Journey Through Dimensional Worlds

Chapter 9 Moving

The days flowed slowly in the late summer light, like stretched sugar threads, gradually solidifying into a warm shape.

For the first week, the tornado remained vigilant.

When He Quan said, "I want to try it today too," she would purse her lips and remain silent for a long time before reluctantly stretching out her foot.

"At least let me wash up first."

Her ears were red as she said this, her eyes were fixed on the floor, and her voice was very low: "This... is very unhygienic."

He Quan Hui said, "What's the point of tasting it if it's washed clean?"

Tornado: "..."

It took her three seconds to react. Then her face flushed red, and she slammed the pillow down.

He Quan patted the spot next to him, his gesture as natural as if he were calling to a wary stray cat.

Tornado hesitated for a while, pinching and twisting the hem of her nightgown, before finally slowly walking over and sitting down. She stretched her legs out with her eyes closed, giving off a look of resignation.

When He Quan tasted it, the tornado was initially stiff, but began to melt after a week.

One night during the second week, Fubuki was already asleep.

Only a floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a warm yellow glow. He Quan, as usual, held her ankle. Suddenly, Tornado whispered, "Really, we don't need to wash it? The smell..."

He Quan said, "It tastes like tornadoes, I really like it."

"Don't blame me if you get sick!"

Tornado's face was flushed. She gritted her teeth, turned her head away, and her green hair shone softly under the light. She lowered her eyes, and her eyelashes cast a light shadow on her cheeks.

When it was over, Tornado didn't immediately pull her foot back as usual. She sat on the sofa for a few more minutes, her foot still resting on He Quan's knee, her white socks damp and clinging to her slender figure.

In the third week, the tornado began to make demands.

"Be gentle," she would say, or "My ankle is a little sore today."

He Quan adjusted the pressure, gently massaging the spot she mentioned with his fingertips, and then began to taste it.

Free attribute points steadily increase during this process.

Sometimes, Fubuki, still awake, would huddle up to the sofa with her plush toy, looking up at them. Tornado would immediately pull her foot back, her face flushed: "Fubuki, go to sleep."

"What is my sister doing?" Fubuki blinked.

"I'm getting a massage."

Tornado choked out this sentence, then glared fiercely at He Quan, as if to say, "It's all your fault."

He remained completely unfazed. He reached out and scooped Fubuki up, placing her on his other knee, and began tickling her feet. Fubuki was ticklish and laughed, curling up into a ball and rolling around on the sofa, her short black hair plastered messily to her face.

She laughed and protested at the same time, waving her little hands wildly as she tried to push He Quan's hand away, but she couldn't.

Tornado initially frowned and said, "Stop messing around," but seeing Fubuki's eyes crinkling into crescents as she laughed, she eventually just turned her face away and gave a slight upturn of her lips.

By the fourth week, it had become a habit.

Every evening is a fixed "tasting" time.

Tornado no longer needed He Quan to remind her; she would take a shower herself, change into clean pajamas and socks, then sit on the sofa and put her feet on his lap.

Although He Quan often said, "What are you going to do after washing?", Long Juan always pretended not to hear him. She had her own principles. This was her bottom line.

Although this bottom line seems inexplicable when it comes to the matter of "being tasted".

Sometimes she would hold a book and read it, with her feet casually propped up.

He Quan's movements were so light that she often forgot about it while watching, and only looked up when her ankle was gently lowered at the end.

"Is it done?" she asked.

"Mmm," He Quan said, rubbing her head with his fingers.

When the tornado stopped dodging, she would squint slightly, like a cat being stroked, and then continue reading her book.

At night, He Quan could fall asleep holding Tornado and Fubuki.

The bed, which was initially cramped, gradually became just right.

The three of them each occupied a spot, sharing the warmth of their blankets. He Quan slept in the middle, with Long Juan to his left and Chuixue to his right.

Sometimes when he wakes up in the morning, he finds Fubuki rolled into his arms, while Tatsumaki is facing away from him, but her back is pressed against his arm.

They grew accustomed to his presence. They grew accustomed to his scent, like wheat in the sunlight. They grew accustomed to the sound of his breathing as he slept, steady and long, like the waves of the sea at night. They grew accustomed to seeing him the moment they opened their eyes.

One night, Tornado woke up in the middle of the night and found that He Quan was not in bed. She floated out of the room and saw him standing on the balcony, with his back to the living room, holding a tablecloth that could conjure food.

He Quan was taking inventory. There were more than a dozen semi-finished dishes on the tablecloth, and he took photos with his phone.

Tornado stared for a long time until He Quan turned around and saw her.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked in a low voice.

The tornado shook its head and floated away.

The wind on the balcony was a bit strong, blowing her long hair and the hem of her pajamas. She looked at the tablecloth in He Quan's hand and asked, "You're selling this?"

"Um."

He Quan folded up the tablecloth: "I need to make some money."

How much?

