Morning swelled over Gelvin, a warm tide washing the streets.

People rose early like sparrows leaving the eaves and set to their day’s work.

Dockhands hauled cargo, shoulders rolling like waves; a delivery crew in pale yellow flowed into storefronts like busy bees.

Gelvin was the best resupply port for human adventurers in the New Land, a bazaar like a roaring forge.

Weapon shops, armor houses, alchemy labs, potion counters, scroll stalls, stables, and gun dealers lined the roads like a painted screen.

Step out of the colony without good gear, and bandits strip you like wind tears leaves, or beasts make you a dish at dusk.

Dongfang Chen arrived alone, a reed drifting into a new current.

As he stepped off the Sky Voyager, a sudden daze clouded him, like fog sinking into a valley.

He’d reached the New Land, yet his heart felt hollow, like a shell missing its pearl.

“Something important… what was it?” The thought fluttered like a moth against a lantern.

He shook his head; memory stayed misty over water, and he wouldn’t stall on smoke.

He tightened his fists; a new land meant a new start, and only effort could reach the Rainbow Secret Realm and the Eternal Tear.

“Right… first find a bookstore and sell the books,” he told himself, the plan a small flame in wind.

He collected his books at the pickup counter, paper smelling like sun‑dried straw.

Most he’d finished on the Sky Voyager, those days long and idle like slow tides.

The rest didn’t interest him, pages heavy like stones, so selling them felt fine.

“Kid, selling books?” the owner called, voice bright like a bell.

“Yeah… huh?” His answer stumbled like a loose shoe.

A tug of reluctance caught him like a loose thread.

Inside the Gelvin bookstore, with the owner calling across the counter, Dongfang Chen hesitated, his gaze anchored like a weight.

It felt like he’d promised someone to sell the books to her; when he searched, the name scattered like sparrows.

Who was it? The question hung like smoke.

He blinked and thought he was overthinking; childhood friends had drifted off like boats, and in the New Land he knew no one.

How could anyone have set such an agreement with him?

“Mm, yes, I’m selling,” he said, voice settling like dust.

“Alright! The clerk will assess the value. Payment method—silver dollars or magic stones?” The words chimed like coins.

“Magic stones, wood‑aspected if possible. Size doesn’t matter. Thanks,” he replied, calm as a pond.

He took his first startup funds earned in the New Land and stepped out, pockets rustling like leaves.

Adventurers streamed past like fish in a current; the streets ran a bit messy, veins of a living city.

Cars crawled like beetles; riders drove horses like arrows; above, balloons and birds drifted like seeds.

Gelvin was a city where modern and traditional twined like ivy on old stone.

The urban span stretched wide, ten kilometers east to west, distance like a small desert underfoot.

This was the New Land—no convenient inner‑circle teleport arrays, only wheels and wings.

Dongfang Chen flagged a carriage with a raised hand like a tiny banner, then climbed aboard.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked, voice steady like a drum.

“Gelvin central district,” he said, the choice straight as a road.

“Alright, the fare is…” The words clicked like coins.

The rest of the day turned busy, his steps grinding like a millstone.

He registered at the Adventurers’ Guild, his name inked like a seal.

He bought exploration tools and weapons for battle, steel flashing like frost.

He arranged a carriage rental to cross the western forest, a route carved through a green sea.

He visited a notary to write a deed, his assets divided like neat furrows in case accident cut him down.

Small chores, yes, but necessary—stones laid one by one into a path.

When he finished, the sun had already dropped, a gold coin sinking into cloud.

People flowed along the road, arms full of food like harvest baskets; after a hard day, smiles glowed like lanterns.

Dongfang Chen wasn’t like them; his mood kept its quiet shadow.

He’d started alone and stayed alone; no meal to buy for others, no door where someone waited like a lamp.

The world glittered, yet Dongfang Chen was fated to pass through like wind across grass.

Plain, yes, but on the bright side, freedom rang like rain, and his stride felt light.

Sunset poured through the window frame, drawing a long black shadow across the desk like ink.

He boiled water; steam coiled like a white dragon, and he made instant noodles.

Hot food always soothes the heart, warmth cupping the ribs like gentle hands.

He lifted noodles with a fork, strands shining like comet tails.

“If only there were cake… huh? Why did I suddenly want cake?” The thought popped like a bubble.

He stared at his hands, a bit lost; the urge to bake flared like a match.

But he didn’t know how to bake, and he lived in an inn—no oven, no tools, no flour, only a thought like smoke.

“Then I’ll just buy one at the convenience store later,” he said, letting the idea drift like a leaf.

After dinner, he went downstairs to the convenience store, light pooling on tile like milk.

Some food was near expiry, some flavors odd as seaweed; nobody wanted them, and price tags fell like autumn leaves.

Those became his first choice, bargains scattered like shells along a tide line.

“What do you think of this, li— huh?” he asked with a smile, words flying like a bird then freezing.

In the next blink, he stood alone; other customers kept their heads down, orbiting their choices like moons.

“Uh… am I a little dizzy? Why did I try to ask someone?” The question buzzed like a fly.

He shook his head, chuckled, and bought the discounted squid bread, choice made like a coin toss.

“Make do for now,” he told himself. “Tonight, plan the route well,” a map unrolling like a river.

City lights rose like stars; the night settled, deep as water.