Yan Jingyi groaned, a hiss of frustration escaping her lips as she realized her folly. She hadn't bothered with the virtual theater's system guide, assuming her instincts would suffice. Now, stranded in a featureless void, she regretted her haste. Her personal interface had vanished, leaving no controls, no options—nothing but an oppressive darkness that pressed against her senses like a living thing. For a fleeting moment, panic gripped her: what if she was trapped here, unable to escape?
Holographic simulators were rigorously tested, their safety protocols ironclad in regulated virtual spaces. But the Unbounded City was a lawless frontier, a digital wilds where oversight was a myth. In sanctioned environments, a glitch would prompt a distress call to technicians, with accountability and compensation to follow. Trapped consciousness was rare but not unheard of, often yielding astronomical payouts. Yet Jingyi had willingly entered this ungoverned realm, accepting its chaos. There was no one to call, no authority to appeal to.
Worse, the virtual theater manipulated time perception. In this broken game, hours could stretch into years, or a lifetime's torment could compress into mere minutes. The uncertainty gnawed at her. She might endure hours in this abyss only to wake and find decades had passed in reality. Or a swift rescue could feel like an eternity of isolation.
Jingyi was no stranger to endurance. As a military cadet, she'd faced grueling trials designed to push human limits. One exercise confined trainees in pitch-black chambers, testing their mental fortitude. Day one, they coped. Day two, fatigue and disorientation set in. By day three, wakefulness blurred into stupor. Day four, despair took root, the abyss questioning the trial's purpose. Day five, most succumbed to rage or self-destruction, their sanity fraying. These tests, conducted with basic sustenance, weren't to acclimate them to darkness but to grade their breaking points, shaping their future roles.
Jingyi had excelled, earning the military's praise: "Resilient mind, composed temperament." She clung to that now, banking on her strength to hold out until Ya Ning and Zhou Wei noticed her absence and pulled her out. But a deeper fear lingered—what if this virtual void defied her training? In those physical cells, exhaustion offered escape; sleep dulled the torment, and even madness brought oblivion. Here, her consciousness roamed unbound by flesh, with no respite. Her mind, free from bodily limits, could spiral into endless, surreal delusions, eroding even her iron will.
What now? she thought. Take a gamble?
Her high-end simulator had a failsafe: if mental fluctuations exceeded a threshold—triggered by trauma, severe distress, or in-game death—it would eject her. But death here was a flicker, painless and uncertain. Worse, she was unarmed, unable to force the issue. Jingyi cursed the empty blackness, her voice swallowed by the void.
Then, a blinding white light seared her vision. Her footing vanished, and she plummeted into nothingness.
Time blurred. A faint drip… drip… stirred her senses—the rhythmic pulse of a vital signs monitor. Jingyi opened her eyes, disoriented, to find herself in a sterile bed, surrounded by medical equipment. The room was dim, its soft glow a stark contrast to the void's oppressive dark.
A mustard-yellow curtain whipped aside, flooding the room with harsh light. Jingyi squinted, her head swimming. Ya Ning stood before her, his usually vibrant red hair dulled, his face etched with exhaustion. "Thank the stars, you're awake," he said, relief flooding his voice. "You nearly gave us a heart attack!"
Jingyi propped herself up, her limbs heavy. "I'm… back?"
"Yeah," Ya Ning said, collapsing onto the bed's edge. He activated his wrist computer, sending a group message. "We were in the virtual theater, the three of us, having a blast. Then you vanished. Zhou Wei and I ditched the game—made our characters go full kamikaze to get out fast. Good thing we moved quick and cut your simulator's power."
Jingyi watched him type, likely alerting the others she'd woken. "How long was I out?" she croaked.
"Six days," he said.
"Six days?" Her voice cracked. "How did I get stuck?"
Ya Ning pulled up a repair report on his computer, his expression sympathetic. "We sent your simulator for inspection. Look—faulty mental connection module. One-in-a-million defect, and you drew the short straw."
