The silver doorway did not lead to a vacuum. When Xin stepped through the rift, his boots didn't hit starlight or void; they hit cold, polished glass. He emerged into the 99th Earth, and for a moment, he thought he was looking at a ghost of Jiangnan. The architecture was identical—the same sweeping curves of the Great Needle, the same tiered districts and hanging gardens—but everything was wrong. Where Jiangnan was warm wood and rusted iron, this city was a jagged, silent landscape of chrome and mirrors.
"Stay close," Xin whispered, his breath fogging in the unnaturally thin air.
Mei and Pip stepped through behind him, their eyes wide. There was no wind here, and no sound of birds or machinery. The only noise was the low, rhythmic hum of a heart that beat much faster than their own.
