Snow drifted silently beyond the windshield, blanketing the land in silver. The vast prairie stretched endlessly into the distance, pale and desolate beneath a darkening sky.
Chen Rong gripped the steering wheel and let out a long, helpless sigh.
He had only been driving along the Duku Highway, enjoying the open road. One moment, his pickup truck had been racing across smooth asphalt. The next, the world outside had transformed into a boundless snow-covered grassland.
What the hell is going on?
Xinjiang did have plenty of grasslands, and dirt roads weren't uncommon in remote areas. But Chen Rong clearly remembered that he hadn't left the highway. The road had been straight, with no forks or exits.
And he wasn't some tourist unfamiliar with the region.
He had grown up in Xinjiang—Han Chinese by heritage, but as familiar with these lands as any local. Over the years, he had driven across nearly every corner of the region: Hami, Yili, Northern Xinjiang, Southern Xinjiang, Turpan, Urumqi, Shihezi, Korla.
Yet this place…
This place felt utterly unfamiliar.
There were no tire tracks ahead. The ground beneath his pickup truck was muddy, uneven, and dotted with frost-covered grass. The tires bounced constantly, the suspension groaning with each dip.
Fortunately, he was driving an off-road pickup. Had it been an ordinary sedan or even a standard SUV, he might already have been stuck.
"I'm nowhere near the no-man's land," Chen Rong muttered, frowning. "Still hundreds of kilometers away… so how did I end up here?"
He kept driving.
One hour.
Then two.
The scenery never changed.
Endless grassland stretched in all directions. Snow-capped mountains loomed faintly on the horizon, but no roads, no fences, no houses—nothing that resembled modern civilization.
Something was wrong.
Even in remote mountain regions, there were usually stone markers, road signs, or at least the occasional discarded plastic bottle. But here, Chen Rong hadn't seen a single trace of human activity.
No cans.
No plastic bags.
Not even tire marks.
That was impossible.
Xinjiang's tourism industry had expanded rapidly in recent years. Even the most remote grasslands now showed signs of travelers. The absence of litter itself felt unnatural.
The sky gradually darkened.
Chen Rong reached forward and turned on the headlights. The powerful beams cut through the falling snow, illuminating the empty plain ahead.
Since there was no one around, he switched on the high beams.
If someone appeared, they might flash back. Then he could at least ask for directions.
After driving for another stretch, Chen Rong suddenly noticed movement ahead.
At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But as he drew closer, the shapes became clearer.
Cavalry.
A group of riders on horseback.
Herdsmen?
Chen Rong frowned. These days, most herders used motorcycles. Horses were still used, of course—but this looked like more than just a few riders.
There were many of them.
Without thinking too much, Chen Rong flashed his lights twice, trying to signal them.
Almost immediately, panicked neighing erupted ahead.
The horses reared and shifted in agitation.
Chen Rong blinked.
"Are you kidding me? Horses still get scared of cars?"
Then he froze.
His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.
The riders ahead were dressed in leather armor—ancient leather armor. Curved scimitars glinted in their hands.
They shouted strange cries and began charging toward him.
A sharp thud rang out.
An arrow slammed into his windshield, cracking the glass.
Another followed.
Chen Rong's heart lurched. In panic, he slammed his hand onto the horn.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The sudden blaring sound terrified the horses even further. Several mounts reared violently, trying to throw their riders.
The cavalrymen struggled to control them, pulling reins tight and clamping their legs around the horses' sides.
But Chen Rong, crouched low in the cab, didn't stop. He stretched out one hand and kept pressing the horn.
The noise echoed across the empty prairie.
The already-frightened horses lost all control.
Several riders were thrown violently to the ground. Others lasted only moments before being unseated.
Within seconds, more than a dozen horses bolted wildly into the distance.
Chen Rong seized the opportunity.
He slammed the accelerator and drove forward.
Robbers?
Were they trying to rob him?
But who in this day and age robbed people on horseback?
And why send so many people just to rob one traveler?
Two hundred meters ahead, several cavalrymen guarded a carriage.
Around it stood more than a dozen young Daoist disciples, dressed in long robes, staring in fear at the approaching steel beast with blazing white eyes.
"Master Changchun, please remain inside the carriage," one man shouted urgently. "My warriors and I will deal with that monster."
The speaker was Liu Zhonglu, a Han general serving among Mongol forces.
"General Liu… is that truly a monster of the grasslands?" one disciple asked nervously.
"I do not know," Liu Zhonglu replied, his expression tense. "We have never seen such a thing during our western expedition."
He tightened his grip on the reins.
"This journey escorts Master Changchun to meet the Great Khan. Nothing must go wrong."
Even if it meant his life.
"Follow me! Kill it!"
He spurred his horse forward.
The next instant, the terrified animal reared violently and threw him to the ground.
He hit the frozen earth hard.
The mighty charge lasted less than three breaths.
The roaring engine, blaring horn, and approaching steel beast had terrified every horse present. Even the carriage horses panicked wildly.
Chen Rong's pickup slammed into the carriage.
The two horses collapsed instantly, blood spraying from their mouths. The carriage overturned violently.
Chen Rong's vehicle rolled slightly and came to a halt, tilted and disabled.
From the wrecked carriage, an elderly Daoist priest tumbled out, clutching a fly-whisk. His white hair scattered, his robe stained with snow and dirt.
