Return to Tranquility

Tang Wulin was jolted awake by a piece of falling rubble.

To be precise, the debris had landed right beside his head, splashing a mouthful of dust into his mouth.

He coughed as he opened his eyes, and what greeted his vision was a cement beam slanted overhead, less than half a meter from his face.

He froze for two seconds before his memories came flooding back like a tide.

Evil Soul Masters, an explosion, being swept away by the shockwave while running, and then nothing.

"How long was I out?"

He muttered as he crawled out from under the beam. His entire body ached, but after feeling around, he realized no bones were broken. His clothes were riddled with holes, his schoolbag was long gone, and only half of his left shoe remained.

He stood up straight amidst the pile of rubble, brushed the dust from his hair, and then froze as he took in the street before him.

This was Red Mountain Street, where he had lived for so many years. He walked this street every single day to and from school.

Old Liu, who ran the grocery store on the corner, was always sitting at the entrance reading a newspaper. The steamer at the bun shop next door would always be puffing white steam every morning, and the owner would occasionally slip him a sweet bun as he passed by.

Now, half of the grocery store had collapsed, and the steamer from the bun shop was scattered across the ground, trampled into a mess.

The road was pitted and scarred with scorch marks from the explosion, and shards of glass glittered blindingly in the morning light.

He couldn't name the smell in the air; it was like burnt rubber mixed with something metallic and sweet. The wrecks of several hovercars lay across the middle of the street, one of them still smoldering.

The street was filled with soldiers.

Soldiers in standard Federation combat uniforms stood in two rows, lifting people out of the ruins.

Some were still alive; others were not. The living were carried to makeshift medical tents, while those who hadn't made it were covered in white sheets and lined up neatly along the roadside.

Tang Wulin saw the length of that row of white sheets and his heart skipped a beat; he didn't dare to count them.

An officer stood at the intersection, directing traffic, his voice hoarse but full of vigor.

"Third Squad, continue search and rescue east of Red Mountain Street! Second Squad, go to the residential area and check for unexploded soul-guided bombs..."

He paused, then roared into his communicator, "What do you mean the residual energy of the level-nine shell exceeds the limit? Even if it exceeds the limit, you have to search!"

When Tang Wulin ran past him, the officer didn't even glance his way. A child covered in dust was far too common on this street.

Tang Wulin ran desperately toward his home. After running two blocks, he nearly collided with someone at a corner... Mang Tian.

To be precise, it was Mang Tian who recognized him first. A rough, large hand grabbed his collar from behind, pulling with enough force to nearly lift him off his feet.

"Kid!" Mang Tian's voice was hoarse and urgent. "Where are you running to!"

Tang Wulin looked back and almost didn't recognize him. One sleeve of Mang Tian's usually neat work jacket had been torn off, there were two bloody gashes on his face, and a bandage wrapped around his forehead was soaked through with blood.

He was using a steel pipe as a crutch, and his right foot clearly couldn't bear any weight.

"Master? Why are you here? Where is Brother Qingzhou?" Tang Wulin blurted out.

Mang Tian's expression changed instantly. He gritted his teeth and didn't answer, only saying, "Let's go first. We'll talk on the way."

The two of them leaned on each other as they moved forward. Mang Tian's right foot had been crushed by a piece of flying concrete; he had downplayed it as "not broken," but he gasped in pain with every step. Tang Wulin tried to support him, but was pushed away. "Worry about yourself."

When they passed the street where Lin Qingzhou lived, Mang Tian suddenly stopped.

All the windows of the villa were shattered, and broken glass was strewn from the doorway all the way to the lawn.

There were several cracks on the front wall, the widest one stretching from the door frame all the way to the second-floor window.

The tree in the yard, under which Lin Qingzhou often watched Na'er play, had been snapped in half by something, the upper trunk lying across the lawn with its leaves already beginning to curl.

But what made Tang Wulin's skin crawl was the front door... the entire door had vanished, and the frame was twisted and deformed, as if it had been blasted inward by some immense force.

