Chapter One: The Republic of Xuan Law
The greatest achievement of humanity is fiction—the creation of things that never truly existed. Heaven, gods, nations. These are not entities, but ideas, imagined orders, rules that everyone acknowledges and must abide by. Their emergence brought together tens of thousands, even millions of people, forging nations capable of resisting or even reshaping nature itself.
They are intangible, absent from the material world, existing only within the realm of human imagination. With the notion of gods, in an age when the power gap between individuals was negligible, a single person could command tens of thousands—a miracle that rendered no living thing on earth a match for humankind.
From then on, humanity turned its weapons upon itself, and war was born.
A thousand years after the dawn of mankind, there was a king who usurped divine authority and claimed the world as his family’s domain.
Two thousand years in, an emperor raised the sword of sovereignty, overthrew the old gods, established new ones, and instituted centralized monarchy.
Five millennia on, new gods became old, and the first global war erupted. From its carnage, two new gods were born.
One, the heir of the old gods, was called Capital. In the Year 3030 of the Xuan Calendar, the United Kingdom of Siberia was established—the world’s first constitutional monarchy. Everything could be quantified by value, even human beings.
The other, a rebel yearning to overturn all, was called Republic. In 3033, the Ninth Empire of Xuan fell, and the world’s first nation without monarchs or nobility was born—the First Republic of Xuan.
The First World War ended, leaving civilization scarred, yet also ushering in a new era—not of peace and prosperity, but of war, a war even more absolute than the last.
The world was split in two: Xuan and the rest.
…
Dawn. The gentle sun peeked dreamily above the horizon.
A man on a hospital bed turned his head, gazing blankly at the rare sun. It dazzled but did not sting his eyes. The same sun, yet he preferred it in the early morning.
“Another peaceful day.”
Dressed in a blue patient’s gown, with the sterile room around him, it was clear he was a patient. Yet, he did not look the part—a face chiseled with determination, and beneath the loose clothing, a glimpse of a strong physique.
Knock, knock, knock…
A crisp rapping sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he called.
The handle clicked, and a nurse pushed in a small cart, smiling brightly. “Good morning, Mr. Qin. How did you sleep last night? Any discomfort?”
“No. Breathing normal, heart rate normal, temperature normal. No adverse reactions.” Qin Le shook his head.
The nurse stifled a laugh, her voice ringing with amusement. “Mr. Qin, your answers are as unusual as ever.”
She rolled the cart beside his bed, opened the insulated box, and set out his breakfast: several snowy-white buns and a cup of hot soy milk. A standard Xuan breakfast—plain but sustaining, enough to power him through the morning.
Finally, from the cart’s second tier, she produced a newspaper, spreading it open before Qin Le.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Qin,” she said apologetically. “Due to government restrictions on procurement, there may be no more pastries in the future.”
“Is there a shortage of ration tickets?” Qin Le inquired.
“No, our hospital is a public institution, so we have plenty of food vouchers.” She shook her head slightly. After all, this was a military hospital; tickets were mere formalities.
Leaning closer, she cupped her hand and whispered, “I heard from the head nurse that the South Bay in Nanling County has been blockaded by foreign navies, so sugar shipments have dropped drastically.”
“Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west,” Qin Le sighed with a wry smile. “Never thought we’d see the day when our own doorstep was blockaded. Maybe this will prompt the government to finally build the north-south railway.”
He picked up a bun, eating as he read the nurse’s newspaper.
“NATION ACHIEVES ZERO HUNGER”
The headline blared in bold print. Below, a cascade of reports on planned economies and soaring grain yields painted a picture of national prosperity.
Qin Le glanced at the headline and flipped the page. Front-page news was always positive; it wasn’t necessarily false, but the negative was never shown. The real news, the scraps tucked away in the smallest corners, was what mattered.
“SOUTHEASTERN SEVEN SUSPEND TRADE WITH XUAN”
“UNITED KINGDOM OF SIBERIA AND 108 NATIONS STRONGLY CONDEMN XUAN REPUBLIC FOR ILLEGAL SEIZURE OF NOBLE PROPERTY, DEMAND RESTORATION OF PROPERTY AND TITLES. INTERNATIONAL SANCTIONS LOOM TO MAINTAIN BASIC ORDER.”
