Chapter 350: Temporal Rift Emerges·Interstellar Omen

Zhao Jianguo's foot just touched the ground, and the triplets were still clinging tightly to his trouser leg; the air in the house seemed pressed down by something, making even breathing heavy. The upright Rift remained standing in the center of the room, the Light Pattern rotating in circles like a moon reflected in a well mouth, yet not quite, because it silently emitted an indescribable force, as if another sky were hidden inside.

Zhao Xing was the first to let go.

He had been pressed against his father's leg, his face buried low, but suddenly lifted his head, his eyes fixed sharply on the Light Gate as if something had drawn his soul away. He made no sound, did not stare blankly, just slowly, inch by inch, slipped out from under Zhao Jianguo's arm and took a small step forward.

"Don't move," Zhao Jianguo growled low.

Before the words even landed, Zhao Xing had already raised his hand.

His fingertip was still half an inch from the light surface when the room's temperature dropped sharply, and the tea jar on the kang edge rang with a "ding", like ice shards striking porcelain. Zhao Xing's finger touched the light layer—not passing through, nor rebounding, but as if pressing into a layer of warm water, gently rippling a circle of ripples.

In that instant, his whole body froze.

The whites of his eyes were instantly swallowed by darkness, pupils dilated, and a few words slipped from his mouth, his voice as light as a dream: "They're fighting... for the gate... close it quickly..."

Zhao Jianguo's chest tightened; he reached out to grab him. But before his hand touched his son's shoulder, Zhao Xing suddenly shuddered, his neck tilting back, his larynx rolling once, then he whispered: "Battleship No. 3 damaged, Mother Port lost contact, repeat, Mother Port lost contact—"

The tone was off, not like something a ten‑year‑old could produce, but more like an old‑style radio announcer in a broadcast, flat with no inflection.

Zhao Chen and Zhao Yang both recoiled at once, one crashing into a wooden cabinet, the other nearly falling to the ground. Zhao Jianguo couldn't attend to them, yanked Zhao Xing back from in front of the Light Gate and pulled him into his arms. The child's body was scorching hot, sweat beading on his forehead, eyelids twitching nonstop, his mouth muttering incomprehensible words like "coordinate offset" and "energy overload", sounding like technical notices posted in a unit's communications room.

"Wake up!" Zhao Jianguo slapped his cheek, "Zhao Xing! Hear that? I'm calling you!"

Zhao Xing blinked, his gaze slowly refocused, his lips moved, finally recognizing who stood before him. "Dad... I... I saw a battle," his voice wavered, "The sky was full of iron ships, explosions sending fire sparks everywhere, below people shouted retreat but no one moved... they all stared at this door..."

He raised his hand, pointing at the Rift.

Zhao Jianguo remained silent. He knew this wasn't simple. In the past, the sign‑in system's glitches were at most a buzzing in the head, a reward of some broken copper scrap or a message like "Congratulations, you earned ten catties of cabbage." But this time was different; even the child was drawn in and saw a battle? This couldn't be explained as a hallucination.

Just as he was thinking, a buzzing sound rang out in the house.

It wasn't coming from the corner radio, nor from a speaker outside the window, but a high‑frequency vibration that drilled straight into his ears, short, sharp, three bursts, a one‑second pause, then three more. Immediately, a voice sounded, no longer the flat broadcast tone before, but an urgent electronic tone:

【Warning: Multiverse convergence detected, threat level—Red Mark Level 1.】

Zhao Jianguo's scalp tingled.

He had heard this alarm mode before, it had only triggered once when the sign‑in system was first bound— that day he stepped on a collapsed courtyard tile, causing the foundation of the entire Siheyuan to sink three centimeters, the chicken coop tilted. The system then used this sound to warn him "Structural stability compromised," and never sounded again.

Now it sounded again, and it spoke of "Multiverse".

He snapped his head back to glance at the Rift. The Light Gate was unchanged, standing quietly, its ripples flowing slowly, but the spot where Zhao Xing had touched seemed a bit brighter than elsewhere, as if someone had wiped it.

"Crouch!" Zhao Jianguo growled low, one hand cradling Zhao Xing, the other sweeping toward his two sons, "Cover your heads! Don't look at that thing!"