A sunken crater was vaguely visible on the porch floor, extending from the doorway into the house.

"I wanted to come over last night."

Mang Tian's voice suddenly turned raspy.

"That kid sent word to me, saying the Evil Soul Masters were coming and telling me to hide. I was at the Spirit Pagoda helping the garrison repair the soul-guided circuits of their armor. I thought that with a Titled Douluo stationed there, the Evil Soul Masters wouldn't be able to break in, so I didn't rush to leave."

"Then the shells started falling, and everything went to chaos. I was trapped for the night and only managed to get away just before dawn."

As he spoke, his voice grew lower and lower, eventually settling into a tone Tang Wulin had never heard before—one filled with self-reproach.

"If I had come over sooner... that kid might not have a Martial Soul, but he's strong and not stupid. If he couldn't win, he would have known to run. But that little girl..."

Mang Tian stopped, staring at the door that was no longer there, his Adam's apple bobbing. "That little girl is so small."

Tang Wulin opened his mouth to say something, but his throat felt blocked.

He remembered the first time Lin Qingzhou brought Na'er to the workshop. The little girl had hidden behind Lin Qingzhou's leg, revealing only half her face, her purple eyes looking at him timidly.

Lin Qingzhou had crouched down and whispered something to her, and only then did she cautiously peek out, calling out "Brother Wulin" in a soft, sweet voice. He could still remember that sound.

But now, there was nothing in this house. No sound, no movement, only the flapping of curtains as the wind blew through the broken windows.

"Master."

Tang Wulin swallowed, his voice steadier than he had expected.

"Brother Qingzhou isn't stupid. He really isn't. With the city in such chaos, he must have taken Na'er and hidden somewhere. Maybe they ran to an air-raid shelter, and the signal is just cut off, so we can't reach them."

Mang Tian didn't speak. After a long while, he struck the ground heavily with his steel pipe, producing a crisp, metallic "clang."

Then he turned and continued walking forward with a limp. "Let's go, let's check on your parents first."

Tang Wulin ran the rest of the way.

The residential building where his home was located was still standing; the exterior walls bore traces of smoke, but they hadn't collapsed. His heart eased, and his pace quickened.

The stairwell was filled with dust and the smell of burning. A notice from the neighborhood committee was posted on the wall, dated yesterday, regarding evacuation warnings for the typhoon.

The typhoon hadn't come, but a group of people far more terrifying than any typhoon had.

Fourth floor. The door to his home was ajar.

His hands trembled as he pushed the door open, though not out of fear.

No, it was exactly because of fear.

The room was in disarray; chairs were overturned, and a teacup on the coffee table was shattered. But there were no bloodstains, nor any obvious signs of a struggle. He rushed into his parents' bedroom—nobody.

The bathroom—nobody. The clothes hanging on the balcony were still dripping, indicating that his mother had been doing chores this morning, or rather, last night.

"Dad! Mom!"

He stood in the middle of the living room and shouted, his voice hitting the walls and bouncing back, sounding exceptionally hollow.

He ran out the door and knocked on the neighbor's door; no one answered. He knocked on the door downstairs; still, no one.

A soldier cleaning the stairs told him that most of the residents of this building had been evacuated last night. "Your family might be in the refugee camp. Go check the list at the temporary shelter to the east."

Tang Wulin went. He read the list from top to bottom, then from bottom to top, three times. There was no Tang Ziran, nor was there Lang Yue.

The soldier looked at him with sympathy and said he could wait a little longer, as some people were still being searched for.

Tang Wulin nodded and sat on a bench at the shelter for a while.

He didn't cry; he just sat. He remembered the night before last, when he received his admission letter from Eastsea Academy, his mother had been so happy that tears fell, and his father had patted his shoulder and said, "You've made something of yourself."

He remembered his mother packing his luggage, stuffing several bags of homemade beef jerky into his suitcase, saying that Eastsea Academy was in another city and the food might not be to his taste.

