Chapter 352

Zhao Jianguo's palm still pressed to the ground, the spot where the two gold lines crossed was slightly warm. He didn't dare shift, not even blinking more than necessary. The barrier remained, the copper coin still lodged in the door‑sill groove; though it had cracked, it had held up against the last surge. Outside it was unnaturally quiet—even Wang Shen's rooster, which always loved to crow, was silent; the whole Siheyuan seemed as if someone had hit pause.

The Triplets huddled at the edge of the kang, their feet dangling in the air, nobody speaking. When that sweep of blue light passed just now, they all shrank back together; now they weren't trembling, but their looks were a little off—not fear, not dazed, but as if something in their minds was turning, turning without stopping.

Zhao Jianguo's eye twitched; he sensed something odd. He whispered, "You three, did you see something again?"

Zhao Xing opened his mouth but made no sound. Zhao Chen twitched his finger, as if measuring some angle. Zhao Yang lowered his head to look at his palm, murmuring, "Round… not flat."

Zhao Jianguo felt a sudden thump in his chest. The remark came out of nowhere, but he understood—it wasn't something an ordinary child could think of. He lowered his voice, afraid to make too much movement, lest he disturb whatever it was: "Don't close your eyes; follow what you're thinking and draw it out."

As his words fell, the three boys almost simultaneously nodded. Zhao Xing fished out a half‑piece of charcoal from under the kang mat, Zhao Chen flipped over the back of his exercise book, and Zhao Yang directly scratched an arc into the dirt with his fingernail. They hadn't consulted each other, nor exchanged glances, each busily working with head down, yet their motions were eerily in sync, as if a single thread pulled three pairs of hands.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move. He knew he couldn't interrupt now, just like you can't lift the lid when rice is almost done—cut the heat and the rice stays half‑cooked. He only watched the children's movements with his eyes, listening to the sounds outside the barrier—the alarm still came in fits and starts, a hum every ten or so seconds, like an old clock ticking, not hurried but oppressive.

The three sheets of paper were laid out one after another on the ground. Zhao Jianguo snatched a glance, his brows knitting tight. What was drawn on them was neither aircraft nor cannons, nor toy soldiers, nor hutong courtyard or rooftop chimney. The lines twisted and turned, some overlapping, some forming loops, with strange symbols marked in the middle—like numbers yet not. Most astonishing, the three sheets could be fitted together—edge to edge, corner to corner, seamless, as if a single set of blueprints had been torn into three pieces.

As he was pondering, Footsteps came from outside, unhurried, tapping on the blue‑stone slabs with a "dadad" sound. The door curtain was lifted, and Dong Xu poked his head in, his work pants still smeared with oil.

"Old Zhao! You called me?" His voice wasn't small, but he lowered it as soon as he entered. "How's it going? That jolt just now twisted our window frames."

Zhao Jianguo raised his hand to signal him to keep it down, pointing at the paper on the ground: "Look at this first."

Dong Xu squatted down, following the direction of his finger. At first he was still smiling: "Hey, those three kids are tinkering with a new toy again? What's this drawing? An alien spaceship?"

He casually picked up a sheet, flipped it over twice, and his smile faded. His brows knit tighter and tighter; finally he pulled a slide rule and a crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket, lay on the ground, and began to calculate. As he worked, he muttered, "This curvature… this folding logic… this energy‑flow conduit… where did you learn that?"

No one answered.

He jerked his head up, staring at the triplets: "You… really drew this yourselves?"

The three kids nodded; Zhao Xing pointed at his head: "It's in here, constantly turning."

Dong Xu swallowed, then picked up another sheet, held it to the light to examine the texture of the back, felt how dry or wet the ink was, and finally produced the small Magnifying Glass he carried, fixing his gaze on a tiny mark in a corner.

"This symbol…" his voice trembled a little, "I've seen similar ones back when I worked at the factory—code systems used in military‑industrial projects—but this writing is far older, like… pushing it back a few hundred years at least."

He paused, his face changing: "Based on the material's aging rate, the ink composition, and the evolution pattern of this symbol—this drawing must be at least three thousand years old."

The room fell silent all at once.

Even when the alarm gave its usual hum, nobody turned their heads. Zhao Jianguo stared at Dong Xu, who returned his gaze, eyes full of disbelief.

"Three thousand years?" Zhao Jianguo repeated softly, "You mean these three kids who just started elementary school drew a design from three thousand years ago?"

"Not three thousand years ago," Dong Xu shook his head, voice dropped to a whisper, "It's something from three thousand in the future, somehow 'pushed' back. Look here—" he pointed to a Fine Line on the edge of the paper, "This isn't decoration; it's a Coordinate. If this direction corresponds to the position of a galactic arm, then it might point to a battlefield three thousand years from now."

Zhao Jianguo's mind went "boom."

He suddenly recalled what Zhao Xing had said when he bumped into the Rift a couple of days ago—"They're fighting… for the door…"—at the time he thought it was just the kid's ravings after a shock, but now it sent chills down his spine.

He turned his head to the three sons: "When you were drawing this, did you also see it in your minds?"

The triplets nodded in unison.

"I saw a big ship," Zhao Xing said.

"Black sky," Zhao Chen added.

"Light pillars came down," Zhao Yang continued, "and someone was shouting, 'Guard the gate! Don't let them in!'"

Dong Xu felt a chill run down his back; the paper in his hand almost slipped. He opened his mouth to speak, swallowed it back, and finally managed only: "This isn't doodling… it's a warning."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing. He lowered his gaze to the three sheets on the ground, which together resembled a broken disc; the shape of the crack in the middle matched exactly the outline of the Spacetime Rift in the center of the East Room.

He suddenly understood.

It wasn't that they had bumped into something; rather, something had been waiting for them to see it.

Dong Xu gently laid the paper back on the ground, as if afraid to disturb something. He lifted his head to look at Zhao Jianguo, his voice barely audible: "What do we do next?"

Zhao Jianguo's palm was still pressed to the gold line; the warmth had faded but not vanished. He spoke slowly: "Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for the next signal." He stared at the drawing on the ground, "They had us draw this; it's certainly not finished yet."

As his words fell, the triplets lifted their heads together.

They didn't speak, but their eyes changed—no longer the dazed look from before, but as if they'd received a new command, they all turned in unison toward the old cabinet on the west wall of the North Room.

Zhao Jianguo followed their gaze.

The cabinet itself wasn't special—old wood, peeling paint, with an enamel basin sitting on top. But in that instant, the little water left in the basin rippled outward, and the light reflected on its surface was no longer the beams of the ceiling, but a swirling galaxy.

Dong Xu also saw it, and sprang to his feet, his leg knocking against the kang's edge without even noticing the pain.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move. He knew this wave wasn't over yet.

The barrier remained, the alarm continued, and the children's eyes were still bright.

He pressed his palm firmly back to the ground and said softly, "Don't touch that cabinet, anyone."