In the corner of a room, a pile of assorted junk was heaped together, the common trait being that everything was incredibly old; among them were numerous broken artifacts, haphazardly mixed in, making the spot look exactly like any ordinary storage closet.

Yet, the large bronze cauldron positioned furthest in the corner was vibrating faintly. If one looked only at the cauldron, they might assume an earthquake was occurring, but strangely, everything around it remained perfectly still, making the cauldron's tremor conspicuously jarring.

Should anyone have dared to approach and peer inside the bronze vessel, they would have discovered that the seemingly empty interior was churning with swirling mists, punctuated by flickering bolts of electricity, as if a miniature thunderstorm were brewing within—the sight of such a phenomenon occurring inside an inconspicuous cauldron was enough to shock anyone.

As the vapor gradually shifted, it coalesced into a vortex. As the whirlpool spun faster and faster, the barely discernible etchings on the cauldron seemed to spring to life, and the entire vessel began to emit a soft, gentle luminescence.

The light grew stronger, and the vibrations intensified. When they reached an apex, there was a sudden, blinding flash, and everything returned to silence—as if the preceding events had been nothing more than a fleeting hallucination.

But barely a second later, a figure shot out from the cauldron, though it looked less like an exit and more like the cauldron had violently spat him out.

"Bullshit!"

The figure, suspended mid-air, cursed loudly and prepared to right himself. Unfortunately, the space was extremely confined; still ascending, he hadn't time to adjust before slamming straight into the ceiling, forcing his trajectory sharply downwards.

Thud! Crash!

A chaotic mess ensued. After being flung back to the floor, the figure actually had a moment to regain control for a smooth landing, but fate was unkind; his foot landed squarely on the edge of the bronze cauldron. The cauldron, not set firmly in the first place, promptly tipped over, and with the man’s frantic flailing of his arms, the precariously stacked mounds of miscellaneous clutter were dislodged from their resting places.

Pelted by a barrage of debris and nearly buried, the figure lifted his head. The moment he did, something unseen struck his head and bounced into the nearby cauldron.

"Damn it! Must have walked out without checking the almanac to be this unlucky?" He stood up, dusting off the grime accumulating on his clothes, and surveyed his surroundings. It was then that he finally noticed several figures who were clearly not of his own race, staring at him with wide eyes and expressions of utter shock.

"Uh," he smoothed his attire, glanced left and right, and finally waved at the group opposite him: "Hello!" "..."

The group continued to stare, frozen in shock. As he waved, they recoiled simultaneously, like startled rabbits taking a quick step backward.

Then, several tall, imposing men in suits, all fair-haired, exchanged glances. One of them reached inside his coat and drew out an object Ye Wen was intimately familiar with, yet hadn't seen in nearly a decade.

Though the sight of the item filled him with nostalgia, having it pointed at him by this dangerous-looking weapon did nothing to cheer him up; the smile on his face slowly soured, replaced by a cold, mocking sneer.

"If this were before, I'd have no choice but to kneel and beg for mercy! But now..."

With a flicker of thought from Ye Wen—without even needing to make a physical move—the object in the suited man's hand wrenched itself free as if physically pulled by an unseen force, flying across the space to hover before Ye Wen.

This sight rendered the suited men utterly speechless and incredulous, but one Black man, dressed casually with loose clothing and sporting thick gold chains around his neck and wrists, shouted, "Whoa! Cool!"

The suited men began muttering a string of words Ye Wen found both familiar and strange.

Familiar, because this language had once caused him immense suffering; strange, because he hadn't heard it in almost ten years.

Ye Wen, who thought he would never hear this language again in this life, stood frozen. Seeing his silence, several more suited men immediately pulled out menacing weapons from their coats.

The Black man, who had been standing still, immediately leaped aside, and the small space erupted in a cacophony of sharp, rapid gunfire.

Seconds later, all the suited men lay sprawled on the floor, eyes wide open, a small hole, roughly the diameter of a little finger, etched on each forehead, making the cause of death brutally clear to all.

But what terrified the Black man most was that he hadn't seen anything at all; he only witnessed the men draw their weapons, empty their clips in a frenzy, and then promptly collapse dead. The man across from them had barely moved, and the cluster of small, yellowish-orange particles hovering in front of him made him doubt his own sanity.

Ye Wen pursed his lips at the idiots who dared to challenge him. Although he hadn't fully grasped the situation, he felt no need to be polite to those who attacked him.

With another thought, the dense yellow particles before him clattered to the ground, creating a crisp sound. Ye Wen glanced down, feeling momentarily like a savior. Yet, simultaneously, something strange pricked his awareness: "Why is there no trace of sword light from the Shao Ze Sword I casually used just now?" He turned toward the Black man, who was visibly trembling and inching toward the exit, and raised a hand, intending to call him over.

