Chapter 25: Ye Knows Xia

Ye Jingqiu noticed that Shi Zui didn’t refute her right away. Over the past half month, she’d gradually gotten a read on the captain’s habits, which made her bolder. She decided to press her advantage, even slipping into full pitiful mode, her tone laced with feigned grievance:

“It’s mostly because you always speak so seriously, Captain. It’s really hard for me to tell if you’re mad when you say my name.”

Shi Zui fell silent for a beat at the accusation, then patiently explained to her little teammate: “I rarely get angry.”

“So that time with the instinct test, you weren’t angry either, right, Captain?” Ye Jingqiu probed.

Shi Zui: ……

Her mind flashed back to that day when she’d personally witnessed Ye Jingqiu shamelessly begging for help. Honest Captain Shi could hardly force herself to say otherwise.

She steered the conversation back instead. After a moment’s thought, she said: “Adding them to every sentence would mess with our normal communication, and it’s tough to change my speech habits anyway.”

Ye Jingqiu’s eyes widened a fraction, but before disappointment could set in, Shi Zui went on: “But if you need it, I’ll try throwing in more interjections off-mission. Just…”

She leaned forward a little, her tone earnest as she sought approval: “Just that I can’t promise it’ll sound right. Is that okay?”

The outskirts were dead silent, the summer night sweltering under Yinghuo’s influence, but Shi Zui’s words cut through like a cool spring, washing away the heavy, sticky heat. The endless single-lane road seemed to carry an echo.

Ye Jingqiu froze in place for two whole seconds.

She hadn’t expected such a formal response. Why did the captain treat everything with such gravity?

Snapping out of her daze, it took her a moment to stammer: “Y-Yeah, that’s fine.”

She immediately realized her voice hadn’t sounded nearly joyful enough and scrambled to fix it, pitching her tone higher as she repeated: “Absolutely fine! Super fine! Thank you, Captain!”

Those few words rose and fell with dramatic flair, nearly rivaling the symphony from that anniversary gala.

Shi Zui noted her teammate’s over-the-top reaction and solemn phrasing—she could tell the girl was in high spirits.

Captain Shi figured she’d upheld sound educational principles once more, quietly pleased but betraying nothing on her face. Her tone stayed matter-of-fact: “No need to thank me.”

Ye Jingqiu didn’t budge, though. Emboldened and utterly shameless, she prompted: “Captain, you just promised?”

The mission was over, peace restored—why not test it right now?

Shi Zui’s steps faltered at the blatant hint.

That fast.

Meeting Xiao Qiu’s sparkling eyes, Shi Zui had no choice but to deliver. After two awkward seconds, the decisive Captain Shi braced herself and, for the first time ever, repeated:

“No need to thank me…” She enunciated clearly, her pitch dipping on “thank,” then rocketing through the interjection at breakneck speed.

Ye Jingqiu just barely caught the trailing “ya.”

No need to thank me~ ya.

The idea that those four words had come from the captain nearly made her burst out laughing. This trick really worked—her fear debuff toward the captain plummeted several levels!

Triumphant, Classmate Xiao Qiu waved a lightning-quick goodbye—fearing the captain might renege—and bolted toward Xie Pingzhi at He Ju Beast speed.

Just like the culprit hightailing it from the scene, leaving Shi Zui standing alone.

Shi Zui watched Xiao Qiu’s retreating back in silence. Only now did her right hand, clenched around the double-edged blade, fully relax.

But the ordeal wasn’t over. The next second, teasing crackled through her earpiece, freezing Captain Shi in place once more.

“Yo yo yo yo yo~ no need to thank me~ ya,” Ning Wan tsked relentlessly, gleefully twisting the knife. “Thanks for not closing the channel, Captain Shi~ ya. Lucky me, I got to hear that too~ ya.”

Shi Zui, suddenly aware: “……”

Not closing the channel meant everyone—from the base to Beijing Branch, from the Action Division minister to the Elemental Weapons techs—

Had heard it all.

Oblivious to Captain Shi’s mortification, Ning Wan kept up the sarcasm: “Hey, Shi-jie, remember what you said that day?”

She dropped her voice to mimic icy Shi Zui: “Purely official business. No personal feelings involved.”

Ning Wan nearly cackled to the heavens, thanking her lucky stars for catching this hypocrite in the act again. All her bottled-up grudges finally had an outlet.

Shi Zui would never go this far for some random person, yet she fancied herself the picture of rationality. Tsk tsk—clearly, she was head over heels for Classmate Xiao Qiu.

Teaching her things, monitoring her scores, worrying she’d be scared enough to add interjections…

Our hyper-responsible, take-on-the-world Captain Shi.

Ning Wan sighed aloud: “What a ‘no personal feelings.’ What a ‘strictly business’!”

Shi Zui: “Shut up.”

Before Ning Wan could retort, the exposed captain cut the channel with finality—the first time she’d ever stonewalled her at work.

Car engines rumbled in the distance as branch members finally arrived, joining the battlefield cleanup.

Xie Pingzhi and Ye Jingqiu had already started briefing the specialists on their own, but Team One’s captain remained rooted to the spot.

Everyone tuned into the channel had overheard the exchange, including Shi Zui’s embarrassed snap—loud and clear.

