Category: The Laws of Resonance (Page 1 of 2)

“The [Gate]?” Xia Ye asked.

The word carried symbolic weight; Xia Ye wasn’t sure exactly what it meant.

“The [Gate] refers to the point of contact between extraterrestrial organisms and our world,” Chi Zhou explained as he walked. “Usually, it’s a wormhole. They have a way of locking a wormhole’s exit onto our galaxy. The Alliance calls it a ‘contamination source’, but we think [Gate] is a more evocative term.”

Xia Ye fell silent for a moment before asking, “They can control wormholes?”

“Yeah. Hard as it is to believe, that’s exactly how it works.”

Chi Zhou shrugged helplessly and gestured for the others to follow.

“It’s true. Every existing theory tells us that wormholes can’t be controlled. From the very day humanity discovered them, we assessed their unstable nature, concluding that while they were ubiquitous, they were also fleeting—impossible to even capture.”

Xia Ye listened quietly.

Having read extensively, he understood the nature of wormholes well enough to grasp just how insane Chi Zhou’s claim was.

“Thirty years ago, when the research institute ventured deep into the First Contamination Zone, we discovered one of their abandoned [Gates]. Its material composition was identical to that of a wormhole, leading us to conclude that they used the [Gates] to tunnel their way into our world.”

Chi Zhou’s voice rang out with exceptional clarity in the empty corridor.

“The [Gate] is inherently unstable. Areas where one appears are prone to spacetime overlaps.”

He pointed to the chunks of plaster raining down from the ceiling.

“This place is probably going to collapse soon.”

Chi Zhou quickened his pace, and the squad rapidly withdrew from the top floor, heading towards the second underground level.

Xia Ye nodded.

Everything he had witnessed today was utterly absurd—events far removed from the lives of ordinary people—yet he sensed a strange reality amidst the absurdity.

Since meeting Chi Zhou, the truth of the world had finally begun to reveal itself to him, bit by bit.

It gave him a sense of reassurance.

—

“That’s strange. Aren’t you even a little surprised by that [Gate]?”

Once Chi Zhou finished his explanation, Jian Feiyang finally couldn’t help himself and spoke up.

“You’re way too calm, Little Captain. Is this really your first mission?”

Amidst the rustling fall of plaster dust, Jian Feiyang dodged chunks of stone raining down on him while persistently questioning Xia Ye.

Walking through the ruins on the verge of collapse, Xia Ye maintained an uncanny composure; not even the cuffs of his shirt were stained with dust.

“It feels fine. It’s not that scary,” Xia Ye said calmly. “I grew up in District Twelve.”

Jian Feiyang’s stream of questions faltered to a halt.

He understood the implications behind those words. The extraterrestrial contamination that made the entire Alliance pale with dread, the chronic poverty and mutations, the ecosystem that had yet to fully recover…

District Twelve was a place no one wanted to go.

“Uh, I didn’t know. I should’ve checked your file first,” Jian Feiyang stammered, trying to explain. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious…”

He gave an awkward laugh. “After all, you’re so strong, Little Captain. That move you just pulled was amazing—I was completely stunned.”

The more he spoke, the more wrong it felt. He worried he was reopening old wounds for Xia Ye.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Chi Zhou interjected just in time. “Jian Feiyang, do you think everyone is just like you?”

He pointed at Jian Feiyang and said to Xia Ye, “Don’t let his chatter fool you. He was a total coward when he first joined the Special Operations Department. He was absolutely terrified by the mutated organisms on his first mission.”

Xia Ye nodded. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Chi Zhou said. “A lot of people are just like him.”

Xia Ye lowered his voice and asked, “What about you?”

Chi Zhou smiled gently.

“I was just as calm on my first mission.”

Xia Ye tilted his head slightly, stealing a subtle glance at him.

He found it hard to picture what Chi Zhou’s first mission had been like—no mecha, no research institute, nothing to rely on but his own flesh and blood as he faced extraterrestrial organisms.

Had Chi Zhou truly felt no fear?

Xia Ye didn’t know.

By the time he met Chi Zhou, Chi Zhou was already a symbol of the Alliance.

—

The squad members were close together; even when they deliberately lowered their voices, the others could still hear them.

Ying Jiawei was clearly holding back laughter. She hadn’t expected anyone to dare ask Chi Zhou a question like that.

Jian Feiyang, who couldn’t keep anything to himself, immediately exclaimed, “Holy crap, Xia Ye, you’ve got guts. Is that really something you can just ask?”

He hurried forward, circling around to stand in front of Chi Zhou, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Man, Captain, you aren’t mad?”

Chi Zhou sounded genuinely puzzled. “Why would I be mad about that?”

“Really? I don’t think so,” Jian Feiyang muttered. “If it were anyone else asking, it might be a different story. Remember that idiot from the military last time? He insisted on asking if you had ever wavered during a mission, and your face went dark instantly.”

“Is that the same thing?”

Chi Zhou fished a cigarette out of his pocket but extinguished it the moment he lit it.

“You sure talk a lot.”

“That’s not what you used to say, Captain. You said I was the team’s mood-maker—that wherever I went, there was joy.” Jian Feiyang suddenly thought of something. “Hey, Captain, didn’t you go to military school a few days ago? Was it for the matching exchange event?”

The Alliance regularly held matching exchange events to foster bonds between sentinels and guides and improve combat capabilities.

Because of the unique nature of the sentinel-guide bond, choosing to form a bond was essentially choosing to spend the rest of one’s life together. It was often jokingly referred to as an arranged marriage.

Jian Feiyang grinned and leaned in, looking thoroughly nosy. “Don’t tell me you two have already successfully matched and are planning to get married as soon as this mission ends?”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that.”

Chi Zhou waved a hand.

“Saying stuff like that during a mission—it’s bad luck.”

Noticing Jian Feiyang’s confused look, Xia Ye added, “You would understand if you watched more films from Old Earth. Whenever a protagonist says, ‘I’m going back home to get married after this job,’ they always end up…”

He raised his hand and made a slicing motion across his throat.

In the dust-filled corridor, he tilted his neck back slightly; the graceful curve made him look just like a proud white swan.

Chi Zhou glanced at him casually. “Hmm. You certainly know your stuff.”

“I don’t…” Xia Ye’s voice trailed off. “…know that much.”

For some reason, he felt his ears growing hot.

—

Within a few brief exchanges, they had returned to the ground-floor lobby.

The lobby was a scene of devastation; tables and chairs lay shattered everywhere, crushed by falling masonry.

The moment the director collapsed, the human-faced trees withered away, leaving behind nothing but piles of grey-black ash on the floor.

To battle Chi Zhou, the director had drained every ounce of energy from the human-faced trees, ruthlessly using them as mere batteries.

Several residents huddled beneath a desk, their faces pale, blood gushing from their palms.

Chi Zhou stopped walking.

“Ying Jiawei, you and Jian Feiyang stay here and evacuate the surviving residents.”

Once the [Gate] opened, the entire central hospital would be engulfed by a wormhole; untrained humans could easily get lost amid overlapping space and time.

The consequences of an ordinary person stumbling into the territory of an extraterrestrial organism were too dire to contemplate.

He glanced at the time on his wrist. “We have fifteen minutes at most.”

Ying Jiawei nodded and walked towards the residents alongside Jian Feiyang.

While they were in the director’s office, Fang Sike and Yu Yucheng had already set out to scout the path to the underground dissection room.

Now, only Chi Zhou and Xia Ye remained of the six-person team.

The lift had long since broken down, and even the stairwell had partially collapsed, exposing bare rebar that extended into the depths.

Not a shred of light reached down there—only absolute darkness.

It was as if something had enveloped the entire underground area, forcing even the scorching sun to recoil.

A bone-chilling draft rushed upwards, ruffling the loose strands of hair at Xia Ye’s temple. “There’s something down there.”

Xia Ye’s voice turned cold. “My Mental Domain is being blocked.”

The snow leopard paced uneasily beside him, scraping its claws against the floor as if wary of a hidden threat.

“That confirms it,” Chi Zhou said, standing on the remaining section of the staircase. “The [Gate] is down there.”

He tossed a high-intensity glow stick down the stairwell. Its brilliant glow was instantly swallowed by the darkness, leaving behind only a dull thud.

“This is the territory of a higher-level species—a place that swallows everything, where no light exists.”

Chi Zhou’s voice was chillingly cold. Xia Ye could detect the turbulent undertow beneath his calm tone—a pure, unadulterated hatred for humanity’s natural enemy.

“Zero point three seconds. A depth of one hundred and two metres.”

Chi Zhou made the assessment the instant the glow stick hit the ground.

“It’s powerful.”

Xia Ye gazed into the bottomless abyss below. “Is it because of the territory?”

“Yes.” Chi Zhou’s voice warmed slightly. “The more expansive the territory, the more powerful the extraterrestrial organism. That one-hundred-and-two-metre span is merely the [Gate] it uses for dormancy. Once the [Gate] opens, its territory could expand thirtyfold.”

Xia Ye walked down the stairs in silence.

In a world where no light could penetrate, he could only make out the blurred silhouette of Chi Zhou ahead of him.

Sharp, angular features; a tall, commanding posture; long, strong fingers.

Xia Ye had seen this silhouette in countless promotional videos and fully understood the immense power it embodied.

Yet, on this long staircase enveloped by a biting, cold wind, he found himself inexplicably recalling the first time he had ever seen Chi Zhou.

A massive, gruesome wound had torn across his back.

Only now, after all these years, did the fear finally hit him.

At the time, he hadn’t even considered just how terrifying it had been.

“Chi Zhou.”

Xia Ye suddenly called out his name amidst the endless darkness.

“What is it?”

Chi Zhou seemed to halt; the sound of his military boots striking the floor ceased.

He waited for Xia Ye to approach, then grasped his wrist.

It was a slender wrist—one that felt as though it might snap under a firm grip.

The skin felt smooth yet cold, beaded with a light sheen of sweat.

“Xia Ye,” Chi Zhou said, “you’re afraid.”

The strange environment had no effect on him; his voice remained gentle and steady, unwavering.

Xia Ye’s racing heart began to calm. He stood there, looking somewhat vexed.

“I’m not scared.”

“You don’t need to put on a brave face in front of me.” Chi Zhou led him down the stairs, step by step. “The territory of a higher-level species exerts a powerful mental contamination effect. Any human who enters will be affected.”

“Is it the same for everyone?” Xia Ye asked softly.

“Mm,” Chi Zhou replied. “Sentinels, guides, ordinary people—it makes no difference.”

“The same goes for you?”

Chi Zhou fell silent—a rare occurrence for him.

Most of the time, he preferred not to recall the first time he had stepped into the territory of an extraterrestrial organism.

Yet, faced with Xia Ye’s question, he answered.

“I’m the same.”

Chi Zhou stepped off the final stair and stood with Xia Ye before the entrance to the dissection room on the second basement level.

He said, “Xia Ye, I am not a god.”

—

The dissection room was sparsely furnished, a stark contrast to the director’s lavish office. The flimsy wooden door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling through the gap. A red emergency light flashed incessantly, and water—dripping from an unknown source—pooled into a shallow puddle at Xia Ye’s feet.

The two team members who had gone ahead to scout the area were waiting there; they stepped forward as soon as the pair arrived.

“Captain,” Fang Sike said in a low voice, “we can’t get in.”

He pointed to the gap in the doorway.

“It won’t open. Something is blocking it.”

“It’s waiting for me.” Chi Zhou gave a cold laugh. “An old acquaintance.”

The long blade Heaven’s Way gleamed coldly in his hand. Bone-Eater on the hilt emitted a low, mournful hum, which Chi Zhou silenced with a single palm.

“Break the door,” Chi Zhou ordered. “Don’t worry about it.”

He swung the long blade down in a swift arc; the flimsy wooden door burst open, revealing the full expanse of the dissection room.

Even though it had become the territory of an extraterrestrial organism, the room still retained the original appearance of Longgu Town Central Hospital’s dissection room.

The tiled floor took on an eerie hue under the red glow of the emergency lights.

The white walls bore the painted slogan, [Respect Science, Love Your Work]. The red paint looked startlingly vivid.

Countless shelving units stretched out before them, each one reaching all the way to the ceiling. The shelves were lined with glass jars that exuded a pungent odour of formalin.

“What kind of experiment is this?” Fang Sike asked, pinching his nose.

Xia Ye walked toward the jars, wanting a better look.

In this dissection room, the range of his Mental Domain was severely restricted; he no longer possessed an omniscient view.

The glass jars held various internal organs. At first glance, the scene seemed no different from a standard hospital dissection room. But on closer inspection, one could see the organs embedded with tiny seeds, resembling those of a tree.

“Contamination source,” Chi Zhou said. “Those are seeds from the human-faced trees.”

Xia Ye merely hummed in acknowledgement; his attention had already shifted away from the jars.

He took a few steps forward, venturing deeper into the room.

Behind the towering shelves stood rows of experimental chambers, each two metres tall. Filled with an unidentified liquid, the chambers were connected to overhead piping that continuously supplied oxygen and nutrients to the experimental subjects.

Xia Ye stood before one of the chambers, gazing at the ‘person’ within.

That ‘person’ possessed a face identical to his own.

---

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The interlacing branches had pierced straight through their bodies, yet it did not hinder their movements

“Special Operations Department?”

Someone even recognised their uniforms and stood up from his seat, stiffly making his way towards Chi Zhou.

“I’m Zhao Lei, the person in charge of the Third Squad.”

The mutation had clearly greatly enhanced his physical capabilities. Zhao Lei was visibly faster than an ordinary sentinel.

Within three seconds, he had crossed more than ten metres and arrived in front of them, his towering figure casting a shadow over them.

He was a full three metres tall, far beyond the height of a normal human.

The director’s office had clearly not been designed for the mutated. The ceiling was only three metres high.

To keep the flowers on top of his head from touching the ceiling, Zhao Lei struggled to bend his neck, his head crushed into a distorted mass against it.

The muscles in his arms bulged into thick, solid masses, blue veins standing out across them. They looked like the grain of a tree.

The Alliance military’s uniforms were made from specialised materials. They were waterproof and fireproof, with excellent elasticity. They should have served their purpose during missions, but in circumstances like these, that elasticity became useful instead.

The fabric had been stretched to its limits, pulled taut against Zhao Lei’s body until even the military insignia had warped.

He was human, yet he was not.

—

Before entering the office, Xia Ye had imagined what he might find inside.

Corpses. Blood. Monsters. He had prepared himself to face all of it.

But he had never imagined seeing something like this.

No normal human being could have imagined that such a creature existed in this world.

