The evidence presented by the officials to prove that the Stellaron Hunters were at the Artisanship Commission’s starport wasn’t exactly subtle.
Chen Lin had assumed it might be a segment of time-reversal footage—after all, the Xianzhou had the means to achieve that—or at least something like blood traces, which could be verified as key evidence.
Instead, he was staring at a box containing a note and a few strands of deliberately cut purple hair.
Chen Lin felt as if a thousand wild horses were galloping through his mind. Seriously? This is the so-called evidence?
The starport had recently experienced rainfall, leaving the ground damp with lingering moisture. The air was hazy, and yet Fu Xuan glided through the scene without so much as a speck of water touching her. The mist parted as she passed, her cold yet delicate features and her ethereal aura creating the impression of a celestial maiden.
But this wasn’t the time to marvel at celestial beauty.
This box of “evidence” felt like a blatant provocation.
Fu Xuan glanced at Chen Lin, puzzled by his strange expression. She clearly didn’t understand why he looked so perturbed after seeing the clues her Cloud Knights had uncovered.
“The note was freshly written when it was found, and the area was supposed to be evacuated. There shouldn’t have been any living beings left here. These strands of hair match the color of Stellaron Hunter Kafka’s, so I deduced that the Stellaron Hunters are still here. This note, I suspect, is how they communicate. What do you think, dear brother?”
Chen Lin twitched slightly. “Did anyone translate the note?”
“No, we couldn’t. I consulted numerous texts using the Matrix of Prescience, but none matched. It’s likely some sort of cipher between Stellaron Hunters,” Fu Xuan said matter-of-factly, moving closer to peer at the note in his hand. Realizing she wasn’t tall enough to see clearly, she stepped onto the edge of the platform and stood on tiptoe, finally able to point at the bottom of the note. “See here? It’s signed ‘Kafka,’ which matches the evidence we found. It aligns with my hypothesis.”
Chen Lin suppressed the urge to groan.
Of course, you can’t read it. This is written in simplified Chinese.
Although the handwriting was crooked and riddled with typos, Chen Lin had no trouble deciphering it:
“You have many questions, and Elio has a few messages for you. So you’ll come to see me with your companions from the Astral Express, won’t you? —Kafka”
The teasing tone practically conjured an image of Kafka leaning against a doorframe, paper in hand, her smirk both playful and taunting.
Dammit, that’s irritating.
Still, considering Silver Wolf’s eccentricity, Kafka being similarly unconventional wasn’t all that surprising. After all, her bounty was far higher than Silver Wolf’s.
The note’s implication was clear: Chen Lin had stepped into one of the futures foreseen by the Stellaron Hunters, and they intended to have a candid “chat.”
Well, why not?
Among the Stellaron Hunters, the only one Chen Lin had previously interacted with was Silver Wolf, a gamer girl with terrible in-game stats but an unshakable belief in her prowess. If Kafka was offering clues, there was no harm in hearing her out.
Chen Lin’s expression softened as he resigned himself to the situation. Alone in a foreign galaxy, with no clear way home… What choice do I have?
If the Stellaron Hunters wanted to lure him in, so be it. Even if it was a trap, he would deal with it.
Besides…
Chen Lin glanced at Fu Xuan, who was busy analyzing the evidence.
I’m not exactly defenseless.
Even if the Xianzhou couldn’t back him up, he still had his own resources: psionics, technology, fleets, and commanding officers.
Chen Lin wasn’t the type to be constrained by circumstances. Whether in his previous life as a researcher or now as someone navigating an entirely foreign galaxy, he adapted with ease.
If diplomacy and restraint failed, he wasn’t above using more forceful means. After all, his time on Jarilo-VI had shown him the power of decisive action. When Belobog’s old aristocracy threatened Bronya’s rule, he hadn’t hesitated to eradicate them, leaving no heirs behind.
The message was clear: any who dared challenge the stability of the new regime would meet the same fate.
Strike hard, then offer a carrot. It was a tactic that worked wonders in consolidating power.
Chen Lin shook his head, pushing aside his darker thoughts.
“How many are you planning to bring inside?”
“Just myself and you,” Fu Xuan replied coolly.
Seeing Chen Lin raise an eyebrow, she smirked. “The Stellaron Hunters’ tricks are beneath me. Ordinary Cloud Knights would only serve as distractions. Did you think I hadn’t considered this? Anything the General can anticipate, I can as well!”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Chen Lin muttered, suppressing a grin.
“And of course, we’ll bring two others for protocol. I’m not stooping to personally escort prisoners, nor should you.”
Ignoring Fu Xuan’s smug tone, Chen Lin followed her into the depths of the starport.
Along the way, he caught glimpses of the starships in various stages of construction—an awe-inspiring process that revealed the engineering brilliance of the Xianzhou.
Fu Xuan noticed his curiosity and took every opportunity to explain, her usual reserve replaced by an almost effusive enthusiasm. Her knowledge of mechanical constructs and their design was staggering, showcasing the depth of her expertise as the Diviner.
The two Cloud Knights trailing behind exchanged glances.