Specialists like Xie Pingzhi didn’t dare interrupt Shi-jie now, and clueless Ye Jingqiu certainly wouldn’t poke the tiger a second time.

Only the blissfully naive little cat piped up to remind Shi Zui:

“Meow. Elevated adrenaline stress hormones detected. Sympathetic nervous system in overdrive, blood flow accelerated. Rare physiological state—log it?”

Shi Zui rubbed her burning ears stone-faced, replying to the eager little cat in an icy tone for the first time:

“No.”

Aether: “Nyaa—”

The fields hummed with members’ quiet chatter once more as the battlefield was methodically cleared.

High overhead, unnoticed, a drone silently captured it all, packaging the footage and beaming it faithfully to its owner.

After layers of transfers, the data finally reached its ultimate destination—

North America, Lake Michigan.

While midnight blanketed Beijing with the moon riding high and the city gradually falling quiet, the sunlight in the Central Time Zone was already scorching hot.

The sky was clear and the air crisp. The vast blue waters of the lake reflected gentle halos of light, while endless mountains and forests cradled the crystal-clear expanse of Lake Michigan. Yachts streaked out from the harbors, slicing through the rippling surface and trailing long wakes of snowy foam.

This was the only one of North America’s Great Lakes that belonged entirely to the United States. Covering 57,000 square kilometers, it ranked third in size among its neighbors, with cities dotting its lengthy shoreline.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin’s largest city, sat on the lake’s western shore. And entirely by coincidence, one of the seven entrances to the base’s heterodimensional space was located right here.

Opening the elemental teleportation gate on Lake Michigan was remarkably simple: stack a paper star atop Goose Egg Beach in the lakeside state park, and the base would throw open its arms to welcome the awakener.

But the Exotic Beast Handling Base knew nothing of the alternative teleportation method at this very spot.

If someone were to disassemble a complete paper star on the exact same stretch of lakeshore, a certain alchemy space would materialize silently.

And that place was the headquarters of an organization that had long given the base a massive headache.

Compared to the base, this space was far smaller. A glance around revealed low, sparse buildings that were understated and unremarkable, offering no standout features. Yet inside, it was a world unto itself—compact but complete in every way.

In one particularly stark, minimalist white room, Olivia leaned against the doorframe. She peered inside at the person still simmering with anger and let out a quiet sigh.

The woman seated at the distant desk had delicate, icy features and an ethereal air. Her simple, wide white sleeves were unadorned save for the half Azure Jade Pixiu pendant resting at her chest.

In silence, she was as cold as a star plunged into icy depths, radiating an edge that was impossible to ignore.

Olivia wasn’t much of a reader, but curiosity had once led her to skim a few lines of Chinese Tang poetry. She retained a vague impression of the phrase “exiled immortal.”

Sometimes, she thought it perfectly described Ye Zhixia—when she wasn’t dealing with Xiao Qiu, at least.

Olivia was twenty-three now, and she’d known Ye Zhixia for a full decade.

Those ten years had been enough to strip away her childhood innocence and awkward youth, transforming a wandering eight-year-old into Autumn’s toughest instructor.

Yet the same decade seemed to have left no mark on the woman before her. Faded memories suggested Ye Zhixia looked much the same as she had at their first meeting.

Her demeanor was unchanged, too.

She’d been this way during trades with the Exotic Beast Handling Base, upon learning of the Candle Dragon’s revival, and while hunting for Pandora’s Box.

Always so calm, so profoundly detached—as if nothing in the world could stir her interest. If she had to compare, Olivia would say Ye Zhixia reminded her of a classmate from school who’d turned to Buddhism, utterly wearied by worldly affairs.

Oh, right—except when it came to Xiao Qiu.

Olivia lounged against the door, idly rising on her toes for another peek at Boss Ye’s expression. This was about to be the fourth replay, she figured.

Ye Zhixia had no attention to spare for Olivia at the moment. Her face was thunderously dark as she dragged the progress bar back, gearing up for a fifth viewing of a particular clip.

She focused mainly on how Shi Zui had yanked Xiao Qiu back by the collar—and on the praise that followed.

Truth be told, she was thoroughly irritated by that Shi Zui from the rival base. The self-proclaimed S-rank specialist had thrown countless Autumn operations into disarray, burning through oceans of funds and effort.

Worst of all, Shi Zui wore a perpetual icy mask. Even Olivia, who’d crossed paths with her before, found the woman utterly unapproachable.

So when Ye Zhixia learned that Xiao Qiu—now inside the base—had been assigned to Shi Zui’s team, she’d nearly hopped a flight to Shanghai to drag her out herself.

What good could come of Xiao Qiu’s temperament under someone like that?

Not that she could act yet. Xiao Qiu had made her promise before leaving: under no circumstances was she to reach out first.

So Ye Zhixia could only scowl at the screen, mentally adding another black mark against Shi Zui in her little ledger.

Pandora’s Box remained utterly untraceable, leaving her with few options.

Ye Zhixia sighed, then shifted her focus to Olivia lingering in the doorway.

Her expression had smoothed back to its usual serenity. In a steady, even tone, she instructed:

“There are still three Candle Dragon scales left in the warehouse.”

“Take them with you to Beijing.”