Unexpectedly, the moment Ye Wen raised his hand, the Black man reacted as if he had seen a ghost, yelping, and then sprinting out while babbling a stream of incomprehensible words.

The Black man desperately wished he had grown two extra legs right then to hasten his escape. However, reality harshly informed him that even with eight extra legs, if he couldn't move, it was the same as having none.

His entire body felt as if it were encased in hardening cement. The man struggled to shift even a millimeter, yet the posture—left arm extended forward, body angled sharply at nearly forty-five degrees toward the floor, right arm swinging naturally back, the tip of his right foot providing the only contact with the ground while his left leg trailed behind—remained rigidly fixed.

This completely static, unmoving posture defied every known law of common sense in his mind; he was utterly frozen in place.

"Mamma mia! Is this guy a demon from hell? He knows magic only devils use!"

Ye Wen heard this sentence just as he reached the Black man's back! This time, he finally understood what the man was saying. The efforts he had poured into surviving crises back then were finally paying off, even now.

"I'm not a demon..." Ye Wen smiled, patted the man's shoulder, and asked curiously, "I just want to know, where is this place?"

The instant Ye Wen touched him, the Black man convulsed, nearly fainting. But then, he heard a very gentle voice speaking the language most familiar to him—even if the accent was a bit odd and the pace slow—he understood the "demon's" words.

"Th-this... this is Earth..." The Black man, scrambling for an answer, blurted out this response. As soon as the word left his mouth, he regretted it, feeling his answer was utterly idiotic. If the "demon" wasn't satisfied, he might end up lying on the floor with a small hole in his head.

"Earth..."

Ye Wen had suspected this possibility when he saw the suited men and the handguns. But hearing that intensely familiar word from the Black man's mouth caused a brief moment of disorientation.

With a slight movement of his finger, the handgun lying on the ground flew up and settled into his hand. Ye Wen turned it over and examined it for a moment, muttering softly, "It really is a Beretta 92F. I really have returned here!"

What he didn't know was that this action almost caused the Black man to soil himself. This brother believed that Ye Wen, the great demon, intended to toy with human weaponry, and he, the unlucky soul frozen in that bizarre posture, was to be the test subject.

"Sir... if you want to try shooting, I know a great range! They have silhouette targets, bullseye targets, everything, and they supply all models of firearms. If that's not enough, I can introduce you to a good hunting spot. Please don't use me as a target..." "Target?"

"Really! I'm dark-skinned and thin; I'm very awkward to aim at, not at all suitable for target practice!" The Black man was on the verge of tears, wishing desperately that the muzzle of the gun swinging near him would move further away. Moreover, this "demon" clearly lacked basic firearm safety knowledge, waving the gun around while talking and leaving the safety off—he now feared not only being used as target practice but also that the pistol might accidentally discharge.

"I won't kill you!"

Seeing this young Black man was about to scare himself to death, Ye Wen, who still had many questions, knew he had to stabilize the man's emotions first before inquiring about everything else.

"Really?" The Black man had never felt the world so beautiful; Ye Wen's words were like a gospel, bringing him an internal sense of profound relief. However, remembering that demons generally disregarded promises, he still pressed the question.

"I promise!"

Ye Wen nodded, then retracted his Tian Luo Qi Field. Having been constantly aware, Ye Wen noted that casting and retracting his field caused no abnormalities. The result was that the moment he recalled his mental focus, the Black man, suspended in mid-air, dropped to the ground without warning.

The Black brother didn't care about the fall; instead, he was overjoyed at finally regaining his freedom. Based on this, he largely believed Ye Wen's assurance that he wouldn't be killed.

Confirming his life was safe, the Black brother sprang up and greeted Ye Wen: "My name is Tommy Johnson. What should I call you, Exor... Sir?"

Ye Wen looked at the man. He had been preoccupied until now and hadn't paid much attention to him; only now did he notice the man seemed to be in his early twenties. Not old, and judging by his rapid speech, very talkative—perfectly fitting Ye Wen's preconceived notion of a Black brother.

"Ye Wen! And... I am not a demon! I am human, just like you."

After briefly stating his name, Ye Wen realized he had an overwhelming number of questions, the first being why that group of suited men had suddenly attacked him.

When he posed his question, Mr. Tommy Johnson blinked, then provided an answer that nearly made Ye Wen spit blood: "Maybe your entrance was just a little too cool!" Hearing Ye Wen say he wasn't a demon, the Black brother relaxed slightly. Though he didn't understand how Ye Wen achieved what he did, as long as he was human, he was one of their own—perhaps just a peer with unusual skills?

