The holographic newsfeed flickered across the room, its sterile voice cutting through the tense silence. "…Pomchuan News reports that the recent elite team competition of the joint military exercise was won by the Imperial delegation. With the exercise now past its midpoint, the Empire leads with a clear advantage." The current score stood at three to one, Empire over Federation. Even if the Federation claimed victory in the remaining rounds, they'd only manage a draw. Yet, to those gathered, the outcome was all but certain—the Empire would emerge triumphant.
Ning Hongxue, seated at the head of the table, waved a hand, and the starnet broadcast vanished. Before him sat a row of team leaders, instructors, and key event organizers, their faces taut with unease. The air was thick, each breath measured, as if a single misstep might shatter the fragile calm. Ning Hongxue's expression remained serene, but his gaze, cool and unyielding, pinned them like specimens under glass.
"So, that's the situation," he said, his voice soft but resonant. "Does anyone have thoughts to share?"
The lead instructor rose, shoulders squared, ready to shoulder the blame. "It's our failure as guides," he said, his tone resigned. He'd long since left the central military's ranks, tethered now to the academic system—demotion or stripped titles were the worst he faced, not death. "The team made mistakes, but I believe the students gave their all."
"We know they did," Ning Hongxue replied, his eyes lowering, a shadow crossing his features. "That's precisely why it's so disheartening."
His words hung like a guillotine, and no one dared respond. The Federation's military prowess had always lagged behind the Empire's, reduced to stubborn resistance in times of war. If professional soldiers couldn't bridge that gap, expecting students to conjure miracles was absurd, even shameless. Yet the joint exercise's results laid bare a bitter truth: the next generation would still bow to imperial dominance. While diplomatic ties flourished, with economic and technological competition offering the Federation a foothold, the military disparity was a wound that festered.
From their perspective, ending the exercise swiftly was the best course, but Ning Hongxue's sudden summons and veiled dissatisfaction left them scrambling for answers. If he was displeased, what did he propose? The lead instructor, skeptical of Ning Hongxue's ability to offer solutions, adopted a posture of attentive deference, awaiting his decree.
"I'm not here to cast blame," Ning Hongxue said, his voice measured. "But when the exercise concludes, the Federation Military's public credibility will take a severe hit—a scenario neither the Ministry nor the President wishes to see."
The implications were clear. The exercise had exposed the chasm between imperial and Federation forces, and the public's reaction would shape the future. In the best case, citizens might view the Empire as a threat, galvanizing unity across social strata. In the worst, they'd question the Ministry's competence, prompting powerful families to amass private armies out of self-preservation or discontent. Internal fractures would widen, and factions leaning toward the Empire—already emerging—would gain traction as borders opened and collaborations deepened.
The lead instructor's heart sank. We don't want this either, but what can we do?
"In fact," Ning Hongxue continued, "I've secured authorization from the President and the Advanced Defense Technology Bureau to deploy our latest innovation: the 'Mind Matrix Technology.'"
The lead instructor's instinct was to object. "Is this like the 'MechSync System' we tested before? The results showed that technology was immature."
Ning Hongxue's expression remained unchanged. "The Mind Matrix is several iterations beyond the MechSync System. Its effects are markedly superior."
He distributed several classified dossiers, their seals marked with the highest security clearance. "Unlike the MechSync, which forcibly dominated thought, the Mind Matrix weaves individuals' mental wills into a unified network, guided by a high-capacity AI to compensate for deficiencies."
He paused, gauging their reactions. "If we're to defeat the Empire, this is our only path."
A training officer flipped through the documents. "Has this been tested?"
"Extensively," Ning Hongxue replied, his eyes tracking their expressions. "Multiple rigorous trials confirm it causes no significant harm. Many of you experienced the MechSync System without feeling your thoughts or consciousness overtly suppressed. The Mind Matrix operates on similar principles."
Silence blanketed the room. They'd all undergone MechSync trials, and this new system seemed a marginal evolution, shifting command from human to AI. Previously, no AI could process such vast mental data, but now they had one—a goal long pursued. Whether the technology was effective wasn't their call to make.
Ning Hongxue's summons wasn't a discussion; it was a directive. The lead instructor spoke up. "In principle, we can't force students to adopt this technology—they're not soldiers yet. As with the MechSync, we won't compel those who refuse."
"Fine," Ning Hongxue said, his eyebrow twitching. "Those who decline can leave the team. We have plenty of reserves."
