Bamaw was nothing but deep mountains and ancient forests, teeming with wild beasts and bizarre rock formations. For the base to find them here would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. But there was one place every member of Team One knew about: the Project Y’s Bamaw production point, information they’d gotten from Tunqin.
With the way A-Xie and Sister Zhouzhou thought, they would surely try coming here in search of them.
The spot was a short distance from the cave where Shi Zui currently was. Ye Jingqiu considered for a moment, then decided to head in first and leave a signal. She could figure out the rest with the Captain later.
Channeling her Wind Element, Ye Jingqiu raced toward the location etched in her memory. The Project Y’s Bamaw production point had been built along the river, nearly half of it buried underground. That setup ensured secrecy while allowing the equipment to function for transport.
She pried up a rusty, half-rotted iron plate, and clouds of dust and insect corpses billowed into the air. Choking fumes spread out. Ye Jingqiu turned her head away, coughing dryly a few times as she fanned the air, then frowned down at the narrow hole barely wide enough for one person.
She lit a wooden stick to use as a torch, then stepped back a little. Moonlight filtering in let her make out sparse clusters of broad-leafed plants below. She let out a breath of relief. With no more hesitation, she leaped straight down.
The survival of plants was a good sign, after all—it meant plenty of oxygen and no poisonous gases. Entering would be safe.
The place truly was a hidden marvel. Darkness stretched as far as the eye could see, and the standardized rooms resembled hospital wards more than factory workshops. Massive isolation panels lay buried under wild grass, decaying thickets, and stagnant, filthy water. Ye Jingqiu carefully cleared one section away and glimpsed steel plates and circuits still gleaming with a silvery sheen. A few years back, this facility must have rivaled the base itself.
The long, shadowy corridor was a uniform gray-black void. Every time Ye Jingqiu passed a doorway, she quickened her pace without thinking. An intangible pressure hung in the air, as if countless eyes were silently fixed on her. The sensation of being watched sent shivers racing down her spine.
Crack. Her foot snapped a dry leaf, and Ye Jingqiu froze. The silence was oppressive, like that of a death row prison. Condemned inmates, resigned to their fate, carried a heavy, dusky pall of death. They would shuffle into corners heaped with straw and insect husks, moving with agonizing slowness. Only the fleeting flicker of torchlight from a passing living soul would rouse them to lift their heads, offering a vacant glance from lifeless eyes.
Ye Jingqiu felt like that living soul now, the intruder who had stumbled into the prison of the doomed.
Goosebumps prickled her arms. She drew in a sharp breath and hurried onward despite herself, desperate to find paper or charcoal—anything to leave a clue for her incoming teammates.
Every compartment door stood ajar. Iron cages lined the rooms on the left; single beds filled those on the right. Ye Jingqiu paid them no mind, rifling quickly through for tools. In the midst of her search, however, she noticed something odd: the very last door at the corridor’s end was shut tight.
She gave it a push. It didn’t budge.
The lock still worked?
It was just a standard mechanical lock. Ye Jingqiu hesitated for only a second before forming her palm into a fist and pressing it lightly against the keyhole. Snap—a crisp crack echoed as her inner energy pulverized the bolt. The door swung open.
Shi Zui had taught her this lock-picking trick. Door panels sometimes used exotic materials that made blasting or prying risky; shattering the bolt directly was far safer.
The Captain always considered things more thoroughly. An image of that horrific scar on Shi Zui’s back flashed unbidden through Ye Jingqiu’s mind. Time was short for both the Captain and her. Without further pause, she drew the short knife tucked deepest into her pant leg and eased the door open.
It creaked softly, and only then did Ye Jingqiu realize the “door” had been forged from three layers of iron plating. What secrets lay behind it? Or worse—what monstrous horror had it been meant to contain?
She waved the torch. Dim firelight revealed a bed, a wooden table, and a notebook.
Ye Jingqiu leaned in and flipped it open. The two lines of sharp, precise handwriting on the title page stopped her cold.
Shi Zui.
The Captain’s notebook?!
Ye Jingqiu went blank. She knew the Captain had spent three years locked in a laboratory, and it had something to do with the Project Y. But wasn’t this the production site?
Her questions went unanswered. She flipped rapidly backward through the pages.
“Day 27: He said it’s best not to leave any paper records, but I’m sick of living without any sense of time. Thanks to Xiao Yu for scrounging up this half-blank notebook for me. I hope he doesn’t find out this time—and that he’ll keep his word and help me locate the Jade Pendant soon.
Lately, my thoughts feel so muddled. It’s like I made some terrible mistake.”
“Day 28: The blood loss and pain today were almost unbearable, but the researchers insist it’s the optimal way to probe the Regeneration Instinct. The Project Y needs my blood for the equipment’s core, after all. If it gets too bad, they offered to whip up a custom batch of sedatives.
I refused.”
“Day 29: The experiments are dull, so I’ve started jotting things down. He Ju Beasts’ front claws measure about 7 cm long on average, with the central toe the sharpest—roughly twice the length of those on Corpse Doves or Kui Que. The creatures are bloodthirsty, with a special fondness for the veins in my forearms…”
A chill of horror gripped Ye Jingqiu. Special fondness for her veins? What on earth had they been using the Captain to test here?
Panic surged through her, icy dread flooding her scalp. She roughly turned the next page.
