Ye Yifan had never felt more exposed in his life. And not just because he was wearing a stranger's robe with absolutely nothing underneath.
Okay, he told himself, technically everything important is covered. I'm not a girl. This is fine. This is fine.
It was not fine.
But he had bigger problems. Like: Where the hell am I? And: Did I really get isekai'd? And if yes, his origin was now his biggest secret. If no, he needed to find a phone, call his parents, and explain why he'd disappeared from under the grapevine. "Hi Mom, I fell out of a hole in the sky, long story, please send GPS."
Right. Priorities.
He cleared his throat. The old man turned around. Yifan pointed at the robe and said, "Old sir, thank you for the clothes. Can you tell me where this is?"
Then he froze.
Because the old man had a very Western face. White guy. At least 1.8 meters tall. Wrinkled now, sure, but you could tell he'd been a blonde-haired handsome young man once. And not just handsome – distinguished.
Crap. Foreigner. No Chinese.
Yifan switched to his broken, teacher-refund-not-included English: "Sir… thank you… for clothes. Where… is… here?"
Webster heard the young man clear his throat, then speak. First some kind of language – then another. Neither was the Continental Common Tongue. As a top-tier Archmage, Webster knew every language used in magic incantations. These weren't those. Probably rural dialects.
But the first language had an interesting rhythm. Almost like a spell chant.
Strange.
Then the young man just stood there, waiting. Webster frowned, lost in thought. The kid sighed.
That sigh snapped Webster back.
Damn it. I'm in the Forbidden Forest, facing a stranger, and I let my mind wander. If a magical beast attacked – or if he were an enemy – I'd be dead. I've been giddy from the level-up and lost my mage's edge. Get it together, old man.
Something shifted in Webster. Even Yifan felt it – like the old man had suddenly become someone else.
Earlier, Webster's mana had been like a roaring ocean. Now the waves calmed. And a calm sea, everyone knew, hides the deadliest storms.
Only now did Webster truly stabilize at level 7. And he'd done it because of this young man twice over: first by falling on him, then by sighing at him.
Who IS this kid?
Webster spoke: "Do you speak the Continental Common Tongue? I don't understand your dialects."
Yifan slapped his forehead.
Oh, COME ON. That's not English. Not French. Not Russian. Definitely not Chinese. What is this, alien?
No common language = no communication. No communication = no answers. No answers = no plan. No plan = stuck with a random old guy. Stuck with a random old guy = need to talk. Need to talk = need common language.
It's a loop. A perfect, stupid, isekai death loop.
Yifan's face cycled through confusion, frustration, and mild despair. Webster watched and tried several more languages – each time, the same blank look.
Right, Webster thought. He doesn't understand a single one.
Yifan was dying inside. This old man clearly knew like five languages. Probably a translator in a past life. Meanwhile Yifan could barely order a coffee in English without gesturing.
Then something happened.
The old man hesitated. Seemed to make a decision – like he was biting a bullet. He walked over and grabbed Yifan's arm.
Before Yifan could react, his feet left the ground.
Wait. What?
He was flying. Actually flying. The old man was pulling him through the air. Some kind of invisible bubble surrounded them both. Yifan had never even been on a plane – and now he was soaring over a freaking fantasy forest.
"WOOOOOHOOOOOO!"
He screamed like a kid on a roller coaster. The old man gave him a weird look.
Then Yifan's brain caught up.
The clothes. The old man pulled the robe out of thin air. That's not a magic trick. That's a –
SPACE RING.
He has a SPACE RING. Like in every isekai novel ever.
Oh my god. I'm in a fantasy world. I actually got isekai'd.
The lightning. The dragon. The blue-robed Taoist. The naked landing. The hot soup warmth. It's all real.
His excitement doubled. He screamed again.
Webster: …What is wrong with this kid?
Webster had made a decision. They couldn't talk. But he knew a spell – a rare, borderline useless spell called Wisdom Enlightenment.
He'd found it in an ancient, dusty magic notebook. The requirements were insane: minimum level 5 Archmage. Even then, success wasn't guaranteed. Safer to be higher level. The spell would completely drain the caster's mana and leave them spiritually crippled for seven days – no external healing possible.
And what did the target get? At most, one-third of the caster's knowledge. Not even a single elemental unit of power.
It was the worst trade deal in the history of magic.
Webster had never imagined he'd use it. He was a legendary mage – a genius. If he ever took a personal student, that student would be brilliant enough not to need Wisdom Enlightenment.
But now, thanks to a naked young man who fell out of the sky, here he was.
I can't cast it in the Forbidden Forest, Webster thought. That's suicide. I'd be an all-you-can-eat buffet for every monster within ten miles.
He needed a safe place. Which meant taking the kid back to the magic academy.
Golden Plains. Center.
A small, lush tree – barely a foot taller than the grass around it – shook its branches once. Then stopped.
But if a lightning-attuned mage with high elemental affinity had been there, they would have noticed: lightning elements were slowly, continuously gathering toward the center of the Golden Plains.
Like a storm waking up.