‘He’ had a handsome face, but his features had already become distorted. Beneath every inch of his skin lurked tree fibres. His arms hung so long that they could reach his ankles, while his feet were unnaturally large, as though he were wearing flippers.

This should have been someone they knew better than anyone—a man in a military uniform.

The magnificent yet grotesque sight struck Xia Ye’s eyes, causing the calm expression on his face to shift ever so slightly.

“He’s…” Xia Ye asked, his voice strained. “From the Third Squad?”

Chi Zhou nodded.

He had already grown accustomed to such sights.

“Hello. I’m Chi Zhou, from the First Squad of the Special Operations Department.”

He looked calmly at Zhao Lei, compassion hidden beneath his gentle gaze.

“By order of the Alliance, we’ll be taking over Longgu Town Central Hospital from today onwards. I hope you’ll cooperate.”

Chi Zhou repeated the mission details in [Code XII], staring at Zhao Lei, who had already lost his human form.

He knew very well that this was no longer his former comrade.

But when Zhao Lei used the consciousness he had left to state his rank, Chi Zhou still responded as protocol required.

It was the final respect he could give him.

—

“Take over?”

Zhao Lei tilted his head in confusion, as though he did not understand what Chi Zhou had said.

His excessively long neck twisted to one side, his head drooping towards his shoulder. The sight was especially horrifying.

“We haven’t received any such order.”

His mouth suddenly split open, stretching all the way towards his ears, and his voice became extraordinarily shrill.

“Captain Chi, you’re exceeding your authority.”

A clicking sound came from Zhao Lei’s throat as he wheezed heavily.

“We won’t allow it! Longgu Town belongs to us!”

A piercing shriek that made one’s scalp crawl erupted throughout the office. Zhao Lei suddenly accelerated and charged towards the doorway.

Chi Zhou had clearly anticipated this.

The Desert Eagle’s trigger was pulled.

The Magnum round tore through the air with a powerful gust, striking Zhao Lei squarely in the forehead.

The instant the bullet entered his skin, the stamens on his head seemed to come alive. Thin, elongated tendrils burrowed deep into his eye sockets and ear canals, wrapping tightly around the bullet in an attempt to force it back out of Zhao Lei’s skull.

But the stamens could not stop the immense kinetic force produced by modern technology; the bullet pierced through his skull and shattered the fibres of the tree within.

The mass of trees throughout the office trembled, as though that single shot had struck every ‘person’ at once.

Zhao Lei—or rather, the flowers parasitising his body—had been enraged by Chi Zhou.

The bright-red stamens trembled in the air, desperately stretching out their tendrils in an attempt to seize Chi Zhou.

Chi Zhou did not retreat.

The second bullet followed immediately, flying along exactly the same trajectory and entering Zhao Lei’s forehead.

Zhao Lei staggered backwards. The stamens grew out through his eye sockets, enveloping his entire head. His mouth opened and closed, conveying an enraged voice that seemed to belong to no one in particular.

“Human! Insignificant human!”

He roared at Chi Zhou, his entire face twisting grotesquely, only to receive a disdainful glance in return.

“You can’t even speak properly, and you still have the nerve to spout nonsense?”

The moment Chi Zhou finished speaking, a dull boom came from inside Zhao Lei’s skull.

It was the bullet that had just entered his head.

The Magnum rounds had been loaded with mithril. This metal did not exist anywhere within the human galaxy and possessed an extremely powerful lethality against extraterrestrial organisms.

Thirty years ago, when the First Contaminated Zone gradually began to revive, the research institute entered the war zone and extracted this substance from the remains of high-level extraterrestrial organisms that had survived.

Aside from the mithril extracted from their remains, the research institute also extracted Black Gold engine oil from coagulated blood clots, which was used to power mecha.

The emergence of Black Gold engine oil had tripled the combat capabilities of mecha. From then on, even ordinary sentinel-guide pairs had gained the ability to fight extraterrestrial organisms.

After that, the research institute devoted itself to developing mithril weapons.

Inside Zhao Lei’s skull, the Magnum bullet suddenly exploded, blasting the stamens to pieces.

“Don’t try to control humanity,” Chi Zhou sneered. “We’re not insignificant.”

—

Zhao Lei swayed unsteadily before dropping to his knees. His head was gone.

A few lonely petals fell to the ground, only to be rapidly corroded by the liquid dripping from the other stamens.

“Holy shit, boss. You’ve already started?”

Jian Feiyang’s voice came from the corridor. He and Ying Jiawei had taken the side entrance. On their way upstairs, they had encountered several patients who refused to leave them alone, delaying them for a while.

Jian Feiyang walked in from outside and looked at the petals scattered across the floor.

“Uh… Looks like I don’t need to communicate with them anymore?”

As a guide, Jian Feiyang was not skilled in mental attacks, and his spirit animal was a gentle little raccoon.

During a mission ten years earlier, a mistake in the military’s command led Jian Feiyang and his partner into an extraterrestrial creature’s base.

His partner had died as a result, while Jian Feiyang had nearly gone berserk during the battle.

When Chi Zhou had led the Special Operations Department in to rescue him, more than half of Jian Feiyang’s Mental Domain had already been contaminated. Refusing to abandon a man struggling in the quagmire of his own consciousness, Chi Zhou had insisted on bringing him out of the base.

That very night, his records were encrypted and sealed before being transferred to the Special Operations Department.

After spending three months in confinement, Jian Feiyang passed the Social Administration Bureau’s assessment, confirming that he still belonged to humanity.

Even so, the military still refused to trust his loyalty.

It was Chi Zhou who had appeared before him once again, casually telling him through a cigarette clenched between his teeth that, after everything he had been through, the Special Operations Department was the only place he could call home.

Because he had once crossed the boundary between humans and mutants, Jian Feiyang was capable of basic communication with humans who had not yet undergone complete mutation.

According to Chi Zhou’s plan, Jian Feiyang should have established contact with Zhao Lei.

But now, Zhao Lei no longer had a head.

“No need,” Chi Zhou said. “They’ve all mutated.”

—

In the heat-filled air, an entire row of human-faced trees stared menacingly at them.

Someone spoke first.

“So hungry… So hungry…”

As if in chorus, cries rose and fell throughout the office.

Dry and hoarse, the voices were squeezed from the throats of these human-faced trees, which had long since become completely fibrous.

“So noisy,” Xia Ye remarked.

His Mental Domain rapidly expanded, enveloping Jian Feiyang and Ying Jiawei along with him and cutting them off from the contaminating intent contained within the chant.

The snow leopard extended its claws and scr4p3d them across the birchwood floor, leaving several sharp scratches behind.

The movement made the stamens uneasy.

No longer daring to swagger about, they all shrank back into their flower buds.

Xia Ye’s gaze swept across the human-faced trees seated around the long table before stopping at the very end.

A particularly massive tree sat there.

It had become nothing but a tree. A dense canopy had replaced its human head, while its tender yellow flower buds had developed into brilliant orange-red blossoms. Its stamens were black, releasing golden powder into the air.

Only the white coat it wore revealed that it had once been human.

It was the Director.

The director whom only those with a ‘serious enough illness’ could see.

It had no eyes. Instead, it stared at Xia Ye through its black stamens.

The snow leopard roared and leapt toward it.

The fierce mental attack stunned the human-faced trees, and the singing that had filled the office abruptly ceased.

The stamens instantly began growing wildly, extending countless tendrils towards Xia Ye’s snow leopard in an attempt to entangle it.

In mid-air, the black dragon swept its tail across them, severing them cleanly in half.

The snow leopard seized the director’s canopy, and amid the gale, thick leaves came rustling down.

The director’s massive branches thrashed wildly in mid-air, taking on an almost frenzied look as it howled repeatedly, trying to shake off the snow leopard restraining it.

A long, low, guttural sound was forced from his throat—an unintelligible babble that no one could decipher.

At the same time, Zhao Lei, who had fallen to the ground, slowly stood up.

—

“Secondary parasitisation,” Chi Zhou said briefly. “Energy from a higher-level species can revive a mutant and turn it into its substitute.”

The Desert Eagle was chambered once more; the mechanism gave two sharp, crisp clicks.

“Back off.” Chi Zhou moved to the very front. “Xia Ye, work with me to kill the director. Everyone else, provide support.”

The mithril bullet left the chamber, shooting precisely towards the director.

The director shifted its bulky body, its canopy swaying from side to side as it tried to evade the dangerous bullet.

It had witnessed the power of mithril bullets just moments ago.

In less than half a second, one had rendered its most beloved general completely inactive.

The director’s hands trembled, and a faint ripple seemed to appear in the air. The human-faced trees rose together, forming an impenetrable wall of flesh and wood before the director.

“What a nuisance.”

Chi Zhou had lost his patience, and a flame seemed to burn within his eyes

The gentle smile disappeared from his face, replaced by an indifferent cruelty.

The Desert Eagle fell to the ground.

He discarded a weapon that carried countless legends without the slightest hesitation.

He reached inside his coat and drew a slender blade.

The long blade, ‘Heaven’s Path’.

It had been forged from high-purity mithril, with a Bone-Eater embedded in its hilt—a core taken from the mother species of the extraterrestrial organisms.

The mother species was the highest-level existence among extraterrestrial organisms, the leader of the entire species.

The Bone-Eater was its most important component, possessing a suppressive effect over all lower-level creatures.

Chi Zhou had once piloted ‘Prometheus’ and torn open its abdomen, broken its ribs, and removed this Bone-Eater.

That battle had been a battle for humanity’s hope.

Xia Ye had seen the footage in countless promotional films.

The blade, sharpened on the blood of countless extraterrestrial organisms, tore through the air and charged irresistibly into the mass of human-faced trees, heading straight for the director.

“I’ll leave my back to you,” Chi Zhou said.

—

Xia Ye stood behind him, blocking Zhao Lei as he staggered towards them.

Zhao Lei had no head; through the severed cross-section of his neck, Xia Ye could clearly see the hollow interior of his body.

There was no flesh, no internal organs, no bones—only vines coiled throughout the shell of his body.

The tree had completely eaten him.

The real Zhao Lei had died long ago, and what remained was merely a puppet controlled by the director.

Xia Ye raised his hand and called the snow leopard back. Accompanied by several mental attacks, the snow leopard pounced on Zhao Lei.

Zhao Lei moved his legs sluggishly, trying to evade the snow leopard’s attack.

However, Xia Ye’s mental attacks interfered with the director’s control.

Zhao Lei’s movements were wooden. Against the agile snow leopard, he was completely outmatched.

The pure-white snow leopard tackled Zhao Lei to the ground, burying its sharp teeth in his neck and pulling out a thin strand.

A thread so faint it was almost invisible. It was a flash of sunlight was enough to make it disappear from sight.

It was too thin—so thin that even his Mental Domain could not detect it.

Xia Ye’s lips pressed into a straight line, displeasure flashing in his eyes.

As a guide, he should have been able to detect every detail and become the sentinel’s shield.

He viewed this as a failure on his part, and he did not allow himself to make mistakes.

Xia Ye’s hand rested on his shirt pocket, where a fountain pen lay—a pen Chi Zhou had given him.

After the research institute modified it, its instantaneous energy output could rival the energy blade equipped on first-generation mecha.

The cap fell away, transforming into a dagger that glimmered faintly.

The sharp blade sliced across Zhao Lei’s skin, and the slender thread suddenly snapped.

Zhao Lei, who had been flailing his arms as he fought the snow leopard, stopped moving immediately.

Like a puppet that had lost its strings, he collapsed straight to the ground, crashing onto the filthy birchwood floor with a heavy thud.

Xia Ye did not even spare him a glance.

He simply stood and walked towards the mass of human-faced trees.

“It’s time to end this.”

—

Xia Ye moved with incredible speed. He was even more like a beast than the snow leopard itself.

With the tips of his feet barely touching the long table, he leapt high towards the canopy of the human-faced tree.

His Mental Domain expanded without limit.

Under the immense enhancement, the world he constructed with his psychic power became clearer than ever, and nothing in the entire office could escape his sight.

The human-faced trees became patches of dim, grey colour.

Only the threads around their necks remained exceptionally clear, gleaming with an inorganic, cold light.

Xia Ye’s targets were clear; his dagger swept out in an arc, severing every thread dancing through the air.

He walked towards Chi Zhou one step at a time.

Behind him, the human-faced trees fell one after another.

By the time he reached Chi Zhou’s side, ‘Heaven’s Path’ had just sunk into the director’s core, cutting out its Bone-Eater.

Chi Zhou withdrew the long blade and tossed the Bone-Eater towards Xia Ye.

“Here already?” he asked with a smile.

Xia Ye caught the Bone-Eater.

“Mm.”

“You did very well,” Chi Zhou said. “I knew I hadn’t been wrong about you.”

The office had been reduced to ruins. The human-faced trees lay scattered across the floor, completely devoid of activity.

A sour smell hung in the air, like the stench of rotting rubbish at a rubbish dump.

Jian Feiyang covered his nose. “Captain, are we leaving now?”

Chi Zhou gave a slight nod and looked up at the ceiling.

Several cracks had silently appeared across the smooth ceiling. The floor began trembling beneath their feet, and the entire building seemed to sway slightly.

“The dissection room on Underground Level Two.”

Chi Zhou spoke decisively.

“The [Gate] is about to open.”

---

The author’s note:

Waaah, I wrote from a little after six in the evening until after two in the morning today.

I’ve never written this kind of story before, so I’ve been feeling really nervous about it this whole time. Reading your comments every day is my greatest motivation.

Seeing you say that you’re enjoying it really encourages me~

Thank you, my little angels~ I’m truly grateful.

---

T/N:
Hehe, today is my birthday so here’s to releasing chapters until 19~
There seemed to be small mishaps with the site, maybe because there are things that I want to try; luckily, it didn’t take too much time~
After September tho the release will be as usual once a week until I can increase the number of chapters ~

---

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“Please queue up first,” the nurse said stubbornly. “The doctor will examine you. Please do not disturb the director without permission.”

As she spoke, she pointed towards the crowd waiting in line.

Just as she turned her head, the nurse’s arm rotated a full circle at the shoulder, pointing toward the people behind her.

A smile still sat on her face as she gazed at them gently, warm and soothing like a spring breeze.

The patients waiting to be seen found nothing strange about the nurse at all. They continued chattering noisily as they queued.

Xia Ye heard them discussing trivial matters such as their children’s grades and how pork had gone up by another three-tenths of a credit, then gave Chi Zhou a slight nod.

Ignoring the nurse’s reprimands, the two of them went around the noisy crowd and entered the stairwell behind them.

“She may have been one of the first people to be contaminated,” Xia Ye said. “She’s completely undergone woodification. Her limbs are packed with fibres on the inside, and their structure is completely different from that of a human’s, so her joints can rotate freely.”