"Master! Master!"
Several disciples rushed forward, helping him up.
The fallen cavalrymen scrambled to their feet, drawing scimitars. Though their legs trembled, they surrounded the steel beast cautiously.
"Master Changchun… can you subdue this demon?" Liu Zhonglu asked.
Qiu Chuji coughed weakly.
"I am but an old Daoist… even I cannot subdue such a creature." Daoists cultivated health and tranquility—not demon-slaying.
He was already over seventy. The violent impact had nearly shattered his bones. His head still spun.
Could he truly going to die here today?
Just then—
The steel beast's door opened.
Chen Rong climbed out.
He had no choice. The vehicle had rolled, and staying inside felt even more dangerous.
He scanned the surroundings quickly.
If he could seize a horse, he might escape. He had ridden before when visiting Kazakh herders.
That was his only chance.
He grabbed a modified electric baton in one hand and pulled out a one-meter steel bar from the cab.
The baton doubled as a high-powered flashlight. He had bought it years ago from a small workshop—useful for emergencies.
Chen Rong gripped the modified electric baton in one hand while holding a steel bar in the other. He crouched behind the open car door, using it as cover. The vehicle's headlights still blazed forward, flooding the dark road with harsh white light.
The brightness forced the approaching cavalry to squint and shield their eyes. It gave him a narrow advantage—fragile, but precious.
He needed to seize a horse and escape. That was the only realistic option.
His thumb tapped his phone.
No signal.
Of course. No signal at the worst possible moment. Damn those three telecom companies. When it mattered most, they were all useless.
"Ah!"
A Mongol cavalryman roared and charged forward, scimitar raised high. The horse thundered across the ground, its hooves kicking up frozen dirt.
Chen Rong reacted instantly. He lifted the electric rod, aiming the flashlight directly into the man's eyes. The blinding beam struck the rider mid-charge. The cavalryman flinched, instinctively raising an arm to shield himself.
That brief hesitation was enough.
Chen Rong stepped forward and swung the steel bar with all his strength.
The iron struck the rider squarely. The Mongol soldier toppled from his horse and crashed heavily onto the ground.
Chen Rong rushed forward before the man could recover. He lowered himself quickly and pressed the crude electric rod against the fallen soldier's body.
A sharp crackling sound filled the air.
The cavalryman's body jerked violently. Foam gathered at the corners of his mouth as his limbs twitched uncontrollably. Within moments, he collapsed, convulsing on the ground.
The surrounding riders pulled back instinctively.
Fear flickered across their faces.
"Where did this demon monk come from?" Liu Zhonglu wiped cold sweat from his forehead, staring at Chen Rong with alarm. "How dare you block the convoy of a guest of the Great Khan!"
His eyes lingered on the strange objects in Chen Rong's hands.
Weapons that glowed.
Weapons that spat lightning.
This was no ordinary man.
In this era, such displays could only belong to an expert—or something far more unsettling.
"Don't come any closer!" Chen Rong shouted, raising the electric rod again. "I'll electrocute you!"
While both sides hesitated, the dozen cavalrymen who had been knocked from their horses began to recover. Groaning, they scrambled back to their feet and rushed toward him again.
Chen Rong's heart tightened.
If they surrounded him, the crude electric rod wouldn't save him. It could handle one or two enemies—but not a dozen.
He glanced at his phone again.
Still no signal.
Damn it.
What now?
What do I do?
Just then, an elderly Daoist in long robes stepped forward, raising a hand to stop Liu Zhonglu.
"This eminent monk," the Daoist said cautiously, "might there be some misunderstanding?"
Chen Rong blinked.
The man spoke Chinese—though the accent was strange, stiff, and unfamiliar. Still, the meaning was clear enough.
The Daoist studied him carefully.
This man rode a strange iron beast.
His weapons shone with unnatural light and cast lightning.
And it had been their cavalry who attacked first.
The Daoist's brows furrowed slightly.
Barbaric Mongol riders… reckless as always.
Fortunately, Liu Zhonglu, the commander, was a Han general—someone capable of restraint.
"What eminent monk?" Chen Rong frowned.
The Daoist immediately clasped his hands respectfully.
"I am Qiu Chuji, known as Master Changchun," he said calmly. "I travel to meet the Mongolian Khan. If we have offended you, I ask your forgiveness. There may have been a misunderstanding."
He stepped forward slowly, then bowed deeply toward Chen Rong.
His gesture was solemn and sincere.
The surrounding cavalry fell silent.
Even Liu Zhonglu looked surprised.
For the revered Master Changchun—leader of the Daoist faith—to bow to this strange figure…
That alone revealed how dangerous this man appeared.
Chen Rong froze.
Qiu Chuji?
Meet the Great Khan?
He looked around again.
Ancient armor.
Scimitars.
Horses.
No modern objects anywhere.
A cold chill crept down his spine.
"You… are Qiu Chuji?" he asked slowly.
Liu Zhonglu stepped forward.
"If you allow us passage, we will report your abilities to the Great Khan. He will surely wish to meet you."
Chen Rong's mind spun.
Qiu Chuji…
Traveling west…
Meeting the Great Khan…
Genghis Khan.
His breath caught.
Had he…
Traveled through time?