From his father, Lance Ye learned that the farmers' crops had finally started to yield harvests — beans, in particular, were being gathered daily.
Lately, the weather had been so good that no one even worried about sudden rain ruining the harvest.
The days were growing hotter and hotter. Even without stepping outside, Lance could feel the heat radiating through the tiled house — suffocating and airless.
He missed the modern comforts of his past life terribly. Back then, at least he had air conditioning and a fan, even if he sometimes hesitated to use them to save electricity.
But while he complained about the heat, he didn't realize that Serena was having a much harder time — she barely had enough to eat.
Neither of them had "activated" their powers yet, nor did they know where the other was. They couldn't meet; all they could do was enter their respective spaces with their minds and count how many "likes" they had earned, hoping to unlock their powers sooner.
The farmers were harvesting beans, sweet potatoes, and corn — and next would come the rice.
As the day of their escape drew nearer, Lance grew more and more anxious — so much so that he developed sores on his lips!
Hannah Yao, thinking her son was just overheated, went to the garden to pick some cooling herbs and boiled them into tea for him.
Meanwhile, Patrick Ye, who was also suffering from mouth ulcers, was constantly being called into town for meetings. The township officials kept pressuring the village leaders to hand in their communal grain quotas.
Grain yields had decreased, and even before all the crops were brought in, the constant demands for grain delivery were driving everyone crazy.
If you reported poor harvests, you'd get sidelined — the leadership would accuse you of slacking off.
The township head was under pressure from higher-ups, and the village teams kept delaying, so all he could do was hold endless meetings.
Patrick was beyond frustrated. Every day he came home sighing, but what else could he do?
For safety, their daughters hadn't gone to school for nearly a month now. Things were chaotic outside, and even the teachers didn't push the students — many children had taken leave to help their families with the harvest.
Hannah often tried to comfort her husband quietly, seeing how stressed he was.
Lance, sleeping in the same room as his parents, overheard their whispered conversations each night. He could understand his father's frustration — the constant pressure from the township, the fear of famine.
Their meals had become simpler too. Hannah occasionally made bean broth to prevent heatstroke, but there hadn't been any bone soup for a long time.
The family's diet had dropped another level. Lance still got one steamed egg custard and a glass of milk every day — that had never changed.
He had tried performing "magic tricks" before — unsuccessfully. But as harvest time neared and the day of escape approached, his anxiety flared again.
Seeing his parents' growing trust in him over the past few months, Lance decided it was time to act.
After dinner, Patrick came out of his study to take a cold bath. With only his mother in the room, Lance seized the opportunity.
Hannah had already bathed and removed her hairpins, preparing for bed. She disliked wasting oil for light at night, so she didn't do embroidery after dark.
Watching her, Lance decided to use her jewelry box for practice.
He quietly moved her jewelry box into the Pagoda Space, then casually picked up a small mirror, pretending to admire himself.
The boy in the mirror had mischievous phoenix eyes and a sly little smirk as he waited for his mother's reaction.
Hannah, meanwhile, was removing her silver hairpins and earrings, placing them in the jewelry box without even glancing at it.
The jewelry wasn't expensive — the truly valuable ones were hidden away long ago.
"Lance, did you see your mom's jewelry box? Don't play with it."
Lance grinned, raised his hand, and with a flick of his thought, brought the jewelry box back from the Pagoda Space into his palm.
"Mom," he said with a cheeky smile, "wasn't my magic trick amazing?"
"Oh my heavens, Lance — you really can do it?! Does it hurt?"
Startled, Hannah dropped her earring to the floor, staring at her son. But instead of delight, her eyes were full of worry.
"Mom, it doesn't hurt. It's just a trick. I can store things away and bring them back out."
As Lance calmly demonstrated again — even with her dressing table — Hannah went from shock to utter speechlessness.
Her weak little boy had somehow gained such an extraordinary power?
In the old legends, there were tales of immortals who gave gifts to those with destiny — magical pouches that could store anything.
There were still such stories in their village: the Earth God, the Three Immortals, Buddhist guardians.
But ever since the chaos of recent years, anyone who talked about "immortals" risked being labeled superstitious and punished.
"Son, did an immortal give you this pouch? What kind of immortal was it?"
Lance froze. An immortal? Not really. It was that trickster monk who dragged him into this mess in the first place.
But Hannah's explanation gave him the perfect excuse.
"Mom, one night I saw an old man with snow-white hair. He gave me a jade pendant of Guanyin. Inside it, I can store things — though the old man said I'll understand more when I grow up."
"Lance, that must've been an immortal! You can't call him 'old man' — that's disrespectful. Can you show me the Guanyin pendant?"
Hannah's joy was mixed with fear, worried that disrespect might anger a deity.
Lance was just thinking of what to say next when Patrick returned from bathing and overheard part of the conversation.
"What old man? What Guanyin pendant? What's going on?"
"Your son—"
"What about him? What are you two whispering about?"
Seeing her husband at the doorway, Hannah realized the door had been open the whole time. Normally, they didn't close it until they'd checked that all the daughters' rooms were locked — even in the heat, they had to stay safe.
Their bedroom, connected to an underground passage, had been built generations ago to escape war. Even now, they sometimes used it on sweltering nights to sleep underground where it was cooler.
"Close the door, quick!" Hannah hissed.
Patrick frowned but obeyed. "What's with all this secrecy?"
"Come closer!" Hannah waved him over.
"What's going on?" he asked, sitting beside them, his expression puzzled.
"Your son," Hannah said in a low voice, "can do magic tricks."
Patrick blinked.
Was she serious? Their little boy, barely over three years old, could perform magic tricks?
Wasn't that just something street performers did to fool people?
Their son had never even seen such things before!
Was this some kind of joke?
(End of Chapter)