The lead instructor's pulse quickened. You know full well your nephews, Zhou Wei and Zhou Ying, will never agree to this. Their defiance was a given, a thorn even Ning Hongxue couldn't extract.
"One more thing," Ning Hongxue added. "Janice will withdraw from the team. The Ministry requires her for an urgent mission. She won't participate in the remaining matches."
Janice's departure drew little concern—her absence was overshadowed by the Mind Matrix debate. As they left the office, the instructors' minds churned. One leaned toward a colleague, voice low. "What do you think?"
"What's there to think?" the lead instructor replied, brow furrowed. "The data's clear—Mind Matrix boosts both individual and team performance significantly. It's not a bad deal. Human commanders err; AI doesn't. Even if it fails, the blame's collective, not personal. It lightens the students' burden."
"You really believe that?" the colleague halted, eyes blazing. "Then what's the point of us? Of military academies? Of teaching strategy, tactics, history? If the army needs puppets, robots are more obedient."
"Robots lack mental energy to pilot mechs," the lead instructor said calmly. "This is a military exercise, not a robotics contest. And the Federation can't openly pursue AI tech—that's a direct path to Silver Era stigma. We'd be pariahs."
The colleague laughed bitterly. "What we're doing now isn't shameful?"
The lead instructor clapped his shoulder. "You're too pessimistic. History judges success. As long as we don't fail, we won't fall that far."
"Fine," the colleague relented, falling into step. "But what's Ning Hongxue playing at? If this tech's risk-free, why exclude his nephews?"
"Those twins are tough nuts," the lead instructor said. "Even Ning can't sway them. They'll stir trouble in the Ministry someday. Plus, their skill level makes it unclear if the Mind Matrix would enhance or hinder them."
Genius still mattered, he thought, though it wasn't everything.
Meanwhile, in the Federation's Advanced Defense Technology Bureau, thirty-two floors underground, a clandestine world thrived. Below the thirtieth floor, no official blueprints existed, yet the corridors bustled with uniformed personnel. Security was ironclad—cameras at every elevator and checkpoint, holographic maps delineating accessible, restricted, and sealed zones. The area around Lab Zero glowed red: "Sealed." A major experiment was underway.
Lab Zero's heart was a vast pool, its sterile surface reflecting the dim overhead lights. A naked girl stood within, her body etched with mechanical circuits, glowing faintly. Tubes pierced her chest and back, pulsing with iridescent light.
"The transformation… it's nearly complete," a researcher in a white coat muttered, tablet in hand for final checks. He turned to a blonde colleague. "Your thought chip compilation—is it solid?"
"We followed protocol," she replied, shrugging. "The tech's origins are murky. We know how to use it, not why it works. No one can guarantee no glitches. I can only say we've done our best to imprint Janice's mind onto the chip."
"Damn those higher-ups," the white-coated researcher grumbled. "Why didn't they hand over the core tech sooner?"
"No choice," the blonde said. "Critical tech comes last. And we can't expect success on the first try." Her gaze lingered on the girl's mechanical form, where a living brain still functioned, heavily modified to fit her cybernetic body. Soon, that brain would be transplanted into a culture tank, replaced by a chip. Success would unlock her thought restrictions, testing her residual humanity. Failure… would likely end her. Her brain, too damaged, would be discarded—new subjects were plentiful.
The blonde stared at Janice's sleeping face, whispering, "Who can guarantee success on the first attempt?"
For the researchers, failure was a setback, not a catastrophe. The higher-ups, flush with new tech, had patience to spare. For Janice, this was her only shot.
"Ready?" the white-coated researcher asked, his calm a fragile mask. "It's starting."
"This is it," he said, a tremor in his voice. "History or infamy depends on this."
The command was given, and the experiment began. The chip slid into the mechanical body, merging as if born there. "Activate energy supply," the blonde ordered. "Engage life-cycle propulsion."
Machinery hummed, and Janice's circuits glowed. Her eyes opened, unfocused, her vision a haze. Her eyelids twitched; her body, restrained, allowed only her eyes to move. She strained faintly against the tubes.
"Janice… Janice!" the white-coated researcher called through the glass. "You're in the lab. You've completed your evolution—"
Her head lifted, her gaze locking onto the control station with eerie precision. Her mechanical eyes were void, a lifeless abyss. The researchers froze, dread coiling in their guts.
"Something's wrong," the blonde said, panic creeping into her voice. "We need to stop."
