Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

Late autumn of 1973, Hong Kong.

The wind atop Victoria Peak carried the salty dampness of the sea and the astringent scent of vegetation, feeling slightly cool on the face. Inside the villa, the six little ones had finally calmed down, each looking like a little mud-covered monkey as Chen Xueru lulled them to sleep. The entire building seemed to have been muted, except for the old wall clock in the living room, which continued ticking slowly, as if counting the depths of the night.

Only in the study was a lone lamp lit, like an eye in the darkness.

He Damin sat at his large mahogany desk, holding the annual report John had just delivered. The rustling sound of turning pages was particularly clear in the quiet night, but his gaze was somewhat unfocused. The dense numbers and charts, like a group of mischievous tadpoles, seemed unable to penetrate his mind. He was thinking, about something that had lingered in his heart for many years, like a crumpled piece of paper being slowly smoothed out, its outline gradually becoming clearer.

The moonlight outside the window was sliced ​​into strips by the blinds, like handfuls of silver scattered on a carpet, shimmering and slightly chilly. He Damin casually tossed the report onto the table with a soft "thud," sounding somewhat abrupt in the quiet night. He stood up, his knuckles cracking—as one reaches middle age, these little movements are always reminders of the passage of time.

He walked to the window, pushed it open a crack, and the late autumn wind immediately rushed in, carrying a chill that cleared his head considerably. In the distance, Victoria Harbour resembled an overturned jewelry box, its lights dense and dazzling. On the sea, several cargo ships, their lights on like giant fireflies, slowly and clumsily sailed out of the harbor, heading towards the unknown distance.

He gazed at the lights, his eyes unfocused, as if piercing through the bustling city and looking back to many years ago. Back then, he had just "arrived" in this era, empty-handed, possessing nothing but memories from a time other than those in his mind and the cultivation he had painstakingly acquired in another world. At that time, looking at this unfamiliar Hong Kong, he felt panicked, like a lost child.

And then what? Later, he had banks, accounts overflowing with numbers he himself couldn't be bothered to count; he had the internet, though back then people didn't even know what it was; he had satellites, watching over Earth from the heavens; he had chips, tiny pieces that could move the entire world. Countless riches snowballed, growing ever larger. He left it all to his children—Rainwater, Rain Columns, Rain Beams… and now to these younger ones: Yuan An, Yuan Ping, Yuan Ning, Yuan Jing, Yuan Qing, and Yuan Kang. This wealth is enough for them to live comfortably for several lifetimes, perhaps even dozens of lifetimes.

But all of this… He Damin sighed softly. A breeze slipped in through the cracks in the window, ruffling a few strands of hair on his forehead. Was this really what he wanted? Or rather, was this what he truly possessed?

He didn't think so. Those things, you can't take with you when you're born, and you can't take with you when you die, like sand in your hand, seemingly held tightly, but constantly leaking through your fingers.

His true wealth lies hidden in a place that no one can see or touch. That place is accessible only to him, and known only to him.

He Damin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. His chest rose and fell slightly as he silently recited a phrase in his mind. It was a mysterious and profound feeling, as if an invisible string had been plucked.

"Buzz—" It was as if a soft sound resounded deep within the soul.

His consciousness, like a bird freed from its shackles, silently passed through the study ceiling, through the thick rocks of Victoria Peak, through the solid earth beneath his feet, descending, descending... until finally entering a place he knew all too well, yet was utterly foreign to this world—

Small World: Anode Space.

Upon entering, He Damin's "mood" immediately relaxed, as if he had returned to his own secret garden. The sunlight here wasn't from the sun, but rather a soft white light that flowed in from all directions, warm and comforting, making him feel extremely comfortable (even though he was currently only in a spiritual state). The sky was a pale blue, like a faded blue cloth, so clean that not a single cloud could be seen.

The air was filled with the sweet, earthy scent of rain-soaked soil, mingled with the fragrance of grass and unnamed wildflowers. Taking a deep breath felt like a cleansing of the very soul, so refreshing it made you want to shout. In the distance, rolling green hills stretched out, their verdant slopes so lush they seemed to drip with moisture. At their foot lay a vast, seemingly endless plain, flat as if milled by a roller.

On the plain, twenty enormous gold bricks, each taller than a person, still stood neatly stacked, gleaming heavily in the soft light. Anyone else seeing so much gold would be utterly astonished. But for He Damin now, these gold bricks were no longer the main attraction of this small world. They were like the stones in the yard, merely decorations.

The real protagonist is the industrial area that stretches as far as the eye can see at the end of the plain.

