The thick smell of blood emanating from the interrogation room was nauseating.
The two guards standing at the door kept their eyes straight ahead.
No one knew how much time passed before Dr. Kane emerged, face deathly pale, having someone carry in a stretcher. A few minutes later, that stretcher was carried back out. Under the blood-soaked white cloth, a human form clearly covered—shortened by a section.
Dr. Kane hurried away, apparently to handle the corpse.
Adjutant Kang Quan… was dead?
The guard at the door shivered, catching a glimpse of silver-white hair from the corner of his eye. He immediately lowered his head: “Admiral.”
“Mm.”
Elansno stepped out of the interrogation room, handing the guard a square iron box in his hand. “Keep it safe and send it to the Federation Military Tribunal.”
The Federation Military Tribunal was a place specifically for dealing with erring officers and rewarding meritorious subjects, directly under Emperor Rosh’s jurisdiction, with standardized sentencing and reward criteria.
Guard: “Yes. What name should the Admiral report?”
Elansno fell silent for an instant, then spoke: “Kang Quan, native of C9 sector, military service starting 1846, graduated from Imperial Capital Military Academy, later served as lieutenant in the First Army. Promoted two years later, specially appointed as Adjutant to Elansno, six-year tenure, countless merits…”
He thought he wouldn’t remember, but this person’s life resume was extremely simple—could be summarized in just a few sentences.
When Kang Quan first came to his side as adjutant, he was eighteen, fighting battles north and south, practically soaking in blood every day.
Apart from not liking sweets, he had a strange obsession with other foods. Three meals a day—no matter how hard to choke down, he wasn’t picky, swallowing it all.
His stomach illness continually worsened. Finally, he’d vomit blood almost every time he ate. No one noticed, or perhaps someone noticed but didn’t dare manage it.
Right—perhaps anyone who tried would have their head chopped off, their whole family killed—
He knew all the outside rumors.
Until Kang Quan, as his adjutant, discovered his stomach illness and took over all his daily necessities. Clearly a military officer, he obviously couldn’t handle such meticulous tasks at first, but from inexperience to familiarity, that guy only took a month.
He really wasn’t a good person—quite wickedly amused. Occasionally he’d spit up some blood to scare this unsmiling, excellent military academy graduate. Unfortunately, it stopped working later.
Clearly such a cold person, yet managing him brought out a very nagging hidden personality.
Elansno thought—now, Kang Quan probably understood his own tastes and preferences better than he himself did.
But betrayal…
He would never forgive betrayal.
“…During munitions transport, passing through the chaotic magnetic zone, fell into the wall-spine ant surge. Only bones and fragments remain, severed limbs and extremities, sealed in an iron box…”
Elansno closed his eyes.
This was the ending he’d written for ‘Adjutant Kang Quan.’
The guard was shocked enough to kneel, cradling the iron box, feeling this thing weighed a thousand pounds. “Inside this…”
Elansno said flatly: “Kang Quan’s severed limbs and extremities. Any questions?”
But… but just now…
The guard’s gaze unconsciously looked toward the direction Dr. Kane had left. He clearly remembered Adjutant Kang Quan entered the interrogation room completely intact. And what Dr. Kane had carried away…
Could it really be a corpse?
He was inwardly shocked.
“What should be remembered, what should be forgotten,” Elansno lowered his head, placing the punishment whip in his hand on the iron box held by the guard, saying slowly, “You understand clearly.”
“The others understand as well.”
Guard bowed deeply: “Yes!”
After Elansno had walked far away, the guard finally realized his entire back was soaked through. His legs were weak and soft, almost unable to stand, even though he’d been on battlefields yet was scared like this.
The guard didn’t dare linger, wiping cold sweat from his head, determined to swallow this entire matter down.
——
Stomach illness sometimes linked to emotions.
Elansno recalled this sentence Kane had once told him. He occasionally felt this statement sometimes held some truth.
