Chapter 5 | His First Initiative to Plan Replication

The morning after the shadow disappeared passed slowly.

Slow enough that Li Xing could clearly remember every detail.

His mother washed the pots, wiped the stove, and then dusted the windowsill. His father leaned against the kang (heated brick bed), flipping through an old newspaper he had read countless times.

The house returned to its original state.

Poor, quiet, with no end in sight.

Li Xing sat on a small stool by the door, twirling a wooden stick in his hand, but his gaze wasn't on the yard.

His attention was entirely in the depths of his consciousness.

Space hung there quietly.

As if waiting for him.

He suddenly understood something—if he didn't actively use it, it wouldn't give it to him.

That half-bag of cornmeal was just a test.

The real question was:

What should he copy next, so as not to be discovered, yet still change reality?

He crossed out his targets one by one.

Grain?

No.

Grain coupons and cloth coupons had limits; having more than enough in a short time would be too conspicuous. Money?

Never even seen a shadow of it; the risks are unknown.

Clothes?

Unnecessary, and difficult to explain.

His gaze fell on the corner of the courtyard wall.

That dilapidated bicycle, leaning there, its chain rusted red.

It was bought by his father when he was young.

It hadn't been touched for half a year.

Li Xing got up and walked over, squatted down, and flicked the pedal.

"Click."

The chain was jammed.

He narrowed his eyes.

If he could fix it.

He wouldn't sell it.

He wouldn't exchange it for grain.

As long as it could be ridden.

It would be convenient for his mother to go to the supply and marketing cooperative, and for his father to go to the hospital.

This would change their lives, but not their finances.

His breathing gradually steadied.

[Copy Space]

His consciousness responded quickly.

[Currently Copyable Target: Non-living Physical Object / Skill Proficiency (Low-Level)]

He didn't rush to choose.

Instead, he reached out and touched the rusty chain.

Rough, cold.

"Not a cloned bike," he told himself.

"A clone... of a mechanic's hands."

His heart skipped a beat when the thought crossed his mind.

This was the first time he'd used strategy to test the boundaries of space.

[Target confirmed: Bicycle repair skills (basic)]

[Risk assessment: Low to medium]

[Duration: 30 minutes]

[Execute?]

Li Xing took a deep breath.

"Execute."

A familiar dizziness washed over him.

But this time, it wasn't darkness.

Instead, a flood of strange yet familiar images were crammed into his mind—

Chain disassembly sequence.

Bearing lubrication angle.

Brake cable adjustment feel.

The information came quickly and in a jumbled mess.

He instinctively grabbed the frame, steadying himself.

A few seconds later, everything was back in place.

Li Xing looked down at his hands.

It was still those same hands.

But he knew clearly—

Now, he knew it.

He wasted no time.

He started immediately.

He glanced at the rusted screw, and the force was already in his mind.

Which side to tighten, how much force to use—it was almost instinctive.

He removed the chain, soaked it in oil, and brushed off the rust.

His movements were slow, but extremely steady.

His mother came out of the house, saw this, and paused, stunned.

“When did you learn this?”

Li Xing didn’t look up.

“I learned a little at the factory.”

This was half true, half false.

His mother looked at him for a few seconds, didn’t ask any further, and silently went back into the house, bringing him a bowl of water and placing it beside him.

Twenty minutes later, he tightened the last screw.

He stood up, pushed the bicycle forward.

The wheel turned.

Smoothly, almost unbelievably.

He had just breathed a sigh of relief when his mind suddenly jolted.

[Skill Copy Remaining Time: 03:12]

The countdown appeared mercilessly.

Li Xing didn't hesitate.

He immediately adjusted the brakes and straightened the handlebars.

He fixed every possible problem in one go.

[00:00:00]

At that moment, a certain part of his mind "slightly went blank."

Like the pages of a book being closed.

He blinked.

The details were still there, but not as clear.

Not disappeared.

It was a regression to the level of **"learned it once"**.

But that was enough.

His mother pushed the bike around the yard, testing it, her eyes brightening.

"You can ride it."

She said this softly.

But it sounded like she was pressing down on something.

Li Xing looked at the bicycle.

Watching its wheels turn in the sunlight.

Suddenly, it dawned on him—this was the true purpose of space.

Leaving no trace.

Not challenging the rules.

Yet, step by step, it could subtly influence life.

And at that moment, for the first time, he clearly understood—he wasn't passively "owning" the space.

He was using it.