The silvery-white factory buildings stand side by side, square and orderly, like children's building blocks, gleaming with a cold, hard metallic luster under the white light. The roofs of the factory buildings are covered with deep blue solar panels, one after another, like a mysterious armor covering the factory buildings, shimmering with a faint blue light under the sun.

Countless cables, thick and thin, strung in the air and buried underground, form a giant neural network, connecting every factory and every piece of equipment, transmitting energy and commands.

Robots! Robots everywhere! They're like a swarm of tireless ants, darting between factory buildings and along production lines. Some carry heavy materials with steady steps; others wield precision tools, hammering and chiseling at tiny parts with the precision of a surgeon; still others flash indicator lights on screens, seemingly adjusting some complex program. Their movements are fluid and efficient, without a single wasted moment. The entire industrial area is so quiet that only the low hum of the machines can be heard, like a silent symphony orchestra playing the overture to industry.

He Damin's divine sense, like an invisible tide, slowly swept across the entire industrial zone. Every corner, every machine, and every piece of data was clearly imprinted in his "mind." He could "see" the complex process flow of the chip production line, "hear" the subtle sounds of the lithography machine at work, and "feel" every calculation of the robot's core processor.

The corners of his mouth involuntarily turned up slightly, carrying a hint of satisfaction and pride.

Six chip production lines! Each one operates tirelessly, producing 600,000 high-performance processors per month. These chips are two generations ahead of what he currently sells to Intel and AMD! While others are still struggling with micron-level processes, he's already working on something far more advanced. He's keeping these precious chips hidden, not revealing them. Not because he's reluctant, really not. He just feels the time isn't right. The world doesn't seem ready to welcome them yet.

Two lithography production lines! Capable of manufacturing chips with a precision of 0.1 micrometers! This figure is enough to drive all the world's current tech giants crazy. At least thirty years ahead of its time! He also kept them very well hidden, like some unparalleled martial arts technique.

One robot production line. It can "produce" one hundred new robots every month. Now, his robot army has grown to two thousand. There are twelve hundred service robots, capable of all sorts of odd jobs, more useful than the most diligent servants; three hundred research robots, his best assistants, helping him complete all sorts of tedious and dangerous experiments; four hundred production robots, the main force of the industrial zone; and one hundred dedicated combat robots, each armed to the teeth, loyal and ruthless, the most steadfast guardians of this small world. They are tireless, never complain, never slack off, and never betray him. They are his most loyal workers and most reliable warriors.

He Damin's consciousness continued to "fly" forward, crossing the bustling industrial area and arriving at a relatively open area. On the open ground, there were no factories, no robots, only a... flying saucer.

A silver-gray flying saucer with an exquisitely sleek design. It's called the "Voyager 7" research vessel.

It hovered silently about a meter above the ground, like a giant, impeccably polished metal leaf. Its silvery-gray shell gleamed with a cold, mysterious metallic sheen under the soft white light. For over a decade, since he acquired it, it had remained unchanged, quietly sitting there like a silent giant, awaiting the day it would be awakened.

He Damin's consciousness "walked" to it, stretched out his "hand," and gently pressed it against the cool outer shell. The touch was strange; it was hard, smooth, and had the unique coldness of metal, yet it seemed as if a trace of energy was flowing within it.

"Energy remaining at thirty-one percent." He silently recited the number in his mind, a hint of helplessness in his voice.

From 1960 to now, more than a decade has passed... and the energy has only increased by a paltry three percent. This alien spaceship's energy source is primarily the "spiritual energy" slowly accumulating in this small world. But the spiritual energy in this small world is far too thin, and its conversion efficiency is alarmingly low. It needs better energy, more powerful energy!

He Damin withdrew his hand, raised his head, and looked at the pale blue sky above the flying saucer. What lay beyond that sky? His own planet, the vast and boundless universe!

The Sun! That colossal nuclear fusion reactor suspended at the center of the solar system! Every second, it releases devastating energy—a truly inexhaustible source! If… if he could pilot this flying saucer to the vicinity of the Sun and extract even just one ten-thousandth, no, one hundred-millionth of its energy…

That's enough! Absolutely enough! Enough for him to pilot this flying saucer, carrying whoever he wants, across the entire solar system, and even...fly further!

The thought ignited a fire within him, making him somewhat excited. But he quickly calmed down. One step at a time; you have to eat one bite at a time.

He Damin calmed his mind, and his consciousness slowly withdrew from the small world like a tide, returning to his body.

He opened his eyes. The moonlight outside the window was still bright, and the shadow of the blinds lay quietly on the carpet, just as before. It was as if his thrilling "spiritual journey" had been nothing more than a daydream.