From the chaotic magnetic zone until now, when he came to his senses, he found he’d taken in not a drop of water. Though calculating it was only six or seven hours—his constitution wasn’t so poor he’d die from missing one or two meals.
At most his stomach hurt a bit. But he knew his emotions weren’t good, so it seemed his body’s reaction was particularly severe.
The taste was different from what he usually drank.
“Oh.” After a few more sips, Gong Du adapted and wasn’t picky.
The small light orb couldn’t alleviate this innate illness, couldn’t feel how much pain Gong Du was in now. But to make this guy frown and talk less—must be quite uncomfortable.
So it rarely stopped cracking seeds, hugging a corner of Gong Du’s soul sea, gently nestling against it.
For a time it was extremely quiet.
Expression weary, spirit listless, physician’s uniform still stained with patches of blood—he saw Elansno sitting in the chair, seemingly not at all surprised the Admiral would be here.
“How is it?”
Kane removed his gloves: “Bleeding all stopped. Life is safe. Iris also changed. Face redone according to your requirements.”
“From now on, there will no longer be a person named Kang Quan in this world.”
“Mm.”
Elansno nodded.
In just half a day experiencing so many things, Kane’s feet were floating.
In the interrogation room, the Admiral had indeed personally severed Kang Quan’s hand and foot tendons. However, the hands and feet were amputated by him—a doctor very familiar with human body structure.
But by then, Kang Quan had already passed out, knowing nothing of what happened.
Dr. Kane couldn’t understand why Adjutant Kang Quan had betrayed him, nor could he figure out what the Admiral was thinking.
Not only that, but the Admiral had also made him give the adjutant a new face.
Whether it was the Admiral’s twisted sense of humor or not, the replacement face naturally carried a smile—even when expressionless, the lips curved with a hint of amusement. Completely different from the adjutant’s usual stern appearance.
Only a military officer with such a robust constitution could endure this kind of torture. Fortunately for Kang Quan, he wasn’t a mental power evolver.
Lower-level evolvers could still manage, but especially for S-level ones—forget severed hands and feet—even simple procedures like face transplants or organ replacements destroyed the body’s natural integrity.
There’s always a trade-off. Though S-level mental power evolvers possessed formidable strength, in another sense they were no different from glass dolls.
Their requirements for bodily integrity reached nearly obsessive levels. Once that natural state was compromised, mental power could no longer be externalized—essentially rendering them useless.
That’s why, all these years, the Northwest Sector had never given up on assassinating the Admiral. Everyone hoped that with a bit of luck, they could cripple Elansno—equivalent to severing one of the Federation’s wings.
“I’m finished here, Admiral. What do you plan to do next?” Kane collected his thoughts.
Whether Kang Quan’s betrayal had justifiable reasons or not, it was an established fact. But after so many years of friendship, he didn’t want to watch Kang Quan die.
Kane continued: “The lost munitions can’t be hidden. His Majesty will definitely investigate. But on the surface, the adjutant is already dead…”
Elansno: “Don’t worry about the rest. Find a small spacecraft and move him there. I’ll come again tonight. Don’t tell anyone.”
Kane suppressed his concerns: “Yes, you can count on me.”
Elansno stood up. Almost imperceptibly, his movements slowed slightly. After a moment, he frowned lightly, lowering the hand pressed against his abdomen.
“Admiral, is your stomach hurting?” As Elansno’s regular physician, Kane immediately noticed something wrong.
Elansno looked over: “Is there a problem?”
The words of concern died in his throat.
Kane silently shut his mouth, wanting to slap himself.
Usually, all these matters, big and small, were directly handled by Kang Quan. He’d grown so accustomed to it that he hadn’t adjusted yet.
“No need.”
Elansno said, “It doesn’t hurt that much.”
Reaching the doorway, his steps faltered slightly, as if speaking to himself: “Why do you think he betrayed me?”
Kane had no answer.
“Do you think I’m cruel?”