He remembered the last time he saw his parents last night.

Before he left for the workshop, his mother had chased after him to tell him to put on an extra coat. He had said it wasn't necessary and ran off.

He hadn't listened to his mother.

Eastsea, the sea to the east.

A transport ship with no markings was cutting through the waves at a speed far higher than a normal freighter. A row of figures in black stood on the deck, hoods obscuring most of their faces.

Inside the cabin, over a dozen people were locked up, of varying ages, but without exception... they were all ordinary people.

Not Soul Masters, possessing no combat power, and having no capital to resist. Like livestock penned in a slaughterhouse, they were quiet because fear had overwhelmed all other emotions.

Tang Ziran crouched in a corner, one arm tightly clutching Lang Yue's shoulder. Lang Yue's face was deathly pale and her lips were chapped, but she didn't cry. She just repeatedly whispered a single sentence, as if reciting it to herself.

"Wulin is fine. He wasn't home last night; he was at his master's place. He's fine."

Tang Ziran didn't respond. He didn't know if his son was truly fine, but he knew at least he wasn't here. This made him feel both relieved and tormented. Relieved that his son had escaped disaster, but tormented by the uncertainty of whether he would ever live to see his son again.

The ship swayed, and the Evil Soul Master on deck cursed as he adjusted their course. They didn't intend to kill these people, at least not for now.

Living ordinary people were worth more than dead ones; they could be used as manual labor, as test subjects, or as sacrifices. There were many uses, and there was no need to rush.

Tang Ziran gripped Lang Yue's cold hand tightly. He looked out the cabin window at the boundless gray-blue sea, where morning mist and waves churned.

The direction of Proud Arrival City was no longer visible. Nothing could be seen anymore.

Three days later, on the federal news channel.

"...The Proud Arrival City attack has resulted in over 1,400 civilian casualties and more than 300 missing. The Federal Military stated that this attack was planned and executed by a roving organization of Evil Soul Masters, and the main ringleader has been killed in the exchange of fire."

"Currently, post-disaster reconstruction work has fully commenced. The federal government promises to restore water, electricity, and basic transportation in Proud Arrival City within one month. The list of missing persons has been published on the official Spirit Pagoda website; citizens with any clues, please..."

Tang Wulin turned off the screen.

He sat on a folding cot in the temporary shelter, wrapped in a gray military-issued blanket. On the opposite cot sat an elderly woman he didn't know, slowly drinking a bowl of hot soup.

The shelter was noisy; some were making phone calls to report they were safe, some were weeping softly, and volunteers were pushing food carts, distributing meals one by one.

He clutched his old communicator in his hand. Lin Qingzhou's number remained on the screen; he had dialed it six times, and each time it was a busy signal.

He placed the communicator under his pillow, leaving it on. Perhaps. Perhaps it would ring when the signal was restored, and then Brother Qingzhou's voice would come through, saying that he and Na'er were both fine, just that there was no signal.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling of the shelter.

The fluorescent light tube emitted a buzzing sound, very faint, so faint it was almost inaudible.

But he still heard it, just as he could still hear the explosions from last night, could still see those devastated streets, and could still feel the daze of that moment when rubble fell beside his head.

He closed his eyes and told himself:

Mom and Dad were just evacuated to another place; once they finish registering, they will make contact. Brother Qingzhou and Na'er just hid; once the signal is restored, they will call. Everything will be fine.

He didn't know if he believed it. But he had to find something to hold onto, otherwise, before the day even fully broke, he would collapse first.

"Kid, you don't need to worry about your parents' affairs; I will find them. In a week, I've already arranged a path—Eastsea City, you are going to school."

Mang Tian walked up to Tang Wulin, his eyes hidden in the shadows trembling with light.

Tang Wulin wanted to say something, but Mang Tian's large hand covered his shoulder and patted it twice, and Tang Wulin could no longer speak.

His mouth trembled slightly twice, but in the end, it fell into silence, and he nodded deeply.