Zhao Chen and Zhao Yang immediately complied, shuffling a couple of steps to hide behind the wooden cabinet, heads tucked into their knees. Zhao Jianguo pulled Zhao Xing back a few steps as well, positioning himself sideways between the children and the Rift. His legs were still weak; the online battle from last night had drained him, his chest still tight, but he couldn't collapse now.

He scanned the interior of the house.

The blue‑stone slab remained where it was, a blood‑stained copper coin pressed beneath it, unmoved. Morning light filtered through the window paper; in the courtyard, Wang Shen's sweeping sounded still clattering, a child from the next house cried once, then was soothed. Everything seemed normal, yet he knew some things had changed.

He reached into his inner clothing pocket and took out that old copper coin—the one he had bitten his finger on last night, letting blood drip onto it. The copper green was mottled, the edges polished to a shine, a souvenir he had earned for work points when he was a technician at the factory, never expecting it to be useful today.

He bit his finger again, this time faster; a bead of blood rose and smeared onto the coin's surface, and he whispered, "Sign‑in system, activate basic warning circle."

The words fell, and the coin trembled lightly.

It wasn't a vibration nor heat, just a subtle half‑beat jump, like a missed heartbeat. Zhao Jianguo pressed it back beneath the blue‑stone slab, now shifted two inches to the left, directly aligned with the Rift's direction.

After that, he led the three children back to the highest corner of the wall—there stood an old wooden cabinet, aged, its legs cushioned with half a brick, raising its top a foot above the floor. He had the triplets squat close together, himself half‑kneeling at the front, one hand on Zhao Xing's shoulder, the other gripping a matchbox in his trouser pocket—something he had casually pocketed, but now holding it steadied his mind.

The house fell quiet.

The Rift neither expanded nor vanished, still standing steadily, the Light Pattern looping circle after circle. Yet Zhao Jianguo could sense something extra in the air—indescribable whether wind or current, but it brushed his face with a sting, his ears buzzed like mosquitoes circling, though the source was unseen.

Zhao Xing leaned against his chest, breathing gradually steadier, yet his eyes remained open, fixed on the door, unblinking.

"What else did you see?" Zhao Jianguo asked in a lowered voice.

Zhao Xing shook his head, "Just... just what I just saw. The people fighting, they all want to come in."

"Who wants to come in?"

"I don't know. But they were shouting 'gate', not our house's door, but... a kind of door that leads to another place."

Zhao Jianguo asked no further.

He knew this couldn't be reasoned with. He had lived in the Siheyuan for decades; neighbors could argue over a jar of pickled vegetables for three days, yet no one could ever explain why a Rift could give rise to an interstellar war. But now it was right there, and even if you didn't want to believe, you had to.

He looked up at the roof.

The beams were solid, the wall plaster intact, the Oil Lamp hung in its original spot, the rope unmoving. Outside, the chickens crowed a second time, the sun rose a bit higher, bleaching the courtyard's brick floor. Yet on the East Room side, it seemed a piece had been cut out, even the sunlight that entered appeared dim.

He inhaled deeply, and in a low voice told the three children behind him, "Stay here, don't move, don't make a sound; no matter what you see or hear, don't go toward it."

Zhao Chen nodded, Zhao Yang pursed his lips in silence, Zhao Xing gave a soft "mm".

Zhao Jianguo stayed put, his gaze fixed rigidly on the Rift. He knew that if this gate truly opened and he stepped through, he might never return. But the question was why it was opening now? Who was it aimed at? Were the people Zhao Xing saw truly fighting, or merely projections?

He was pondering, when the depths of the Rift suddenly flashed.

It wasn't the light brightening nor the shape changing, but the swirling galaxy inside abruptly stalled, as if something had jammed its axis. Immediately, an ultra‑thin blue line streaked across the middle, moving so fast it was almost invisible, yet Zhao Jianguo was certain he saw it—a ship's silhouette, pointed nose, elongated body, wings on both sides, exactly matching the "battleship" Zhao Xing described.

He held his breath.

Outside, a sparrow landed on the windowsill, hopped twice, chirped once, and fluttered away.