The Next Morning

The next morning, the woman woke up with a hint of suspicion. She looked around the room, where the faint light of dawn seeped through the curtains. On the sofa, I was still lying there, as if I had never left.

She stepped over, arms crossed, her voice dropping:

"You're still here?"

I opened my eyes, slowly sat up, and gave her a harmless smile.
"I thought I could lend you a hand—to repay your kindness from yesterday."

She stayed silent for a moment, eyes scrutinizing me. I knew she didn’t completely trust me yet, but she also didn’t have a strong reason to kick me out. And that was the gap I needed—just a little more time, and I could make her accept my presence a bit longer.

A knock echoed from the door. The woman frowned slightly, glancing at me briefly before heading to open it.

A middle-aged man walked in, his shirt crisp but slightly wrinkled from an early trip. He paused when he saw me on the sofa, eyes flicking toward me, then back to her with a questioning look.

"Who’s he?"

The woman hesitated briefly, then replied curtly,
"A friend. Just staying for one night."

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing more. I realized I needed to take the initiative quickly. I stood up, smiled politely, and extended my hand:

"Nice to meet you. I'm just a passerby—grateful for her kindness."

He shook my hand, his grip tight—a silent warning. I simply smiled, maintaining my innocent expression. Meanwhile, the woman remained quiet, but I could tell she was thinking.

Before the tension could ease, the doorbell rang again. The woman furrowed her brow, clearly not expecting another guest.

She walked over to open the door, and the moment she did, the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift.

The new arrival was a young man, a long coat dusted from the road, his sharp eyes scanning the three of us. He didn’t greet anyone, only tilted his head toward me, his gaze filled with implication.

"Still alive, huh?" he said with a mocking smirk, voice low and taunting.

Both the woman and the other man turned to me, clearly confused. I didn’t react right away. I just stared at him, trying to mask the irritation rising inside me.

Who is he? Why did he come here? And most importantly—how much does he know about me?

I locked eyes with him, trying to stay composed, while he continued:

"I noticed you the moment you got off that bus."

"Since I got off the bus?" I raised a brow. "So you’ve been following me?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, smiling faintly.
"Not exactly. You just… stand out in your own way. A 13-year-old kid, with 11 branches, and a Soul that pure—it’s hard to ignore."

The woman and the man exchanged confused glances. They didn’t understand what was going on, but the tension in the room had clearly thickened.

I didn’t like it.

Who was this guy? And more importantly—what did he want?

In the world of Soul cultivation, reaching 11 branches before the age of 15 was nearly impossible. Most master cultivators spent their entire lives opening just over 20 branches. Only a rare few prodigies ever reached 30 or more.

But this child was different.

He was born with an unusually strong soul—or had experienced something that bent the normal rules of cultivation. While others struggled to open their first branch, he had quietly reached the eleventh, each one representing a power far beyond his years.

Cultivation masters who saw him couldn’t help but be alarmed. A child under 15, yet his Soul strength was enough to challenge adults—and potentially threaten Grandmasters if he continued growing.

The question wasn’t how far he could go, but whether he could withstand the weight of such power.

Because at a certain point in cultivation, a Soul isn’t just strength—it’s a burden.

The woman crossed her arms again, her expression no longer suspicious but filled with curiosity. She looked from me to the strange man, trying to piece it all together.

"Who are you really?" she asked slowly, her voice calm but firm.

I gave a light smile but didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched her reaction, and his, and the man still quietly standing in the corner.

"I’m just someone who got lost," I said, leaving the sentence deliberately incomplete.

She tilted her head, unimpressed by my half-answer.
"You got lost and happened to end up in my house? And someone just happened to be following you?"

I shrugged, like I found it amusing too.
"Sometimes fate works in mysterious ways."

She was silent for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle.
"You think I’m that easy to fool?"

I didn’t answer, just smiled. She was curious—but still cautious. That meant I could stay a little longer. Just enough time to make her want to know more—and that was how I’d carve out a place in this story.

The strange man didn’t seem in a hurry. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze cutting toward me before he spoke again.

"Two older kids dragged you into an alley last night," he said, voice calm and heavy. "But only you came out."

The room fell into silence.