Even without Xia Ye explaining it, Chi Zhou could see those details for himself.

Xia Ye wasn’t someone who talked much, but for some reason, in this dim hospital filled with strange people with grass growing from their heads, he found himself speaking far more than usual.

“Just like the Third Squad, she retained her individual consciousness after being contaminated and continued repeating the work she had always done.”

Chi Zhou glanced back towards the lobby.

The nurse had chased them all the way to the edge of the stairwell. Once she realised she couldn’t stop them, that sweet smile returned, and she went back to serving the patients.

Xia Ye followed his gaze and saw the nurse’s back.

“Why didn’t she follow us?” Xia Ye asked.

“They can’t leave their posts. They should be bound by the rules,” Chi Zhou explained. “There are different rules within extraterrestrial contamination. The infected mutants can only act according to those rules.”

Xia Ye asked, “Is the rule of the human-faced trees about being devoted to one’s job?”

“It’s not impossible.” Chi Zhou was amused by him.

His voice was gentle, and when he glanced at Xia Ye, an indulgent look came into his eyes.

“Don’t worry. She won’t follow us.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Xia Ye said quietly.

He was used to solving problems on his own and wasn’t used to being looked after by others.

Chi Zhou was clearly the sort of captain who took everything upon himself. Whenever Xia Ye was around him, he could distinctly feel that Chi Zhou regarded him as a newcomer who needed special attention.

He wanted to say that he wasn’t.

“I didn’t say you were scared.” Chi Zhou had obviously understood what lay behind his words. “I’m just used to it.”

He was used to shouldering every responsibility himself. During all those years when he had existed as the Alliance’s strongest sentinel, everyone had simply taken it for granted that he should bear it all.

“I don’t know if you dislike that,” Chi Zhou said.

Xia Ye replied, “I never said I disliked it.”

—

He climbed the stairs, always walking half a step ahead of Chi Zhou.

This was the standard formation for a sentinel-guide combination.

The guide walked in front, using their Mental Domain to investigate the surroundings, while the sentinel stayed behind to protect the guide’s back and remain ready for battle at any moment.

Chi Zhou naturally noticed the detail.

“Did you learn that at military school?” Chi Zhou asked abruptly, bringing up an insignificant topic.

He was trying to ease the tension.

The keen intuition unique to guides allowed Xia Ye to sense Chi Zhou’s true intention.

It was difficult for him to imagine what could possibly be inside this building that would make Chi Zhou nervous. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I haven’t attended a single class at military school yet.”

Chi Zhou seemed to let out a quiet laugh—or perhaps he hadn’t.

“I forgot you had only just started school when I called you over.” Chi Zhou placed his hand on the fire door. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you myself.”

The heavy fire door was locked with a thick brass chain. It was something that should not have appeared here.

In the year 2048 of the Star Calendar, nothing like this should have existed anywhere in the Human Alliance.

It was already the age of electronic locks, fitted with built-in iris recognition and linked to one’s StarNet identity. No keys were required; anyone with the proper authorisation could open a door.

Xia Ye examined it carefully.

The brass chain gleamed as if countless people had touched it. Its centre was darkened, engraved with exquisite patterns.

He found it absurd. “I’ve only ever seen locks like this in documentaries.”

Xia Ye was not an enthusiast of ancient Earth history. He simply possessed an extraordinary thirst for knowledge of every kind.

During the years he was confined to the orphanage, he read every piece of information he could find, regardless of where it came from.

“I thought no one was interested in history anymore.”

Chi Zhou’s voice was calm and unhurried, carrying an endless sense of tolerance.

His hand rested against the brass chain, faint blue veins visible beneath the skin on the back of his hand. It was a hand filled with strength—Xia Ye had no doubt that with the slightest twist, Chi Zhou could reduce the brass chain to dust.

“Listen carefully.”

Chi Zhou suddenly exerted his strength. Before the immense power of a sentinel, the brass chain merely gave a dull clang before snapping cleanly into two pieces.

“Xia Ye, today is your first lesson.”

—

The fire door swung open, revealing the corridor beyond.

A wave of heat twice as intense as outside surged towards them. The air-conditioning system hummed desperately, clearly already operating at its limit, yet it still could not alleviate the scorching air.

Xia Ye finally understood why the nurse had refused to let them come up.

The entire corridor was filled with branches. Dark-brown trees had grown out of the director’s office, expanding their territory without restraint and long since filling the corridor completely.

The thick leaves were as large as basketballs, even denser than the trees outside on the street.

“Grown like this, you would think we had gone into a tropical rainforest.”

Chi Zhou threw an incendiary grenade towards the front, and the roaring flames immediately illuminated the dim corridor.

“There are some things military school won’t tell you, but you need to know them.”

Standing in the doorway, he watched coldly as the flames licked at the trees’ branches and leaves.

The trees recoiled rapidly from the searing heat. In an instant, more than half the crowded corridor was cleared.

“First, extraterrestrial contamination is far more serious than what the Alliance news reports.”

Xia Ye quietly took a step forward and stood beside him. “I guessed as much.”

“Mm. I thought you would be able to guess.” Chi Zhou said, “You’re very clever.”

He threw another incendiary grenade, this time farther ahead.

It landed precisely where the trees were clustered together, forcing them back towards the director’s office.

Chi Zhou was like a precision instrument, controlling the smoke and flames with absolute mastery. Without wasting a single resource, he had already cleared the entire corridor. He tossed the two grenade rings into a rubbish bin and continued.

“Second, never underestimate your enemy.”

Chi Zhou surveyed the surroundings. Only after confirming that there was no danger did he walk towards the director’s office.

“The military has determined that extraterrestrial organisms have no intelligence. At first, that was indeed the case. But in recent years, we’ve discovered that they possess a collective unconscious.”

There was a hint of mockery in Chi Zhou’s smile as he said, “The military refuses to acknowledge this theory and continues to deal with them using the methods of the past. I believe that’s why the Third Squad died.”

Xia Ye fell silent. He did not know how to respond to Chi Zhou.

There was sorrow hidden in Chi Zhou’s voice.

It was not that Xia Ye could not understand that emotion. It was precisely because he understood it too well that he could not find the words to respond.

During the extraterrestrial contamination incident in District Twelve, he had seen far too many things like this.

Tragedies that could have been prevented. Consequences that could never be undone. The agony of losing everything…

All of it was far too familiar to him.

Chi Zhou did not linger on the subject for long. He had already learnt not to dwell on those who had passed away, and simply continued.

“Extraterrestrial organisms pass consciousness down to their offspring through heredity. Their world has its own set of rules.”

Chi Zhou drew a circle in the air with one finger.

“Within a contaminated zone, all mutants act according to the rules and cannot disobey commands issued by higher-level species. That is their collective unconscious.”

Xia Ye nodded to show that he understood.

He had read about the concept in books before and found Chi Zhou’s explanation easy to understand.

Chi Zhou looked at him, surprised. “You understood?”

Xia Ye answered naturally, “I did. They don’t act purely on instinct as the Alliance says. They have their own consciousness. It’s just that we simply can’t interpret it.”

“Mm.” Chi Zhou’s voice held a little more appreciation. “You have a very strong grasp of things.”

As the Alliance’s symbol, Chi Zhou held an honorary position at the military school.

An honorary professor didn’t actually have to teach classes, but back when Chi Zhou still had hope for the military school, he often held lectures there.

Naturally, the lectures were packed. Enthusiastic students filled the auditorium, each wanting to win the favour of the Alliance’s light.

He had once mistaken that enthusiasm for enthusiasm towards the Alliance.

It didn’t take long for Chi Zhou to realise he had been wrong.

It was enthusiasm for power and status.

Most of the students at the military school came from the upper seven districts. They came from wealthy, powerful families and had never entered the military school for humanity’s sake. They were there to polish their credentials and help their families climb even higher within the Alliance.

Winning the recognition of the Alliance’s strongest sentinel was obviously an excellent way to do that.

Chi Zhou was disappointed; it went against his principles.

With extraterrestrial contamination running rampant, protecting humanity should have been the duty of sentinels and guides.

Using one’s abilities to pursue personal desires was clearly not the conduct of a gentleman.

What disappointed him even more was that these people were all useless good-for-nothings, and it was exceedingly difficult to find anyone with genuine potential among them.

Clearly, after such a long wait, the person he had been looking for had finally appeared.

Xia Ye stood before him, his back straight, carrying the stubbornness unique to youth.

On his very first day in the Special Operations Department, he had already been able to keep pace with him.

“Good thing I snatched you away first,” Chi Zhou sighed. “Xia Ye, someone like you joining the military would be a waste.”

Xia Ye shook his head slightly. “I don’t want to join the military anymore.”

A strange tranquillity filled his eyes. “Good.”

The black dragon soared into the air and appeared behind Chi Zhou, its inorganic eyes gleaming faintly with gold.

“Xia Ye, the final point of your first lesson.”

Chi Zhou idly toyed with the desert eagle in his hand, absolute confidence contained within his languid tone.

“Never leave my side.”

A Magnum round was chambered with a sudden click.

It was a .357 calibre round, specially modified by the research institute. It could penetrate three metres of reinforced flooring in an instant.

His voice was calm, merely stating a fact.

“I can guarantee that you won’t come to any harm.”

The door to the director’s office suddenly exploded open before them. At the long office desk, the ‘people’ wearing military uniforms all turned their heads in unison, their blood-red eyes fixed uniformly upon them. Countless vines had burst from their limbs, intertwining with the dark-brown branches and filling the entire room.

Flowers bloomed at the tips of the vines. The delicate, pale-yellow blossoms almost completely enclosed the heads of those ‘people’ in their petals. Their slender stamens swayed in the air, while thick, sticky sap slowly dripped down, corroding the birchwood floor.

The Third Squad of the District Ten Military Command had undergone complete mutation.

---

The author’s note:

One question for my little angels:

What was your first impression of Instructor Chi and xiao Xia?

Has your impression of them changed now that you’ve read this far?

---

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The weather was terrible.

The sun poured its light onto the ground without restraint, its scorching rays nearly melting everything in sight.

“Forty-nine degrees Celsius,” Xia Ye reported flatly, reading the number from the thermometer. “Over the past thirty years, the Alliance’s highest recorded summer temperature has been around forty-one degrees Celsius.”

“Way above the limit.” Chi Zhou snapped his fingers. “Full-area mutation. Environmental pollution level three.”

Jian Feiyang lowered his head and continued taking notes, entering Chi Zhou’s conclusion into the system. At that, he looked up blankly.

“That serious?”

“Mm.” Xia Ye added, “The vegetation here is generally much more luxuriant than usual. Some tree species are twice their normal height.”

Jian Feiyang followed his gaze. The greenery along both sides of the road displayed a vitality so unnerving that it made one’s skin crawl. Thick leaves, each like a kite, hung from unnaturally stout branches, blocking the sunlight from the pavement completely.

Despite the forty-nine-degree heat, the pedestrians on the street wore long sleeves, seemingly unbothered by the heat at all.

“This is seriously fvcked up.” Jian Feiyang looked at those people bundled up from head to toe. “Is there even one normal person left in this place?”

“Hard to say.” Chi Zhou frowned slightly. “Until last week, the status uploaded by the Longgu Town Social Administration Bureau to the Pollution Research Institute was still listed as normal. But these things obviously didn’t grow like this within a week.”

He was holding the protective pouch containing the receipt the toll station had forced Xia Ye to take.

The receipt was covered in densely packed tiny characters, reflecting a golden sheen beneath the sunlight.

It was not an ordinary receipt.

Xia Ye reached out and covered the writing on the receipt with his hand.

“It can cause mental contamination. Don’t look at it.”

“You’re quite responsible.” Chi Zhou was startled by the gesture, then smiled. “As expected of our guide captain.”

Under Special Operations Department regulations, each squad was assigned two captains.

One was responsible for leading the sentinels, while the other was responsible for leading the guides.

Under normal circumstances, the captains were the strongest sentinel-guide pair in the entire squad.

There was only one exception.

Chi Zhou had never participated in matching and had never bonded with a guide. He led the squad’s sentinels and guides alone.

That was, until Xia Ye joined the Special Operations Department.

As an SSS-ranked Dark Guide, Xia Ye automatically became the squad’s other captain.

Chi Zhou returned the receipt to Xia Ye, indicating that he should explain.

“The Longgu Town toll station has already been contaminated,” Xia Ye said seriously. “To facilitate parasitism, they’ve attached mental suggestions to the receipts they hand out. Looking at the writing under the sunlight will cause people to answer the call of their ‘sun’.”

“If an ordinary person accepts one of these receipts, there’s a high probability they’ll be parasitised by the flower’s stamen and transformed into a human-faced tree.”

“Wow, Little Captain, you know so much.” Jian Feiyang was exceptionally enthusiastic, chatting away as he drove. “How did you figure that out?”

Jian Feiyang was far older than Xia Ye, both in age and experience. Xia Ye was accustomed to being alone, so hearing Jian Feiyang call him Little Captain suddenly made him feel a little embarrassed.

Before he could answer, Chi Zhou had already curled his finger and flicked Jian Feiyang hard on the forehead.

“Jian Feiyang, and you call yourself a guide.” Chi Zhou sounded rather speechless. “Can’t you sense the fluctuations in psychic power?”

Jian Feiyang yelped dramatically after being flicked.

“Captain, do you have no sense of humour at all? Xia Ye’s on his first mission. I was worried he would be nervous, so I was just joking around to help him relax, all right?”

“Who said you could joke around with him?” Chi Zhou said disapprovingly. “You need to file a report before joking around with him. Understood?”

Amid his teammates’ laughter, Xia Ye silently turned towards the window, hiding his slightly burning ears.

In the reflection of the glass, he saw Chi Zhou raise an eyebrow at him slightly, a hint of roguishness in his smile.

It was a side of him Xia Ye had never seen before.

—

Fifteen minutes later, Ying Jiawei executed a sharp drift, bringing the off-road vehicle to a halt in front of the Longgu Town Central Hospital.

“We’re here.”

Ying Jiawei switched off the engine and stared at the dark, gaping entrance. “The first reported case of human-faced tree mutation in Longgu Town appeared at this hospital.”

She had a fiery temper. She pulled the weapons bag from beneath her seat and quickly geared up before reaching for the door.

“Wait.” Chi Zhou suddenly spoke, stopping everyone in their tracks. “The Alliance just sent over some new information.”

“An update?” Ying Jiawei could not hide her surprise. “At a time like this?”

They were already outside Longgu Town Central Hospital. Unless the information was particularly important, they wouldn’t have been sent it at this moment.

