Without another word, he turned sharply forty-five degrees to the left, preparing to skirt around the figure. In truth, he didn't even know why he felt no fear at that moment; perhaps his subconscious simply registered the present as an illusion.

This time, to ensure he wasn't being tailed, he walked backward, his gaze locked onto the armored man without a single lapse. He muttered to himself, "I refuse to believe I can't escape the confines of your grasp."

Before moving, he gauged the distance to the tent—about fifty meters away. Only when he felt a comfortable fifty-meter separation from the armored man did he breathe a sigh of relief, assuming he must have reached the tent now, and turned around.

He was turning while walking, because the armored man had remained constantly in his line of sight; he was certain the figure wouldn't get ahead of him this time, so he paid no attention to what was behind. But in the instant he completed the turn, he faltered completely, for the man was still standing there, motionless and cold, staring at him with wide, blood-red eyes. Since he hadn't time to stop, he stumbled right into the figure. Instantly, both he and the armored man fell; he pitched forward, landing squarely on top of the figure. That rigid armor was studded with iron scraps and tarnished copper—the fall rattled him badly. He let out a pained "Ouch," and slowly opened his smarting eyes.

The moment his eyes met the figure's, he froze. The helmet of the armored man had rolled aside, revealing his entire face. The proximity was startling; Lu Zong could actually smell the foul breath exhaling from the man's nostrils swirling around his own mouth. He felt, with a chilling certainty, that this person was an exact replica of himself.

The armored man, seeing Lu Zong's reaction, showed no fear. He calmly rose to his feet, gently pulled Lu Zong off his body, retrieved his helmet, and donned it, looking at Lu Zong as if awaiting orders, like a soldier at attention.

Lu Zong, looking into those vacant eyes, was shocked to the core: "Could this person be me? No wonder he looks exactly like me. Why is he here?"

Puzzled, he opened his mouth and asked, "Excuse me, Mr. Lu, why are you here? Do you know what our relationship is? How long have you been here? Do you know anything about your origins or background?"

The man continued to regard Lu Zong with only coldness, an indifference so profound it chilled Lu Zong's very heart. A seed of fear began to sprout. He turned back, trying to gauge how far he was from the tent. According to his estimation, he should have reached the tent's territory, certainly no more than five meters off, even with some margin for error. But when he looked back, he saw no tent soaring a man's height before him—only endless stretches of sand and dust.

A cold dread settled in his stomach. It seemed he wouldn't reach the tent unless he could get past this person. But how could he deal with the man standing before him? He didn't know the man's identity, his strength, he even doubted if the figure was real or spectral—on what basis could he fight him?

It was then he remembered the fatty he had swallowed. He reached out with his mind, sending a telepathic probe: "Fatty, I've run into someone who looks exactly like me. What should I do?"

"Exactly like you? Have you gone mad from hunger? Do you have a twin brother or something? How could someone look exactly like you?" the Fatty replied, sounding agitated.

Lu Zong managed a weary smile. "Don't tell me you don't believe me, I barely believe it myself. The man is a perfect double. Fatty, tell me honestly: am I in an illusion right now, or is this reality? Tell me."

The Fatty became serious, sending a focused response back to Lu Zong: "Old Lu, for the sake of our friendship today, I'll tell you. You are currently in a state where the false is real and the real is false—you can't distinguish between illusion and reality. To put it plainly, you are not in the same space as we are right now."

"Not the same space? Have I ended up in Hell? Am I beneath you all?" Lu Zong asked, anxiety rising.

Anyone would be frantic in this situation. Lu Zong had completely forgotten what composure felt like, which accounted for his hurried speech. Furthermore, he felt the temperature rising steadily, as if he were trapped inside a giant steamer, about to be cooked.

The Fatty, however, remained unhurried. "The Earth, you see, is actually composed of layers upon layers of spaces. Each space doesn't intersect with the others; they stretch out in parallel. But if a spot experiences a spatial curvature, it can intersect with another, still horizontal space. The overlapping sections form areas that we normally have great difficulty entering. Everything in this space only reflects the events that occurred within that specific space during that specific timeframe, because they do not evolve slowly with external events. That's why you are seeing what you see." The Fatty explained with immense patience.