“Day 30: Swarms of Luo Fish and Alligator Tu have appeared at Jiangkou. He suspects it’s a sign that Wangliang—the entity slumbering in the Return Ruins, as described in ancient texts—is stirring. If that’s the case, the Regeneration trials have to stop. I need to head to the sea and investigate firsthand. After all, Wangliang has appeared in my dreams too…”
Ye Jingqiu flipped ahead urgently, only to find the remaining pages neatly torn away, a frayed white binding cord protruding from the spine.
Beyond that lay the cowhide back cover, embossed with a gilded Y at the top and a jumble of odd patterns below—like signatures from sponsors or backers.
Ye Jingqiu skimmed through in a rush, her eyes darting over unfamiliar crests and clan insignias. She was about to snap it shut when her gaze snagged on a final line of small print.
The motion of turning the page felt sluggish, as if time itself had frozen. Ye Jingqiu wiped the dust from the final page, her gaze locking onto those familiar words.
Henckel von Donnersmarck.
This was A-Xie’s family surname.
The Donnersmarck Clan boasted a history spanning over six hundred years, a German noble house that had originated in what was now Slovakia. They had vanished from the internet entirely—no trace of their family fund or assets remained. Yet, judging by Xie Pingzhi’s former lifestyle, the family had merely retreated into the shadows, clutching their gold.
So, had A-Xie’s family donated to the Project Y back then? Had they been deceived, or did they know the true, sordid nature of its operations? And how much did A-Xie herself know? Had the Captain already encountered her here at that time?
Ye Jingqiu felt the night’s revelations overwhelming her, like data overload. When exactly the Captain had been trapped here remained a mystery. Impatiently, she rolled up the notebook.
The surroundings remained utterly still. Broad leaves swayed gently in the breeze, drawing a few tiny flying insects as they rustled.
Ye Jingqiu reached to grab the pen from the table, but froze the instant she bent down.
The table was gone.
Cold sweat prickled across Ye Jingqiu’s back. She spun around—the single bed behind her had vanished into thin air as well! This remote, cramped space made it impossible for anyone to have hauled away both items in a blink. Unless… the bed and chair were still there, but she simply couldn’t “see” them anymore.
Her field of vision was pitch-black, like the eternal night of North Siberia’s blizzards—nothing visible, nothing tangible. The flames burned fiercer, yet their glow hung frozen, a feeble shimmer perpetually on the verge of snuffing out.
Pipes and vents riddled the area for airflow, and tonight neared the fifteenth of the lunar month, when moonlight blazed brightest. Even at midnight, it shouldn’t be this inky void!
Ye Jingqiu dropped the torch. Clutching her short knife in her right hand, she bolted through the door. The endless-seeming corridor accommodated only her lone sprint. She raced forward at full speed, yet watched helplessly as the rooms flanking her emptied one by one.
Empty. Empty. Empty…
This place had become a silent death prison, with her as the sole living intruder in forbidden ground.
A fine mist of rain suddenly laced the air, cool and refreshingly damp. Ye Jingqiu halted, her eyes fixed on the distant end of the long corridor. She abandoned the chase—a mirage would exhaust the horse to death, a fool’s pursuit of fleeing birds. That endpoint dangled tantalizingly close, yet remained forever out of reach, like a carrot on a stick before a donkey.
Someone lurked here, toying with her. She refused to give them the satisfaction.
The Captain was waiting for her return.
Ye Jingqiu’s breathing steadied. She stood resolute, knife held horizontally, every vulnerability exposed. It was a gambit of utter peril, inviting instant death—yet fear eluded her. The serene composure on her face eerily mirrored Shi Zui’s in that moment.
Darkness like eternal night cascaded in waves, but within the cramped cavern, formless gales stirred. Rain silk wafted from nowhere, brushing her skin. Ye Jingqiu exhaled, her veins surging with ever-hotter blood, as if a long-dormant bear stirred to life.
“Clang—”
The knife sang like struck steel and stone! In a flash, Ye Jingqiu drew, her blade clashing with another’s faster than a bullet. Cold light erupted like a river’s flow, nearly banishing the gloom for an instant.
The flashes died as one. A woman in black robes drifted past light as Chi and Mei, her fluttering hem like a swallow skimming the night sky. She wore only that thin black robe, gaunt and spectral as a paper effigy.
Instinct: Eternal Night—dark as an illusory realm, form like a drifting swallow.
“So it’s you,” the woman murmured. “You actually parried that strike?”
Ye Jingqiu made no reply. Word Manifestation might rank only C-rank, but channeled into a single focus, its amplification yielded power far beyond.
All in—this was the Captain’s lesson.
Neither drew a gun; weapons so vulnerable to shifting winds had no place on an Awakener’s battlefield. Across the boundless dark, their long knives regarded each other, humming with pent-up anticipation.
Without warning, Ye Jingqiu launched skyward like a lion pouncing its prey, straight at the woman. Word Manifestation: sevenfold speed amplification! Her blade streaked without trace; her eyes held only the target.
Whoever this foe was, whatever their aim—if they threatened her or the Captain now, they were the enemy.
And enemies, as the Captain said, were for cleaving apart!
Knife clashes echoed like solitary drips in a cavern, unleashing pinnacle velocity. Amid the endless dark, only the blades formed the true arena.