Jingyi stared at the report—formatted, detailed, stamped. It was airtight. She wanted to rage, but at whom? Fate? "Just my luck," she muttered, scanning it again.
"You're awake, that's what matters," Ya Ning said, sighing. "Docs said no mental damage, but who trusts that? They wouldn't guarantee a full recovery. We were terrified. Even Sha Sha rushed over."
"What?" Jingyi's eyes widened. "Bai Sha's here?"
"Yup," he said, shrugging. "She was by your side with me until Zhou Ying and Wei dragged her out for lunch and a break. Said they'd grab me food too. Want some? I can ping them to add a portion."
Before she could answer, the door swung open. Zhou Wei entered, his sharp features softened by relief. "There's enough," he said. "Give her yours."
Ya Ning protested, sliding off the bed. "Have you no compassion? I'm starving too!"
Zhou Ying, trailing behind, smirked but said nothing. Bai Sha followed, dressed casually, a bag of fruit in hand. Seeing Jingyi awake, she dropped it and rushed forward. Zhou Ying caught the bag mid-fall, stepping aside as Bai Sha and Jingyi embraced.
"You scared me to death," Bai Sha murmured.
"I'm fine," Jingyi said, her heart a mix of guilt and warmth. "Why're you in the Federation? Is that… okay?"
"Why not?" Bai Sha said, pulling back. "The Empire and Federation are rebuilding ties—jump gates are open. Me being here's no big deal."
Jingyi hesitated. "Still…"
"I've got news," Bai Sha said, clearing her throat, her blue eyes sparkling. "Our Foreign Affairs Council's scrapping the joint exercises. Too many incidents, too much bad blood. Instead, they're launching an exchange program."
Jingyi's breath caught.
"I signed up," Bai Sha continued. "Next term, I'm transferring to Central Military Academy for a year. I'll stay in the dorms, though I miss my old room at Holman's. Do they allow off-campus housing? Probably not, but a girl can dream."
Jingyi froze, tears pricking her eyes. She hugged Bai Sha again, overwhelmed. Was this because of her? "If not for this scare," Bai Sha whispered, "I wouldn't have realized how much I've been drifting from you all. We share a past, but the future? Can we stay this close, understand each other? I can't bear the thought of losing that. Imperial lifespans are long—too long. I need these memories with you, so I won't regret it someday."
"Even just a year," she added.
"A year's enough," Jingyi whispered back.
Zhou Ying handed them fruit, chuckling. "Good news, and you're making it sound like a tragedy."
Jingyi's warmth faded as she glared at him, her message clear: Don't think Bai Sha's exchange gives you a shot at her.
Night draped the Zhou estate in a velvet hush, its towers aglow with ostentatious splendor. The Zhou family, a titan among the Federation's elite, wielded influence honed over generations. Their lineage brimmed with high-grade mental talents, their wealth a gilded fortress. The patriarch's residence, though styled with restraint, exuded an untouchable grandeur, its halls whispering of power and permanence.
Under moonlight, gray-uniformed figures moved silently, securing the estate's signals against eavesdropping. An isolation zone, guarded by armed sentinels and surveillance drones, sealed the perimeter. Servants slipped into the patriarch's sanctum, arranging a clandestine meeting with meticulous care.
The chamber's conference table was modest yet imposing, the patriarch at its head. His hair was silvered, his face lined, but his presence commanded. His voice, never raised, shaped the room's mood like a conductor's baton. "Since you've graced us with your presence," he began, "I'll be blunt. Ning Hongxue pushes this Mind Matrix in the military, and the President not only turns a blind eye but endorses it." His face darkened, betraying his fury. "Will we stand idly by as he consolidates power? We're mending ties with the Empire—we can't appear weak, nor can we chase militaristic folly. The Silver Nexus's chaos is a lesson we know well. This untested, reckless technology's risks outweigh its gains."