“Yeah.” Chi Zhou’s expression darkened. “Trouble’s come knocking.”

He pressed the play button. A transparent panel immediately appeared before them and slowly played a video.

In the blurry footage, a person in military uniform clutched his head with both hands and shouted at the sky, “The trees have come alive! They’re going to eat us!”

He screamed until his voice was hoarse, the sound dry and rough as though it had been scr4p3d with sandpaper. It hurt just to hear it.

After shouting at the sky for a while, the man suddenly turned and moved straight toward the camera.

Through the nearly pixelated image, Xia Ye saw his blood-red eyes.

It was proof of a guide gone berserk.

“I belong to the Third Squad of the District Ten Military Command, where I serve as the guide captain. I swear upon my loyalty to the Alliance that everything I’m saying is true.”

Those blood-red eyes stared into the camera as he spoke each word slowly.

“The Third Squad of the District Ten Military Command has been wiped out. Longgu Town has fallen completely.”

“Don’t come closer! Don’t come closer! Don’t come closer!”

“Run!!!”

……

That final cry of ‘Run’ seemed to have been squeezed out from deep within his bones, carrying a despair so chilling it made one’s blood run cold.

The off-road vehicle fell silent. Everyone was stunned by the video.

After a long moment, Jian Feiyang finally stammered, “W-what… What is he saying?”

Chi Zhou’s expression was solemn.

“Half a month ago, the District Ten Military Command took control of Longgu Town. The Third Squad was the one sent there.”

“He said they were all wiped out.” Jian Feiyang felt a chill run through him. “But the Third Squad was still reporting to the Military Command yesterday, saying that Longgu Town was in normal condition and everything was under control.”

“They were all contaminated.”

In a moment like this, Xia Ye instead showed extraordinary calm. “The Third Squad was a team made up of sentinels and guides. Their psychic power was stronger than that of ordinary people, so when they were contaminated, they didn’t gradually degenerate into trees as ordinary people did. They retained their consciousness and believed there was nothing wrong with them.”

“They continued working as usual, patrolled the town, and reported its status to the Alliance… Sometimes, having the abilities of a sentinel or guide isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

Xia Ye pointed at the blood-red eyes in the video.

“He was the strongest among them. He hadn’t been completely contaminated by the human-faced trees, but his Mental Domain collapsed as a result, causing him to go berserk.”

Guides going berserk were extremely rare—almost unheard of.

A sentinel who lost their guide could go berserk from excessive mental pressure, but a guide could not.

A guide would only go berserk when subjected to a psychic attack several times stronger than themselves, leaving them unable to resist the collapse of their Mental Domain.

Silence spread through the off-road vehicle.

Those blood-red eyes stared at them from the screen like a warning.

—

After a brief moment of silence, Chi Zhou’s gun clicked as he released the safety.

“Get your weapons ready. We can deploy our mecha if necessary,” he said. “Since they’re no longer human, there’s no need to negotiate with them.”

According to the original plan, once they reached Longgu Town Central Hospital, they were supposed to contact the District Ten Military Command in their capacity as members of the Special Operations Department, take over the hospital from them, and then begin their investigation.

Now, none of that was necessary.

Chi Zhou was preparing to force his way inside. It was his usual style.

“Xia Ye and I will take the main entrance,” Chi Zhou said briefly. “Jian Feiyang and Ying Jiawei, left side. Fang Shike and Yu Yucheng, rear.”

The central hospital’s map unfolded across the transparent panel, clearly outlining the building’s layout.

Two red dots appeared on the map: the dissection room on the second underground level and the director’s office on the fourth floor.

“Enter according to your assigned routes. Meet in the director’s office in ten minutes. Focus on gathering intelligence.”

“The director’s office is currently the Third Squad’s base. According to the video, the entire Third Squad has been wiped out, but some of them still retain human consciousness. Once we meet up, Jian Feiyang will attempt to communicate with them. Everyone else is responsible for security.”

Jian Feiyang immediately answered, “Copy that.”

He had been so cowardly on the highway earlier that, when they were surrounded by the human-faced trees, he had not even dared to release his Spirit Animal.

Now that he had answered so decisively, Xia Ye could not help glancing at him again.

“What, what, Little Captain? Why are you looking at me like that?” Jian Feiyang noticed Xia Ye’s gaze and hurriedly explained, “Don’t let the way I act fool you. I’ve been knocking around the Special Operations Department for more than ten years, after all. I’ve got at least this much courage.”

“He just has no filter,” Ying Jiawei said, patting Jian Feiyang on the shoulder. Her ponytail bounced with the movement, making her look rather lively. “Don’t worry. We’re all reliable.”

Chi Zhou added, “Mm. You can count on the Special Operations Department when it comes to getting things done.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Xia Ye said.

“Stop right there. No apologies or ‘sorry’ talk. I don’t like hearing those words.” Chi Zhou waved a hand. “Ready?”

Xia Ye nodded.

Following Chi Zhou’s hand signal, all four car doors opened at once. The team members jumped out together and disappeared into the trees’ shadows.

The Mental Domain expanded silently, transforming into a barrier that gently enveloped Chi Zhou.

A scene he had never witnessed before unfolded before his eyes. Semi-transparent lines traced the building’s contours, letting him see inside without even entering the hospital.

Depending on the degree of mutation, the lines surrounding the people inside the hospital varied. For some, all four limbs had almost turned completely white. These were patients who had nearly become human-faced trees.

Others had only thin lines running over their bodies. Their mutation had only just begun.

This ability was unique to guides: using psychic power to construct the clues of a world within their domain.

“Quite something.” Chi Zhou rubbed his chin. “So this is what it feels like to be with a guide.”

“You’ve never had a guide?” Xia Ye asked.

“Do you really need to ask?” Chi Zhou looked at him in surprise. “Everyone in the Alliance knows I don’t have a guide.”

Xia Ye nodded, neither quite agreeing nor disagreeing.

Of course he had heard about Chi Zhou. A Dark Sentinel who had never participated in matching had given the Alliance a considerable headache. They had even stayed up all night making enquiries through the Military Command to find out what type of person Chi Zhou liked.

A snow leopard leapt out from behind him, leading the way with a nimble stride.

It seemed to be in an excellent mood.

The hospital’s automatic glass doors clicked open. The interior was dimly lit, and a crowd of patients was packed together in a queue.

The nurse shouted until her voice was hoarse as she tried to maintain order.

“Stop pushing! Everyone get in line! You two who just arrived, go to the back!”

She wore a pink nurse’s uniform and a white cap bearing a bright red cross, making her look almost like a cartoon character.

Xia Ye’s gaze fell upon her wrist. It was slender, adorned with a delicate emerald-green jade bangle, and the hand itself was fine and graceful.

Her fingers were smooth and lustrously pale, like white jade, with black nail polish. It was not pure black. A dark red seeped through the black-brown colour.

Like bloodstains.

Xia Ye exchanged a glance with Chi Zhou, and they immediately understood each other’s intentions.

“Hello. Could you tell me how to get to the director’s office?”

At Xia Ye’s polite question, the nurse’s neck twisted a full 360 degrees, and she stared straight at him.

“The director’s office? Your illness isn’t that serious. You don’t need to see the director.”

“Is that so?”

Chi Zhou took half a step forward and asked her leisurely, “Then what degree of illness do you think would require someone to see the director?”

---

The author’s note:

I’ve been a little stuck with the writing lately, qwq, so the update schedule hasn’t been very stable.

Sometimes I end up writing until after midnight.

If it hasn’t appeared by 10 p.m., you can just come back and check tomorrow. Most likely, it’ll be updated sometime after midnight.

My little angels, please don’t stay up late every day like I do, okay? It’s bad for your health.

---

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The sun spared no effort, pouring its dazzling light over the heads of every ‘person’ below.

The creatures caught between humans and trees held their arms high as they knelt prostrate on the ground, their arms and shoulders forming an eerie 180-degree angle.

From inside the vehicle, the tops of their heads were clearly visible.

There was no hair, only smooth, fleshy domes. From the very centre, tender shoots sprouted and trembled in the breeze.

“They look bizarre,” Chi Zhou remarked. “They don’t even have heads.”

Xia Ye studied them closely. Moss was growing from their cracked, dark-brown skin, slowly devouring the indistinct flesh beneath.

Xia Ye let out a barely audible sigh. “They can’t really be considered human anymore.”

Chi Zhou withdrew his gaze from the human-faced trees and looked at Xia Ye.

Xia Ye unconsciously stroked his knuckles. The joints hidden beneath his skin protruded slightly, making his fingers look exceptionally slender.

This was his first mission, yet he showed none of the nervousness or terror typical of a newcomer.

It was as if he had witnessed scenes like this countless times and had long since grown accustomed to them.

Amid the thunderous, wave-like cries of worship, Chi Zhou asked him, “Are you scared?”

Xia Ye shook his head. His eyes were remarkably calm. He even turned to ask him, “Are you scared?”

“I’m not.” Chi Zhou was drinking water when the question made him choke, and he coughed twice. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

Xia Ye lowered his head, hiding the smile in his eyes.

“How could I possibly say that about a senior like you?” Xia Ye replied.

Jian Feiyang chimed in, “You really are the only one who’d dare say that to the captain. I’ve never seen anyone else ask the captain if he’s afraid of a mutated creature.”

Laughter rippled through the vehicle, and the atmosphere suddenly relaxed.

Chi Zhou said helplessly, “I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“You have to experience the atmosphere of our squad firsthand to understand it,” Jian Feiyang said. “Xia Ye, you’ll find out soon enough. When the captain is on a mission, that aura of his… Well, all I can say is, if a god blocks his way, he kills the god; if a Buddha blocks his way, he kills the Buddha.”

Xia Ye said nothing. He kept his head down, intently fiddling with the gun Chi Zhou had given him.

His heart was beating a little faster than usual.

He realised he really seemed to enjoy joking around with Chi Zhou.

It made him feel closer to them—no longer just an orphan in District Twelve waiting for someone else to save him.

—

After howling and wailing at the sun for a while, the human-faced trees stood up in unison.

Hundreds of arms made a series of clicking sounds as they returned to their original positions.

Xia Ye asked quietly, “Will they charge at us?”

“They won’t. The ritual is over.”

Clearly experienced with this sort of thing, Chi Zhou gestured to Jian Feiyang. “Follow them.”

“By the way, have you memorised the field manual?” Chi Zhou turned to Xia Ye and made several dazzlingly complicated hand signals. “Do you remember all the codes?”

Xia Ye nodded. Although he could not claim to have a photographic memory, he had an extraordinary sensitivity to remembering important information in books.

“You were pretty quick,” Chi Zhou said in surprise. “Back then, Jian Feiyang spent a full two months memorising it. He was still reading the manual in the car when we went on missions.”

Jian Feiyang grumbled, “It was so long. Who could remember all that? Captain, give me a break.”

Chi Zhou never swore. He was famous in the Special Operations Department for his ‘good temper’.

Jian Feiyang had once believed that was genuinely true, until he discovered that while Chi Zhou never cursed, he would simply smile coldly at you whenever you failed to do something properly.

That oppressive feeling was enough to make anyone’s scalp tingle.

“Xia Ye remembered it, didn’t he?” Chi Zhou pointed toward the highway. “You’re the one who talks too much. If you lose them later, what are you going to use to make it up to me?”

On the highway, which had previously been packed shoulder to shoulder, the human-faced trees were now receding like a tide. They moved incredibly fast, but they did not walk on two legs. Instead, they used the countless branches growing from their bodies.

One branch after another stretched out like spider legs, extending endlessly across the highway and dragging along bodies that still retained a human form. They moved at a speed of five or six meters per second.

Witnessing this scene, Xia Ye finally understood how these things had appeared so suddenly.

Using the black rain that blotted out the sky as cover, the human-faced trees had raced along the highway, silently and unnoticed, surrounding the off-road vehicle.

They had not come looking for people.

They had simply done what they were supposed to do—waiting for the sun.

—

As they drew closer and closer to the highway exit, the human-faced trees began to slow down.

The branches growing from their bodies gradually retracted into their limbs, and their human legs began functioning again.

“Holy shit, what are they doing?”

Jian Feiyang slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a child who had suddenly appeared in front of them. “How the hell are there children in this godforsaken place?”

“Because the night is over.”

Chi Zhou held up his phone, snapped several pictures, and uploaded them to the Special Operations Department’s mission system.

“Look carefully. They’ve regressed.”

The human-faced trees, which had previously seemed almost indistinguishable from extraterrestrial creatures, gradually changed form, returning to their human appearance.

Several of the more severely affected ones still had tender shoots growing from the tops of their heads, but they no longer looked quite as terrifying.

Many people pulled out hats and gloves, instinctively covering the mutated parts of their bodies.

“They’re conscious,” Xia Ye murmured.

An hour ago, these things had barely looked human.

Now, they had already begun chatting with one another.

Through his Mental Domain, Xia Ye heard their conversation.

“I’m so full today. What about you?”

“I don’t really like this flavour. I always feel like it’s too sweet.”

“Really? I thought yesterday’s was too bland. It wasn’t interesting at all.”

Chi Zhou noticed his reaction and asked, “What are they talking about?”

Xia Ye frowned slightly. “They’re discussing breakfast.”

“Breakfast? Don’t scare me. These things have been squatting here all night. What could they possibly have for breakfast?” Jian Feiyang looked around. “Don’t tell me the breakfast is us?”

“No,” Xia Ye said. “They’ve already eaten. They’re discussing the flavour. I think they’re talking about the sun.”

“The sun?” Jian Feiyang asked, puzzled. “That whole thing earlier was them eating breakfast?”

“Yes. They worship the sun. The sun bestows its blessings upon them and gives them energy,” Chi Zhou said. “They’ve completely mutated toward a plant-like state.”

He pointed toward those people. “The more severe the mutation, the less self-awareness they have.”

Chewing gum, Ying Jiawei pulled out the stack of documents again.

“Their report says that all severely ill patients have already been admitted to the town hospital, while patients with mild symptoms are currently being screened. If anyone discovers someone at home growing tender shoots, they need to seek medical attention immediately.”

Xia Ye said coldly, “Then they’re avoiding the screening.”

On that sweltering summer day, most people on the highway wore long sleeves, covering the brownish skin faintly visible beneath.

“That’s strange.” Ying Jiawei observed the people on the road. “They’ve caused such a huge commotion. How has no one noticed?”

“Mm.” Chi Zhou gestured toward the highway exit. “It’s simple. They have an insider.”

Jian Feiyang slowed down at the exit. His StarNet card beeped as the toll was automatically deducted.

A pale hand reached out through the toll booth window and handed him a receipt.