Lu Zong, losing patience with the lecture, cursed fiercely, "What in the blazes are you talking about? I don't care about your spaces! As long as you can get me out of here, I’ll give you my entire kitchen to use as a latrine—my space is huge!"

The Fatty chuckled softly. He suddenly felt rather intellectual, like a scholar instructing a notoriously unruly student. This sense of satisfaction made him immensely cheerful.

"Stop worrying about what I'm saying," the Fatty instructed. "Just do exactly as I tell you, and I guarantee I will pull you out of that space."

Lu Zong impatiently pressed again, "Hurry up and tell me what to do! I'm about to suffocate from the heat; it's getting hotter and hotter here."

"This is simple. Have you ever played a game? It’s similar to that. Look at the tent ahead of you. Sprint toward it suddenly—see if you can just burst through to where the tent is."

Lu Zong bristled at the suggestion. "What do you mean, just burst through to the tent? Is this some kind of random event?"

"Just do as I say! You are in a different space from them now. I want you to do this to test if you can break through the spatial barrier. Simply put, what I mean is, you and the tent are not in the same space. If you can breach that barrier, you might actually rush right over to the tent."

Lu Zong nodded, grasping the gist of the Fatty's meaning. He looked at the tent ahead; indeed, it seemed faintly translucent now. Could it be that the spacetime was unstable, and the space he occupied had warped? It sounded suspiciously like Newton's Third Law.

He didn't have time for further reflection. He drew a deep breath and charged forward violently. He completely disregarded the armored man for the moment; his only hope was to "suddenly" arrive at the front by following the Fatty's method.

He sucked in a huge lungful of air and propelled himself forward with all his might, determined this time to burst through, moving at a speed that could certainly outpace a bull.

He felt the raging wind screaming past his ears with a buzzing sound, and the friction of the air caused his lips to peel slightly, while dandruff flew wildly into the gale.

Based on his own theories and what he'd seen in movies, dimensional travel usually involved a sudden whoosh. He waited with breathless anticipation for that triumphant swoosh. But so far, all he heard was the wind and his own ragged shouts; there was no exhilarating swoosh at all.

He supposed his speed might not have been enough. To test this theory, he accelerated further, even closing his eyes, fearful that the wind might slice his eyelids like razor blades. Yet, his hope dissolved like sea foam; the faster he ran, the faster it collapsed. The sound he desperately longed for never materialized, no matter how fast he pushed himself, until he clearly heard a loud thud, followed immediately by his own sharp groan of pain.

Indeed, his speed had brought him into collision with the armored man, who had stealthily maneuvered himself right to the front again and, seizing the moment, knocked him flat onto the ground.

Lu Zong was utterly crushed. His nose felt suddenly hot and sticky. He quickly touched it and found blood—bright, crimson blood. He stood up in a frustrated rage, muttering, "I always thought I only got nosebleeds when I saw a beautiful woman. I didn't expect to get one from seeing a handsome guy."

The Fatty, sensing Lu Zong's thoughts from outside, shook his head helplessly. "Ah, men. They will always think themselves handsome."

Lu Zong scrambled up, grumbling, "Fatty, I did what you said, but I didn't cross over."

The Fatty frowned, his brow furrowing like two curved crescents poised to become circles.

He muttered to himself, "How could this happen? No, that's wrong. I distinctly remember my grandfather saying that once sufficient speed is reached, space traversal is inevitable. I could sense Lu Zong's speed just now; he definitely should have made it. Why didn't it work?"

He remained there quietly thinking, while Lu Zong grew impatient. "Fatty, do you have a solution or not? This big oaf in front of me is incredibly annoying; I can't take it anymore. Just figure out a way to move this big dummy away from me first, okay?"

"Right! How could I forget about him?" The Fatty suddenly slapped his forehead as if struck by inspiration and shouted, "I know! I know what the problem is! It's the armored man beside you! Once that armored man is moved, the whole issue will be resolved! Lu Zong, trust me one more time; I absolutely will get you out of there!"

Lu Zong sighed helplessly. "At this point, I have no choice but to trust you. Go on, what do you need me to do?"