"We contacted several high-end restaurants and private kitchens, saying they had semi-finished products from special channels," He Quan said casually. "After trying them, they thought the quality was very good, so they signed long-term contracts."

Tornado didn't understand these things. But she knew that He Quan had been going out more often lately, sometimes for most of the day, and would always bring back some exquisite little gifts for her and Fubuki when he returned.

"Is it dangerous?" she asked.

He Quan paused for a moment, then laughed: "It's not dangerous. It's just ordinary business."

The tornado stared at him for a while, then said "Oh," turned around, and floated back into her room. When she reached the doorway, she stopped, turned her back to him, and said, "Go to sleep early."

He Quan watched her retreating figure; her long green hair looked like a soft piece of silk in the dim light.

A month is represented by only thirty crossed-out squares on a calendar.

But in this safe house, time has left more concrete traces.

A drawing by Fubuki was pasted on the refrigerator door, depicting three crooked figures holding hands. Three sets of toiletries were placed side-by-side in the bathroom, the toothbrushes being the same style but different colors. The wardrobe was filled with many more clothes, clothes they wore for He Quan to admire alone.

He Quan's account balance was growing. The ingredients produced by the gourmet tablecloth were of extremely high quality; restaurant chefs who tasted them once could never accept any other supplier. Contracts were being signed one after another, with prices increasing with each deal.

He didn't expand the scale, but maintained just the right amount—enough to make money, but not enough to attract attention.

Before transmigrating, He Quan spent a lot of time making money, making friends, and expanding his network, but after transmigrating, money and power lost their appeal to him.

Instead, spend more time improving your skills.

One afternoon a month later, He Quan spread out several photos of the apartment on the dining table.

"See which one you like," he said.

Fubuki lay on the table, her bright eyes scanning the photos. Pointing to one with her little finger, she exclaimed, "This one! This one has a big window!"

A tornado floated nearby, its gaze fixed on another photograph. It was of a high-rise apartment, with an entire wall of glass in the living room, offering views of the city skyline.

The photo was taken at dusk, when the light of the setting sun filled the entire room, and the floor shimmered with a warm golden glow.

"This one will do."

He Quan followed her gaze and pointed to the photo.

The day we moved was overcast. The clouds hung low, and the air was damp with the impending rain.

There aren't many things in the house; most of them were bought in the past month: clothes, the small toys that Chuixue had collected, and the dolls that Long Juan won. They were all packed into a few cardboard boxes.

Tornado used telekinesis to levitate the cardboard boxes in the air, lining them up behind her. Fubuki, clutching her favorite doll, followed closely beside He Shenquan.

The new apartment is located in a luxury apartment building in the city center.

The elevator was a viewing elevator with three glass walls, and the city slowly unfolded below as it ascended. Fubuki pressed her face against the glass, her nose flattened, and let out a small gasp.

The 23rd floor. The elevator doors opened, revealing a quiet corridor where the dark gray carpet absorbed all footsteps.

He Quan used his fingerprint to open the door. The door slid open inwards, and light rushed in first.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, without any obstruction. The afternoon sun shines in at four o'clock, bathing the entire living room in a warm golden light. The wooden floor is so smooth it reflects your image, and the space is so open that a tornado could fly around inside several times without bumping into anything.

Fubuki was the first to rush in. She kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot on the floor, her footsteps making a pattering sound.

She ran from the living room to the dining room, then from the dining room into the hallway, and finally stopped in front of a door, pushing it open.

"Sister! Look! What a big room!"

The tornado floated in and found itself in a south-facing bedroom with windows on two walls, one of which was a bay window covered with cushions.

The room was large enough to fit two beds with room to spare. The wardrobe was built-in, and the door was a mirror, reflecting her somewhat dazed face.

He Quan carried the box in and placed it in the center of the living room.

He walked to the window and looked down at the city below. The traffic flowed like a luminous river, meandering between the skyscrapers. In the distance, he could see the sea, a gray-blue color, its boundary with the sky blurred.

Tornado floated to his side and looked out the window with him. Fubuki also ran out of the room, pounced on He Quan's lap, and laughed with her face upturned.

"The room is so big!" she said, her eyes shining like they were filled with stars.

"Mmm." He Quan picked her up so she could see out the window too.

Fubuki's little hands clung to the glass, her breath creating a small puff of white mist. She stared at the toy-like cars and building blocks below for a long time, then turned to Tornado and said:

"Sister, our new home is so beautiful."

Long Juan looked at her sister's smiling face, then at the unfamiliar, vast city outside the window. Then she turned to look at He Quan.

He Quan was also looking at her. His dark eyes reflected the sunlight streaming through the window, as well as her reflection.

The setting sun was sinking behind the tall buildings, burning the clouds orange-red. Light flooded the room, filling every corner and casting long shadows of the three people that blended together on the smooth wooden floor, indistinguishable from one another.

At this moment, this brand-new, empty space, still smelling of renovation, began to feel like a home.

(End of this chapter)