From the cuff of that sleeve, Xia Ye caught a glimpse of a cluster of tender green shoots.

He rolled down the window and smiled gently at the person inside.

“Thank you, but we don’t need the receipt.”

The person inside did not look up. Xia Ye could not see his face clearly. He could only hear a dry, raspy voice. “Hello. We must provide you with a receipt. This is the regulation of the highway toll station.”

Xia Ye’s Mental Domain enveloped the off-road vehicle, cutting off that voice from the outside.

Chi Zhou could only hear him ask the person, “What if I don’t take it?”

It was a rather strange feeling.

Using his Mental Domain to protect his teammates had always been his job.

Yet Xia Ye needed no reminder. He had already conscientiously taken on the responsibilities of a guide.

—

Outside the car window, the summer breeze blew gently, carrying a sticky, stifling heat.

Longgu Town seemed hotter than other places.

“I’m sorry. This is the regulation of our highway toll station.” The dry, raspy voice was tinged with anger as it rigidly repeated the so-called rule. “You must accept it.”

From inside the sleeve, the slender tender shoot seemed to have become fuller, silently creeping toward Xia Ye.

“Is that so?”

Xia Ye did not become angry at the man’s poor attitude. Instead, a hint of amusement entered his voice.

“If I don’t accept it, you wouldn’t happen to kill me, would you?”

Inside the vehicle, Chi Zhou’s hand was already resting on the grip of his gun. The moment the human-faced tree attempted to harm Xia Ye, he would shoot it dead.

“If you do not accept the receipt, you cannot pass through the toll station.”

The voice sounded as though it had been programmed in advance. It was not listening to what Xia Ye was saying at all, merely repeating its lines mechanically.

The hand stubbornly stretched farther, holding the receipt covered in printed words right in front of Xia Ye.

The car window was approximately three meters from the toll booth, far beyond the natural length of a human arm.

“All right,” Xia Ye said, sounding almost helpless. “You really are stubborn.”

He reached out, preparing to take the receipt.

The instant Xia Ye’s fingers touched the paper, the tender shoot inside the sleeve suddenly surged in growth.

The shoot transformed into a vine topped with a small, pale-yellow flower. Its central stamen was tinged with a vivid crimson, resembling the tongue of a venomous snake.

The slender green vine shot straight toward Xia Ye like a snake, attempting to coil around his wrist. The small, pale-yellow flower swayed with the vine, looking particularly excited, as though it were itching to make a move.

A crystal-clear drop of liquid secreted from its stamen, seemingly some kind of seed.

“You picked the wrong person,” Xia Ye said calmly. “I’m not your petri dish.”

At the same time, Xia Ye drew the dagger from its sheath and instantly severed the stamen.

The delicate stamen immediately withered, losing its eerie crimson colour as it fell limply toward the ground.

The vine was enraged. It surged out of the sleeve all at once, trying to coil around the man who had dared to defy it.

But Xia Ye had already withdrawn his hand and tossed the receipt into the protective pouch.

As the off-road vehicle sped away, the vine stretched for more than ten meters behind it, almost pulling itself into a straight line.

Dark currents stirred in the air. The wind carried scorching heat and grew sharper.

A mechanical, rigid voice drifted from far behind them, its hoarse tone concealing a trace of resentment.

“Thank you for your cooperation. Longgu Town welcomes you.”

---

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“Forgot?”

Chi Zhou toyed with the cigarette he had pinched out, looking rather surprised.

Given how much Xia Ye cared about his younger sister, he didn’t think Xia Ye would forget anything related to her. Besides, Xia Ye had clearly been about to tell him just moments ago.

“Yeah,” Xia Ye said. “I forgot. Just now.”

He was meticulous by nature and didn’t intend to simply let the matter go. Instead, he carefully described what he had felt to Chi Zhou, “When I was about to speak, a white wall suddenly appeared in my mind. I’ve seen it at Xia Zhi’s school, and I remember every detail of it. Xia Zhi’s shadow fell on it, giving me a kind of sacred feeling.”

“But other than that, I don’t remember what happened when I saw Xia Zhi.”

Chi Zhou frowned slightly, idly fiddling with the cigarette. “Episodic amnesia? The military has reported several similar cases before, but they all had gaps in their memories. There are almost no cases like yours, where fragments are still remembered.”

Xia Ye was somewhat surprised.

Judging from what Chi Zhou said, episodic amnesia seemed to be a fairly common occurrence in the military.

But before this, Xia Ye had never heard any rumours about people suddenly losing their memories.

Even in that StarNet gossip group of Lin Kezhi’s, where the message count refreshed at 99+ every second, he had never seen any discussion about anything similar.

“Is it common?” Xia Ye asked.

Chi Zhou nodded. “Yes. Ever since extraterrestrial contamination appeared, the military reports several similar cases almost every month. The Alliance suppressed the information because they were worried about causing panic.”

Xia Ye asked, “Then will there be a problem now that you’ve told me?”

After hearing Lin Kezhi talk about Chi Zhou’s entanglements with the military, Xia Ye had become much more cautious about matters like this.

“You worry about quite a lot.” Chi Zhou tapped the pen in Xia Ye’s shirt pocket with a finger, reminding him, “You’re with the Special Operations Department now. What problem could there be?”

There was a hint of barely perceptible arrogance in his tone. “Our clearance level is much higher than the military’s. We can investigate their affairs whenever we want.”

Chi Zhou rarely showed an expression like this.

Most of the time, he seemed somewhat laid-back. In the Colonel’s office, in the military hospital ward, and in every non-official setting, Chi Zhou gave people the impression that he was careless and unconcerned, as if there wasn’t much he truly cared about.

At other times, Chi Zhou struck one as serious.

Xia Ye could sense that ever since they began carrying out the mission, Chi Zhou had been in control of the entire situation every moment.

Even when he lit a cigarette and asked him what was wrong, that concern carried the steadiness of a team leader.

But when talking about the military in jest, his eyes became especially lively.

Affected by his mood, Xia Ye couldn’t help the corners of his lips from curving upward. “I see. That’s a relief.”

—

As they talked, the rain grew heavier.

Raindrops pelted the ground, splashing up puddles of water, the traces of which reflected a suspicious dark green.

Chi Zhou raised his head and glanced at the sky.

It was three in the morning, yet the night sky was tinged with an eerie red glow.

“Get in the car.” Chi Zhou pulled him along. “This rain isn’t right.”

Xia Ye sat in the car and observed the sky outside through the window.

“This isn’t the Environmental Management Bureau’s sky canopy,” Xia Ye quickly determined. “The system has failed. This is the real sky.”

Since extraterrestrial contamination appeared, the galactic environment had continued to deteriorate. To prevent public panic over phenomena such as two suns appearing in the sky, the Environmental Management Bureau had launched the sky-canopy system, which controlled the seasons in real time.

After the system failed, the entire Tenth District was exposed to the real sky, including this highway.

Chi Zhou nodded. “What’s happening in the Tenth District definitely has something to do with this rain.”

Black rain poured down from the sky, covering everything like layer upon layer of thick ink.

The off-road vehicle’s windshield wipers kept working, yet still couldn’t sweep away all the black rain, only managing to clear a small patch in front of the driver.

Jian Feiyang gradually slowed down. “We can’t keep driving. We can’t see anything.”

The raindrops seemed almost alive, gradually surrounding the last patch of clear visibility and densely covering every window.

Inside the off-road vehicle, only one last source of light remained. A small warm-yellow lamp glowed above their heads, carrying a faint sense of loneliness.

Everyone’s hands moved downward in unison, gripping the handles of the guns hidden beneath their coats.

Chi Zhou’s voice was very low, almost inaudible.

“Turn off the light.”

The small lamp suddenly went out, and the inside of the car fell into darkness.

On the windows, the sticky, thick raindrops seemed to writhe. Through the gaps between them, they could see the sky becoming increasingly blood-red.

The off-road vehicle sat quietly in the middle of the highway, like an isolated island.

—

“There’s someone outside.”

Xia Ye held his breath and listened to the movements outside the car.

Chi Zhou nodded at him, signalling him to expand his Mental Domain.

Jian Feiyang cast a surprised look at him.

Chi Zhou shrugged and answered calmly, “I have a guide now. Of course I can’t steal the guide’s job.”

There wasn’t the slightest trace of nervousness in his voice.

As a Dark Sentinel, Chi Zhou’s Mental Domain was the broadest in the Special Operations Department, far surpassing that of an ordinary guide.

During previous reconnaissance missions, Chi Zhou had always handled everything himself and never needed them to step in.

But now, they had Xia Ye.

Both were SSS-class, and a guide’s domain was naturally broader than a sentinel’s.

The [Codename XII] mission wasn’t particularly high-level. Chi Zhou had brought Xia Ye along in the first place partly to let him practice.

Xia Ye’s Mental Domain expanded outward with the off-road vehicle at its centre, almost enveloping the entire highway.

After a moment, Xia Ye called out several coordinates and said quietly, “There are nearly a hundred people on the highway. They’re coming toward us.”

Chi Zhou asked, “What kind of people? Can you see clearly?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chi Zhou reminded him, “Contract the domain; focus on the details.”

Xia Ye nodded. His Mental Domain slowly contracted, and his field of vision gradually became clearer.

Through the translucent lines, he could ‘see’ those people.

“They’re mutated residents, just like the ones in the pictures,” Xia Ye described. “Most of them are in the early stages of the disease, with only tender shoots growing from their hands. The few closest to us…have already almost turned into trees.”

“Are they all ordinary people?” Chi Zhou asked.

Xia Ye said, “I haven’t detected any sentinels or guides.”

“Good. Xia Ye, maintain the domain.” Chi Zhou released his grip on his gun. “Everyone else, get your spirit animals ready.”

Jian Feiyang asked, “We’re not going out?”

“Not going out. They’re all ordinary people. Would it be appropriate for us to go out?”

Xia Ye didn’t need any explanation. He already understood what Chi Zhou meant.

The purpose of [Codename XII] was to resolve the extraterrestrial contamination in Longgu Town, not to slaughter all the contaminated residents.

They couldn’t attack the ‘people’ outside.

—

Ying Jiawei’s spirit animal was a cunning snake. It was the first to enter the rain, weaving nimbly through the crowd.

“They can’t see the spirit animal,” Ying Jiawei’s snake reported back. “But they’re scratching at our car doors.”

Chi Zhou leaned back against his seat, his tone relaxed. “Looks like they’re pretty hungry.”

Jian Feiyang glared at him, hugging his own spirit animal tightly and refusing to let go. “With you saying that, how am I supposed to dare let my little raccoon out?”

His little raccoon had a harmless-looking face and was currently baring its teeth at Chi Zhou.

“You’ve been doing this for so many years. How are you still such a coward?”

Chi Zhou waved at him, signalling him to hurry up and release the little raccoon.

“What kind of senior are you? Look at Xia Ye. He got the hang of it right away on his first time.”

Jian Feiyang glanced outside. Xia Ye’s snow leopard stood in front of the off-road vehicle, its forepaw pressed to the ground in a typical battle stance as it confronted the human-faced trees approaching them.

It looked majestic and imposing, complementing the black dragon roaring in midair.

Jian Feiyang couldn’t help muttering, “With a senior like you, it’d be hard for him not to get the hang of it.”

Chi Zhou reached under the seat and pulled out a bag, distributing the weapons inside to everyone.

“Spirit animals can hold them back, but there will always be some who break through. According to Alliance regulations, when dealing with ordinary residents, we can only take action at the very last moment.”

Fang Shike, known for his fiery temper, couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Here we go again. They’re practically a tree already, and we’re still not allowed to take action.”

Xia Ye looked toward Chi Zhou.

Chi Zhou gave him a slight shake of his head.

…Chi Zhou also felt helpless about this regulation.

It was only because of certain reasons that he had continued to abide by it.

Xia Ye silently picked up a dagger from the bag and gripped it in his palm.

—

The sound of fingernails scratching against the car door rang out, harsh and grating.

Ying Jiawei asked, “Boss, do we make a move?”

Chi Zhou made a stopping gesture. “The sun is coming out.”

Jian Feiyang was confused. “They’re not zombies. What does the sun have to do with it?”

Xia Ye had been paying close attention to the movements outside. “Something about them doesn’t look right.”

At five in the morning, a faint glimmer of light finally appeared on the horizon.

Through the eyes of his snow leopard, Xia Ye saw a bizarre scene. Those who had nearly turned into trees all turned around in unison, facing the direction of the sun.

The black rain that had covered the car windows for the entire night gradually became murky and began to let light through, as though some strange kind of time reversal were taking place.

The sticky black rain lost its weight, turning into streams of dark water that flowed down the windows.

The view from the off-road vehicle slowly became clear, and the Longgu Town highway finally appeared before them.

Jian Feiyang’s scalp went numb as he stared at the scene outside and muttered, “Th-that… what is that…”

A tree wearing a long white dress was leaning against their window, grinning at them.

The meaning behind that smile was complicated, like the final cry of someone in a daze.

The creature, part tree and part human, stretched its arms toward the sky and stiffly knelt toward the sun.

Its tongue had already turned into woody fibres and could no longer make complete sounds. Only a reverent, muffled moaning came from its throat.

Sunlight spilt evenly across the scene, coating everything in a layer of gold.

“Quite a spectacle,” Chi Zhou said with interest. “I haven’t seen such a distinctive contamination law in a long time.”

The muffled moaning came from all directions, surrounding the entire off-road vehicle and making their heads swim.

Ying Jiawei tightened her grip on her gun. “What are they doing?”

Xia Ye stared fixedly at those people, his voice cold.

“Worshipping.”

---

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Xia Ye responded with a distracted “En” and hurriedly said goodbye to his sister.

Something was wrong.

Missions assigned by the Special Operations Department were always classified at the highest level. Even the mission briefings never specified what the actual assignment was. Members only learned the details after gathering at the designated location.

So how did Xia Zhi’s ‘classmate’ know the details so clearly?

The sky had darkened. The last trace of sunlight was sinking in the west, signalling the end of sunset.

A deep-blue night swept across the horizon, occupying the entire sky within seconds. A timeless full moon hung directly overhead, surrounded by scattered stars.

This was a system newly developed by the Alliance Environmental Management Bureau, supposedly capable of fully simulating the ecological environment of ancient Earth. It had recently been launched in District One.

People had stopped along the streets, admiring the bright full moon.

Xia Ye had little interest in it. He had watched documentaries left behind from the ancient-Earth era. Back then, the sky gradually dimmed along with the setting sun. It did not spread abruptly like ink. At a certain moment, the full moon and the sun would overlap, creating a breathtaking spectacle that could leave anyone utterly mesmerized.