The assembled family heads nodded, their agreement a low murmur. "But what can we do?" one ventured. "Ning holds real military power—regional backing, loyal generals. Openly opposing him risks civil strife."
"We need to curb him quietly," another said. "No overt moves."
The families' playbook was well-worn: frame, suppress, eliminate. They'd tried these on Ning Hongxue before, to no avail. His rise, orchestrated by external forces, hinted at a pact with the President—a deal now haunting them.
Frustration simmered. United in rhetoric, the families balked at true sacrifice, wary of paving the way for rivals. Some mused about feigning allegiance to Ning, biding their time. He was mortal—how long could he hold sway? Their networks ran deep; they'd outlast his reforms.
Zhou Ying listened, his scorn veiled. Ning Hongxue had clawed his way to power through unimaginable cost. These families, dreaming of bloodless victory, underestimated a man who'd see them all burn.
A servant entered, pouring tea with practiced grace. Zhou Ying sipped his cup, then paused, his eyes narrowing. "This tea's off," he said, glaring at the servant. "Didn't you notice?"
"My apologies, young master," the servant murmured, head bowed. "I'll fetch another."
Zhou Ying, assuming him a new hire, waved it off. "Forget it—"
A glint of steel flashed. A dagger slid from the servant's sleeve, aimed at the patriarch's heart. Zhou Ying's instincts flared. He hurled his cup at the servant's head, the porcelain shattering with a crack. The assassin stumbled, and Zhou Ying vaulted onto the table, seizing a chair and slamming the figure against the wall.
"What's this?" the patriarch barked, recoiling. Guards swarmed, restraining the attacker.
The servant's head, bloodless despite the blow, revealed a metallic skull, its eyes glowing blue. "A mech?" a guest gasped. "Not human?"
"Surprised?" the figure said, its voice laced with mockery. "You plot my death in this room, and I merely return the favor."
Ning Hongxue.
If his mechs could infiltrate so seamlessly, no one was safe. "Don't look so grim," he continued. "Be glad I didn't arm this one with a micro-bomb. And the tea—how was it?"
Panic erupted. Some clawed at their throats; others retched, their composure shattered. Seconds passed, then minutes—no effects. "Hah," the mech laughed, the sound chillingly human. "Fooled you."
"You dare mock us?" a representative roared.
"I didn't jest," Ning said. "One cup was poisoned."
Zhou Ying frowned, the tea's odd taste lingering in his memory. His legs buckled, a chair tripping him as he fell. "Ying!" the patriarch cried, glaring at the mech. "You're a monster!"
"Monster?" Ning's tone iced over. "I learned from the Zhous."
"He's your nephew!"
"He chose the Zhou name," the mech said coldly.
Chaos engulfed the room. The patriarch bellowed for medics, his voice cracking. Zhou Ying's breath slowed, a numbing cold creeping from his fingertips. He stared at the mech, searching for Ning's true face behind its metal mask.
"I'll be clear," Ning's voice echoed. "I breached this room because I have allies among you. Your unity against me is a fantasy—you don't know loyalty. Keep scheming, and you'll only expose your traitors. Or join me."
The mech broke free, its damaged frame rising. "I serve the Undying Cicada Council. My plan will propel the Federation's tech forward, rendering Starbugs and the Empire irrelevant. At its end lies eternity—life, youth, power."
Its gaze fell on Zhou Ying, light as a snowflake. "Goodbye, Ying," it whispered. "This poison won't kill your mind. We'll meet in a beautiful new world."
On Youdu Star, Bai Sha forged on, her workshop a crucible of focus. Zhou Ying's poisoning, relayed by Wei, shook her. The Undying Cicada Council—Nexus-linked?—loomed as a new threat. She messaged him: Stay alive. I'm coming. The galaxy's shadows tightened, but she'd carve through them, her friends' fight her own.