Two days later, they arrived at the Yè ancestral home.
Qiū Huà Bǐ stopped at the gate.
Not because the residence was imposing. There were no towering walls meant to intimidate visitors, no carved dragons proclaiming the wealth of the family that lived within.
It simply stood there.
Grey stone. Dark timber polished by generations of hands. Courtyards unfolding one after another with quiet certainty.
Nothing reached for attention, yet nothing felt ordinary.
The roof tiles had settled under decades of rain and winter, curving gently as though even time had learned to move around the place instead of through it.
He found himself looking longer than he meant to.
"...How old is this?"
Yè Yī followed his gaze.
"Old enough that no one remembers who paid for it."
Qiū Huà Bǐ clicked his tongue.
"So..."
He looked around again.
"...Expensive."
Yè Yī didn't bother answering.
Some questions didn't need one.
Factor IV had done their work well.
The courtyard showed no trace of what had happened. The shattered latticework had been rebuilt. The broken stones had been replaced. Even the scorch marks left by the attack had disappeared beneath careful restoration.
The house looked untouched. Almost too untouched, as though someone had apologized to it before beginning the repairs.
Violet's eyes swept quietly across the courtyard.
"They were careful."
She stepped onto the stone path.
"They know better than to disrespect a bloodline house."
Qiū Huà Bǐ looked around again before nodding.
"...Polite ghosts."
Inside, the house welcomed them with cedar, dried herbs and the faint fragrance of old paper.
The silence wasn't empty. It carried years. The kind that persuaded people to lower their voices without asking.
Qiū Huà Bǐ noticed himself doing exactly that.
Violet wandered into the main hall and dropped into a woven chair as though she'd been visiting for years.
She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, then looked toward Yè Yī.
"Cook."
He stopped halfway across the room.
"...Cook what?"
"Chinese."
She pretended to think.
"Chicken.."
Another pause.
"...And beef."
Qiū Huà Bǐ slowly looked from one of them to the other.
"...Is this...?"
"Yes."
Yè Yī had already turned toward the kitchen.
"This is happening."
As he rolled up his sleeves, a quiet thought crossed his mind.
'Am I a cultivator... or somebody's mother?'
Another followed.
'And whose budget is this coming from? Mine... or my ancestors?'
The kitchen came alive.
Oil whispered before it sang. Fresh ginger touched the wok first. Garlic followed. Its fragrance spread through the old house until it reached every room. Then came soy. A little cooking wine.
The richer scent of beef meeting hot steel.
Qiū Huà Bǐ looked toward the kitchen almost immediately. His eyes brightened.
"...Oh."
A second later—
"This is serious cooking."
Across the room, Violet noticed exactly where he was looking. A small smile appeared.
By the time Yè Yī was finishing the second dish, the house had become warmer.
Not because of the fire... but someone was cooking in it again.
The old beams, the polished floorboards, even the quiet courtyard outside seemed less abandoned than before.
Violet watched the evening light spill through the paper windows.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and measured. As though she were deciding which truths belonged to today and which belonged somewhere further ahead.
"The Specialists..."
Qiū Huà Bǐ turned toward her.
She rested one arm against the chair.
"They're neither heroes nor villains. They're simply people who discovered the world wasn't built the way everyone thought... and then chose different answers."
Qiū Huà Bǐ listened without interrupting.
"ET believed knowledge should belong to whoever was willing to reach far enough."
Her expression remained unreadable.
"They cut open mysteries until they stop being mysteries. White laboratories... Clean gloves... Numbers before names."
Qiū Huà Bǐ nodded slowly.
"...That sounds about right."
She continued.
"Factor IV chose another path. They don't spend their lives asking why someone can do something... They ask how to protect it. Technology... Surveillance... Containment.. They watch quietly, so other people never have to notice what almost happened."
She glanced toward him.
"That doesn't make them saints. It just means their work is different. Think of ET as Science and Factor IV as Technology."
Qiū Huà Bǐ folded his arms.
"And you?"
The corner of Violet's mouth lifted for barely a second.
"I don't belong to either."
There wasn't pride nor regret in the answer, only fact.
The sound of the wok broke the silence. Yè Yī returned carrying three dishes. Beef coated in a dark soy glaze. Chicken still crackling faintly from the heat. Steamed rice rising with gentle curls of steam.
The smell reached Qiū Huà Bǐ before the plates did. He stared.
"...I officially withdraw every complaint I've ever made."
Yè Yī set the dishes down.
"You've known me for three days."
"Exactly."
They ate together beneath the open beams of the ancestral hall. Outside, evening settled quietly across the courtyard. Inside, chopsticks clicked softly against porcelain.
No alarms.
No reports.
No one chasing anyone.
Only food.
For a little while, the world allowed itself to be ordinary.
Qiū Huà Bǐ swallowed another mouthful before speaking again.
"So..."
"This house gets attacked."
He counted on his fingers.
"A secret organization repairs it."
"We come back."
"And then we eat dinner like this happens every Tuesday."
Violet nodded.
"Yes."
"...That's insane."
"Yes."
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
"I kind of like it."
Across the table, Yè Yī looked at Violet.
"You still haven't told him everything."
"I won't."
She turned toward Qiū Huà Bǐ.
"Not yet."
He set his chopsticks down.
"Good."
"I hate spoilers."
---
Outside, the Yè ancestral home stood quietly beneath the evening sky.
Its walls had witnessed generations arrive.
Generations disappear.
Wars.
Promises.
Silences that lasted decades.
Three young people sharing dinner beneath its roof was hardly the strangest thing it had ever seen.