Chapter Twenty-Seven: This Is What True Strength Means

Unknowingly, the clock had already passed eight. Tonight, he would keep it simple. Rising from his folding stool, stretching his waist, Fang Zhuowei decided he would just make instant noodles and fry an egg, something quick to satisfy his hunger.

He had barely moved, not yet opened the door, when a rough, grinding sound suddenly echoed from the courtyard outside, as if something were gnashing its teeth.

“Scratch, scratch…”

“Scratch, scratch…”

The noise was harsh, like scales scraping incessantly against the ground.

“What is that? Could there really be some wild animal like a boar wandering into the yard?” The sudden sound startled Fang Zhuowei.

Anping Town was surrounded on three sides by endless mountains, wild and untamed. With little human development, the animal population within those hills was abundant—especially wild boars, which were so common people sometimes saw them blocking the road.

Never make the mistake of thinking wild boars are harmless like domestic pigs. They are nothing alike: tough-skinned, thick-fleshed, immensely strong, their tusks as sharp as knives, and prone to sudden fury. It’s no exaggeration to say that a crazed adult male boar is so formidable even tigers hesitate to confront one.

If such a creature had entered his home, Fang Zhuowei could only hope it would wander off soon. His yard contained nothing but grass; if a boar found no food, it ought to leave quickly.

“Scratch, scratch…”

But perhaps luck was simply not on his side tonight.

The air was filled with the grating sound, drawing ever closer rather than fading away.

“Damn, it’s heading straight for my door…” Fang Zhuowei cursed his own ill-fated intuition, grabbed a freshly sharpened axe from the corner, and hurriedly checked the door bolt.

Thankfully, he always remembered to lock the door, and the bolt was newly installed.

“What on earth is it? The sound doesn’t quite match a wild boar; they don’t make noises like this.” Fang Zhuowei frowned deeply, cautiously peeking out from behind the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder. But outside was pitch black, not a hint of light, and the window blocked his view. No matter how wide he opened his eyes, he saw nothing unusual.

Yet the constant scraping noise reminded him that something was indeed steadily approaching.

Fang Zhuowei’s brows knotted into a deep furrow.

In these wild mountains, anything was possible; he had seen bears as a child, massive beasts with paws larger than his waist.

He swallowed hard and gripped the mountain knife tightly.

Though he possessed the power of creation, he was only at the beginning, far from being able to affect reality; in the real world, he remained just an ordinary man.

Outside, that strange scraping noise lingered in the air, like a giant beast gnashing its teeth, sending chills down his spine.

Fang Zhuowei guessed it must be some large wild animal—probably a boar—otherwise such commotion would not occur.

Yet the sound didn’t quite fit any of the large animals he knew.

“If I get through tonight safely, I’ll have to install a light in the yard tomorrow, no matter what. Better than being blind in the dark, not knowing what’s come in.”

He slowed his breathing to a minimum, planning his next steps.

He hated the feeling of being blind in the darkness.

Whatever else, at least he should know what had entered his yard; if he knew what was outside, perhaps he wouldn’t feel so helpless.

“Hm?”

“The sound has vanished…”

Suddenly, the grating noise disappeared.

“Has it left?”

He raised his brows but didn’t open the door immediately. Instead, he pressed his ear to the wood, listening intently for a long while.

Outside, it was eerily silent, not even the caw of a bird or the chirp of an insect. He could have heard a pin drop.

“No, this quietness is too sudden!”

The more silent it was outside, the heavier his expression became.

It was simple, really.

Whatever had come in, if it left, it would make noise—movement always produced sounds, whether faint or loud, near or far, with a changing rhythm.

Yet that grating sound had lingered just outside his door, and if it had really left, the departure would have been obvious and clear. Instead, it stopped abruptly, vanished without warning.

“That thing that barged in is still outside the door, pretending to leave to trick me into letting my guard down and checking outside.”

Fang Zhuowei deduced.

Wild animals from the mountains were nothing like those in zoos. They were cunning, sometimes clever enough to fool humans.

“Bang…”

Before the thought had even finished, a tremendous force suddenly slammed into the wooden door.

The impact was greater than he’d imagined; had Fang Zhuowei not been alert and focused, he might have been thrown across the room.

Most astonishingly, spiderweb-like cracks appeared across the spot where the door had been struck.

“So it didn’t leave… But this kind of force, it’s not a wild boar, nor a bear; neither should be able to hit this hard.”

He rubbed his numb arm, unable to suppress a sense of dread.

Though his wooden door had lasted many years, it was built by his father from solid timber—so dense and strong that even an axe struggled to break it. It was made specifically to withstand wild boars and bears.

Years ago, a tragedy had occurred in a nearby household: a poor-quality door had been smashed to pieces by a starving bear, which devoured two newborn babies and the entire family of five.

After that, at least in the countryside, everyone began installing solid wood doors—even though they were much more expensive, they were certainly sturdy.

Yet now, it seemed even that was not enough.

He took a deep breath, rubbed his still trembling arm, pressed his shoulder against the door, and tightly gripped the mountain knife, raising it high toward the cracks.

If something truly burst through, he would strike with all his strength. Even a wild boar or a bear would be caught off guard, losing several chunks of health instantly. And if his aim was good, he might even halve its health bar!