Chapter 1 Lu Yu

Parallel Universe, Blue Star. Early 2017.

Compared to the northern frontiers where snowflakes drift and the north wind wails, the deep winter in Shu City could hardly be called cold.

Dusk was settling as the city’s lights began to bloom. Under the yellow glow of streetlamps, the traffic flowed incessantly, weaving between shifting traffic signals. All manner of commercial lights and LED screens flickered, showcasing the city’s brilliance and splendor. Near and far, windows began to shine, illuminating countless homes.

You might not believe it, but Lu Yu was, indeed, named Lu Yu. He shared his name with the great Tea Sage of the Tang Dynasty, author of the Classic of Tea—same style, same elegance, exquisitely crafted, retro and tasteful, authenticity guaranteed, and a full refund for counterfeits. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was all from the same online seller.

At this moment, Lu Yu sat on the rooftop, his gaze unfocused as he drank, surrounded by empty bottles and scattered cigarette butts. Frowning at the city before him, Lu Yu felt a loneliness he had never known.

Including his four years at university, he’d been in Shu City for nearly seven years, and still, he could not blend into the city’s rhythm. Such was the dissonance of leaping from a backward small town into a modern metropolis.

Or perhaps, more likely, it was Lu Yu’s own self-pity as an unlucky soul.

Back when life revolved around college entrance exams, he hadn’t felt it, sheltered as he was in the close confines of the school. But ever since he started a business with a few seniors in college, society had dealt him blow after blow, especially after graduation.

As he saw more, he desired more. The more he wanted, the less he could settle for a steady job. So, with a degree from a top university in a top major, Lu Yu threw himself headlong into entrepreneurship, using the ten-odd thousand he’d saved in college. He was obsessed with telling a good story, raising funds, and dreaming of overnight wealth, never truly focusing on the work itself, not realizing that even the best story needed real substance behind it.

So, two days ago, his five-person company collapsed completely, unable to stay afloat any longer.

And over the past two years, to keep the business running, to pay for rent and living expenses, Lu Yu had racked up considerable debt—bank loans, credit cards, and online lending. Now, looking back, nearly three years out of college, he had no solid work experience and owed hundreds of thousands.

At noon, when his family called to check on him, he’d laughed, saying work was going well and life was good—he was just a few steps away from turning into a chubby success. His parents were ordinary working folk, no skills, little education. In their youth, they’d labored in small private textile factories down south. For years, they’d scrimped and saved to put him through school, even hoping to help with the down payment for a small apartment in Shu City.

They’d thought he’d find a good job after graduation and live with ease, never imagining he’d make such a mess of his own life.

Who would believe he wasn’t a loser? Not even Lu Yu himself.

Not every young person is a rising wave—some are drowning.

Lu Yu felt he was one of the drowning ones.

He picked up a lighter from the ground, shielding it from the wind as he lit his last cigarette. The smoke curled and faded with the flicker of the ember.

Just then, a blue light flashed before his eyes, vanishing in an instant, followed by a wave of dizziness that nearly knocked him out.

He glanced at the bottle in his hand. He’d never thought this liquor packed such a punch. Was it really true that you shouldn’t drink in the cold wind?

In a daze, he stumbled into the hallway, pressing the elevator button several times before finally hitting the right one, swaying as he got inside.

He pressed the wrong floor several times before finally getting it right. How he made it back to his rented room and collapsed into bed, he could not recall at all.

In the darkness, Lu Yu saw a patch of light ahead and, instinctively, drifted toward it. He seemed to enter a room—a style of decoration he had never seen or heard of before, utterly novel.

As he looked around, a figure suddenly appeared nearby, strikingly beautiful, gender indiscernible, gazing at him with a strange expression—confusion and surprise, gravity and relief, hope and despair mingled in those eyes.

After some time, the figure finally spoke: “Greetings, intelligent lifeform.”

The sudden voice startled Lu Yu. He turned: “What the—? Who are you? Where is this?”

“In your understanding, this is your mind, or rather, your sea of consciousness.”

Lu Yu froze, then launched into his usual barrage:

“What the hell? What nonsense is this?”

“Why not say you’re from the sect of Azure Clouds?”

“I’m not even a cultivator!”

The other did not reply, only frowned in thought for a moment, then waved a hand at Lu Yu.