One nudged the other and whispered, “Since when was Lady Fu so talkative? She usually barely says a word. Today, it’s like someone flipped a switch.”
“Shh… it’s not polite to talk about the boss,” the female Cloud Knight whispered, casting her companion a strange glance. “Although, I can’t say I disagree.”
What they didn’t know was that Fu Xuan had been completely thrown off balance after just one verbal sparring match with Chen Lin.
For all her brilliance—her unparalleled talent in divination, her profound grasp of interpersonal dynamics, and her success in brokering a historic trade agreement between the Xianzhou and the Luofu Empire—there was no way she could find another brother like him.
Not even if she searched with a lantern in hand.
“Stop, there’s movement ahead.” Chen Lin’s sharp voice broke the moment.
With his enhanced senses and 360-degree perception, he could detect things long before others could.
Even from afar, he saw a group of Cloud Knights sprawled across the ground. Their armor was battered, and they groaned in pain. Though their injuries weren’t severe, they were clearly incapacitated.
Fu Xuan, using her own mysterious abilities, also noticed the scene behind the distant walls. She hadn’t yet processed how Chen Lin had detected it faster than she had, but her expression quickly darkened.
The two Cloud Knights following behind hadn’t realized what was happening until they saw Fu Xuan and Chen Lin sprint forward. Thinking their superiors had spotted the enemy, they tightened their grip on their weapons and followed closely.
Passing through stacks of cargo containers and pushing open a half-closed door, they entered a vast clearing.
The sight shocked the two Cloud Knights.
Twenty or so of their comrades lay scattered across the ground, struggling to rise. A few were still on their feet, swinging their weapons at one another with restrained force. It resembled the chaotic aftermath of a combat tournament—fighters grappling with exhaustion in the absence of spectators or referees.
But here, there was no audience. No one to judge. Only a brutal scene of allies turned against each other.
It was like a bizarre play, staged in the wrong theater.
“Stellaron Hunters… corrupting soldiers’ minds and turning them on each other. Unforgivable crimes!” Fu Xuan hissed through gritted teeth.
With a sweep of her hands, an unknown energy surged forth.
The ground beneath their feet lit up with glowing runes, which connected into a complex formation.
Chen Lin raised an eyebrow at the power she wielded so effortlessly. The sheer intensity caught him off guard, a rare moment of unease for him. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that behind Fu Xuan’s petite frame lies centuries of wisdom and power.
Her abilities—honed over countless years—were formidable. Fu Xuan’s command of knowledge and strength was proof that Jing Yuan had chosen her as his successor for good reason.
“By the unerring truth of the heavens…” Fu Xuan began, her voice resonating with authority.
“Fu Xuan, stop!” Chen Lin interrupted, stepping forward.
Startled, Fu Xuan turned to him, her glowing third eye flickering as the formation’s energy dissipated. The intricate runes vanished like severed strings.
“What are you doing?” she asked, clearly displeased.
“They’re already in a fragile state. A forceful disruption might do more harm than good,” Chen Lin explained quickly, gesturing toward the soldiers.
With his psionic abilities, Chen Lin could see what others couldn’t: the threads of Kafka’s influence.
Each soldier was entangled in thin, glowing strands that controlled their movements like marionettes. The finer threads manipulated their limbs, while a thicker one burrowed into the crown of their heads—the gathering point for the entire network of control.
It was as if an invisible staff hovered above each soldier’s head, with strings dangling down to puppeteer their actions.
Crude but effective.
Chen Lin clenched his fist, psionic energy enveloping the threads. With a sudden burst of force, he snapped the network, shattering Kafka’s control like brittle glass.
The soldiers froze, their movements suddenly halting. Those still locked in combat faltered, their weapons falling mid-swing as confusion washed over them.
One Cloud Knight, still gripping his sword, couldn’t stop his blade in time. It hurtled toward his dazed comrade.
Fu Xuan’s instincts kicked in, but Chen Lin was faster.
With a swift motion, he extended his hand, psionic energy coiling around the attacking soldier. The man was yanked backward as if by an invisible force, flipping through the air before landing in a heap.
The heavy blade crashed to the ground, its impact cracking the surface beneath it.
The soldier who had narrowly avoided death looked up in shock, drenched in cold sweat.
That… was too close.
“Excellent work, Fu Xuan. Such skill in rescuing our comrades from peril,” Chen Lin said, his tone laced with playful admiration.
The dazed soldier assumed it was Fu Xuan’s doing. Turning to look at her, he saw the petite Diviner standing poised, her expression a mix of surprise and something else entirely.
But Fu Xuan wasn’t looking at him.
Her gaze was locked on Chen Lin.
For the first time, she had seen him in action—calm, precise, and undeniably effective. He had shifted the entire battlefield without breaking a sweat, effortlessly salvaging a dire situation.
He had done everything while making it look like nothing at all, even giving her credit for the save.
How… does someone like him even exist?
For reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, Fu Xuan felt something stir within her.
Something…
Struck.
—
T/N: STRUCK WHAT??? STRUCK WHATTTTT
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