With a crack, the flickering stone doorway vanished.
Someone had been halfway through—half their body out, half still inside. The moment the door disappeared, blood sprayed everywhere. One half of the body fell to the ground, while the other half was forever trapped in that loess world.
“AAAAHHHH—”
“My son!”
“My dad’s still in there!”
“My grandpa’s still inside…”
The exit descended into complete chaos. Many had made it out, but over twenty people were still trapped inside. They’d seen the exit and decided to keep searching near the stone doorway for the treasure that had caused the golden light, thinking that with fewer people around, their chances of finding it were better.
Now that the stone door was gone, they had all the time in the world to search for treasure.
“Let’s go. We’re leaving now.”
The exit area had become utter pandemonium. People wailed for loved ones who hadn’t made it out, others shouted for rescue, and some demanded answers from the authorities—every voice clamoring at once, everything in disarray. On top of that, the gathered crowd had attracted all sorts of mutated insects, making the scene terrifyingly chaotic.
Xu Lin had been waiting nearby the whole time. Hearing Qin Sang say they were leaving, he stepped on the gas, and the car shot out of the chaotic area like an arrow released from a bow.
“Sang Sang, it looks like quite a few people didn’t make it out.” Amid the bumps of the ride, Qin’s father turned to look at the shouting crowd and couldn’t help but remark.
Qin Sang: “Probably around fifteen to twenty. But all the official personnel made it out.”
So those who hadn’t come out must have refused to leave. Otherwise, the officials wouldn’t have all made it out.
Just then, Xu Lin, who was driving, suddenly asked, “Sang Sang—when the stone door vanished just now…”
Qin Sang was startled. “You felt it too?”
Qin’s father and mother both asked at once: “Felt what?”
Clearly, they hadn’t sensed anything unusual.
Xu Lin: “The moment the stone door vanished, I felt a distorted energy field at that spot. And it had a strange pulling force.”
Qin Sang: “Yeah, I felt the same thing.” Right as the door was about to disappear, Qin Sang had sensed something off. When the door faded like a mirage, that eerie energy field and suction force had been terrifying—almost like a black hole as described in books.
Xu Lin met Qin Sang’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Clearly, their impressions matched perfectly.
With a sigh, Qin Sang tried to recall the memories she’d gained from the little golden ant, attempting to figure out whether such a phenomenon might happen again.
But Xu Lin didn’t give her time to dig through those memories. He said directly, “While you were in the mountains, a lot has happened outside.”
Qin Sang was surprised. “What kind of things?”
“Remember the conflict I mentioned before you came here?”
Qin Sang nodded. Of course she remembered—the tension between ordinary people and spatial ability users triggered by the mutated parasite crisis.
“Has it gotten that bad?”
Xu Lin’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He let out a sigh. “The infection rate for mutated parasites has surpassed sixty percent. Basically, everyone with a spatial ability now knows how to quickly kill parasites inside their own bodies. But ordinary people—aside from surgery and manual parasite removal—can only rely on deworming medicine made from mutated plants. Both options are time-consuming and resource-intensive, so the mortality rate among ordinary people is especially high.”
Speaking of the current situation, Xu Lin, who’d been monitoring online sentiment the whole time, found even the numbers chilling.
Medical resources were stretched to the breaking point. Without resources or connections, ordinary people couldn’t get treatment in time and would be killed by the parasites.
Over the past few days, the nationwide mortality rate among ordinary people had exceeded sixty percent.
And that was despite the authorities’ all-out efforts.
Listening to Xu Lin rattle off the data, the Qin family fell into a heavy silence.
They’d only been in the loess world for a few days, yet the outside world had changed so dramatically.
“Is there really no other way?”
Xu Lin: “Apparently, getting more sun exposure can reduce parasite activity. But ordinary people’s bodies can’t withstand the temperatures that are now pushing close to a hundred degrees…”
Indeed, after emerging from the loess world, Qin Sang had noticed that the temperature outside was even higher. Though the loess world had dry air and barren earth, its temperatures had hovered around seventy degrees—not hot enough to make survival impossible.
“Is there any hope left for ordinary people?” Qin’s father finally asked.
No one in the car could answer that question.
Qin Sang changed the subject and began telling Xu Lin about their experiences in the loess world. She had a feeling that places like this wouldn’t be unique—and that everyone who came out of such places would have grown significantly stronger.
Sure enough, down at the mountain’s base, the chaos at the exit hadn’t lasted long before it was quelled by armed forces that had been prepared in advance.
Everyone who’d emerged from the loess world was taken away by officials for questioning.
Captain Qin, being one of the officials, immediately reported everything about this strange world. The others were also interrogated one by one. And the mutated insect carcasses and energy cores handed over by official personnel caused an uproar.
It was only then that Captain Qin and the others learned what had happened in the outside world during their absence—and realized just how powerful the energy cores they’d brought back really were.
The emergence of these energy cores lifted a corner of the veil shrouding this world’s mysteries.
Everyone who had entered the loess world was secretly taken away for observation. The authorities also sent people back into the loess world immediately—only to discover that it had abruptly vanished.
