Li Zhanxan sat in his office, but the high-tech monitors displaying global shipping routes were dark. Instead, the desk was illuminated by a single lamp, focused entirely on the charcoal sketch. He studied the lines – the aggressive yet fluid shading, the deep understanding of ancient proportions.

This wasn't the work of a hobbyist. This was the work of someone who understood how things were built, someone who saw the bones of the world.

"An architecture student," Zhanxan whispered. "Or an artist with a sense for structure."

He looked at the torn edge of the paper. It was professional-grade layout paper, the kind used in design studios.

"Find out if any campus was at the Old Imperial Library for field research this week," he commanded his assistant over the intercom, his voice cold and commanding.

"Sir, your mother is on line one. The wedding rehearsal..."

"Cancel it," Zhanxan snapped, cutting the connection. He didn't care about the scandal. He didn't care about the merger.

He felt a primal, ancient hunger to reclaim what was his.

A few minutes later, his assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom again, sounding hesitant this time.
"Sir, I’ve checked. Officially, no architecture department held a field study at the Old Library this week."
Zhanxan’s eyes narrowed, his fingers gripping the edge of the sketch even tighter.

Logic dictated he had hit a dead end, but the heat pulsing in his chest told a different story.
"Then forget the lists," Zhanxan snapped. "Tell me which is the most prestigious architecture faculty in the city, and arrange an immediate visit for me."
"But sir, on what grounds..."
"A talent like this," he interrupted, staring at the confident lines of the charcoal sketch, "surely attends the best university.

Stop searching and just get me there."

***

Hei Yanshan was falling apart. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the blurred figure of the man from the library as he merged with the figure from his dreams - the sharp suit and the regal posture blending into the image of the War God, and the look of utter devastation as the books fell between them.

He couldn't draw. He couldn't study. He spent his hours wandering the campus, feeling like he was being hunted by a ghost he desperately wanted to be caught by. He felt the absence of the silver keychain like a missing heartbeat.

"Yanshan, you're doing it again," Xiao Bo said, sitting across from him in the campus cafe. "You're staring at the entrance like you're waiting for a god to walk in."

"I just... I feel like I left something important behind," Yanshan murmured, stirring his cold coffee. "And it's not just the sketch."

"Well, the whole department is buzzing," Bo whispered, leaning in. "Apparently, some influential businessman, a major donor, is visiting the studio today. The professors are all panicked, cleaning up the models. They say he’s looking for 'fresh talent' for a new project."

Yanshan’s heart gave a violent thud. A businessman? In the architecture department?

***

In the Heavenly Realm...

Official Wang was sweating, his fingers flying across the jade keyboard like a frantic pianist.

"The system is fighting back!" Wang shouted. "It's creating a fog! Look!"

On the viewing pool, a thick, unnatural mist began to roll across the university campus, even though it was a bright, sunny afternoon.

The paradox was trying to obscure Zhanxan’s vision, trying to make everyone look the same, trying to keep the two souls from recognizing each other in the crowd.

"It doesn't matter," Junior Official Chen said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Zhanxan isn't looking with his eyes anymore.

He's looking with the Red Thread. Look at the signal strength!"

On the master console, the connection between the two was no longer a thin line – it was a roaring river of crimson light.

***

Zhanxan stepped out of his car at the university entrance, but his vision grew strangely blurred as if a surreal summer mist had unfurled before him – a fog so thick he could barely see his own hands – yet he did not hesitate for even a single moment.

He walked toward the South Wing, the building where the senior architecture studios were located.

He didn't need a map. He followed the heat. He followed the scent of cedar and rain that grew stronger with every step.

He pushed open the heavy oak doors of the studio.

The room was filled with students, their faces blurred by the mist and the dust of plaster models.

The professors rushed forward, hands outstretched in greeting, but Zhanxan ignored them.

He walked past the grand models, past the blueprints, straight to the back of the room, to a small, cluttered desk in the corner.

A young man was standing there, his back to the door, his shoulders tense.

Zhanxan didn't even understand why, but he moved toward the man by pure instinct.

Zhanxan reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver keychain.

He didn't say a word. He simply let the tiny metal camera dangle from his fingers, catching the dim light of the studio.

"I believe," Zhanxan said, his voice echoing through the silent room, you dropped this in the back of a taxi."

Yanshan froze. He turned slowly, his breath hitching in his throat. The mist seemed to vanish in the space between them.