Indeed, wherever communism is born, it faces endless hardship—France, the Soviet Union, and now Xuan. Perhaps, in time, a coalition of nations would launch an attack on Xuan.
The nurse, standing beside him, looked anxious. “Mr. Qin, can the Republic really survive?”
Blockade from the old world, anxiety over a strange new system, shortages, declining living standards—all gnawed at everyone’s nerves.
“It can. It surely can,” Qin Le affirmed. “The beginning is always the hardest. Life will get better, little by little.”
His homeland in his past life had done it; this one could, too.
Knock, knock, knock!
The sound at the door interrupted them. Qin Le turned. “Come in.”
The door swung open. Three tall figures stood in the hallway: a black-uniformed officer and two armed soldiers.
The officer entered, swept the room with his gaze, and addressed the nurse, “Miss, could you please leave for a moment? We have official business—no unrelated parties allowed.”
“Yes, of course.” The nurse met his eyes, shivered, and quickly left, head bowed.
So this Mr. Qin really was someone important. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have a room to himself, with armed guards at the door.
When she was gone, the guards closed the door. Now only the officer and Qin Le remained.
The officer stood tall, saluted the man in the bed, and reported, “Sir, we have finished analyzing all the data from the other side. No harmful gases have been detected. It can be temporarily classified as habitable for humans.”
“Who’s being sent in?” Qin Le asked.
“Commandos. Ordinary soldiers would be doomed in an unknown environment. Only the strongest operatives can handle it,” the officer replied.
Commandos—soldiers the old empire had molded at great cost, masters of individual combat, responsible for decapitation strikes or spearheading attacks.
They were akin to the deathsworn retainers of ancient houses, except now they served the nation, not individuals. Due to their inhumane training, the Republic disbanded the commando corps, but many remained in the army.
Qin Le was one of them, though he hadn’t stayed. He was among the rare few willing to return to civilian life.
After all, he’d always been an ordinary man—just unlucky enough to become a commando. When the war ended, only a fool would stay.
Qin Le frowned slightly. “Even commandos, in an unknown world without supplies, face grim odds. Discharge me; I’ve recovered. Tell the higher-ups I want to conduct a thorough exploration myself.”
“Sir, if anything happened to you, the ‘door’ would be lost. I don’t think they’ll approve your participation,” the officer cautioned.
Qin Le was the Republic’s highest-level secret—its first ever top-secret individual. He was watched at all times by the state security bureau, sometimes with more protection than the nation’s leaders.
Frankly, a leader could be replaced; Qin Le could not. Supernatural abilities weren’t as easily substituted as titles.
Such a vital person—the officer doubted the higher-ups would let him explore the unknown.
“Don’t think first about failure—think about how to succeed,” Qin Le said, rising from the bed to stretch. “Let’s go. Arrange my discharge. And send this letter to Capital Avenue No. 008, Imperial City.”
“Yes, sir.”
…
A month ago, Qin Le awoke as usual in his two-story house, only to find something about himself had changed—though he couldn’t say what.
A strange feeling stirred within him. Following his instinct, he drew a miraculous red oval in the air. Inside it was a vision utterly alien to his surroundings—a different world.
He tossed an object through the red ring and watched it vanish, swallowed by the other side.
Fifteen bewildered minutes later, Qin Le abandoned all plans for work and urgently contacted his old comrades, reporting the phenomenon to the authorities.
…
TOP SECRET FILE
File Number: 000
Clearance: Head of State, Central Discipline Commission, General
Name: Qin Le
Gender: Male
Status: Citizen of the First Republic of Xuan
[Imperial era commando project subject, 16th generation commando, active in the later stages of the First World War, team leader of Commando Squad 081. Recipient of the Empire’s highest honor, three first-class merits, seven second-class, and thirteen third-class medals. After the revolution, persuaded several commandos to join the revolutionary army and succeeded in assassinating the Divine Emperor. With the advent of the new era, left the military for civilian life, working as a beach lifeguard, construction worker, waiter, and chef. Underwent a supernatural transformation in the fifth year of the new calendar.] (See Appendix I for details)
The Door: Grants access to a completely new world; current science offers no explanation. The location on the other side is random with each opening, and the process drains Qin Le’s stamina and mental energy.
Activation: At Qin Le’s will.
…