Beyond the Zenith

Han Qingyu ate a simple breakfast of fragrant rice and pickled vegetables. Afterward, he wheeled the family’s only old bicycle out the door under the hopeful gazes of his parents.

Han Youshan and Zhang Jiexia followed him to the gate, where they handed him an umbrella, then stuffed some loose change into their son’s pocket. They then reminded him that even though Wen Jifei was his friend and brother, Han Qingyu was still going over to ask for a favor, meaning the proper courtesies and expenses had to be upheld. They also instructed him to report back as soon as he got a sense of the situation.

Han Qingyu knew perfectly well that none of that actually applied to this situation. After all, the truth was that he had no choice but to enlist. He couldn’t have refused even if he’d wanted to. Still, he couldn’t say any of that outright, so he just agreed to placate them.

With that, he swung a leg over the bicycle and set off.

As he disappeared down the small slope out of the village entrance, his parents were already discussing where they could borrow money. There weren’t many ways for rural families to earn money. In the years prior, part of Han Qingyu’s school fees had always been borrowed.

Han Youshan was a countryman of few principles but a stubborn backbone. This backbone didn’t mean he refused to bow or ask for help. On the contrary, it meant he was determined enough to grit his teeth and suffer the humiliation of begging for the sake of his family.

“This matter isn’t set in stone yet, so it’ll be hard to explain when we’re asking to borrow money,” Zhang Jiexia muttered.

“True.” Han Youshan nodded. “Even if we told people, they probably wouldn’t believe us. Everyone knows there are no more slots. Getting into the army is difficult.”

Despite his words, he strode out of the gate a mere moment later.

***

It did not rain along Han Qingyu’s journey.

The rear rack of the old bicycle had broken and been removed the year before, so it couldn’t carry anything, nor was there any place to secure the big black umbrella. Holding an umbrella while cycling was awkward, especially on the bumpy mountain road.

In the end, Han Qingyu decided to strap the umbrella to his back. He threaded the strap of the clasp through the first buttonhole of his shirt collar, folded it back, and fastened the umbrella canopy firmly in place. It held steady.

The sight of him flying along the village path with the big black umbrella on his back was undoubtedly quite cool. He imagined it resembled someone carrying a large machete off to ambush travelers on the road, or perhaps to storm an execution ground and stage a jailbreak.

Storm an execution ground, and save whom? Han Qingyu couldn’t quite understand the progression of his own fantasies. The answer he arrived at, naturally, was himself.

Then again, why would the blade be hidden inside an umbrella? Maybe to keep it from rusting. Or maybe as a disguise. Perhaps he had to keep his blade concealed because he was on his way to assassinate the king of Qin.

The wind whistled in his ears as he cycled.

As his thoughts drifted, his mood seemed to shift, growing ever more expansive. Han Qingyu rode off the small path and onto the gravel of the provincial road, pushing harder to pick up speed.

The humid wind remained a persistent sound sweeping past his ears.

It took at least three and a half hours to travel from Fenglong Valley to town by bicycle. This estimation was one he had worked out over years of back-and-forth rides for school. The road was a continuous succession of steep and gradual slopes, and most people had to stop two or three times along the way to rest.

After covering roughly half the distance, Han Qingyu arrived at the major bend at the mouth of the valley. Out of habit, he pulled up briefly in front of the old roadside shop where truck drivers often stopped to eat and use the facilities.

He glanced at the counter and, feeling no thirst, rode on—much to the disappointment of the proprietress.

After traveling barely a hundred meters, he abruptly realized something seemed off and braked to a sudden stop. Had he just misread something?

Han Qingyu shook his head and turned back.

The shop proprietress sat behind the counter, eyes lighting up as she watched him pull up to the entrance again.

Han Qingyu didn’t even glance at her. Squinting carefully, he stared at the clock hanging on the wall behind her.

“Ma’am...”

“Do you want some water?”

Unless some other purchase was made, even water and herbal tea cost money, though not much.

“That clock of yours... Is it telling the right time?”

The proprietress turned to check, lowered her head to compare it to her watch, and finally said with confidence, “It’s right.”

Was it really? Worried he was misreading it with tired eyes from a sleepless night, Han Qingyu asked directly, “So what time is it right now?”

The proprietress checked her watch. “Seven... A little past seven forty.”

“Oh,” Han Qingyu responded blankly, completely oblivious to the proprietress’s disappointment as he rode off again.

This time, though, he rode slowly, lost in thought.

I left home at six thirty. I’m sure of it, I checked the clock before I left. Not to mention, the village broadcast had just started playing its morning songs when I was leaving the village entrance. That means it only took me an hour and ten minutes to get here today. That’s at least half an hour faster than usual.

Even if I was unconsciously riding faster because I was preoccupied with my thoughts, there’s no way it could be this much faster. There’s also the fact that I’m not even tired!

He checked the time at several more places along the way, but the results were the same every time. It was truly bizarre.

After thinking it over some more, Han Qingyu took careful stock of his body before finally giving in and pulling the bicycle to the side once he found a quiet stretch of road. Striding into the woods nearby, he wandered until he found a small clearing, where he experimented with running, jumping, and punching.

Some ten minutes later, Han Qingyu stopped. He stood there with a blank expression. The truth seemed undeniable. His physical capabilities were better than before. Not dramatically so, but pronounced enough to be perceptible.

That was just limited to tests of explosive power, such as speed, strength, and jump height. His endurance had likely improved by an even greater margin.

If not for the impossible events of the night before, Han Qingyu would probably just be left bewildered. However, having witnessed those incomprehensible happenings, he found it within him to try to reason through this peculiarity as well.

He recalled Lao Jian and the others’ swift movements through the mountain forest, faster than any Olympic champion. Then, he thought about the importance they had placed on the source energy core.

The only reasonable explanation seems to be that missing source energy core... Nothing else makes sense. It’s not like I’m carrying their metal case either. Does this mean I... absorbed it? Wariness surged up inside him. If they find out, they’ll definitely kill me, won’t they?

Lao Jian and his platoon were no saints. Just last night, they had nearly killed him to protect their secrets.

No, this had to be buried completely. He could never speak a word to anyone.

Then another detail quickly snagged his attention. Lao Jian’s men had searched the ditch with their bare hands.

So, if my theory is right, why did I absorb it?

This question was not something he could work out with his lack of knowledge on the matter. Unfortunately, this was also the one thing he absolutely could not ask anyone about.

Unable to draw any conclusions, he was forced to let it go, even more determined to guard this secret until he found a clear explanation.

He then undid his buttons and carefully examined the mysterious “bruise” on his chest.

It had already faded considerably in just a few hours, remaining as just a faint, shallow birthmark, as if the source energy core had been steadily absorbed. At this rate, it would disappear entirely very soon.

I... digested the source energy core? A mix of emotions swirled within him—apprehension, dread, bewilderment, calm, excitement.

Han Qingyu stood in the woods with his head bowed. Despite his blank expression, a storm was churning inside him. Without realizing it, he clenched both fists tight, as though finding a handle on something he had once thought lost, something of the utmost importance.

If he had been on a one-way trip down a tunnel leading to certain death, then this feeling was a light in that directionless darkness. This was hope—hope to live, hope for the future. It felt as though his fingers had finally brushed against the edge of fate itself.

This thing can strengthen my body. That increases my chances of survival. I also know that they have more of this source energy core. Maybe one day, I can actually take my fate into my own hands, instead of letting others control it.