With a piercing whistle, a Boeing 747 arriving in Yangcheng from the United States thundered onto the tarmac. Wang Diren, wearing a black armband, walked down the airstair with a look of profound grief.
He had been studying in the U.S., contentedly drifting through life as a student destined to return home, when he suddenly received an overseas call from his grandfather. His parents had been traveling abroad when they were involved in a sudden car accident. The Japanese-made car they were driving had disintegrated like paper, and both had perished instantly.
Their two-thousand-square-meter supermarket back home desperately needed someone to manage it. Wang Diren had hastily ended his studies and flown back to China, his heart burning with resentment toward the Japanese. They sold high-quality cars to their own people, yet sold "paper cars" to the Chinese—it was a double standard, practically murder. One could say this blood feud was irreconcilable.
The supermarket manager had come to pick him up; it was his cousin, Wang Zhongyi. Taking his luggage, he said, "My condolences," but they stood in silence thereafter.
They soon arrived at the supermarket on the outskirts of the city. It was a remote location with relatively cheap rent, only drawing a crowd during the Canton Fair. His cousin circled the store once before parking, and the two walked inside to give Wang Diren an overview of the current state of affairs.
Wang Diren was speechless. This was a supermarket? They called it two thousand square meters, but the actual retail space was only a thousand; the store was further divided into specialty counters for cosmetics, jewelry, watches, and eyewear, occupying another quarter of the floor.
The exterior, facing the main street, was cluttered with miscellaneous stalls that seemed to have been sublet to various vendors. The whole place was essentially run by a glorified landlord.
It would be one thing to lease space to vendors selling digital appliances, bedding, or outdoor gear, but leasing to companies selling labor insurance, calligraphy and antiques, agricultural fertilizers, and scrap recycling? That was pushing it. It was completely disjointed.
Thinking of how his parents had given their all to support his studies, a wave of sorrow surged within him, and he nearly broke into tears.
After reporting his safe arrival to his grandfather and ensuring his parents were laid to rest and their affairs settled, he knelt before their memorial tablet to pay his respects. Then, he turned his attention to managing the supermarket.
His cousin, Wang Zhongyi, had handled things quite well, so his task was mostly to familiarize himself with the operations. After reviewing some documents on his office computer for a while, he felt dizzy and tired, losing all motivation.
He opened a video player to binge-watch a series. Finding nothing he liked, he began a re-watch of *Drawing Sword*. He loved the scene where the broadswords were swung at the heads of the Japanese devils.
He had just started the second episode when a sudden, thunderous crack of lightning struck. The computer screen went "hiss" and cut to black. After waiting a moment, he stubbornly restarted it, but there was no familiar desktop—only a few white characters against a black background:
"Drawing Sword Dual-Crossing System binding. Please wait."
"Drawing Sword Dual-Crossing System? What the hell is that? Why didn't you ask for my permission first?"
"The system inquired. The host did not object. The system defaulted to 'yes.' The default main warehouse is the supermarket warehouse," the system’s emotionless, mechanical voice replied.
"Damn, it’s already bound," Wang Diren said, feeling a surge of curiosity.
What would a *Drawing Sword* system be like? Curiosity really does kill the cat.
He began to feel uneasy.
"Does 'dual-crossing' mean I can freely go back and forth, traversing repeatedly?"
"You may assume so."
"There's always an 'interdimensional space' with these systems, right? Where is mine?"
"I said the main warehouse is the default. The main warehouse is your personal portable space."
Wang Diren thought to himself: *Well, at least I won’t have to worry about food and shelter.*
He tested it; entering and exiting the space was quite convenient—he just had to focus his mind.
He felt slightly more at ease. The *Drawing Sword* world was a battlefield, after all; if fighting broke out, he would at least have a way to save his own skin.
Thinking that if he arrived in the middle of a battle, he should probably grab a drone first. *I’ll just look, I won’t go in.* The supermarket warehouse had this one advantage: it was shared by the store, the retail shops, and the specialty counters.
Wang Diren was the boss now, so he had priority in using the warehouse supplies, and he could settle the cost later via the inventory system. The warehouse was stocked with a vast amount of goods; perhaps that was what the other tenants were after, too?
After some thought, he decided to grab a set of migrant worker camouflage gear and liberation shoes to wear, and pulled a Swiss Army knife from the outdoor equipment section for self-defense. He didn't have any other weapons. Luckily, his greatest ace was the ability to hide in the space.
The Swiss Army knife was a great tool. Wang Diren knew well the importance of wilderness survival; especially in emergencies, a reliable tool could be your strongest backup. It wasn't just equipment; it was a psychological crutch.
It integrated more than a dozen functions—blades, scissors, saws, pliers, bottle openers—into one, ensuring maximum utility within a minimal volume.
Owning a Swiss Army knife was like having a small, portable toolbox; it provided a sense of security no matter when or where.
For now, this would do. He would see how the situation unfolded.
He chose to teleport. The system defaulted to a spot five hundred meters from Li Yunlong. Wang Diren hid himself firmly in the bushes and launched the drone.
*Boom, boom, boom! Rat-tat-tat!* The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and artillery. This really was a battlefield.
Li Yunlong, then commander of the New First Regiment of the 386th Brigade, 129th Division, led his troops with exceptional tactics, growing bolder with every battle as the Sakata Regiment retreated step by step.
"Zhuzi! Blow that machine gun to hell for me!"
"Zhuzi, do you see that antenna? Destroy the Sakata old devil's command post!" At the critical moment, Li Yunlong issued a bold order.
Upon receiving the order, Wang Chengzhu felt a mix of emotions. He knew this task was vital, but he also knew they were nearly out of shells.
Facing Li Yunlong’s expectant gaze, Zhuzi held up his thumb to gauge the distance.
"If we advance another five hundred meters, it’s a sure hit."
However, after charging five hundred meters—nearly right in front of Wang Diren—he checked his ammunition and discovered only two shells remained.
His heart grew heavier. This meant he had to strike the target with precision, or everything would be for nothing.
Just then, Li Yunlong walked over, furious. Seeing the shells in Zhuzi’s hand, he immediately berated him:
"You prodigal son! You've wasted precious ammunition for nothing. How are there only two left?"
Zhuzi felt wronged.
"Commander, you have to be reasonable. You were the one shouting the loudest just a moment ago."
As he spoke, he imitated Li Yunlong’s tone from a moment before:
"'Zhuzi, blow that machine gun to hell for me!' You were the one who was blind, telling me to blow up the grenade launcher, and now you’re trying to deny it?"
"You bastard, how dare you grumble! Do you want me to beat you?"
Just then, a famous line came through the headset:
"Well? Think of a way to give them a blast. I'll reward you with half a catty of sweet potato liquor."
Li Yunlong was as fickle as a dog’s face; he finally understood that he needed someone’s help.
Wang Chengzhu said no more. Calmly, he measured the distance, adjusted the aim, and locked in the coordinates.
"Zhuzi, you bastard, you missed!" Li Yunlong sounded desperate.
It was the last shell. Success or failure hinged on this one shot.
Wang Chengzhu took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and meticulously calibrated the mortar.
Finally, with a thunderous roar, the shell struck the target accurately.
It was a hit, no doubt, but... it didn’t explode. It actually didn’t explode! What was the use of that? This was the shell that carried the hopes of so many, the very last one. Could they really be this unlucky? Wang Chengzhu was stunned.
That hadn't happened in the show. Had his intrusion flapped the butterfly's wings? Had history been rewritten just like that? Soon, they might start their charge, and if they did, how many more lives would be lost? The guilt would be immense. Wang Diren was bewildered, too.