The world plunged into utter silence. In the boundless night, a razor-sharp airflow erupted like a blade or sword. The knife edge, hurtling near the speed of sound, sliced into the opponent’s body without hesitation. Spattering blood accompanied it as it bit deep into the door frame, sending iron shavings flying everywhere.
The gash was profoundly deep, the fierce wind knocking against steel and carving lingering scars into the iron door. Zhou Xianhui gave the cut’s depth only a brief glance before forming her judgment in her mind.
“This is the Iaijutsu Slash from Japanese kendo—or Battōjutsu, as it’s known. It prioritizes ultimate speed, aiming for a one-strike kill. Over the past six months, I’ve only taught Xiao Qiu this one knife technique. Her form isn’t perfect yet, but she’s captured its essence. No doubt about it—it’s her.”
The production site was now lit up like midday, but the base members who had rushed over in a hurry still arrived a step too late. All they could see were the remnants of the battlefield.
Xie Pingzhi let out a hiss at those words, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve never studied Japanese blade arts myself, but I’ve heard the basics. The Iaijutsu Slash risks blowing the sheath, and even just sheathing quickly after the draw goes against the Zanshin Precept of constant vigilance. In a life-or-death clash like that, that split-second delay could leave Xiao Qiu open to several counters, right?”
“Yes, so she got hurt.” Zhou Xianhui nodded. Her gaze swept lightly over the cramped corridor as her mind ran through a quick simulation. She took a small step to the right and crouched down slightly.
Xie Pingzhi called for an extra lamp. Following the direction of Zhou Xianhui’s pointing finger, it illuminated a patch of light brown blood exactly as expected. She excelled with firearms and knew far less about blades than Zhou Xianhui—who had lived in Japan for over a decade besides. On matters this specialized, she was better off keeping quiet.
“That’s a lot of blood for Xiao Qiu. Number Thirteen must have slashed her right arm—the one she holds the knife with.”
“Impossible to say for sure. Xiao Qiu might have used a repair command to steady her grip,” Zhou Xianhui said as she rose. Her eyes traced the frost-like knife scars lining both sides of the corridor. “But after that, they tangled for dozens of exchanges at least. Hard to believe she held out so long against a Project Y remnant.”
“Not just held out—she pulled off a counter-kill.”
Xie Pingzhi shot a sidelong glance at Number Thirteen’s long-cold corpse nearby and started counting on her fingers. “China’s Wing Chun Eight Slash Knife, Japan’s Iaijutsu Slash, the Nepalese Ritual Knife Technique… Maybe I should train alongside Xiao Qiu. In just half a year, she’s picked up almost as many blade styles as I have.”
“It’s more than that. And they’re all quick-knife techniques. Number Thirteen’s Instinct Eternal Night seals off vision completely. Under Eternal Night, she’s like a ninja lurking in the shadows—you can’t Lock-On her position by sight alone.”
“So Xiao Qiu needed quick knives,” Xie Pingzhi said, spreading her hands. By now, she got it. “To match her momentum, the enemy has to speed up too. Faster blades mean louder whistles—judge position by sound. That breaks half the bind of Eternal Night right there.”
Zhou Xianhui approached Number Thirteen’s corpse. “Exactly. Her technique isn’t polished yet, but that battle sense is top-notch. At this rate of progress—like a quantum leap—she doesn’t seem like a newbie. More like a maxed-out fighter with amnesia piecing her memories back together.”
“When we find her, you have to hype her up like that again,” Xie Pingzhi said with a tsk. “But going by what you said, the Messiah crew was waiting at the door for Number Thirteen and Xiao Qiu to settle things. The moment Xiao Qiu burst out, they gave chase as a pack—and the whole group headed… farther north?”
Zhou Xianhui’s brows furrowed faintly, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “It does sound off, but that’s what the deduction shows. Messiah’s pursuit of Xiao Qiu isn’t bloodthirsty. It’s relentless pressure, step by step, almost like…”
“Like?”
“Like they’re trying to force her potential to awaken…” Zhou Xianhui spread her hands in resignation. “Okay, quit staring at me like that. It’s just a rough guess. Never mind that—let’s head north and track their trail. Finding her is what matters.”
Xie Pingzhi flashed an OK sign. “One last thing: Professor Luo and Miss Zhong headed to the Mine Pit. After that, do they stick with us, or do we get someone to escort them back to Base?”
“Together.”
No sooner had Zhou Xianhui answered than something occurred to her. She fixed Xie Pingzhi with a steady gaze for two seconds. “You’re getting really invested in Miss Zhong.”