The streets gradually grew busier. Neon lights of every color flickered in the dark alleyways, looking almost exactly like scenes from an old movie.

Beyond them stood towering white buildings that seemed to reach into the clouds, connected by countless transparent pipes as small spacecraft weaved between them.

The two completely different scenes intertwined, making it impossible to tell which era one was actually living in.

This was a new initiative recently introduced by the Alliance to completely recreate the living environment of ancient Earth. Its purpose was to improve humanity’s sense of happiness and prevent people from growing weary of life amid repeated outbreaks of extraterrestrial contamination.

Chi Zhou had dismissed the plan as ‘an unnecessary extravagance’, a sentiment Xia Ye wholeheartedly shared.

—

Xia Ye boarded an Alliance Express train at the school entrance. It took only five minutes to reach the Special Operations Department.

The Special Operations Department had a distinctly old-fashioned office. It was a three-story building that looked as though it had been taken straight from a documentary about ancient Earth. Situated in the center of District One, it looked completely out of place amid the surrounding steel forest brimming with advanced technology.

Xia Ye stood before the wrought-iron gate with its ornate patterns, staring at the wooden sign engraved with the words [Special Operations Department], and wondered if he had come to the wrong place.

He had seen the Alliance’s promotional videos. The Special Operations Department was an important part of them, known as the Alliance’s blade.

Everyone wore black suits and stood before floor-to-ceiling glass windows, with the distant sky stretching out behind them.

The Black Dragon roared in midair, resembling a scene straight out of an ancient-Earth legend.

It was completely different from what he was seeing now.

“You’re in the right place. Come in.”

Chi Zhou’s voice came through the intercom.

Xia Ye stared at the small white box mounted on the wall. “It’s so retro.”

“It’s rare to find someone who still recognizes this thing.” There was a smile in Chi Zhou’s voice. “You’re pretty retro yourself.”

Xia Ye silently walked into the Special Operations Department office.

Under Chi Zhou’s guidance, it was as if time had flowed backward inside the Special Operations Department, revealing the atmosphere of a police station from the ancient-Earth era.

The floor was covered with thick carpeting. Documents were piled across solid-wood desks, and there was even a Parker pen lying among them.

It was a one-to-one replica. Only after picking it up would one realize that it was actually a laser-cutting dagger.

“A new weapon developed by the research institute.” Chi Zhou said, noticing where he was looking. “I think it’s pretty useful.”

Xia Ye replied, “The design is interesting.”

Chi Zhou picked up the pen and walked over, slipping it into the breast pocket of Xia Ye’s shirt.

“Take it.” Chi Zhou said.

Xia Ye was a little uncomfortable with that. “I just got here. Wouldn’t this be inappropriate…?”

“What’s the big deal?” Chi Zhou smiled unconcernedly. “You’ll get used to it.”

He led Xia Ye to the center of the office and pointed at the documents, pencil sharpeners, pencils, and stainless-steel cups scattered around.

“All of these are weapons. Once you join the Special Operations Department, you can take whatever you want. Xia Ye, you should think of this place as home.”

Xia Ye silently nodded and accepted the pen.

It was difficult for him to describe how he felt.

After the extraterrestrial contamination in District Twelve, he had become completely estranged from the word ‘home’. Only Xia Zhi remained as an anchor, reminding him that warmth had once existed in his life.

The office of the Special Operations Department really did have that kind of feeling. The space was cramped, dimly lit, cluttered with things that seemed completely irrelevant, it was filled with the ancient-Earth atmosphere that no longer existed in this era. It closely resembled the apartment where he had lived as a child.

“You’re the youngest one in our team.” Chi Zhou said as he rummaged through the piles of documents for a while. “Here’s your onboarding training. Take a look. The others will be here soon.”

Xia Ye accepted the thick stack of documents, sat down on the sofa, and began reading carefully.

—

Calling it onboarding training was less accurate than calling it a life or death waiver.

The documents listed the types of missions the Special Operations Department was required to undertake, along with the benefits offered to its personnel. Xia Ye skimmed through them. The benefits were certainly good, but most people probably wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy them.

Far too many people had died on their very first mission, or chosen to leave the Special Operations Department afterward.

So much so that the Special Operations Department had not recruited a single new member in nearly ten years.

“Don’t worry.”

Chi Zhou silently sat down beside him.

“Stick with me. Nothing will happen to you.”

Xia Ye looked up at him.

He knew Chi Zhou meant it. After Chi Zhou joined the Special Operations Department, its casualty rate had dropped dramatically, eventually reaching zero in recent years.

Xia Ye closed the documents. “I know.”

He had never doubted Chi Zhou.

“You trust me that much?”

Chi Zhou looked somewhat surprised.

“En.” Xia Ye answered, “Always.”

Chi Zhou met his gaze. “You’re making me a little embarrassed.”

That was what he said, but there was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in his eyes. Chi Zhou was smiling, with something meaningful lurking beneath it.

“Well, look at that. Boss, you’re early today?” The office door was suddenly pushed open. “Is this the new guy? What’s his name?”

The newcomer had a head of bleached-blond hair and was chewing gum. He held out a hand toward Xia Ye.

“I’m Jian. Jian Feiyang. Team 1, Special Operations Department. Chi Zhou is my direct superior. And you?”

Perhaps because it had been so long since they had gotten a newcomer, Jian Feiyang was unusually talkative.

“Pretty delicate-looking. Why would you come here to suffer with us? Doesn’t the military academy assign graduates jobs anymore?”

Xia Ye reached out and gave his hand a perfunctory shake.

Jian Feiyang was exceptionally friendly. “Now that you’re with us, you’re one of us. Don’t worry, I’ll have your back from now on.”

Chi Zhou cleared his throat and introduced him.

“Xia Ye, an SSS-rank Dark Guide. He joined the Special Operations Department today. We’re heading to Longgu Town together later.”

Jian Feiyang immediately became serious. “So it’s you. I’ve heard about you for a while. Welcome, welcome.”

The day before, the Special Operations Department had even held a brief meeting regarding Xia Ye’s rank assessment. Jian Feiyang had just returned from a mission and had not been able to attend, which had left him especially curious.

As they talked, several more people gradually entered the office. After briefly introducing themselves to Xia Ye, the group prepared to depart.

Apart from Jian Feiyang, everyone else was a sentinel or guide who had already completed their pairing.

It was a highly elite squad.

—

“Longgu Town is a village under the jurisdiction of District Ten. It’s fairly remote, and it’ll take about three hours to drive there from here.”

In the passenger seat, Ying Jiawei rapidly flipped through the documents.

“A week ago, the Alliance received a report from District Ten. Longgu Town Hospital admitted an eight-year-old child whose limbs had developed unexplained rigidity. After being hospitalized for a week, tender shoots began growing from his palms.”

As one of the few female sentinels, Ying Jiawei had been with the Special Operations Department for many years and had carried out countless missions.

Even with all her experience, the photographs in the report still gave her a shock.

“According to the hospital’s report, the tender shoots soon grew into his limbs and brain, but they didn’t affect his movement or consciousness.” Ying Jiawei said calmly. “The patient frequently complained of pain, saying that ‘the trees are strangling him.’ Last week, the hospital detected that his vital signs had ceased, but he was still capable of moving.”

Jian Feiyang asked while driving, “So he’s basically a walking corpse?”

“More or less.”

Ying Jiawei answered, “The District Ten Security Administration has already contained the patient and is waiting for us to arrive. Boss, take a look at the files.”

Chi Zhou took the stack of documents and casually flipped through them.

Xia Ye sat beside him, staring at the nauseating photographs.

The boy in the photographs was barely recognizable as human anymore. His skin had turned dark brown, covered in layer upon layer of cracks. His arms were rigidly outstretched, pointing straight toward the sky like a dead tree.

The tender shoots that had once grown from his palms had disappeared, replaced by small bloody holes.

Looking closely, one could even see pink flesh beneath the bark-like skin, exposed through the gaps in the cracks, with milky-white fluid seeping from them. Yet everything below his waist remained normal. He was still wearing jeans, making the sight even more bizarre.

It was as if an ordinary human being had become a breeding vessel for some kind of monstrous tree.

Xia Ye’s scalp prickled, and he looked away.

It wasn’t because of the grotesque sight before him, but it was because he was reminded of the conversation with Xia Zhi.

A place where people could turn into trees.

The piece of gossip his sister had casually mentioned really was the mission he was about to undertake.

Xia Ye glanced at the people in the car. There were six people in total. He and Chi Zhou sat in the back. Jian Feiyang, who talked incessantly, was driving, with Ying Jiawei, her hair tied into a high ponytail, sitting beside him. Fang Shike and Yu Yucheng were in the front row, already asleep.

Xia Ye was always exceptionally cautious when it came to matters concerning his sister.

Noticing Xia Ye’s gaze, Chi Zhou looked up and asked simply, “Scared?”

Xia Ye shook his head.

Just then, Jian Feiyang swung the car around and turned into a rest stop.

“Out of gas.” Jian Feiyang spoke casually. “You guys get out and stretch your legs. I’ll fill up.”

Xia Ye opened the car door and looked at Chi Zhou. “Let’s talk outside.”

Chi Zhou neither agreed nor objected. He followed him out and lit a cigarette.

“You only want to tell me?” The cigarette flickered between Chi Zhou’s fingers, illuminating only his eyes and somehow making his smile seem even more pronounced. “What’s so secretive?”

Xia Ye smelled the smoke, and his throat began to itch.

“My sister is acting a little strange.”

Before he could say anything else, it felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and he suddenly broke into a fit of coughing.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have smoked.” Chi Zhou quickly stubbed out the cigarette. “I didn’t know you couldn’t tolerate cigarette smoke.”

“I’m fine.” Xia Ye calmed his breathing. “I don’t normally cough. You can smoke if you want.”

“It’s no big deal to go without,” Chi Zhou said, waving a hand dismissively. “What were you about to say?”

“I…”

Xia Ye had barely uttered a single word when a white wall bathed in golden sunlight suddenly filled his mind, making it impossible for him to continue.

After recalling it several times, Xia Ye finally shook his head and said in confusion, “I forgot.”

A bolt of lightning streaked across the gloomy, indistinct sky, tearing through the false night.

Rain tinged with a sour smell began falling from above, droplets landing on Xia Ye’s shoulder and spreading into dark stains.

—–
Author’s Note:
Little angels, this shouldn’t be too scary, right?
If you’re scared, just watch it with the lights on~

---

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Chi Zhou’s voice carried a hint of amusement as his gaze swept over the snow leopard at the foot of the bed. He reached out naturally and gave it a stroke.

“It’s still here?”

“Mm…” Xia Ye turned his head away, avoiding Chi Zhou’s eyes. “Something happened.”

His low-grade fever had only just subsided, and his psychic power was still at full capacity, so his senses were hundreds of times more acute than usual.

Emotions from all directions were flooding into his Mental Domain, leaving him slightly dizzy and unable to spare any attention for the snow leopard’s antics.

It had been a long time since he had experienced anything like this.

The last time had been shortly after his awakening, when he had been completely unable to control his psychic power. It had taken him some time to tame the snow leopard, only for the effort to leave him utterly drained. Other people’s emotions then crashed down on him like dark clouds, leaving him temporarily unable to speak.

He could feel their joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. He could even hear fragments of their thoughts.

Xia Ye had looked it up in the library before. This was one of the abilities unique to Dark Guides.

When a Dark Guide’s Mental Domain became excessively powerful, their ability to perceive emotions would be amplified without limit. They could even read people’s thoughts through their Spirit Animal.

For example, right now, he could hear Chi Zhou thinking: Feels so good. Big cats really are adorable.

He sounded like he was in an exceptionally good mood.

Xia Ye looked at his spirit animal with mixed feelings. He had no idea what had happened last night, but somehow the snow leopard seemed to have become quite familiar with Chi Zhou.

Whenever Chi Zhou reached out to touch it, the snow leopard would lift its chin and let him gently scratch beneath it, even narrowing its eyes as it purred contentedly.

…It was no different from the kittens Xia Ye had seen at the pet shop outside the academy.

“Wow, it’s so well-behaved,” Lin Kezhi said eagerly from the side. “It looked so fierce during the entrance assessment. Everyone in the StarNet group was saying your snow leopard would definitely bite someone.”

“Really?” Chi Zhou said meaningfully. “It’s always been very well-behaved.”

Lin Kezhi’s hands were practically itching to pet it, so he cautiously reached out.

The snow leopard’s expression changed instantly. It glared at him, its eyes carrying an unmistakable warning.

“Okay, okay, I won’t touch you.” Lin Kezhi took a step back and apologised to the snow leopard. “I’m practically your owner’s best friend, and you’re still this wary of me.”

Denied his chance to pet the cat, Lin Kezhi figured Chi Zhou had come to see Xia Ye for something important. So he tactfully excused himself, claiming he was going to the library, and left.

—

Only Xia Ye and Chi Zhou remained in the infirmary.

The atmosphere was somewhat tense. Xia Ye wanted to send the snow leopard back into his Mental Domain, but the snow leopard clearly had no intention of cooperating.

His temples were throbbing faintly, making it difficult to force the snow leopard to obey.

“Don’t be so nervous.” Chi Zhou’s calm voice sounded beside him. “Being unable to control your spirit animal is normal.”

He placed a hand on Xia Ye’s shoulder. His palm was warm and dry, carrying a reassuring strength.

“Especially for you, Xia Ye.” Chi Zhou sat down beside him. “The higher a spirit animal’s level, the harder it is to control.”

Xia Ye asked quietly, “Are you like that too?”

His voice felt dry, as though something were stopping him from speaking.

“Mm.” Chi Zhou’s voice softened further. “I was the same when I first awakened. It took me a long time to learn how to control my spirit animal.”

His fingers shifted slightly. For a moment, he had the urge to reach out and pat Xia Ye on the head.

In Chi Zhou’s impression, Xia Ye possessed an almost stubborn pride that refused to accept defeat.

The boy seemed tireless and unyielding, like a young poplar growing in the desert, willing to do whatever it took simply to survive.

Even now, despite his psychic power being overloaded, his low fever having lasted through the night, and his inability to control his spirit animal… His back remained perfectly straight. He wouldn’t even lean against the headboard or allow himself to show the slightest trace of exhaustion.

Only his voice betrayed the weakness he was desperately trying to hide.

Too stubborn.

Chi Zhou didn’t know what Xia Ye had gone through in District Twelve, but he knew it couldn’t have been anything worth remembering.

Perhaps he should have insisted on his original idea and brought Xia Ye and Xia Zhi to District One when Xia Ye was fourteen.

