Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Pocket Space
Ling Jin Sui had imagined catching up to Grandpa Ling on the road.
She hadn’t imagined him tied up in an Earth God shrine, with bandits laughing over his life.
And since when had Grandpa Ling become a Daoist?
None of it mattered.
What mattered was that he was about to die.
Three armed men, broad as doors.
Grandpa Ling’s hands bound tight.
Her own body weak, half-starved.
Hard force would get them both killed.
Worse—the bandits had been complaining about not catching women.
If they realized she was hiding here, her fate would be uglier than death.
Patience, she told herself.
Wait.
Even lions blink.
But the bandits didn’t give her time.
When Grandpa Ling refused to perform “tricks,” one bandit stood, swaying with drink, and pointed his saber tip at Grandpa Ling’s face.
Grandpa Ling went rigid.
He wasn’t afraid of dying.
But his daughter-in-law was still in the Yan Lands, waiting for him to rescue her.
And his sickly granddaughter was waiting for him to bring her home.
He couldn’t die here, under bandit blades, without even knowing why.
He forced his voice into pleading.
“Boss, this old man truly can’t do tricks. But I have a few bits of silver. Let me offer them for wine.”
The bandit laughed.
Grandpa Ling thought it meant agreement and forced a smile in return—
Then the bandit jerked the saber back and drove an elbow into Grandpa Ling’s shoulder.
The thin old man crumpled.
A boot slammed down on his back. He spat blood.
“Useless stinking Daoist. Once you’re dead, I’ll take your silver anyway!”
Another bandit muttered, bored and cruel, “Big brother, this old man’s all bones. Bringing him back wastes food. Kill him and be done.”
As he spoke, he ground his boot into Grandpa Ling’s back.
The saber tip drifted toward Grandpa Ling’s throat, waiting only for the leader’s nod.
Grandpa Ling sagged toward the offering table—toward Ling Jin Sui’s hiding place.
He twisted his head toward the Earth God statue, as if begging the gods for mercy.
Instead, in the corner of his blood-blurred sight, he saw a small face.
His granddaughter’s face.
He thought it was a dying illusion.
He blinked hard and tried to clear the blood with his shoulder.
No.
He was seeing clearly.
It was his granddaughter—and yet not the same.
Grandpa Ling had no time to ask why the granddaughter who should have been safe at the Jiang family was here.
He only shook his head, again and again.
He hadn’t shed tears when his life hung by a thread.
Now his cloudy eyes overflowed.
He was begging her: don’t come out.
His trembling hand reached under the offering table, trying to push her deeper into hiding.
Even if he died, he wouldn’t let bandit hands touch her.
When his rough, blood-wet fingers brushed Ling Jin Sui’s skin, something cracked open in her chest.
In her old life she’d been alone. No one had ever stood between her and a blade.
She swallowed once and made a vow without words: even after the original owner’s spirit finally rested, she would honor this grandfather for the rest of her life.
She was ready to rush out.
If she waited another heartbeat, Grandpa Ling would die.
At her waist was the powder she’d mixed to ward off snakes and insects. It wouldn’t kill, but it could sting and blind long enough to buy a second.
Kick the fire.
Throw powder.
Cut rope.
Run.
Even a thread of hope was still hope.
As if hearing her, Grandpa Ling pushed harder and rasped in a voice only she could catch, “Don’t come out. I’m begging you. Don’t come out.”
Then the bandit leader—the one with a hairy black mole on his neck—spoke, cold and decisive.
“Drag him outside. The Earth God is watching. Don’t splash blood everywhere.”
“Aye! Big brother, don’t worry. I’ll make sure he dies clean!”
Hands seized Grandpa Ling’s ankles.
Grandpa Ling fought for one last breath of strength and gripped Ling Jin Sui’s hand under the offering table, still pleading, “Don’t come out. No matter what.”
Their hands touched.
A dazzling flare of light burst behind Ling Jin Sui’s eyes.
The world blinked.
She was standing in the laboratory.
Not the ruined wreckage she remembered, but the lab as it had been before the explosion—benches wiped clean, instruments lined up, bottles neatly racked. Even the break area looked untouched, the snack cabinet closed like nothing had ever happened.
No one was here.
Every door and window was sealed tight.
After crossing worlds, Ling Jin Sui told herself she could accept anything.
Because this laboratory was her lifeline.
Not a time to stare.
Grandpa Ling was dying.
Her gaze swept the shelves and landed on something that could save them: a bottle labeled as a tear-inducing agent.
If there were gods, if there were buddhas—let her save Grandpa Ling, and she would accept this hellish fate.
When she opened her eyes again, the bottle was in her palm.
Grandpa Ling’s hand still clutched hers, still pleading, as if no time had passed at all.
So time outside froze when she entered the laboratory.
Good.
Ling Jin Sui squeezed Grandpa Ling’s hand once, then crawled out from under the offering table and shouted, “Stop!”
She didn’t look at Grandpa Ling’s despairing face.
She didn’t look at the bandits’ eager grins.
She didn’t look at the captives’ stunned eyes.
A bandit laughed, half-drunk.
“Ha! Just said we didn’t catch a woman, and now one walks out on her own—”
Before he could finish, Ling Jin Sui covered her mouth and nose and hurled the bottle to the ground.
It shattered.
A thick cloud rolled out, dense as fog.
For one stunned breath, no one understood what it was.
Then coughing exploded through the shrine—ragged, violent, ripping at throats and lungs.
The bandit leader staggered forward, choking, convinced the old Daoist had done some “trick.”
He reached blindly toward Grandpa Ling.
But Ling Jin Sui was already moving.
She grabbed a saber from the ground, sliced through the rope at Grandpa Ling’s wrists, and hauled him up.
They crouched and ran, slipping out through the broken doorway into the night.
For one heartbeat, Ling Jin Sui thought they’d escaped.
Then hoofbeats thundered down the official road.
Torchlight flared into view.
Grandpa Ling reacted instantly.
Despite his injuries, he dragged her behind the shrine and pressed them flat to the ground.
He clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing her cough back down.
A group arrived at the smoking shrine—men in official uniforms.
Grandpa Ling lowered his hand, relief loosening his face.
“I thought it was bandits. Constables aren’t frightening. We’re saved.”
Ling Jin Sui lifted her head once, saw the torchlit faces—and shoved Grandpa Ling’s mouth shut again, hard.
“Not saved,” she whispered.
“They’re here for me.”
Two of those constables were familiar.
They were the same ones from the town, the ones who had forced her to abandon her donkey.
Ling Jin Sui’s mind raced.
Did it really take this many men to hunt her down?