Xie Pingzhi blinked, ill at ease. “Cough. Mutual care’s in the Base Code, isn’t it?”
Zhou Xianhui had no time for banter. She spoke in a low voice. “So, A-Xie—what are your real feelings for Miss Zhong? I know you’ve read the Instinct and Exotic Beast Department’s speculation report. The Zhong Qing who died five years ago was probably an Exotic Beast in disguise, and Miss Zhong might be the prototype it based itself on.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d touched on the subject. Xie Pingzhi stayed calm, taking a step back as she murmured, “I know. I also know my own awakening came from interference—mine and my wife’s. But Miss Zhong and her… they’re too alike. Name, looks, even personality. Sometimes I can’t tell them apart.”
“That’s why I’m asking—what do you want? Miss Zhong doesn’t mind women. If she’s open to it, it might not be off the table.” Zhou Xianhui turned her face away, as if guarding every trace of emotion.
Xie Pingzhi blinked in confusion. “Wait—you’re not here to talk me out of getting too attached?!”
Zhou Xianhui replied evenly, “Of course not. To put it bluntly, all that ‘advice’ comes from outsiders who can’t possibly understand. If an Exotic Beast could mimic my sister, I’d trade every scrap of contribution I’ve earned at Base for a chance to keep it—fed on my blood.”
“Even for life?”
“Even for life.”
Xie Pingzhi stared at her gentlest teammate. That faint smile still lingered on her face, but those words had revealed the seismic undercurrents churning beneath her calm.
“We’ll see,” Xie Pingzhi said, exhaling a heavy breath and slapping her cheeks. “She’s on a lifetime contract with Base. Plenty of time ahead.”
Zhou Xianhui nodded, holding back any words that might overstep, and crouched down again to return to the matter at hand:
“You go on ahead. I’ll keep examining Number Thirteen’s body. After all, she looks almost identical to Number Twelve, the one who invaded the base last time and died at the Captain’s hands. Their instincts are Listen to Light and Eternal Night, respectively. Maybe they’re identical twins…”
“Sister Zhouzhou, A-Xie!”
An urgent voice cut off their hard-won conversation. Xie Pingzhi looked up to see a staffer from the Exotic Beast Department hurrying over, face etched with anxiety.
“What is it? Did you find traces of the Captain and Xiao Qiu?” Xie Pingzhi stepped forward curiously, only for a file to be thrust into her hands.
“No, no! The Bangkok Branch detected extremely high elemental fluctuations in the Gulf of Thailand!”
“The Gulf of Thailand? Where exactly?”
“The whole area—nearly the entire continental shelf.”
“How high?”
“On par with the Candle Dragon!”
~~~
“Thanks, Sister Nan-Nan. This stuff is enough to save my sister’s life! Here, this is for you—a little thank-you gift.”
Ye Jingqiu carefully stowed the alcohol and medical bandages in a drawer, then unfastened the gold pendant from around her neck and handed it to Jiang Zhinan. She’d bought the thing in Yangon as a souvenir, never imagining it would come in handy now.
Jiang Zhinan immediately stepped back, waving her hands frantically. “No, no, really—it’s no trouble at all. You don’t need to be so formal, Xiao Qiu.”
“Consider it payment for our stay,” Ye Jingqiu insisted, pressing the pendant into Jiang Zhinan’s palm regardless. “And thank you for giving us a place to lay low. Take it, Sister Nan-Nan, or I’ll feel terrible.”
Jiang Zhinan glanced down at the pendant’s quality. She really was short on cash, and she had to admit, Xiao Qiu’s “gift” was hard to turn down.
With a sigh, she closed her fingers around it. “Fine, I’ll take it then. Thank you—this’ll cover A-Yu’s medicine for a whole month.”
Ye Jingqiu nodded vigorously. “No problem. Just… if any strange people show up outside, could you let me know right away, Sister Nan-Nan?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out as best I can,” Jiang Zhinan promised with a nod. “Communications are spotty here, though. Big Boss took my phone, so I can’t make calls or anything for you right now.”
“That’s fine. I’m already so grateful for the alcohol.” Ye Jingqiu flashed a wide, seemingly guileless grin.
“Alright, then. I’ll head out and check on the flowers. I heard the Myanmar military detained some bigwig from the ruling party—Northern Myanmar’s a mess. If you need anything, tell me. Don’t go out unless you have to.”
“I’ll be careful. See you, Sister Nan-Nan.”
“See you.”