Elansno gave a low laugh. He only asked but didn’t need anyone’s response, saying carelessly: “Right—that’s what everyone says anyway.”
He left. There were still many things requiring his attention. Before a new adjutant took office, he’d be much busier than before.
Kane’s mood was complicated.
Watching Elansno’s retreating figure, he suddenly noticed that without the military cloak draped over his shoulders, that silhouette looked somewhat thin.
It suddenly struck him—this person cursed, hated, and scorned by countless people was only twenty-four years old.
——
Rat Ridge City.
Dawn.
Day had turned to night—nearly a full day had passed.
Every possible method had been tried, yet Lan Xia’s high fever showed no signs of improvement. News was locked down tight.
Algiers had learned many organizational management techniques from Lan Xia. Growing rapidly, he now ran Dawn like an iron fortress.
He hurried in from outside. After the chill on his body had mostly dissipated, he entered, brow furrowed tight: “How is it? Has teacher improved at all?”
Two large pieces of equipment filled the room, both moved from Jin Daike’s small research lab. Shou Bing stood nearby, tension radiating from his hair tips down to his tightly clenched toes.
The little boy Lan Xia had rescued sat exceptionally quiet in a corner chair.
Jin Daike pushed out the air from the syringe in her hand, shaking her head: “Blood composition is completely normal. Can’t determine why teacher suddenly developed such a high fever, and it won’t break.”
“Mental zones are also normal, except for some excessive mental power consumption.”
Lan Xia lay covered by a thin blanket, wrists, ankles, and forehead all wiped with alcohol to reduce fever. Yet his whole body curled beneath the blanket, face deathly pale, murmuring something.
“Brother, perfect timing. I want to check teacher for external injuries.”
Algiers: “External injuries? Teacher has no blood on him.”
Teacher habitually wore white shirts—if injured, it would be easy to spot.
“Need to check.”
“We don’t have equipment for external injury examination. I’ll have to do it manually.” At the end of the day, Dawn was just too poor.
Jin Daike injected fever reducer into Lan Xia’s vein, disinfecting her hands again and donning rubber gloves. Calmly she said: “Ice brother, hold teacher’s wrists down. Brother, unbutton teacher’s shirt.”
“…Alright!” Algiers took a deep breath.
His sister’s professional competence rivaled that of senior physicians. At the critical moment, he was actually less decisive than Daike.
He and Shou Bing also disinfected their hands and put on gloves, pulling back the blanket covering their teacher.
The two fumbled to remove Lan Xia’s windcoat first. Shou Bing stood behind the headboard, pressing down on Lan Xia’s wrists.
The young man was forced flat on his back. He seemed uncomfortable, resisting, but the resistance was very slight. Shou Bing didn’t expend much effort.
Shou Bing: “Algiers?”
“…Yeah.”
For Algiers, though he’d only spent a few months with Lan Xia, he’d undoubtedly come to truly regard him as a teacher worthy of respect and reverence.
His father and mother had died early, leaving him and Daike to depend on each other. No one had ever guided him. He’d clawed his way forward alone, caring for his sister, stumbling through life.
To Algiers, Lan Xia was more than just a teacher.
Teacher…
Like a brother. Like a father.
Under normal circumstances, without teacher’s permission, he would never do something so invasive.
Algiers lowered his eyes, bending down to unfasten the first button.
On the pale, thin chest—a mass of dark blue-black bruising met his eyes.
Algiers’ fingers trembled: “Daike!”
“I see it.” Jin Daike reached out, pressing along both sides of Lan Xia’s ribs. After examining and performing simple treatment, she ordered: “There are fractures. Need to apply rib fixation straps. Brother, you two lift him up a bit.”
Shou Bing and Algiers carefully lifted Lan Xia slightly.
Jin Daike bent down, deftly threading the medical chest strap through and fastening it on one side.
The black material wrapped around most of his chest.
As she fixed the topmost section, Jin Daike paused slightly. At teacher’s collarbone, there was a line of red text that seemed tattooed on: [Eternal A679]
What was this?