The woman looked at me, clearly expecting an explanation. The other man frowned. As for me? I kept my face neutral, while my mind worked fast.

How much does he know? Is he guessing—or did he see something?

I gave a light laugh and leaned back on the sofa, pretending not to be surprised.
"Maybe they changed their minds and left before I did."

The man smirked.
"Is that so? Strange… because I remember one of them screamed. And it wasn’t the sound of someone winning."

Now the woman was fully alert. She looked at me intently—no longer just curious, but suspicious.

I knew I couldn’t dodge forever. So I sighed, then slowly spoke:

"If I said it was self-defense… would you believe me?"

No one answered immediately.

Because everyone knew—if it had just been self-defense, then three people should’ve walked out of that alley. Not just me.

The man shrugged, eyes still fixed on me.
"Stuff like that’s normal in our world. I wouldn’t care if all three of you walked out." He paused, then smiled faintly.
"But the thing is—you were the only one."

The tension thickened. The woman frowned, clearly weighing whether she should still let me stay.

I knew I had to say something. But I also knew—any word could make things worse.

So I looked at him directly and asked:

"Do you have proof?"

The man raised a hand, breaking the tension. He shook his head and gave a lazy smile.

"Don’t worry," he said slowly. "I didn’t come to accuse you."

The room stayed quiet. The woman glanced at me, then at him—still unsure who to trust.

"I’m just curious," he continued, stepping a bit closer but keeping his distance.
"A kid walks out of a dark alley… and two older guys don’t. I just want to know—how?"

I watched him, trying to guess his true intention. If he wasn’t here to fight, then what did he want?

The woman folded her arms, then asked calmly:

"Then… what did he do to make you follow him?"

He laughed, shooting me a quick glance before replying:

"Because I don’t think he’s just some kid."

The woman’s colleague, silent until now, finally cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

"Hold on," he said, eyes scanning between me and the strange man. "I still don’t get it. Who is this boy—and why are you following him?"

He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who meddled in others’ business, but this situation clearly wasn’t normal anymore. A strange kid, a stalker, and now a shady story about a dark alley.

The woman turned to me, waiting to see what I’d say.

I slowly shrugged.
"It’s just a misunderstanding."

The colleague squinted. He didn’t fully believe it—but had no reason to argue yet. In the end, he just shook his head and turned to the woman.

"If he’s someone you know, I won’t interfere," he said, voice carrying a slight warning. "But if something’s off—you should be careful."

Then he turned to the stranger.
"And you—if you don’t have a good reason to be here, I think you should leave."

The atmosphere remained heavy. I could feel their suspicion.

Eventually, the two men left. The woman’s colleague had just stopped by briefly, and once he felt something strange in the air, he decided not to stay.

"Just passing through," he said, still watching me carefully. "If you need help, call."

She nodded politely, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere.

As for the stalker, he stood at the doorway, gave me one last look, then turned and walked away—but not before leaving a final remark:

"We’ll meet again."

The door closed. The room finally fell quiet.

The woman exhaled, then turned to me, eyes filled with curiosity and doubt.

"Now will you tell me what’s really going on?"

I glanced at the closed door, then back at her. She stood there, waiting. Watching.

I could leave right now. I had a destination—and no real reason to stay longer.

But something was holding me back.

Her Soul Attribute—Time-Space.

Not everyone has a soul with such a rare trait. Among millions, only a few are born with the ability to manipulate time and space. And she… might not know it, but I did.

I looked at her again, this time with different eyes. She wasn’t just a stranger who gave me shelter—she was an essential piece in my journey.

I smiled slowly.

"Maybe I’ll stay a little longer."

I studied her, considering my options. She was waiting for an explanation, but I couldn’t reveal the whole truth.

So what story should I tell?

Something believable enough that she wouldn’t kick me out—but vague enough to keep my secrets intact.

I leaned back on the couch, smirking.

"So, do you want to hear about my past—or why I’m still here?"

She answered:
"Both."

I chuckled softly.
"Both? You’re greedy."

She didn’t reply, just waited. I exhaled, dropped the smirk, and let my gaze drift into the distance.

"Alright," I said, voice low. "Let’s start with my past..."