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The flames struck Li Xingyuan from behind, slamming into his nearly frozen back with a force that felt deceptively gentle yet overwhelming.
He soared through the air, his consciousness slipping away. His vision blurred, and for a time, there was nothing but darkness. When it finally began to recede, he found himself lying in a bed of soft snow, staring up at a sky filled with stars—untouched by the storm that had raged only moments ago.
The strange creatures still cried out, their calls distant and faint, like bird songs carried on the wind. It reminded him of a memory, half-forgotten now, of lying on a beach, gazing up at seagulls. When had that been? He couldn’t recall.
The monsters were drawn to the towering inferno rising in the distance, like moths to a flame. Unafraid, they dove toward their deaths. To them, perhaps, the fire appeared as an irresistible feast, promising sustenance beyond measure. As they plunged into the blaze, their screams pierced the night, but others ignored the warnings. Flames consumed their wings, melted their flesh, and reduced them to fuel for the inferno.
Li Xingyuan stared unblinking at the starlit sky above. How beautiful it was—a beauty so profound it bordered on heartbreaking.
No, not heartbreaking because of its beauty. Li Xingyuan quickly realized something else gnawed at him. His body had reached its limit. The explosion had shattered his bones, ruptured who-knows-how-many organs. He was dying.
At first came a sharp, searing pain, then nothingness. The nerves responsible for agony had died alongside his hope.
Death wasn’t necessarily bad, he thought. He remembered Pan Shuai. “He no longer has to suffer,” he’d said when Pan Shuai passed. Then there were Pasang Dorje and Tenzin Dawa—heroes who gave their lives for others. Compared to them, Li Xingyuan’s death lacked glory. He hadn’t sacrificed himself for anyone; he simply wanted to live, desperately clawing at survival until fate turned against him.
Perhaps he should have accepted the alien mantis’s offer to leave this world. By now, he might have been wandering among the stars, eyes fixed on some far-off horizon brimming with promise—
Darkness crept deeper into his vision, encroaching slowly, patiently. Death didn’t rush. If it had hands, maybe it would even offer him a cigarette.
But Li Xingyuan didn’t want to die.
The ferocity he’d shown while battling the monsters had vanished, along with the reckless courage that disregarded life or death. Now, he was just an ordinary man lying in the snow, on the brink of death. He didn’t want to die. Absolutely not. He hadn’t found the light Chen Yancheng spoke of, hadn’t discovered a way to save humanity—but even without those reasons, he still clung to life. He refused to die here.
Refused. Could not.
Fear gripped his mind as he gazed at the stars, his body too weak to sit up, too drained even to groan or cry.
Gods, any gods—named or unnamed, from any religion—
I don’t want to die.
A beam of light appeared in his field of vision.
Doors opened before him, one after another. They were wondrous and strange, each emitting bizarre shadows and lights that flickered in and out of existence, indifferent to reality. As Li Xingyuan’s fear deepened, tiny sparks of light crept inward from the edges of his sight, gathering around his body—
Li Xingyuan raised his head slightly and saw that the light had formed a "keyhole" over him.
Something within his mind compelled him. He understood what it wanted him to do.
Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hand, inching it closer to his chest, just as he had done when locking the window earlier. His fingers slid into the keyhole once more.
A peculiar sensation churned inside him. Had he the strength to vomit, he surely would have. Every organ, nerve, muscle, and bone transformed into interlocking gears, grinding together intimately, turning his body into a machine—
His finger twitched, clicking the lock shut—or perhaps opening it wide.
Light engulfed him. Every door swung open—not just the ones he’d seen before, but countless more! More! MORE! Trillions upon trillions of doors connected trillions upon trillions of universes! Beings beyond human comprehension traversed these pathways, each more terrifying than the deity they’d encountered before. Yet they appeared and vanished in an instant, swept away by the turbulence between infinite worlds, reduced to dust. But even death itself would fade in the eternal marvel of eternity.
Amidst this chaos, he glimpsed a single door—the silver gate. It pulsed with energy, ancient and eternal, untouched by time. It had always been here, long before creation and long after its end.
He knew this gate, though his brain did not. His genes did not. But every atom, every particle composing him, had erupted from this very gate in some primordial age. They remembered its presence—and what lay beyond.
His awareness expanded infinitely, brushing past countless universes and worlds, yet barely approaching the silver gate.
His strength failed him. The light wasn’t enough to carry him through. His mind was cast aside, tumbling back down from infinity, falling, crashing back into mortal flesh and bone.
Li Xingyuan gasped violently, his body arching like a fish thrown ashore. He felt the charred remnants of his skin clinging to him, itching unbearably. Sitting up, he tore at the blackened, red-tinged flesh, peeling away large chunks. Beneath the scorched layers gleamed skin like polished silver, radiating a faint luminescence.
When all the ruined flesh was gone, Li Xingyuan sat naked in the snow, curled into himself, reborn.
The pain was gone. In the bitter cold, he felt only a slight chill. Looking up, he saw more doors, more keyholes.
“Mr. Li?” Old Liu’s hesitant voice broke the silence.
Li Xingyuan turned to look at Old Liu—and saw the keyhole etched onto his form.
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