She instinctively looked twice more, couldn’t figure it out, then put it out of her mind.
The three of them worked busily for a while before finally finishing. Only the ribs were injured—everything else was fine. Jin Daike breathed a sigh of relief.
Perhaps the fever reducer shot had taken some effect. The temperature had finally dropped a little.
Shou Bing couldn’t help saying: “When did teacher even get injured?”
All three of their gazes simultaneously turned toward the little boy sitting quiet as a mouse in the corner.
Lian Yao: “…It has nothing to do with me.”
Why were they looking at him? He really didn’t know.
Where they’d found teacher, the place showed signs of massive destruction. Only this little boy had been protected perfectly by teacher.
Algiers smiled: “If teacher protected you, naturally he had his reasons. You’ll stay for now.”
“…”
Lian Yao felt something was off everywhere. He’d clearly wanted to stage an accident with Dawn, and though he’d stayed, it felt strange—as if that S-level big shot’s collapse was somehow related to him.
About half an hour passed.
“A-Nuo… seed…”
The young man on the bed’s low murmurs grew clearer.
Everyone perked up, leaning in to listen.
“Is teacher talking about a seed? What seed?” Jin Daike worried, measuring his temperature again. “His temperature finally dropped a little, but now it’s rising again.”
Lian Yao said weakly: “Does he have a brother named A-Nuo? You should find him. When he protected me, it also seemed like he mistook me for his brother.”
As his words fell, the other three in the room all fell silent.
Lian Yao: “…What’s wrong?”
Algiers sighed: “Teacher does have a brother, named Lan Nuo—but… he’s no longer with us.”
After a long while, Lian Yao mumbled: “I see. I didn’t know.”
He recalled those few murmured phrases he’d heard when tightly protected by the young man, suddenly understanding.
Algiers shook his head.
“The seed teacher mentioned should be that one that never sprouted, right?” Shou Bing looked toward the windowsill.
Two flower pots sat there. One was bare, half a seed exposed outside.
Jin Daike thought for a moment, then brought the pot over. The seed still hadn’t sprouted. She pinched it in her palm, carefully wiping it clean. “Put this in teacher’s hand. It should help stabilize his emotions.”
With emotions stabilized, his physical condition would improve too.
After hesitating a moment, Jin Daike gave the seed to Lian Yao, then crouched down to pat his head, saying softly: “Teacher mistook you for his brother. Sister will give you the seed. Will you go put it in his hand?”
Sister…
Lian Yao silently endured it.
Lifting an innocent face, he accepted the seed, obediently nodding: “Okay.”
But the moment this ‘seed’ touched his hand, he made a sound of surprise, touching it carefully. “This is just a stone, isn’t it?” No one understood these things better than him. Lian Yao confirmed again: “This is just a stone.”
Though the edges were thin and the shape resembled a seed, it definitely had no possibility of sprouting.
Algiers was stunned. Two or three seconds later, he finally found his voice: “…What?”
“How could it be a stone?” Jin Daike frowned. “Teacher waters it every day.”
Lian Yao instinctively wanted to refute, but remembering his current weak and pitiful persona, he quickly lowered his head, saying quietly: “Before my family was destroyed, we dealt with these things. Whether something’s a seed or not, I can tell with a touch. If you don’t believe me, you can test it yourselves.”
Jin Daike didn’t believe it. The equipment was right there. She pressed her lips together and took it to test. Less than two minutes later, the test results came out—
It really was a stone.
She stood dazed for a while, suddenly remembering every morning, teacher’s careful, gentle expression tinged with hope as he tended this seed.
Jin Daike suddenly didn’t know what emotion she should feel.
“…Teacher said this was the only thing his brother left him.” Algiers’ voice was slightly hoarse.
[I’m just a wanderer, seeking a place where violets can bloom.]
There were many places that could make seeds flower, but what about a stone?
Shou Bing: “…Does sir know it’s a stone?”
