It Is Said That I Have Been Crushed By Dimensionality Reduction (Quick Travel) - Chapter 2

The old wooden door creaked open with difficulty, its hinges groaning as light spilled into the dim room. Dust danced in the beam of light. Bai Yuan squinted, discomfort flickering in his pale eyes—this body seemed unusually sensitive to brightness.

Without thinking, Lin Cuiniang reached out and shielded her son from the glare. A small act of protection, but one that left Bai Yuan quietly stunned. He wasn’t used to such gentle care.

Over the past five years, Lin Cuiniang had endured ridicule and hardship. Yet despite the pressure from the family, her spirit remained unbroken. She could suffer in silence to protect her child—but she could also stand against the world for him.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” she murmured softly. “Your father and I will protect you.”

Outside, an impatient, sharp voice rang out.

“What’s taking so long? Are you crippled or something?!”

Madam Zhao didn’t wait for an answer. She was already pushing her way inside, barging in like she owned the place. She didn’t bother to hide her disgust as her gaze swept over Lin Cuiniang, sitting on the heated brick bed, and her pale, ghost-like grandson.

The boy’s white hair, pale eyes, and deathly skin unsettled her. Especially now—his quiet stare wasn’t frightened or timid like before. He looked at her directly, blankly, like he was peering through her.

It gave her chills.

“Why haven’t you gotten rid of this thing yet?” she snapped. “He’s sick, isn’t he? Now’s the perfect time to take him up the mountain and get it over with!”

Then, as if remembering her reason for coming, she added, “Brother Lin has talent and promise. If you’re smart, you’ll stop having more kids and keep putting everything into his future like before…”

She spoke as though it were obvious—as if this family existed solely to support her golden grandson. She completely ignored the years the second son and his wife had already sacrificed to keep their boy safe.

Bai Yuan was all too familiar with this kind of toxic malice. He let it sink into his body, using it as nourishment. Right now, his strength was still too weak. He needed energy—any kind of energy.

“Enough!” Zhao Pingan snapped, finally reaching his limit. His voice shook with fury. “I want to separate from the family.”

For a moment, Madam Zhao froze.

Then she threw herself to the ground dramatically, screaming and wailing like she was being murdered. “Heaven help me! How did I raise such an ungrateful, heartless son?!”

Her voice rang loud and sharp, piercing the quiet mountain air.

Lin Cuiniang trembled with fury. After all these years of patience, something in her finally cracked.

She gently covered her child’s ears. “Don’t come out no matter what you hear. Just a little longer, and we’ll be free of this place.”

The boy looked up slowly. His pale eyes met hers, and in a small, steady voice he asked, “Where will we go?”

“Down by the foot of the mountain,” she answered without hesitation.

There was an old, abandoned house left by a hunter who’d long since moved away. It sat at the edge of the village—too far and too dangerous for most, with wild animals often roaming nearby.

She had thought about moving there before. But with no money, no support, and everyone in the village treating them like outcasts, it had always seemed too risky. If something went wrong, no one would help them.

Still, things had changed.

She was done waiting. Better to face wolves in the forest than snakes within her own home.

Her voice steadied, burning with resolve. “No one will hurt you ever again. Not while I live.”

Bai Yuan nodded silently. It was strange to be treated like something precious. He watched her go, the warmth of her hand still lingering.

Lin Cuiniang carefully shut the door behind her, not wanting the chaos outside to reach her child.

The house fell quiet again.

Bai Yuan sat motionless, staring at his open palm.

This body was frail, underfed, smaller than most children his age.

He closed his eyes and began drawing in the storm of emotions around him—love, resentment, hate, fear. He transformed them into raw energy.

A small, dark sphere of power formed in his palm.

The system stirred, curious.
【Host, what is that?】

Until now, it had stayed mostly silent, watching from the background. When it fled across dimensions, nearly depleted of energy, it had searched long and far for a suitable host. In the void of space, it eventually came upon a strange youth—pale and beautiful, sitting alone in the darkness with horns curling from his head.

