The road leading into the old Yè estate curved away from the county highway before disappearing into a grove of bamboo that had stood longer than anyone in Suānchéng could remember. Modern navigation systems still recognized the route, but few people had reason to travel it anymore. The younger villagers worked in the city, the older ones preferred staying closer to the market square, and the ancestral residence at the end of the road had gradually become another landmark people referred to more often than they visited.
By late afternoon, a light mist had already begun gathering beneath the trees.
It wasn't unusual.
The hills surrounding the estate trapped moisture after rain, and the bamboo kept the air cool enough that fog often lingered well into the evening. It softened the outlines of everything it touched, turning familiar places into uncertain shapes until one stood close enough to recognize them again.
Beyond the grove, the manor came into view.
The Yè family had built it generations ago, when the clan still held influence throughout the region. Time had weathered the grey brick walls and dark timber corridors, but the residence remained remarkably well preserved. Stone lions still guarded the entrance. The carved beams beneath the eaves retained their intricate patterns despite years of rain and wind, and every courtyard followed the measured balance that old Jiangnan homes had valued for centuries.
The house had aged with dignity.
It did not look abandoned.
One of the front gates stood open.
The brass lock had been removed cleanly and placed beside the threshold, as though someone had considered it impolite to leave it hanging after opening the door.
Fresh tyre tracks led from the road into the courtyard.
A black van waited beneath an old camphor tree, its dark windows reflecting little more than drifting mist.
Five people moved quietly through the residence.
Their grey coats carried no insignia visible from a distance except for two embroidered letters stitched near the collar.
E.T.
They worked with practiced discipline.
One photographed each room before anyone entered it. Another examined shelves lined with genealogy records, lifting every volume with gloved hands before returning it to its original place. A third checked the timber columns and floor joints with a compact scanning device no larger than a notebook.
Nothing was overturned.
Nothing was broken.
The search was meticulous enough that a casual visitor might not have realized strangers had entered the manor at all.
Huáng Nián Qīng crossed the main courtyard without speaking.
The others adjusted their pace instinctively whenever she slowed, not because she expected it, but because experience had taught them she rarely stopped without reason.
Near the western wall stood an old stone tablet almost hidden beneath climbing vines. Moss had spread across most of its surface over the years, leaving only fragments of the original carvings visible beneath the green.
She crouched before it and removed one glove.
Instead of brushing the moss aside carelessly, she cleared it little by little until the worn inscriptions gradually emerged. The stone felt colder than the evening air.
An operative approached from behind.
"The villagers may have noticed us."
His voice remained low out of habit rather than concern.
"Someone was watching from the road when we arrived."
Huáng Nián Qīng rested two fingers against the centre of the carving.
"They won't remember anything useful."
The answer came without hesitation.
The operative simply nodded.
There was nothing more to discuss.
For several seconds, the courtyard remained perfectly still.
Then the ancient carvings responded.
The change was so subtle that anyone unfamiliar with Arm energy might have mistaken it for a trick of fading light. Fine lines hidden within the stone began glowing with a pale blue radiance, threading quietly through the tablet before sinking into the ground beneath it.
A low chime echoed somewhere below the estate.
It sounded distant. Old, not mechanical.
Huáng Nián Qīng watched the final traces of light disappear beneath the stone before withdrawing her hand.
"So the records were accurate."
Another operative emerged from the eastern residence carrying a small data case.
"We've finished searching the archives."
"Find anything?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing that explains the readings."
Her gaze shifted toward the western wing.
"The archives were never the reason we came."
She looked across the quiet courtyard, following the invisible path the light had taken beneath the earth.
"The answer is lower."
Without another word, the team divided naturally. Two headed toward the western residence while the others unpacked additional scanning equipment from the van.
The manor returned to silence.
Only the evening mist continued drifting between its old corridors, as though it had witnessed searches like this before.
---
Several hundred kilometres away, Hangzhou was far less interested in keeping quiet.
By lunchtime, the university cafeteria had become exactly what it was every weekday: crowded, noisy and comfortably predictable.
Students queued before the food counters with trays balanced in one hand and phones in the other. The smell of freshly steamed rice mixed with chilli oil and soy sauce drifted through the hall, while conversations bounced from one table to the next without anyone paying much attention to where they began or ended.
Near the drinks dispenser, Yè Yī waited his turn.
His earbuds remained in his pocket today, which meant the conversations around him reached him far more clearly than he would have preferred.
"I heard Professor Liang already finished marking the reports."
"So?"
"So guess who came first."
The answer arrived before the question finished.
"Yè Yī."
A second voice laughed.
"And Qiū Huà Bǐ."
"They should honestly stop pretending they're not competing."
"They're not."
"They don't even talk."
"Exactly. That's what makes it scary."
Yè Yī kept his attention on his phone.
People often mistook silence for indifference.
In reality, silence simply required less effort.
He scrolled through the afternoon news while the queue moved forward a few steps.
It consisted of traffic updates, weather forecasts, financial reports.
Nothing unusual.
His phone vibrated.
The name on the screen made him pause.
Lǎo Āyí.
She rarely called.
Whenever he returned to Suānchéng during university breaks, she preferred waiting until she saw him in person. Before he could finish sweeping leaves from the ancestral courtyard, she would appear carrying something warm, insisting that no student survived on cafeteria food alone. If persimmons were in season, his backpack left the village noticeably heavier than when it had arrived. If they weren't, she found steamed buns, sweet potatoes or whatever had just come off the stove.
After enough visits, he had stopped refusing.
It made her happy.
That was reason enough.
He answered the call.
"Āyí."
Relief flooded the other end before she managed to catch her breath.
"Xiao Yè... thank heavens."
His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"What happened?"
"There are people in your family's house."
The sounds of the cafeteria faded into the background.
"What do you mean?"
"The old manor."
Her breathing remained uneven.
"I saw a black van outside. They've gone inside."
Yè Yī stepped out of the queue without realizing he had done so.
Students walked past him carrying trays, laughing over something that had happened in class. No one paid him any attention.
He moved closer to the windows.
"Tell me exactly what you saw."
"They're wearing grey coats."
She lowered her voice instinctively, although she was already inside her own home.
"They brought strange machines. Blue lights... they're scanning the floors."
His gaze settled on the rain beyond the glass.
The drops slid slowly down the windows before disappearing into one another.
"Did they damage the house?"
"No."
"They're opening everything carefully."
Her answer surprised him.
"They aren't acting like thieves."
A long silence followed.
When she spoke again, her voice had become little more than a whisper.
"The lights..."
"They're coming from underneath the house."
Something tightened quietly inside him.
The old manor had always felt incomplete.
Not because anything was missing, but because too many questions had never been answered. Each visit had revealed another room, another family record, another elderly villager willing to tell stories that somehow explained everything except the things he wanted to know.
He had accepted that until now.
"Āyí."
"Mm?"
"Go home."
"But—"
"Lock your doors."
His voice remained calm enough that she stopped trying to interrupt.
"And don't come back to the manor tonight."
She hesitated.
"..Will you...?"
Yè Yī looked through the rain toward a city that suddenly felt very far away from Suānchéng.
"Yes."
It was the only answer he gave.
After the call ended, he stood quietly beside the cafeteria window.
Outside, students hurried between lecture buildings with umbrellas tilted against the rain.
Inside, lunch continued as though nothing at all had happened.
Only Yè Yī knew that somewhere beyond the mountains of northern Zhejiang, strangers had walked into a house that had spent generations waiting for someone bearing his surname to ask the right questions.
Someone else had arrived first.
And for reasons he couldn't yet explain...
that bothered him more than it should.