Instantly, a torrent of information flooded Lu Yu’s mind, splitting his head with pain—agony and ecstasy rolled together in an indescribable wave.

Strangely, that splitting sensation was somehow exhilarating.

As the sensation washed over him, Lu Yu saw the birth of a universe—its infinite expansion. Countless particles combined, gradually forming planets—some solid, some gaseous—colliding, fusing, collapsing, and reacting in myriad ways.

Stars and planets formed, orbiting black holes, gathering into galaxies, galaxies into clusters—sometimes attracting, sometimes drifting apart.

The boundless universe shimmered with endless brilliance. As space expanded, the distances between matter stretched ever further. Over the ages, stars collapsed—small ones dwindled to white dwarfs, then black dwarfs, then vanished; massive ones exploded as supernovas, becoming neutron stars or black holes.

Time continued its relentless march. The universe grew silent, light and warmth fading, leaving only infinite cold and solitude.

Yet, as the dark epoch descended, by fate or misfortune, life arose on a planet within a certain galaxy cluster.

Cells combined, life forms emerged, and after millions of years of evolution, humans built civilization—from primitive beginnings to feudal eras, then to technological society.

With technological progress, humanity ventured into the stars, seeking to explore the galaxies and the essence of the universe—only to discover that the cosmos had entered the dark era.

Yet this did not trouble them greatly; their mastery of technology made even the recreation of stars a manageable endeavor. In a sense, humanity had nearly restored the universe’s former glory.

Their science had reached astounding heights: lifespans vastly extended, organs replaced, metabolism controlled, genes improved—almost achieving immortality. Some went further, integrating brains and consciousness with machines, abandoning metabolism entirely, attaining a new kind of physical immortality—becoming quasi-humans.

Perhaps, as philosophy says, the moment humanity conquers death, its decline begins.

Through the long dark era, human technology stagnated for eons.

As more time passed, humanity lost not only the urge to explore the unknown but even the ability to innovate. Only a tiny minority pursued research out of pure interest.

Yet, it was this small group who one day discovered that the once-expanding universe had begun to contract—and at an ever-accelerating pace.

Further study led to two hypotheses: one, that the universe would return to its origin, collapsing into a singularity of infinite mass and density; two, that other universes existed beyond, whose expansion was encroaching upon their own.

Either way, destruction awaited.

They could not escape the collapse, nor breach the expanding edge of the universe. The infinite energy would reduce all matter to dust.

When they reported these findings to all of humanity, chaos ensued—madness, infighting, and indulgence reigned, as people struggled to eke out whatever time remained.

Some, unwilling to surrender, joined in a final phase of research.

But after endless stagnation, technological breakthroughs were not so easily achieved.

In the end, they devised only one desperate, uncertain plan: to encode the entire history and achievements of their civilization into a cluster of conscious energy, and, using the energy of hundreds of supernovae, launch it toward the collapsing edge, shielded as best they could.

They did not hope to preserve their civilization, only that, perhaps, another intelligent species might learn that, once, a people had existed who fought desperately against extinction.

Having absorbed all this, Lu Yu was struck dumb—not only by the vastness of time and space, but by humanity’s struggles in the face of despair. The impact was beyond words.

After a long silence, the other finally spoke: “Intelligent being, may I ask a favor of you?”

Lu Yu: “What is it?”

“When traversing the collapsing edge, unforeseen changes occurred; the energy that remained preserved only our scientific achievements. Most records—literature, philosophy, the history of our civilization—were lost.”

“I was fortunate to encounter you, just as I, too, am about to dissipate.”

Lu Yu: “So?”

The figure replied, “I hope you can let more intelligent beings know that there was once such a civilization, such a people, who fought against despair.”

Lu Yu could only remain silent.

“In your mind are stored the fruits of our countless ages of scientific progress. Protected as they are, you must develop your brain and provide sufficient bioenergy to gradually unlock them. This will greatly aid the advancement of your civilization.”

Suppressing the sheer absurdity of it all, Lu Yu asked, “Why are you about to dissipate?”

The other did not answer, merely waved again: “These are the characters of our civilization.”

Then, the presence was gone.

An even vaster tide of information surged into Lu Yu’s mind. This time, before he could even feel the peculiar ecstasy, he lost consciousness completely.