The mountain had reverted to its original form—just an ordinary mountain, except that its village was now empty.
Of course, Qin Sang didn’t know any of this yet. All of that happened while she was already back at their long-unseen home.
—
“Grandpa Goose, tell me—why were you able to enter the space even though I didn’t open it?”
Back home, after washing up, Qin Sang retreated directly to her room. But she wasn’t resting—she turned around and entered the space instead. She cornered Grandpa Goose, who was lounging by the energy water spring, determined to get all the answers out of him.
But Grandpa Goose looked listless and didn’t resist Qin Sang at all. His head drooped against his wing, with an expression that said, Say whatever you want.
Qin Sang found it almost funny. It was as if their roles had been reversed.
“Alright, stop playing dead. I’m telling you, after that little golden ant bit me, a whole lot of things popped into my head.”
In response, Grandpa Goose let out a string of indignant honks.
The culprit—the little golden ant—had jumped onto Qin Sang the moment she entered and was happily scampering about. Seeing Grandpa Goose so dejected, it let out a tinkling laugh.
Qin Sang didn’t let it off the hook either. She reached out and tapped its tiny golden head. “And you, Little Gold—you’d better come clean about all the secrets in your head too.”
“Little Gold?” The little golden ant tilted its head at Qin Sang, its crisp childlike voice echoing in her mind.
Qin Sang’s eyes widened as she nodded. “Yep, that’s right. From now on, your name is Little Gold.”
Hearing that its name really was Little Gold, the ant’s two antennae drooped.
Qin Sang chuckled.
“Come on, Little Gold is a great name. Gold is precious in our world. And you, Little Gold, are my little treasure.”
The ant, which had just been a bit displeased with the name, perked right up at those words. Its two antennae bumped against each other—clearly overjoyed.
“Little Gold, be good now. Tell me—why did you bite me earlier?”
Grandpa Goose immediately widened his little black bean eyes, shooting a look that said, Don’t you dare spill anything.
Little Gold’s eyes darted around craftily, then it said, “I can’t say. But Sang Sang, you can look at my inherited memories.”
“Don’t call me Sang Sang—call me Sister Sang Sang.” Qin Sang tapped the newly hatched ant. That way of addressing her was clearly picked up from Grandpa Goose.
“Grandpa Goose, are you still going to be stubborn? If you won’t talk, I can just share Little Gold’s inherited memories.”
The moment she said that, Qin Sang finally realized what she’d just heard.
“Wait a minute—inherited memories?!” Qin Sang’s eyes widened in utter disbelief.
She… she hadn’t misheard, had she?
Anyone who’d read novels knew that inherited memories were something only divine beasts or sacred beasts possessed.
She looked down at Little Gold, barely the length of her forearm, and scanned it from the tips of its antennae to the spikes on its feet. Nothing seemed particularly special about this ant. Sure, it was a bit golden, had sharper mouthparts, and was a little clever—but how could it possibly be a descendant of divine or sacred beasts?!
Through their contract, Little Gold clearly sensed Qin Sang’s doubt—and it was so offended it nearly hissed at her.
Qin Sang: …Wasn’t that Little Tabby’s move?
Speaking of Little Tabby, after the insect swarm incident, she’d sent it into the space. The little thing loved wandering around, and she hadn’t seen it in days. She hadn’t expected that Little Gold, who’d only been in the space a short while, had already learned Little Tabby’s hissing trick.
Watching this hopping, fuming little ant, Qin Sang found it pretty amusing.
Such a clever little head, already imitating other animals right after birth.
Sensing that Qin Sang’s thoughts had suddenly turned to praise, Little Gold stopped fuming. It planted its little claws on its hips and laughed smugly.
Hmm, watching it like that, Qin Sang thought it looked a bit like a certain smug Grandpa Goose.
She kept that thought to herself and didn’t tease further—no need to send the proud little ant into a tantrum.
Seeing that Grandpa Goose was still playing dead and refusing to speak, Qin Sang simply closed her eyes and carefully sifted through the inherited memories she’d received from Little Gold.
It turned out that Little Gold was an ancient ferocious insect called a Golden Ant. At its highest evolution, it could devour entire planets—hence its other name: the Star-Swallowing Ant. Of course, newly hatched Little Gold was only in its juvenile form. Its inherited sharp mandibles could gnaw through any metal, extracting energy from it for evolution.
In other words, as long as Little Gold accumulated enough power within its body, it could evolve—unrestricted by time or space.
And the reason it had bitten Qin Sang was to form a contract with her.
This kind of contract was recorded in its inherited memories. With a sweep of her mental perception, Qin Sang engraved the complex, ornate ritual array deep in her mind.
At that very moment, an identical array appeared beneath her feet—only magnified several times over, spanning nearly half a football field.
As the intricate array materialized, a matching one appeared beneath Little Gold.
Both arrays radiated the same golden light.
The moment the golden light emerged, the entire space began to tremble, as if resonating with something.
Then, in the next instant, the formerly stable space gained a new expanse of loess land—identical to the loess world, only smaller in area.
And at the moment that loess land appeared, Qin Sang finally understood the nature of the contract—and what Little Gold truly was.
Leave a Reply