Dead silence filled the room. Not a sound could be heard. Those present would later realize that, in their shock and fear, they had witnessed a milestone moment in human history—humanity’s first glimpse of extraterrestrial intelligent life. Its significance rivaled that of Homo sapiens first leaving Africa—though this third kind of contact would happen twenty years later, it was being witnessed by people twenty years in the past.

Bai Yang thought the nickname “Big Eye” was truly fitting. Its most distinctive feature was indeed an oversized eyeball that glowed red in the darkness, with a massive pupil that could flexibly expand, contract, and roll around. It stared at Bai Yang through the thin curtain, computer screen, and twenty years, nearly taking his breath away.

This was a fear humanity had never faced before. Bai Yang couldn’t even pinpoint where this fear came from. It wasn’t from weapons, tigers, or ghosts—it didn’t belong to any terrifying imagery known to the human brain. Yet when its gaze fell upon him, he felt nailed in place, his body too rigid to move.

Bai Yang wasn’t the only one frozen stiff. Beside him, Bai Zhen, Wang Ning, Zhao Bowen, and even Lian Qiao had turned pale. One could imagine that everyone receiving the video signal was now pinned to their seats, struggling to breathe under the Big Eye’s gaze. This wasn’t reconnaissance—this was mice emerging from their holes only to come face-to-face with an eagle.

These little mice were fortunate. They were in a safe place, watching the eagle through a screen. No matter how formidable it was, it couldn’t kill them through the network cable. But Xia Ban was different—only a wall separated her from the Big Eye.

The wall clearly couldn’t resist this monster. If it wanted to, pushing down a wall or destroying an entire building would be child’s play. The girl tightly hugged Master Huang, hiding under the desk, not daring to make a sound.

She could only pray the monster would leave quickly.

“Come out— where are you?”

The voice changed its tone and timbre, sounding like a man speaking.

“Give me the fruit! Give me the fruit…”

The bedroom was illuminated by the Big Eye’s red glow. Xia Ban guessed it might be examining this window, searching methodically, one window at a time.

Xia Ban held her breath, not daring to let out even a gasp.

She thought if she was lucky, and the Big Eye found nothing, it would continue its search, moving on to the next window, leaving her bedroom.

Go away, go away, go away, go away…

Please go away.

Xia Ban chanted in her heart.

But the sound from above made the hair on her back stand up from feet to neck.

A soft “click—”

It was the sound of the aluminum window being pulled open.

Shit.

This is bad.

At this moment, Xia Ban’s mind went blank. After a few seconds, she felt certain she was done for.

She had nowhere to escape, trapped like a fish in a barrel, only able to wait for death.

“Where are youuu—?”

The gentle voice suddenly sounded from above, feeling as if someone was lying outside the window, extending an unusually long neck to peek inside, with a head like a beautiful long-haired woman.

Xia Ban was nearly suffocating.

Bai Yang had already suffocated. He had been watching the whole time—the camera was mounted on a tripod in the center of the bedroom, facing the window and desk. He watched helplessly as the aluminum window behind the curtain was pulled open on screen, and then something slowly pushed up against the curtain. The sense of invasion terrified Bai Yang, as if the monster wasn’t invading a bedroom twenty years in the future, but his room right now. Bai Yang instinctively backed away, his head hitting someone’s chin. He turned to look and found it was Zhao Bowen. Old Zhao didn’t feel a thing—he pushed away Bai Yang’s head, staring at the computer with a fixed gaze.

Whether on this side of the computer or that side, the air had become too thick to flow. The only thing moving was whatever was behind the curtain.

It was infiltrating inch by inch.

Suddenly something darted onto the desk. The unexpected movement made Lian Qiao let out a low gasp.

It was a swift black shadow—with the camera’s extremely low refresh rate and transmission speed, its shape was impossible to capture.

“What was that?” Wang Ning’s eyes widened.

Xia Ban’s eyes widened too. Before she could react, Master Huang had wriggled out of her arms. Its slender body twisted as it climbed up the desk leg—too quick to catch. The girl nearly cried out. Had the little creature climbed up to investigate the voice?

That’s not human! Master Huang!

Not human!

NOT HUMAN!

Xia Ban clenched her fists anxiously. Despite her worry, she dared not move or make a sound. She couldn’t emerge from under the desk, only curl up into a ball, clenching her teeth tightly.

“What is that?”

Bai Zhen stood behind the sofa, craning his neck forward. Zhao, Wang Ning, and Lian Qiao mimicked his posture—they had all noticed the black shadow that had leaped onto the desk, like a small animal.

“A cat?” asked Lian Qiao.

“A dog?” said Bai Zhen. “Did she keep a dog?”

“It’s a yellow weasel,” Bai Yang frowned. “Its name is Master Huang.”

After jumping onto the desk, Master Huang circled, perhaps looking for the source of the voice. It had been a long time since it had heard any voice besides Xia Ban’s. People didn’t know if yellow weasels could carefully distinguish human voices, but if Master Huang had this ability, perhaps it thought the recent voice sounded somewhat like that woman.

That woman who had picked it up and kept it company for many years.

The moment the yellow weasel darted out, the glowing pupil outside the window suddenly contracted. It had startled the Big Eye or the Bladesman—Master Huang’s tiny brain capacity couldn’t possibly comprehend the Bladesman’s existence. To it, this huge red-glowing eyeball was no different from the sun. It just kept turning around on the desk, looking here and there, even crawling into the curtains, searching everywhere.

The Big Eye’s pupil locked onto it, following its left and right movements—neither the Bladesman nor Master Huang knew that at least a dozen people were watching them intently at this moment, none daring to breathe deeply.

Zhao Bowen gripped Bai Yang’s shoulder tightly, his five-finger joints turning white. If he didn’t grip something, he would shake.

This was an extremely fragile balance—the Big Eye observing Master Huang, while Master Huang circled obliviously. Everyone feared what would happen if either party made a sudden move. What if Master Huang suddenly jumped off the desk? What if the Big Eye suddenly attacked? (Of course, they would later learn that the Bladesman never attacked any animals—it protected them, like a farmer tending to young seedlings in the field.)

This balance was maintained for over ten seconds. The first to change was the Big Eye—its tightly focused pupil relaxed again, and it used a tentacle to gently push Master Huang into the room, carefully closing the window afterward.

That gentleness was just like how your mother tucks you in and softly closes your bedroom door.

The “click-clack” sound returned to the outer wall—the Bladesman had moved on, going to search the next window. Xia Ban held her breath under the desk, hiding in the pitch darkness and silence, not knowing how long she stayed there. Only when she could no longer hear any movement did she dare to exhale deeply, collapsing onto the floor.

This breath came out together with her tears.

Zhao Bowen covered his face with both hands and slumped onto the sofa. He buried his face in his palms, took a deep breath, and said in a low voice: “This fucking freakish thing absolutely cannot be allowed to exist. Keeping it alive will lead to endless trouble.”