Ye Wen didn't understand what kind of answer that was, but the now calming Mr. Johnson enthusiastically recounted everything he had witnessed, finally allowing Ye Wen to grasp just how dramatic his entrance had been.

"Spit out... by a broken bronze cauldron?"

Lost in confusion, the garrulous Tommy Johnson mentioned a few details that deeply concerned Ye Wen.

"Those British guys said they were looking for a bronze cauldron, a very ancient one, so I brought them to see that old junk that's been sitting in the shop for years. Unexpectedly, the moment we arrived, we saw you jump out of that cauldron, so..."

Ye Wen's eyes narrowed; he sensed something significant. After picking up the overturned cauldron and setting it upright again, Ye Wen lightly stroked the battered surface of the vessel. As his palm swept across it, many mottled patches gradually regained their original appearance. Moreover, the initial strange phenomena had long shaken off the dust, and now that the blemishes vanished, the carvings on the cauldron were perfectly revealed.

"This is..."

Countless topographical carvings of mountains, lands, and oceans, along with sculptures of rare and exotic beasts. With every touch, Ye Wen felt a strange resonance in his heart.

With a thought, Ye Wen activated his Purple Star River True Qi. A purple starlight flickered on his palm, and the bronze cauldron suddenly reacted as if a hidden mechanism had been triggered. There was another blinding flash of light, and the entire vessel was instantly rejuvenated, appearing as if newly forged. However, the immense, imposing aura emanating from the cauldron was not something an ordinary bronze vessel could project; even Ye Wen felt an impulse to submit before it.

"Damn dead thing acting so arrogant!" With a clap of his hand, the Purple Star River Vital Energy surged, and the light on the cauldron vanished instantly. As the brilliance faded, the bronze cauldron began to shrink, becoming no larger than a thumb, which Ye Wen held cupped in his palm.

"This..."

Ye Wen was surprised by the cauldron's transformation. Tommy Johnson, who had been watching the entire time, stood with his mouth agape and his eyes slightly bulging, unable to comprehend the inexplicable, miraculous sight: "God! Am I dreaming...?"

Ye Wen casually tucked the small cauldron away. He felt a profound, intimate connection to this vessel, sensing it was of critical importance to him. He didn't know the source of this feeling, but he was inclined to follow his intuition.

Furthermore, although he wasn't an archaeologist, he could tell the cauldron was an ancient artifact from his homeland, and if a group of British men wanted it, they would first have to contend with him, the direct descendant.

Having concluded all this, Ye Wen estimated he had returned to his original world. He wondered how much time had passed here. Perhaps ten years had passed in that other world while only a short time elapsed here? That was the most ideal scenario; at least Ye Wen wouldn't step out to find everyone he knew gone.

He nudged the still-gaping Tommy Johnson and asked the questions he needed answers to: "What year is it? And where am I now? I mean, which country and which city?"

Seeing the Black brother immediately upon arrival, and hearing the Black brother refer to the suited men as "British guys," Ye Wen was certain he wasn't in his own country, nor was he in Britain!

Tommy Johnson struggled to regain his composure, then, turning his head, unleashed a torrent of words on Ye Wen like a machine gun: "My God, what did you just do? Are you really not a demon? Are you an angel? How could something that large possibly shrink so small? How can a person do that?"

Ye Wen felt a headache coming on and finally gripped the man's shoulder, applying just a little pressure to silence the man's incessant chatter. The resulting agonizing shriek was quite unpleasant—truthfully, Ye Wen had only used a minimal amount of force.

"It is the year 2000. I am in New York City, USA!" Having obtained the answers he sought, Ye Wen felt no joy whatsoever.

"What? 2000? Impossible! Did I travel back to the past? Or did I arrive in a parallel world extremely similar to my own?"

More than being in America, Ye Wen was preoccupied with the time. He distinctly remembered that before entering that other world, it should have been 2011—one year before the prophesied end of the world, one year after the South African World Cup concluded, and awkwardly, one year before the European Championship.

Ye Wen released his grip, and Tommy Johnson rubbed his shoulder continuously, but he dared not bluster anymore, staring fearfully at the black-haired, black-eyed figure before him—a creature who claimed to be human but possessed terrifying strength and various magical abilities!

Just then, the chime announcing the opening of the door sounded. A handsome man with blonde hair, dressed in pristine white, radiating a sunny smile like a perfect prince charming, appeared before the two men.

The man glanced at Ye Wen, his eyes subtly narrowing as he took in Ye Wen's attire, then respectfully greeted them: "Sir, you must be a cultivator from the Eastern world? I am a clergyman of the European Holy See, and these men were my subordinates. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding between us..."

"Cultivator? Holy See?" Ye Wen, still reeling from the previous shock, was utterly bewildered by these two terms frequently encountered in novels: "Bullshit, where the hell have I ended up now?"