“Try taking a deep breath and controlling your psychic power,” Chi Zhou instructed. “Think of it as steering a sailboat across the ocean. The broader your Mental Domain, the longer it takes to learn how to control it.”

He deliberately lowered his voice, sounding almost like a teacher leading a meditation class.

If anyone from the Special Operations Department were here, they would have been utterly stunned. They would never have imagined Chi Zhou capable of being this patient.

Xia Ye gave a quiet “En” and followed his instructions.

His psychic power, surging like a turbulent tide, gradually settled. The snow leopard stretched lazily, hopped off the bed, and disappeared into Xia Ye’s Mental Domain.

With Chi Zhou’s guidance, Xia Ye seemed to have grasped a key that allowed him to begin controlling his heightened senses.

“Feeling better?” Chi Zhou asked.

“Much better.” Xia Ye nodded, visibly more relaxed. “Thank you.”

The formality of his gratitude caught Chi Zhou off guard. He couldn’t help laughing helplessly.

“What is it with you, kid? You’re always thanking me for everything.”

Xia Ye instinctively wanted to argue, but Chi Zhou beat him to it.

“Xia Ye, don’t try to figure everything out on your own.” Chi Zhou’s tone turned serious. “Your abilities are very powerful. They’ll make a lot of people afraid of you, and they may even make you afraid of yourself. But you need to remember that you’re not alone.”

Xia Ye lowered his head. It took him a long time to answer.

“En.”

He understood what Chi Zhou meant.

The Alliance had never had a Dark Guide before. He was the first. No one could guide him from experience except Chi Zhou.

Chi Zhou patted him on the shoulder.

“If something happens, come find me.”

—

Ten minutes after Chi Zhou left, Xia Ye received an express message.

It was an invitation from the Special Operations Department, asking him to participate in an A-class contaminated-zone mission led by Chi Zhou: [Operation Codename XII].

“What if I don’t go?” Xia Ye asked.

The little delivery robot shook its head so dramatically that its entire body rattled, a string of mechanical noises spilling from its mouth.

“No, no, no! The Special Operations Department is the Alliance’s highest-ranking department. It can freely mobilise any resources it needs. As a military academy student, you are also considered a mobilisable resource. Don’t tell me you’re planning to run away before the battle!”

The robot’s incessant chatter gave Xia Ye a headache.

“I was joking. It’s not that serious.”

“I am a robot that has passed the Turing test! You were not laughing; therefore, you were not joking.”

With a ‘click’, the little robot pulled a thick stack of papers from its pocket.

“Refusing a mission requires a thirty-thousand-word report.”

“I was only wondering why the Special Operations Department would invite a freshman to participate in a mission.”

Xia Ye signed his name on the invitation without changing his expression.

“Please don’t put anything strange in my records. Thank you.”

The little robot collected the signed invitation, then gave him the time and location, reminding Xia Ye to report on time.

Xia Ye nodded and got up.

He headed for the school next door, intending to visit his younger sister first.

The Special Operations Department had given them very little time. They would be leaving at midnight that night for District Ten.

Before then, he needed to make arrangements for his sister.

—

Next to the military academy stood an elite private middle school with exorbitant tuition fees. Most of its students were the sons and daughters of wealthy families from Upper District Seven.

Before taking the military academy entrance assessment, Xia Ye had made one condition clear to his interviewers: his blind younger sister needed someone to look after her, and he had to bring her with him to school.

Given his outstanding assessment results, the academy readily agreed and arranged for Xia Zhi to attend the middle school next door.

After the assessment report confirming him as a Dark Guide was released, the academy had clearly become even more attentive to Xia Zhi’s education and daily life. Apparently, they wanted to eliminate any concerns Xia Ye might have and allow him to devote himself entirely to the Special Operations Department.

By the time Xia Ye arrived, his sister was already waiting for him at the school gate.

Xia Zhi was wearing her school uniform, the snow-white skirt embroidered with pure white doves. Her long, chestnut-coloured curls fell over her shoulders, and in the soft afternoon sunlight, she looked almost like an angel.

Xia Ye stopped when he was still more than ten metres from the gate. After only a few days apart, his sister suddenly seemed strangely unfamiliar.

His Mental Domain spread silently, enveloping the entire school.

The school was particularly peaceful on a day off. Golden sunlight painted indescribable patterns across the white walls.

From a distance, Xia Zhi waved at him.

“Gege! Over here!”

“En.”

Xia Ye walked over to her.

“How have you been lately? Your teacher said someone was bullying you. Who was it?”

Xia Zhi smiled innocently. “No one. They heard that my brother is really strong, so they stopped bothering me.”

Xia Ye studied his sister carefully.

Xia Zhi had lost her sight in the extraterrestrial contamination incident. Her eyes were now an empty, milky white. She had always been physically frail and had been carefully cared for since childhood, yet she still fell ill from time to time.

During the extraterrestrial contamination incident in District Twelve, Xia Zhi had been caught in the attack alongside him.

When the adults pulled the siblings from the rubble, Xia Zhi had been covered in blood from head to toe. The doctor at the underground clinic had said there was nothing they could do for her.

Even their experienced parents had been helpless. All they could do was let her lie in bed and rely on nutrient supplements to keep her alive.

Then, a week later, a miracle happened.

All of Xia Zhi’s injuries had healed, and the only thing she had lost was her eyesight.

Her parents had wept with joy, grateful that their daughter had survived.

Xia Zhi quickly learned to navigate by sound, and her blindness no longer caused her any significant difficulty. It was almost as though she had been born blind.

Yet Xia Ye could see nothing unusual in her eyes. They remained that same empty, milky white.

Lifeless.

There wasn’t even the slightest spark of a young girl’s natural liveliness.

By then, Xia Ye had already finished scanning the entire school with his Mental Domain.

There were only ordinary people here. He couldn’t detect the presence of any sentinels or guides.

That made sense. Students this age had yet to awaken, so there was no need to assign sentinels and guides as their teachers.

“Gege, what’s wrong?” Concern filled Xia Zhi’s voice.

“Are you too tired lately? I’m sorry. You’re so busy with your studies, and you still have to make time to come and see me.”

That familiar feeling returned. Xia Zhi’s voice hadn’t changed in the slightest. It was just as sweet and gentle as he remembered.

“I’m your brother. Coming to see you is my responsibility.” Xia Ye slowly withdrew his Mental Domain. “If anyone bothers you again, tell me directly.”

“Okay.” Xia Zhi smiled sweetly. “You’re the best big brother in the world.”

Xia Ye gave her a few simple reminders, then walked around the campus with her for a while, familiarising himself with the layout of the school.

Before leaving, he told her, “I have a mission and need to go out of town for a while. Study hard while I’m gone. If anything happens, call me. I’ll ask a friend to come and help you.”

“Thank you, gege. I’ll be good.”

Xia Zhi tilted her head curiously.

“Where are you going? Is it the place where people turn into trees?”

Xia Ye frowned slightly. “The place where people turn into trees?”

He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Oh, I heard it from one of my classmates. Something happened somewhere in the Alliance, and the people there are turning into trees.” Xia Zhi’s smile remained innocent.

“It sounds really scary. Be careful, gege. I’ll wait for you to come home.”

 

---

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The snow leopard took a step back, avoiding Chi Zhou’s hand.

His hand met nothing, but Chi Zhou wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. He simply shrugged, a hint of amusement in his smile.

“Pretty wary, aren’t you?” Chi Zhou studied those jade-green eyes. “Did Xia Ye teach you that?”

The office floor was covered in a soft carpet, its fine fibres as plush as a layer of clouds.

Chi Zhou simply sat down on the carpet and patiently met the snow leopard’s gaze. The snow leopard exhaled through its nose and gave a soft cry, as if to tell him that he was wrong.

“Quite perceptive, aren’t you?” Chi Zhou remarked. “No wonder you’re an SSS-class spirit animal.”

After leaving the colonel’s office, Chi Zhou had immediately sent the assessment report to the military academy.

The Special Operations Department had held a brief emergency meeting over it.

Although Chi Zhou was their leader, the others didn’t blindly follow him. One of his subordinates questioned whether it was really appropriate for the Special Operations Department to issue an assessment report directly when none of them had even met Xia Ye.

“I understand why you’re being cautious,” Chi Zhou said. He had always treated his subordinates gently. “But this is the Alliance’s first Dark Guide. The colonel and the Social Administration Bureau are both watching him closely.”

Silence settled over the conference room.

The Special Operations Department spent most of its time on the front lines and had never paid much attention to the political situation within the Alliance.

In recent years, however, they had begun to realise that things couldn’t continue this way. While they devoted themselves entirely to fighting extraterrestrial contamination, ambitious factions had already carved up the Alliance among themselves and were now beginning to reach their hands into the Special Operations Department.

They genuinely had little interest in worldly glory, but no one could tolerate a bunch of people who knew nothing about the front lines trying to tell them how to do their jobs.

“I’ve already met him,” Chi Zhou added. “The breadth of his Mental Domain is fully within the SSS-class range.”

After a brief discussion, the Special Operations Department finally reached a consensus and decided to bypass the Social Administration Bureau and issue the assessment report themselves.

They knew perfectly well what a gamble this was. Everything rested on whether Chi Zhou had judged correctly. Once the report was released, everyone would naturally assume that Xia Ye would join the Special Operations Department after graduation.

“Don’t worry.”

After the report was sent out, Chi Zhou rose from his seat at the head of the table and walked out of the conference room.

“I’m giving a lecture at the academy tomorrow. I’ll invite him to participate in Operation Codename XII. You’ll get to see what he can really do soon enough.”

—

According to Chi Zhou’s plan, he was going to keep Xia Ye behind after tomorrow’s lecture and invite him to participate in the operation.

He hadn’t expected the snow leopard to come looking for him first.

Sitting on the soft carpet, Chi Zhou idly ran his fingers through the carpet fibres, his hand stopping just short of the snow leopard’s paws.

“What made you come looking for me?”

He asked casually, looking at the snow leopard.

Its jade-green eyes were fixed on his hand. As his long, knuckled fingers brushed through the carpet, the fibres fell neatly in their wake before springing back up again.

Chi Zhou wasn’t a guide, but during the long years he had spent alone, he had picked up a few tricks for dealing with spirit animals.

The snow leopard watched him curiously, its gaze glued to his fingers as a soft rumbling sound came from its throat.

Chi Zhou reached under the coffee table and casually pulled out a cat wand. A fluffy bundle of feathers was tied to the end, bobbing through the air as he gave it a few lazy flicks.

The snow leopard’s eyes immediately lit up. Its jade-green gaze locked onto the toy, and its paws shifted restlessly against the carpet. It was clearly itching to pounce.

Chi Zhou deliberately stopped moving, letting the feathers drop onto the carpet and quivering softly.

The snow leopard couldn’t resist any longer.

It tentatively reached out a paw and pressed down on the edge of the feathers.

The smile at the corner of Chi Zhou’s lips deepened, looking distinctly mischievous.

The moment the snow leopard caught the feathers, Chi Zhou finally moved. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the cat wand skidding across the carpet.

The snow leopard leapt high into the air and pounced after it. Once it caught the feathers, it flopped onto the carpet and happily rolled around with the toy, completely absorbed in the feathers and little bells.

“It really is a cat.”

Chi Zhou nodded in satisfaction. “Cats love this stuff.”

His movements slowed as he reached out and scratched the snow leopard under the chin. It didn’t resist. Apparently accepting the touch, it gently rubbed its head against his palm.

Chi Zhou ran his hand over its head. Once manifested, a high-purity spirit animal wasn’t all that different from a real animal. Its fur was soft and wonderfully pleasant to touch.

“You sneaked over here on your own. Does Xia Ye know?”

Chi Zhou chatted with the snow leopard with great interest, seemingly treating it as nothing more than a little cat that had shown up asking to be petted rather than Xia Ye’s spirit animal.

The snow leopard gave an urgent little howl and rubbed insistently against his palm. Its claws tightened around the feathers, instantly crushing their soft, fluffy shape.

The gentle, affectionate purring from before had already turned into a low growl with a hint of warning.

Something seemed wrong. The snow leopard scratched anxiously at the carpet before suddenly biting down on the hem of Chi Zhou’s clothes.

The smile gradually faded from Chi Zhou’s face as he quietly studied the animal.

…Something wasn’t right.

Within seconds, Chi Zhou had reached a conclusion.

Xia Ye’s spirit animal was at risk of going berserk.

This was an extremely rare condition that would never occur in ordinary sentinels and guides. It was a special state known as hormonal dysregulation—a particular constraint unique to Dark Sentinels and Dark Guides.

Chi Zhou had suffered from something similar when he was young.

His black dragon hadn’t always obeyed him. There were times when it seemed to have a will of its own, and even moments when the black dragon had taken control of him instead.

Being a vessel for a spirit animal was hardly a comfortable experience.

When in a berserk state, the roar of his black dragon could make extraterrestrial creatures retreat in fear, while the clouds that blotted out the sky were enough to make even humans recoil.

It was the boundary between humanity and something almost divine—or monstrous.

Chi Zhou knew better than anyone what Xia Ye would face if he couldn’t control his berserk state. He had always believed some burdens only one person needed to bear. There was no reason to make someone else suffer through the same pain.

Before the snow leopard could react, Chi Zhou had already moved.

His powerful hand caught it precisely by the scruff of its neck. The growl that had still been rumbling in its throat instantly vanished, and the snow leopard became docile, looking up at him with a pair of innocent eyes.

“Only now you remember to act cute?”

Chi Zhou lifted the snow leopard with one hand and leapt out the window.

“Too late.”

—

Xia Ye woke up in the school infirmary.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, his limbs felt weak and his entire body was drained of energy.

The snow leopard was curled up at the foot of his bed, sprawled over the blanket and snoring away. It looked no different from an ordinary house cat.

The moment Lin Kezhi saw him wake up, he exclaimed, “Oh my god, you’re finally awake! You nearly scared me to death!”

“Was I asleep for a long time?” Xia Ye asked. “What happened…? You seem pretty worked up.”

“How could I not be? You have no idea how much happened last night.” Lin Kezhi lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Last night?”

Xia Ye glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s already afternoon?”

“Yeah.” Lin Kezhi nodded and immediately launched into the story, practically bursting with excitement as he tried to tell Xia Ye all the gossip at once. “After you fell asleep last night, the school suddenly released an assessment report. They confirmed that you’re an SSS-class Dark Guide.”

“The group chat went completely insane. Have you ever seen messages come in that fast?” Lin Kezhi waved his hands around as he demonstrated. “Then, not long after that, Li Feile and Qiu Luo showed up and said everyone should learn from you in the future. Hahaha! I’ve known those two since we were kids, and I’ve never heard them talk like that. They’re always so damn arrogant, acting like they’re better than everyone else, practically walking around with their noses in the air.”

