Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Ghost Who Bought Biscuits with Silver Ingots

“Hello! Welcome!”

At Ying Chun Convenience Store in Huang Shan Old Town District, the duck-shaped door sensor chirped the instant the door opened.

“Feel free to look around. Bring it here when you’re ready to pay.” Xiao Ying Chun called out without lifting her head, slumped behind the counter like she might fall asleep standing.

The man wandered the aisles—and stopped right in her line of sight. Only then did she glance up.

Her eyes widened. She shoved to her feet, jolted fully awake. “Wait… are you filming something?”

Fu Chen An frowned, blank. He clearly didn’t understand what “filming” meant.

Their gazes met. His shoulders tensed. Then he snapped his head away so fast his helmet creaked, the tips of his ears turning red beneath the rim.

The woman was pretty—delicate, even—but her clothing was bizarre, and far too cool for decency. Bare arms, bare legs, bare throat… even the hollow at her chest showed faintly. And the shop itself was stranger still.

The pictures on the packages looked alive, every hair and shadow crisp. Even the best painter couldn’t capture that kind of detail.

Unseen. Unheard of.

Fu Chen An’s suspicion deepened. In the ruins of a city chewed apart by war, he had found one alley still mostly intact—only to discover it ended at a dead wall. Yet this shop stood here, untouched and impossible.

Something was wrong.

He turned back and studied the woman. She stared at him with open curiosity, almost… pleased. He’d read faces in camps and courts; hers held no schemes. Whatever she thought showed plainly in her expression.

Xiao Ying Chun studied him too. Tall and broad-shouldered, thick-browed, clear-eyed—handsome in a sharp, carved sort of way. His hair was tied in a topknot. Heavy armor gleamed under the shop lights. And he held a long spear like it belonged there.

Definitely an actor.

It was peak summer. She sat in air-conditioning in a T-shirt and shorts and still needed a popsicle now and then. This guy was going full method—didn’t he worry about heatstroke?

Respect. Serious respect.

“I’m not filming,” Fu Chen An said, firm.

Filming. Was that someone’s name?

Xiao Ying Chun pinched the bridge of her nose. Whatever. The world was full of weirdos. Money was money.

“What do you want to buy?” she asked, bright enough.

Fu Chen An hesitated, testing her. “Do you have anything that will actually fill a stomach?”

Xiao Ying Chun blinked at him. The instant noodles, the snacks, the little breads—what did he think those were?

Then she looked him up and down again. Okay, fair. With that build, he could probably chew through half the store and still be hungry.

She snapped her fingers like she’d remembered something, crouched, and dragged two cartons from beneath the counter. “Try this.”

Compressed biscuits—her unsellable stock, the stuff she’d bought once and could never move. The upside: compact, high-calorie, and filling.

She pulled out a pack and tapped the printed instructions. “Military compressed rations. Super filling. One piece can count as a meal. There are two pieces in a pack. Not expired—look.” She leaned in a little, earnest. “Read carefully.”

Fu Chen An stared at the characters, then at her. He didn’t recognize the writing at all.

Still, he understood her words. His curiosity sharpened. Such a small pack—two meals?

“How much?” he asked.

“Ten yuan a pack.”

Ten. Ten copper coins?

Absurdly cheap.

Fu Chen An turned the pack over in his hands. “Can I open it and look?”

Of course not.

Xiao Ying Chun’s refusal rose to her tongue… then stuck. He really was handsome. And that armor was weirdly impressive.

“…Sure,” she said, like she wasn’t bending her own rules.

He fumbled with the plastic, tugging at it like it was some kind of charm-seal.

Xiao Ying Chun stared. Was he… an idiot? Who didn’t know how to open a snack pack?

With a sigh, she stepped in, tore it open cleanly, and handed him the contents. “Two pieces will definitely hold you for a meal.”

Fu Chen An examined the flat block. He sniffed. It smelled faintly good.

When he still didn’t bite, Xiao Ying Chun broke off a corner and crunched down hard. “See? Not spoiled.”

The sound of her chewing decided him. After a brief hesitation, Fu Chen An took a small bite.

Sweet, salty, crisp—surprisingly good. A little dry, though.

Xiao Ying Chun watched his throat move as he swallowed and—ridiculously—caught herself swallowing too. When he kept eating and crumbs started falling, she rummaged behind the counter and shoved a bottle toward him. “Here. Free. Drink.”

Fu Chen An accepted the clear bottle like it was an artifact. He turned it, frowning. How did it open?

Xiao Ying Chun’s eyes went wide as he raised it to his teeth to bite the cap.

“Oh my God—” She snatched it back. “No.”

Yeah. Idiot confirmed.

He’d never even had bottled water before. Dumb and broke.

What a waste of that face and that body… but she’d already offered. Xiao Ying Chun decided, grimly generous, to pay for her own weakness.

She twisted the cap off slowly, took a sip, then handed him another bottle and watched until he managed it himself. Only then did she nod, relieved.

Fu Chen An drank. The water was clean, with no strange taste. He finished the biscuit and emptied the bottle.

Then he looked up.

Still hungry.

His gaze slid to the two cartons of compressed biscuits behind the counter.

Xiao Ying Chun slapped her palm down on the box like a guard at a vault. “No. That stuff swells when it hits water. Eat more and you’ll burst.”

She’d heard fools didn’t know when to stop. She was not about to let a hot idiot explode in her store.

Fu Chen An lowered his eyes obediently. “Understood.”

Then he asked, almost casually, “How much for the two cartons?”

“Forty packs total,” Xiao Ying Chun said. “Four hundred yuan for both.”

Four hundred coins?

A steal.

Fu Chen An reached into his belongings and tossed a silver ingot onto the counter with the ease of throwing down a stone. “Keep the change. If it’s good, I’ll come again.”

Before she could respond, he hoisted both cartons and walked out.

Xiao Ying Chun stared at the ingot.

Fake. Obviously fake. A prop from some drama set.

She frowned, torn.

Let it go because his face was worth it?

Or chase him down because money was money?

She wrestled with it for three seconds—then snapped out of it and bolted after him. “Hey! That’s the back door! It’s a dead-end—there’s no way out!”

She shoved aside the curtain and ran into the alley.

It was empty.

A straight, open dead-end, visible from end to end… and no sign of him. No footsteps. No shadow. Nothing.

Cold sweat slid down her spine.

Where did he go?

Holy shit.

Not an idiot—was he a ghost?

Xiao Ying Chun shuddered hard, spun around, and raced back inside. She slammed the back door, locked it, then locked it again like that would help.

Back at the counter, she stared at the “fake” silver ingot. Her fingers hovered, then she picked it up.

It was heavy.

If he was a ghost, where had it come from?

If he was human, where had he gone?

None of it made sense.

After pacing in a tight circle, Xiao Ying Chun made a decision. She shut the store, wrapped the ingot, and headed out.

Xin Long Pawnshop.

She walked in with a bright, practiced smile. “Boss, this was left to me by my grandfather. Could you take a look?”

Dai Heng Xin, the owner in his thirties, wore a neat shirt and slacks and gold-rimmed glasses that made him look scholarly. He took the ingot with casual interest.

“Let me see.”

The moment it settled into his hand, his expression changed.

He looked at Xiao Ying Chun—really looked—then lowered his gaze and began examining the ingot with care.

Xiao Ying Chun watched his face closely, her heart hammering.

If nothing went wrong…