Chapter Four: A Sister and a House, But Why?

Chen Zi’ang actually didn’t want to take a vacation. It wasn’t that he was constantly yearning to serve the people, but rather because he was now in urgent need of gathering more fireseeds.

Fireseeds had once meant greater strength, agility, and intelligence to him. But ever since the mysterious “Sanctum of the Lord of the Great Abyssal Sea” had opened its doors to him, Chen Zi’ang realized that the true value of the fireseeds might extend far beyond these mere enhancements.

If fireseeds could be used to exchange for the supernatural ability of “Dreamwalking,” then surely, somewhere else, there must be more—and more powerful—abilities that could be bartered for with fireseeds.

Enhancing his physical attributes only helped him better carry out his duties. But if he could obtain even more wondrous powers, perhaps these precious fireseeds could be used for something else…

…to save his little sister.

When the two of them left the office, it was the peak of the evening rush hour. The cross-district light rail was packed so tightly it felt stifling, like sardines in a can.

Rin Miyatsuki pretended to be pushed by the crowd and nestled into Chen Zi’ang’s arms, then looked up at him, her large eyes blinking innocently.

“Senpai, it’s so crowded,” she complained, feigning distress.

Because they were standing so close, every time Rin spoke, her fragrant, sweet breath drifted onto Chen Zi’ang’s neck.

Chen Zi’ang awkwardly turned his head away, shielding himself with his collar from those youthful, hormone-laden breaths, and tentatively asked, “By the way, Rin, why did you have to visit today?”

“Because I wanted to see your sister,” Rin replied blithely.

“My sister?” Chen Zi’ang was taken aback. “Did I ever tell you I have a sister?”

“Ah, no.” Although Rin realized she’d slipped, she recovered quickly. “I heard it from Senior Lu. I’ve always been an only child, and ever since I was young, I longed for a little sister, so… I suppose I’m just a little curious, haha.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, lowering her head shyly, displaying a demure, innocent charm.

“You and Lu Yunfeng are close?” Chen Zi’ang asked in surprise.

“Not really,” Rin hurried to explain. “I just happened to overhear him chatting with other seniors in the corridor near his desk.”

“Rin.” Chen Zi’ang felt he needed to clarify things, so he carefully chose his words and asked, “Forgive me for being blunt, but… why did you insist on pairing up with me for the mentorship?”

“Because I think you’re amazing, Senpai,” Rin said with admiration. “I want to learn more from you.”

Her posture was poised, her expression candid, and her tone was quite sincere, but none of this dispelled Chen Zi’ang’s wariness.

He had a very subtle, inexplicable instinct: the way this lovely girl looked at him was not the gaze of someone admiring a mentor, nor was it love at first sight. It was complex—laden with a kind of indescribable longing.

It was as if she were an old childhood friend, now reunited after many years apart, but unable to reveal her true identity because he hadn’t recognized her.

As someone who’d spent years on the front lines fighting the mysterious and unknown, Chen Zi’ang trusted his instincts. The problem was, as a transmigrant, his memories from childhood onward were crystal clear.

He had no childhood sweetheart, no childhood friends—he was absolutely certain that today was the first time he’d ever met Rin Miyatsuki.

He studied her closely. At this moment, Rin was gazing at the scenery flashing past outside the train window, her profile exquisite and flawless.

Beneath her long, curling lashes, her bright eyes shone with vitality. No wonder people say that a woman’s beauty is first defined by her eyes and brows—those star-like eyes, so expressive and alive, could leave any man deeply impressed.

Yes, I definitely haven’t seen her before.

Chen Zi’ang shook his head, banishing that strange intuition from his mind.

“What are you thinking about, Senpai?” Rin suddenly asked.

She had noticed how Chen Zi’ang had been staring at her, and her heart fluttered with a giddy thrill, like a little oriole discovering the first buds on a willow, singing joyfully at the coming of spring.

But when Chen Zi’ang quickly looked away, the little oriole in her heart retreated, disappointed, back into its hollow.

“Nothing,” Chen Zi’ang replied, shaking his head.

He was clearly brushing her off… Rin looked back out the window, her mood slowly clouding over.

She knew perfectly well that, at this point in time, her relationship with Senpai was little more than that of unfamiliar senior and junior—there was no way they could speak intimately.

Relationships needed to develop gradually; forcing closeness would only make him uncomfortable. Beautiful girls might have a natural advantage in these matters, but with someone like Senpai, it counted for very little.

She would just have to take her time. Only…

Just as a drowning person craves air, and one lost in darkness yearns for light, I have waited far, far too long…

“Then, Senpai, do you know what I’m thinking about?” After a while, Rin smiled and asked.

“Um… what are you thinking, Rin?”

“I’m thinking,” Rin said earnestly, “about what kind of person you really are.”

Chen Zi’ang didn’t know how to respond and could only laugh awkwardly.

“Well, since we’re officially mentor and apprentice now, there’ll be plenty of chances to find out in the future,” Rin said with a bright, charming smile. “I’m looking forward to learning from you, Senpai.”

—

Chen Zi’ang’s home was located at 126 Tonegawa Road, Kiryu District, Gunma Ward—a two-story house with a garden.

His parents had passed away long ago, so now the house was home to just Chen Zi’ang and his younger sister, Chen Xiaozhu.

Rin Miyatsuki had been fretting, “Shouldn’t we bring a gift for your sister?” but Chen Zi’ang refused.

“No need for gifts—she won’t accept them.”

“Why not?” Rin asked, puzzled. “It’s my first time meeting her; it’s only proper to bring a little something…”

As Chen Zi’ang opened the door, her gaze passed through the entryway and fell upon Chen Xiaozhu, who sat quietly in the living room. The words in Rin’s throat died instantly.

There sat Chen Xiaozhu in her rocking chair, her delicate face turning toward the sound, but her eyes were hollow and unfocused, staring into some invisible distance.

“My sister had a high fever when she was very young,” Chen Zi’ang explained. “She lost her sight permanently, and she also developed autism.”

Rin stared at her in a daze.

Slowly, two clear streams of tears slid down her lovely cheeks.