Jiang Zhinan pushed the door open and left. Ye Jingqiu lingered behind it for a long while, watching until she confirmed with her own eyes that Jiang Zhinan had indeed gone off to tend the poppy field not far away. Only then did she exhale sharply, fling the curtain aside, and dart into the inner room.
Shi Zui still lay on her side on the bed, the blood seeping from her back now fully crusted over. The Captain slumbered silently, her features serene. Ye Jingqiu touched her forehead—it was still scorching hot.
After killing Number Thirteen the night before, she’d fled outward at top speed, only to run straight into other Messiah members rushing in as reinforcements. Using the terrain to her advantage, Ye Jingqiu shook them off before hurriedly carrying the Captain farther north. At the edge of a farm, she’d spotted this long-abandoned shack.
Later, she’d run into Jiang Zhinan, who was fetching farm tools from the place. After some initial misunderstandings, she’d learned this was a drug lord’s poppy plantation. Jiang Zhinan was a laborer tricked here from China. Her botany degree had spared her the worst of the traffickers’ clutches, landing her the job of watching the fields instead.
Seeing them as fellow Chinese who’d stumbled into this mess, Jiang Zhinan had offered help. Ye Jingqiu appreciated it, but her guard wasn’t fully down.
The Captain’s condition was far too precarious for any more abuse. That long shard of shrapnel buried straight into her back—anyone else would have grass sprouting on their grave by now.
It had been at least thirty-eight hours since the rocket explosion. The deep wound around the embedded fragment had just barely clotted, but the exposed tip was already starting to heal under the effect of Regeneration. If she didn’t extract it soon, it would be sealed inside for good.
“Captain… Captain?” Ye Jingqiu called softly by name. She’d done her best to clean the shack, but it was still primitively crude—the room stayed dim and shadowy even in broad daylight.
Shi Zui’s breathing was labored. Her severe injuries kept her in mostly dormant rest, preserving her life at a minimal flicker. But Ye Jingqiu’s voice gradually roused her from slumber.
Her crow-feather lashes quivered faintly. Beads of sweat traced down her unusually tranquil face, and Shi Zui slowly opened her eyes, meeting Ye Jingqiu’s gaze squarely.
Those pupils remained pitch-black as ink. Ye Jingqiu froze for a moment, then instinctively averted her eyes and murmured, “Captain, I managed to get some alcohol and bandages. My Regeneration command has improved a bit too. Should I pull the shrapnel out for you?”
Shi Zui nodded, but her gaze snagged on the little teammate’s right arm. A vicious clump of dark red scab sprawled across her elbow, nearly severing the forearm.
“What… is this?” She coughed lightly, pointing with some difficulty.
Ye Jingqiu yanked her sleeve down, feigning nonchalance with a grin. “Just a scrape. Yesterday, while dodging that Messiah bunch, I was running too fast and grazed a rock.”
Shi Zui said nothing. The lie was so transparent it barely needed scrutiny. What scrape went that deep? Gazing at her weary little teammate—who still fussed over her condition despite her exhaustion—something indefinable stirred in her chest.
Dragging an adult through a night-long flight across untold miles. Cut off from outside contact, unable to call the base for backup, evading pursuers, holing up in a decrepit shack. Was she panicking inside? Terrified?
Forever on high alert—did it wear her down?
It had only been a week since Shi Zui attended Xiao Qiu’s parent-teacher conference. Just a few days earlier, she’d been insisting that an eighteen-year-old-and-three-months adult hadn’t grown up much at all. Yet now, the crushing pressures of their flight and survival rested entirely on her shoulders.
Shi Zui remained silent for a long time. Ye Jingqiu spoke softly. “Captain, if we don’t pull it out soon, I’m afraid it’ll really get embedded.”
“Go ahead and pull it,” Shi Zui said, snapping back to attention. With great difficulty, she tore off a relatively clean strip from the inner hem of her clothing and murmured, “Don’t worry about me—do it as fast as you can. Just pour the alcohol on it; don’t rub it in. That would take too long.”
With that, she clamped the cloth between her teeth and yanked away the tattered strap on her left shoulder, fully baring the dark red, savage wound.
Ye Jingqiu nodded and drew in a deep breath. She retrieved the knife that had been repeatedly boiled in scalding water and then fire-roasted for sterilization, then carefully sliced away the half-healed flesh sealing the gash to allow the shrapnel to be extracted in one piece.
The blade flashed in an instant, and fresh blood welled up once more. Shi Zui let out only a muffled grunt, but when Ye Jingqiu glanced up, she clearly saw beads of sweat streaming down the captain’s shoulder.