"Wait," her colleague urged. "She responded to her name. That's promising. Let's run tests—"
Before he could finish, Janice's body convulsed, her chest heaving wildly, her face an emotionless mask. Warning icons flashed chaotically on the monitoring screens.
"Now!" the white-coated researcher shouted. "Cut the connection!"
Janice's spasms ceased. Her limbs twisted unnaturally, frozen in place, her body glowing in the lab's dim light. Her synthetic skin, a marvel of bioengineering, mimicked life with chilling perfection. Her eyes remained fixed on the control station, unblinking, as if watching the researchers' frantic efforts. Then, twin sparks erupted from her neck, and her head slumped, her neck bending like a snapped stem.
The blonde cursed, rushing to the pool. Hesitating, she stared at Janice—motionless, a puppet with severed strings, or a bug trapped in a web. Steeling herself, she opened the mechanical torso and extracted the charred, warped chip.
"Undeniably, the experiment failed," Ning Hongxue said, tossing a folder onto his desk with a scowl. On the light-screen, a silver-masked figure in lavish attire sipped from a goblet. "Your technology remains unreliable."
"That's rich," the silver-masked figure replied, swirling their drink. "Success on your first try would be the anomaly. This knowledge was top-secret even in the Silver Era—hardly something you'd crack overnight."
Ning Hongxue's smile was sharp, mocking. "If I can't verify its validity, why ally with you?"
"For power, for humanity, to topple the Empire—" the figure declared, arms raised theatrically. "Immortality is the Silver Nexus's ultimate gift. At our current standing, they won't bestow such honor on you."
"And you?" Ning Hongxue pressed. "Your 'Immortal Cicada Council'—are all its members truly deathless?"
The figure shook their head. "Immortality is the final, highest reward. None of us have earned it yet. But I suspect it'll first grace Their Emissary… me."
Ning Hongxue's fingers interlaced, resting on the desk. "So even you haven't attained it?"
"Why the doubt?" the figure's eyes gleamed with fervor. "The Silver Nexus holds the key to eternal life. The Empire's Four Angels are proof—have you counted their years? Time passes, yet they remain unchanged, their power undiminished…"
Ning Hongxue had heard the tales. Recently, one Angel slew a Queen on Death Omen Star, a feat both awe-inspiring and troubling—a boon for the Empire, a threat to the Federation.
"To overthrow the Empire, we must bypass the Four Angels," Ning Hongxue mused.
The figure chuckled. "Patience. Even Angels can't cover every angle. Sever the imperial bloodline, and the Empire's factions will crumble." Their face twisted with contempt. "Those traitors, forsaking the Silver Nexus's gifts, lauded as 'Angels' by mongrels. When the Empire falls, they'll pay."
"Traitors?" Ning Hongxue savored the word, sensing a thread to tug. "What does that mean?"
The figure clammed up, their voice curt. "Not your concern yet. Join the Immortal Cicada Council, and these trivial histories will be yours."
Ning Hongxue pondered, then smiled, his elegance laced with cunning. "Understand, until I see your full strength, we're partners, not allies. Your membership demands my entire fortune and life—I need results first. Say, a Federation victory in the exercise. Or…"
"Greed will be your ruin, Ning," the figure snapped.
"I can't help it," Ning Hongxue said, his expression a blend of innocence and helplessness, sparking a fleeting urge in the figure to strike him. "I'm a coward at heart."
Days passed, and Bai Sha remained oblivious to the Federation's machinations. After spectating the elite team match with Ya Ning and Jingyi, she lingered in the nearby star system, indulging in rare moments of leisure before parting ways. Returning to Youdu Star, she buried herself in her workshop, scouring databases for materials to craft the Crow's Cry Bow. With eight Yi-Shooting Arrows complete, the bow was essential—otherwise, she'd be left throwing darts like a carnival game.
Her uncle, Cecil Ronin, had been morose since the Lone Light incident, casting a pall over Youdu Star. Servants tiptoed, their relief palpable when Bai Sha returned from Jiang Gui's tutelage. The planet's mood lightened, if only slightly.
That day, the Emperor sought her out, his expression grave. "The key to your mother's private vault—you received it when you became Crown Heir. I need your authorization to reopen it."
Bai Sha's eyebrow rose. "What for?"
"To search for clues about 'Bai Yi,'" he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger.
Bai Sha's hands stilled, the material she was polishing forgotten. You're still hung up on that?