“Probably not,” Lian Yao carefully took back the seed, approaching the young man on the bed, then placing it in Lan Xia’s palm.
“This is very hard to identify.”
The moment the seed touched his palm, Lan Xia instinctively clenched it tight, his tightly furrowed brow relaxing considerably.
Algiers hesitated: “Should we…”
“No,” unexpectedly, the one interrupting him was the usually shy Shou Bing. “We can’t tell sir. The feeling of losing everything you’re holding onto overnight—it can crush a person.”
Elansno had once destroyed his determination for revenge. He’d drifted in and out of consciousness, attempted suicide so many times. Jin Daike and Algiers both knew perfectly well.
None of them knew what that seed meant to teacher. Rashly telling him might lead to consequences they couldn’t predict.
Algiers nodded: “What happened today, let’s treat it like it never happened.”
After that, no one spoke. Only the young man on the bed occasionally murmured a word or two in his coma.
…
Lan Xia fell into a chaotic dream.
In the dream, there were no more sacred hymns and white doves, but instead an expanse of yellow sand. Uncles and fathers had all been conscripted by the Federation, leaving only two five or six-year-old children.
Those who left never returned.
[“Brother, I’m hungry.”
Bones littered the ground everywhere. He pinched his younger brother’s thin, bony arm. After searching for a long time, he finally found a dead crow, roasted it, and handed it to his brother.
A-Nuo was very sensible, giving more than half back to him. Without worrying about hygiene or whether they’d get sick, they ate even the bones clean.
“Did all those people starve to death?”
Looking into his brother’s clean, clear eyes, many words remained unspoken. He only nodded: “Yes, starved to death.”
A-Nuo rested his chin in thought for a long while, his little face serious, before announcing: “Brother, I want to be a great hero.”
He was puzzled: “Hmm?”
“Being hungry is too uncomfortable,” A-Nuo said. “In the storybooks, only great heroes can make everyone live happily ever after, three meals a day, no worries about food or clothing.”
The little boy’s eyes grew brighter as he spoke, like a translucent purple gemstone.
“In the stories brother told me, great heroes are loved by many people. A-Nuo wants to be loved by many people too!”
“…Alright, fine,” he heard himself say with a laugh. “Then brother will just be the one who protects the great hero.”
An utterly childish conversation. Perhaps every child has had one.
A-Nuo giggled twice, hugging him and nuzzling again and again.
“Brother, you’re so good…”]
The tender voice of a little boy faintly echoed in Lan Xia’s ears.
A-Nuo…
The two figures in the dream grew a bit older, and the scenes kept changing.
[“Brother, you’re secretly eating sweets again. Shame on you! Toothache! Give A-Nuo some, Brother~”]
Okay, all for you.
[“Huh? Brother, today the priest talked about auroras. Are auroras really that beautiful?”]
They’re beautiful. Brother went to see them later, but you weren’t there.
[Brother! A-Nuo has two loaves of bread today. Need a hug!]
Okay, hugging A-Nuo.
[Brother, take good care of the violet seeds, okay? A-Nuo will check when he comes back~]
Okay.
…
That lively figure was separated from him by a layer of mist. When speaking to him, it seemed somewhat blurred.
Lan Xia agreed to everything.
But his brother’s shadow still moved farther and farther away. The voice grew harder and harder to hear.
No matter how he chased, he couldn’t catch up.
Lan Xia: “A-Nuo…”
Was it because the violets hadn’t bloomed yet that he left so quickly…
Wait a little longer, just a bit more, okay?
He’d tried so hard. The flowers would bloom.
They would.
Lan Xia clenched the seed tightly, moving his hand to the side of his face, tilting his head slightly, gently pressing against it. After a long while, the corners of his mouth curved up slightly.
Moonlight passed through the window crack, falling on the young man’s quiet lashes.
Like dewdrops covered in frost.
**
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152
This is more than just a sting, author. My heart is breaking from MC’s depth of acting… lol.