Lin Kezhi shook his head.

“I seriously never thought I would live to hear them say something like that… Xia Ye, aren’t you excited?”

Xia Ye coughed heavily twice. For some reason, his throat was burning terribly. He shook his head, “I figured as much.”

His gaze passed over Lin Kezhi’s shoulder and slowly swept around the infirmary. “Is the lecture over?”

“Of course. It’s already after two.” Lin Kezhi answered without thinking. “It ended around noon.”

Xia Ye seemed lost in thought. He gave a quiet “Oh.”

Then he looked at the snow leopard curled up at the foot of the bed and reached out to stroke its head. The snow leopard was always relaxed around its master. It loosened its paws, and the cat wand dropped to the floor with a soft clatter, its little bell jingling brightly.

“Where did this come from?” Lin Kezhi picked up the toy. “Is it yours?”

“It’s not mine. And it’s not a cat.”

Xia Ye took the cat wand from Lin Kezhi.

It really was an ordinary cat toy, the kind sold at any pet-supply store outside the military academy for ten Star Coins.

There was no doubt about it.

The snow leopard had gone somewhere on its own—somewhere Xia Ye knew nothing about.

“Kezhi, why am I in the school infirmary?” Xia Ye asked belatedly. “I remember going back to the dorm last night.”

“Yeah, but…”

Lin Kezhi hesitated, his eyes drifting toward the snow leopard as he struggled to find the right words.

“Instructor Chi came in during the middle of the night with your spirit animal. He said you might be unwell and needed to be brought to the infirmary.”

He lowered his voice. “He told me not to tell you he had been here. What’s going on with you?”

Xia Ye continued absently stroking the snow leopard’s head as he carefully considered his answer.

“Nothing. It’s just an old problem.”

“Really?” Lin Kezhi’s voice dropped even lower. “Tell me the truth. Is it bonding heat?”

After all, Xia Ye had called Chi Zhou by his name, and Chi Zhou had shown up in the middle of the night with Xia Ye’s Spirit Animal. Lin Kezhi’s imagination had already run through countless possibilities.

Then there was Xia Ye’s sudden fever, and Lin Kezhi couldn’t help arriving at a bold conclusion.

Could it be…?

Could the Instructor Chi everyone else could only look up to actually have a special relationship with Xia Ye?

The more Lin Kezhi thought about it, the more convincing it seemed. A Dark Sentinel and a Dark Guide—weren’t they practically a match made in heaven? The Alliance would probably arrange their marriage sooner or later anyway.

“Don’t keep me in the dark, too.” Lin Kezhi waggled his eyebrows. “I’m very open-minded.”

“It’s really not what you think. We’re not close,” Xia Ye said helplessly. “My fever is from hormonal dysregulation. Look it up in the library, and you’ll understand.”

Hormonal dysregulation wasn’t exactly a common condition, so it was perfectly normal for Lin Kezhi not to know about it.

Xia Ye had once found a doctor in District Twelve’s black market, a physician who had come from a research institute in District One and had considerable experience with the condition.

Aside from using gene suppressants at regular intervals, the best thing he could do was learn to control his spirit animal.

He had already made some progress, but whenever he exhausted too much psychic power, the snow leopard could still easily lose control.

It had probably gone looking for Chi Zhou after Xia Ye fell asleep.

Xia Ye rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache coming on. He had gone out of his way to pretend to be a stranger in front of Chi Zhou, and now this idiot had gone straight to Chi Zhou on his own.

Great. Chi Zhou definitely knew who he was now.

That was going to be awkward.

Just as Xia Ye was wondering how he could avoid Chi Zhou the next time they met at the fighting arena, there was a knock on the infirmary door.

Chi Zhou stood in the doorway, smiling as he greeted him.

“Xia Ye, feeling any better?”

—–

Author’s Note:
Chi Zhou, Master Cat-Petter (thumbs-up.jpg)
A master of cat-petting in every sense of the word

---

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Faced with Yue Sen’s questioning, the secretary looked troubled. “According to protocols, the Social Administration Bureau is responsible for assessing Dark Guides. But those protocols have never actually been put into practice. This is the first Dark Guide to appear since humanity awakened.”

Yue Sen’s temples throbbed. He could already feel a headache coming on, so he dropped heavily into his office chair and let out a long sigh.

The first Dark Guide to ever appear…

If the Social Administration Bureau had handled the assessment, there might at least have been a chance for Li Feile’s parents to pull some strings.

“Why has the Special Operations Department gotten involved with our military academy?” Yue Sen asked coldly. “Aren’t they supposed to leave everything else alone and devote themselves entirely to dealing with extraterrestrial contamination?”

The Special Operations Department was the group Yue Sen understood the least.

Led by Chi Zhou, every member had an impressive military record, yet they never involved themselves in the political infighting within the Alliance. They were always on the front lines, fighting against extraterrestrial contamination.

Yue Sen had always thought there was something almost saintly about these people. All they ever seemed to care about was saving humanity. Was that really necessary? If extraterrestrial contamination was going to destroy the Alliance, it would take at least several hundred years. Wasn’t it better to enjoy life while they still could?

As for him, he had never believed in those so-called prophecies.

Under the light of his desk lamp, Yue Sen read through the assessment report again and again.

“Does the Special Operations Department even have the authority to issue this?”

The secretary could tell that Yue Sen was deeply dissatisfied with the result. Grimacing, he answered carefully, “Commander, the Special Operations Department is directly under the Alliance and is one level higher than the Social Administration Bureau. They have the authority to bypass the usual procedures and issue their own reports.”

That answer clearly did nothing to satisfy Yue Sen. He tossed the kraft-paper envelope onto the desk, crossed one leg over the other, and glared at the secretary. “Stop spouting nonsense. I’m asking how they made the assessment.”

After humanity awakened, the Social Administration Bureau developed a series of sophisticated instruments to determine the psychic power levels of sentinels and guides.

Once they reached adulthood, all sentinels and guides were required to undergo an assessment at the Social Administration Bureau. Students entering an Alliance military academy were no exception.

For anyone whose abilities exceeded the system’s measurable range, an experienced instructor was supposed to submit a report and wait for the Social Administration Bureau to send a specialist to conduct a manual assessment.

Yet despite the military academy having been established for so many years, this was the first time they had ever had to activate that procedure.

The secretary wiped the sweat from his brow. “Commander, Chi Zhou is a Dark Sentinel. If he says someone is a Dark Guide, who would dare to contradict him?”

His tone had turned somewhat resigned, as though he already knew that nothing he said would satisfy Yue Sen. Having given up on trying to please him, he simply voiced what he really thought.

Yue Sen fell silent.

He knew the secretary was right.

As humanity’s only Dark Sentinel, Chi Zhou was the most qualified person in existence to make such an assessment.

Yue Sen’s hand dropped limply to his side, and the assessment report drifted onto the desk, casting a faint shadow across its surface.

According to the Social Administration Bureau’s research report on sentinel and guide awakenings, only one Dark Sentinel would appear in any given era, destined to become the leader of all sentinels.

The same applied to Dark Guides.

There was nothing to do but blame Li Feile for being born in the wrong era—or for having bet on the wrong person.

Yue Sen lit a cigarette and stood by the window, gazing into the night with a profound sense of melancholy.

Ten minutes later, he returned to his office.

“Prepare to issue the announcement.”

The awakening of a Dark Guide was no trivial matter. It was an event of the highest priority.

As the military academy’s academic affairs officer, Yue Sen was obligated to notify all faculty and students immediately, as well as report the matter to the military and the Alliance.

This might very well be the final task of his career.

—

Half an hour later, the academy’s StarNet group exploded.

“Did everyone get the report?! We have a Dark Guide in our year!!!”

“Holy shit, I haven’t read it yet! Is this the first Dark Guide in the Alliance?!”

“Who is it? Who is it? Is it Qiu Luo?! I heard back in high school that his psychic power was rated S-class!”

“No! It’s Xia Ye! The one from District Twelve!”

“I remember him. Wasn’t he the one who took down Li Feile during the entrance assessment?”

“That’s him! The Special Operations Department just released the assessment report. He’s an SSS-class Dark Guide!”

 

The moment Xia Ye’s name appeared, the StarNet group fell silent.

For many people, the news left them with complicated feelings. Among them were the sentinels who had given Xia Ye love letters, the students Xia Ye had defeated during the entrance assessment, as well as Li Feile and Qiu Luo.

Back in their dormitory, Li Feile and Qiu Luo sat facing each other, both seeing a bitter smile on the other’s face.

They had been groomed since childhood to become the leaders of the next generation of sentinels and guides. Their parents had placed enormous hopes on them, expecting them to lead their families to even greater heights.

Now, it seemed those hopes were about to come crashing down.

After a long silence, Qiu Luo finally asked softly, “What do we do?”

Li Feile clenched his fists so tightly that the veins stood out on the backs of his hands.

“Is he really that strong?”

“Yeah.” Qiu Luo nodded. “I can’t even get close to his Mental Domain. We’re not on the same level.”

Hearing that from his guide, the last bit of strength Li Feile had been forcing himself to maintain finally drained away. He slumped back and muttered, “I don’t know.”

“Feile, listen to me.” Qiu Luo reached out and took his hand. “The only thing we can do now is choose to stand on his side, while no one else has started supporting him yet.”

Li Feile remained silent for a long time before finally nodding, though he was still deeply unwilling to accept it.

With Qiu Luo’s support behind him, a congratulatory message appeared in the academy’s StarNet group, celebrating Xia Ye’s successful assessment as a Dark Guide.

Qiu Luo and Li Feile had spent years building their influence in Upper District Seven, quietly regarding themselves as the leaders of the new generation of sentinels and guides. Even after entering the military academy, they had made no attempt to hide their ambition.

Although losing to Xia Ye twice had been a humiliating blow, they still enjoyed considerable prestige among the new students.

The moment Qiu Luo’s message appeared, the freshmen immediately understood which way the wind was blowing.

The StarNet group, which had been quiet for so long, suddenly came alive with messages congratulating Xia Ye on becoming a Dark Guide.

Lin Kezhi, the resident internet addict, was practically glued to his phone, scrolling through the messages with far more enthusiasm than he had shown when he received his own assessment report.

After the group had been chatting for a while, someone finally noticed that the person everyone was talking about still hadn’t appeared.

“Where’s Xia Ye? I remember he joined the group.”

“I added him.”

Lin Kezhi typed as he glanced over toward Xia Ye.

“He’s asleep.”

—

Xia Ye was curled up on his dormitory bed, but his sleep was far from peaceful.

Lin Kezhi wasn’t the type to pull someone’s blanket off, so he naturally hadn’t noticed that Xia Ye was running a low fever.

The consequences of overexerting his psychic power had finally caught up with him. Every cell in his body seemed to be protesting.

It had been an unbearably long day.

Because Xia Ye had refused to participate in matching, his entrance assessment had been dragged out indefinitely.

After the routine psychic power assessment, the academic affairs officer had arranged three team-combat matches for him, each against a three-person sentinel-guide team that had already successfully bonded.

All three teams consisted of freshmen, but once a sentinel and guide had bonded, their combat ability could increase by two or even three times.

With the guide’s assistance, a sentinel’s five senses became extraordinarily acute. They could even detect the slightest movement of air around them, giving them a tremendous advantage in both close combat and mecha piloting.

Xia Ye could overpower them in the Mental Domain, but physically, he had no advantage whatsoever.

If anything, he was at a disadvantage.

He knew his own weakness all too well. As a guide who had to rely on long-term use of genetic purifying agents just to maintain his health, his only option was to finish every fight as quickly as possible.

Even so, defeating three teams took a significant amount of time.

By the time the free-sparring session began, Xia Ye was already feeling exhausted.

But he refused to give up and continued accepting every challenge.

The price of using so much psychic power was that snow leopard became increasingly violent, almost impossible for him to control.

Even the gene suppressant he had used at the underground fighting arena had only kept it under control temporarily; the snow leopard was still restless, constantly trying to break free.

There was nothing he could do about it.

The snow leopard wasn’t actually his true Spirit Animal. It was the result of a violent transformation brought on by his hormonal imbalance.

Half-conscious, Xia Ye was still thinking about his snow leopard, desperately unwilling to let it slip beyond his control.

But the heat continued spreading through every cell in his body, overwhelming him until even his limbs felt heavy and weak.

Just before Xia Ye lost consciousness, the snow leopard finally broke free of its restraints and shot through the window like a streak of lightning.

—

At the Alliance Special Operations Department, it was already past three in the morning, yet the lights in the office were still on.

Shi Lu was buried beneath a mountain of files, rummaging through them one after another. Every so often, he scratched his head and let out a frustrated groan.

“What the hell? I can’t find anything about him! There’s nothing in the StarNet records or the underground fighting arena’s database. I just went to the Archives Bureau and pulled every file they have from District Twelve, but his file is completely blank.”

Chi Zhou’s voice came from behind the closed door of his private office, carrying a faint trace of sleepiness.

“I told you. You won’t find anything. His file is classified.”

Shi Lu looked sceptical. “Really? I even managed to find his sister’s.”

Chi Zhou opened the door and looked down at him.

“Really. Xia Ye’s file is classified. I sealed it myself.”

Shi Lu froze for a moment before murmuring, “Why?”

As a researcher at the institute, Shi Lu knew exactly what a top-secret Alliance file meant.

It meant that the person in question was hiding a secret that no one else was allowed to know.

Most people with top-secret files were members of the Special Operations Department. In one way or another, they had experienced extraordinary circumstances on the front lines against extraterrestrial contamination—things that could only be reported directly to the Alliance.

“If it’s classified, why are you asking?” Chi Zhou said lazily. “Go home and sleep. And stop making so much noise.”

He turned around and closed the office door.

The instant the door shut, a lithe snow leopard shot through the window and barreled straight into his office.

Chi Zhou leaned back against the sofa and studied the unexpected visitor.

The snow leopard faced him warily, extending its sharp claws and hooking them into the carpet. It looked rather fierce.

Yet every now and then, it would lift its head and let out a soft, rumbling purr.

Rather than a growl, it sounded almost like it was seeking affection.

“Snow leopard, huh… It’s basically just a big cat,” Chi Zhou muttered to himself as he held out a hand. “Come here.”

The snow leopard tilted its head, looking distinctly reluctant.

“I know you’re Xia Ye’s Spirit Animal.”

Chi Zhou walked over and crouched down in front of it, meeting its eyes.

“Good boy.”

—–

Author Notes:
Is there anything wrong with loving to pet cats? No! Humans loving to pet cats is only natural!

 

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