The database had no match for him.

On a whim, the system reached out—and the boy agreed to bind with it. The system had been overjoyed.

Since then, it had guided him into this world. Still unsure of its role, it hadn’t dared to speak until now.

Bai Yuan remembered it. He responded in his mind: “This body… why is it different from the others?”

He’d seen it in the memories. Humans here had dark hair and dark eyes. But this boy was born entirely white. The villagers feared him. Called him cursed. A harbinger of misfortune.

But why?

This world held no real gods, no actual curses. It was just a small, primitive place.

The system quickly pulled up the data.
【This world is low-tech, set in ancient times. People here fear anything they can’t explain. Natural disasters—earthquakes, floods, droughts—are all blamed on divine wrath. When the original body was born, the land was in drought. People assumed he brought misfortune and labeled him a disaster star.】

Bai Yuan thought for a moment, confused. “But why not see him as a god? Why a curse?”

【Because he showed no divine power. In a world without gods, someone different is feared, not worshiped. That’s the fate of cannon fodder.】

Silence fell between them.

Bai Yuan’s white eyes glinted with something sharper than before. Anger. Resolve.

He stared at the energy sphere in his hand—and understood.

Fated to be cannon fodder?

Fine.

If this world had no gods… then he would become one.

If the people feared him for his differences, he’d make them worship those same traits as divine. He would become a god they could not deny.

He crushed the energy ball in his hand. It dissolved into him, strengthening his weak body, rebuilding it from the inside out. His body still looked the same—but he could feel it changing.

Soon, he’d be able to mimic powers only deities could possess.

Outside, a voice grumbled impatiently. “What are you crying about this time?”

It was Zhao Fu.

Mrs. Zhao wailed louder, throwing herself into another fit. “I can’t live anymore! My own son wants to break up the family! What kind of child turns his back on his parents?!”

The noise attracted nearby villagers. In the quiet mountain village, anything remotely dramatic became entertainment. Soon a small crowd had gathered, half curious, half gossip-hungry.

Zhao Fu frowned, annoyed. His wife always blew things out of proportion—especially when it came to their second son’s family. But this time, even he couldn’t ignore the truth.

He looked at the couple standing stiffly nearby. Their clothes were patched beyond repair, their faces hollow and gaunt. They looked worse than beggars.

A flicker of shame touched him. But it didn’t last long.

He told himself he’d done nothing wrong. The strong should support the family. The cursed child was just a burden. Brother Lin was their real hope—a proper scholar.

Still, he realized they might actually go through with it.

If Zhao Pingan and his wife left, who would do the labor? Who would fund Brother Lin’s studies?

He tried to backpedal. “Second Son, the child’s gone. You can always have another—”

Mrs. Zhao panicked at that.

Another child? What if the next one’s cursed too?

Zhao Pingan clenched his fists. “Father, Brother Yuan is alive. And we’re not having another child. He’s our only son.”

The crowd gasped.

People whispered. Now it all made sense—the couple had endured so much, all for the sake of that child. But if he’d died, they had no reason to keep suffering.

Maybe… the Zhao family had gone too far.

Even Zhao Fu began to regret not giving them money for medicine. Now, if they truly split off, the burden of supporting Brother Lin would fall entirely on the rest of the family.

But he was already scheming—thinking of ways to keep them under control. He had no intention of letting go so easily.

Inside the house, Bai Yuan felt the tides of emotion rising again—scorn, pity, love, hatred. He absorbed it all like air. Then hiccupped softly, full.

He remained still, waiting for his moment to act.

Outside, Lin Cuiniang could no longer hold back. Her body trembled with rage. She stared at the elders who had nearly let her child die, her voice breaking with fury.

“For five years, Pingan and I have worked ourselves to the bone. We gave every coin we earned to support Brother Lin’s studies. And now you couldn’t even spare a few herbs for a sick child? Are you even human?!”

This time, her voice didn’t waver.

And this time, she didn’t plan to back down.