen doesn't have a hundred problems waiting to explode," Ch'en replied, her tone half-serious.
"Right, because Lungmen without problems is totally realistic," Xian teased.
They went back and forth like this for a while, the occasional sharp jab from Ch'en met with Xian's laid-back humor.
At one point, Ch'en narrowed her eyes. "You're way too comfortable poking fun at me. Don't forget who's in charge here."
"Oh, I never forget," Xian said, grinning. "It's just fun watching you pretend you don't enjoy the banter."
Ch'en rolled her eyes but didn't argue, instead focusing on finishing her meal.
As the plates were cleared and the meal wound down, Xian leaned back in his chair, feeling a bit more at ease despite the earlier unease.
"So," Ch'en said, breaking the quiet. "What's next for you?"
"Back to the grind," Xian replied with a shrug. "Factory work, training, and maybe a bit of digging if I've got time."
Ch'en nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Keep me posted. And be careful. We're getting closer to something big, and I can't afford any surprises."
"Got it," Xian said, standing up as she did the same. "You take care too. Don't work yourself to death."
"I'll try," Ch'en said, smirking faintly as she adjusted her coat.
As they left the restaurant, Xian couldn't help but glance at her, his earlier unease still lingering in the back of his mind. Whatever they were heading toward, it wasn't going to be simple.
After finishing their meal, Xian and Ch'en exchanged a brief farewell at the restaurant door.
"Keep your head down," Ch'en said, her tone carrying that usual mix of professionalism and concern.
"Yeah, yeah," Xian replied, waving her off. "You try not to scare any rookies tonight."
Ch'en gave him a look—a mix of exasperation and amusement—before turning and walking off in the opposite direction. Xian watched her disappear into the night, her sharp silhouette blending with Lungmen's glowing skyline.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he began his walk to the nearest bus stop. The city was alive in its own way at night, the streets illuminated by neon signs and dim streetlights. The chatter of distant conversations mixed with the occasional hum of passing vehicles.
Xian glanced around as he walked, taking in the familiar sights. Yet, despite the bustling city, he felt oddly detached, his thoughts wandering.
"I need more money," he muttered under his breath, his footsteps steady on the pavement.
The realization wasn't new, but it pressed on him tonight more than ever. His current routine—working at the factory by day, gathering intel and training in his off-hours—wasn't sustainable in the long run. He had a feeling this pace would either burn him out or lead to something far worse.
Options, Xian. What are your options?
His mind wandered to an old memory, the voice of a friend echoing in his head.
"Your cooking's way too good for someone who isn't a chef, Xian! Seriously, you could open a restaurant or something!"
He smirked at the thought. A restaurant, huh? It wasn't a bad idea. The memory of his friend's teasing tone brought a rare sense of warmth, but it was quickly drowned out by reality.
"Yeah, sure," he said to himself, shaking his head. "Because starting a restaurant in a city like this is totally easy."
Still, the idea lingered. If not a restaurant, he could always go back to working as a mechanic full-time. Fixing machines wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills.
He sighed, pulling his coat tighter as the cool night breeze brushed against him. "Future me can figure it out. Present me has enough on his plate."
As he neared the bus stop, he glanced at his watch—a simple device with a sleek design, except for one detail that always made him chuckle: the tiny tracker embedded in it.
"Good old Ch'en," he muttered, tapping the watch. "Always keeping tabs on me, huh?"
He paused for a moment, staring at the faint glow of the watch's display. A small smirk crept onto his face as he joked aloud, "You know, if you wanted to keep me safe, you could've just hired a bodyguard. Probably cheaper than this fancy tracker."
The thought of her reaction—a sharp glare, followed by some witty retort—made him chuckle.
"Ah well," he said, shoving his hands back into his pockets and continuing down the street. The faint rumble of an approaching bus reached his ears, and he quickened his pace, his mind already shifting to what tomorrow might bring.