The seemingly empty chamber was enormous—several thousand square meters. All around stood rows upon rows of mechas that no group of star pirates could possibly have acquired, along with all sorts of hazardous weapons that even Gu Heng rarely saw. It looked like a military-grade mecha and weapons assembly line.
Huge mechas under partial construction exposed their metal skeletons and wiring, like monstrous giants dissected open. Power conduits were plugged into their backs, and their chest cores flickered red from time to time—quiet and still, as though sleeping and waiting for their scientists to return.
From the first glance, Gu Heng’s expression turned grim.
This was not something that should exist in a star pirate base. Ordinary pirates didn’t have the brains—or the means—to pull this off.
At first, when Gu Heng took Gao Chengjiang’s map, he’d thought it was some kind of treasure map—perhaps where the star pirates had hidden their loot: gold, silver, and jewels looted from raids.
Like the old tales from ancient Earth, the stories of Caribbean pirates who buried all their plunder in one place and left behind a map, complete with traps along the way.
But—
There was no treasure. Only a stockpile of weapons and dangerous materials.
Which meant that, to the one behind all this, these items were more precious than any treasure. And that was not a good sign. Anyone could guess that whoever orchestrated this had ambitions far from simple.
As Gu Heng rapidly decrypted the lab files, the streams of weapon and mecha testing data flashing by his eyes made him pause in astonishment.
He had piloted countless types of mechas—sometimes even repairing them himself during emergencies on the battlefield against the Zerg. His understanding of mechas was far from shallow.
If the data here was real—
Then the mechas described would have exceptional performance, rivaling the top models crafted by the Empire’s veteran master engineers.
For that reason, as someone carrying the weight of the Empire, Gu Heng decisively copied the data, intending to give it later to the Empire mecha factories so they could replicate and improve the designs for new models.
After all, it would benefit all of humanity.
He didn’t care about any so-called mecha patents. The rats hiding in a pirate den wouldn’t dare come after him anyway.
But when Gu Heng opened a heavily encrypted file, his expression changed—his gaze turning darker than ever.
“Experiment on Transferring Human Consciousness into a Mechanical Body.”
Failure… failure… minimal consciousness response detected… failure… it’s a moron… why does it keep failing…
Experiment paused.
The human brain is too intricate and fragile; the mechanical body still too crude. It cannot contain the wisdom of the human mind.
Switch to a new research direction.
Since a purely human subject doesn’t work, what if the Zerg and a mechanical body are fused together—to create a vessel capable of housing the human brain?
Experiment No. 57: using a lower-class crustacean-type Zerg as the test subject. Insert nutrient-fluid conduits, remove its internal organs, replace its heart with a mecha’s energy core as the power source, and the brain… insert a bio-chip…
Success… then failure again…
Boom—
Just as Gu Heng was absorbed in the data, the person behind all this clearly wasn’t going to let him keep reading. Not long after, a loud crash sounded behind him.
At some point, blue-green mucus had spread across the floor. A massive dark silhouette unfurled its wings and advanced toward Gu Heng.
Gu Heng calmly pocketed the black USB drive.
Through the reflection on the machine’s screen, he saw the figure behind him—a grotesque fusion of Zerg and mecha with mechanical wings, its scarlet compound eyes gleaming with cold manic light. Blue-green mucus slid down its shell, carrying a faint, rotting stench.
Gu Heng’s dark eyes flashed with understanding. His lips parted slightly. “As expected, a failure.”
The seemingly living shell-creature was, in truth, moving step by step toward death.
That blue-green mucus was probably the nutrient fluid meant to preserve the body—but it wasn’t of much use. Soaking the Zerg in the liquid only slowed its metabolic consumption; it couldn’t stop the body from rotting and stinking.
Compared to the Zerg’s massive size—almost reaching the ceiling—Gu Heng looked like a tiny ant on the ground.
He stood casually, his gaze indifferent, not putting the creature in his eyes at all. Instead, he looked toward a red-lit surveillance camera behind the Zerg and said in a chilling tone:
“Looks like I really can’t let you off. To dare carry out a Zerg-mecha fusion experiment—if you actually succeeded, that would be troublesome.”
The seemingly small figure walked toward the creature step by step.
Receiving its command, the Zerg entered a berserk state. Its mechanical wings flapped violently, stirring a storm that sent racks and debris flying.
Gu Heng stood with his hands in his pockets, face cold and unreadable.
The Zerg’s compound eyes locked onto the only living being. Its feral hunger surged—yet, having lost its stomach, the acid that should have flowed turned into agitation. Opening its mouthparts, it charged at Gu Heng—its tongue modified into a flamethrower.
Gu Heng made a slight movement—and in an instant vanished from the creature’s sight.
The Zerg, now without a target, let out an enraged roar, smashing everything in the lab to pieces. Dust flew everywhere, and the energy core in its chest pulsed with blinding red light.
Watching from concealment, Gu Heng observed coldly. He was thinking—waiting.
Suddenly—
The roaring Zerg fell silent, turned toward Gu Heng’s hiding place, and charged at him with astonishing speed.
Even when Gu Heng suddenly changed direction to test it, the Zerg pursued with uncanny precision, as if a tracker had been fixed to his body.
Unruffled, a glint of interest flashed in Gu Heng’s dark eyes. His lips curved. “So, you’re finally here—the one behind the scenes.”
He had already enjoyed himself enough with the earlier traps; he never believed that the person who made all those mechanisms would waste time on something useless.
Now began round two of their game.
A flicker of focused excitement lit Gu Heng’s gaze—it had been a while since he’d had a proper fight. Hopefully, this thing could last a bit.
Sure enough—
The once-clumsy low-level crustacean Zerg suddenly accelerated, its speed rivaling that of a high-class species. Its sharp mandibles slashed wildly, tearing through steel as if it were paper.
Even Gu Heng had to momentarily avoid its edge, though his aristocratic dark eyes only grew more exhilarated.
Under its master’s remote control, the once-awkward Zerg moved like a finely tuned killing machine, its red carapace steaming with heat.
Gu Heng’s body blurred—his speed rising beyond visible limits. He leapt high and kicked the creature’s back shell. The explosive force sent the Zerg crashing to the floor with a pained, shrill screech.
But, fully controlled, the Zerg ignored its pain and the damage to its body. Twisting its limbs grotesquely, it lashed upward toward Gu Heng as he descended from mid-air.
Gu Heng raised his arm to block, but the creature’s spiked limb still grazed his handsome face. Blood seeped down, dyeing half his face red—his excited dark eyes gleaming even more eerily.
He didn’t bother to wipe it away.
Before him, the Zerg—with one limb severed—let out another painful roar, yet continued to advance uncontrollably.
Its tormented, almost human face moved with cold, mechanical precision, standing up again with a hint of murderous intent behind its calmness.
How amusing.
Gu Heng smiled. “After all that effort to create it, isn’t it a pity to waste it like this?”
The only answer was another full-force strike from the Zerg!
Gu Heng raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cracked steel floor and the Zerg’s trembling forelimbs. His lips curved. “Fine then. I won’t feel sorry for you either.”
The Zerg lifted its forelimbs high and slammed them down again and again. The lab became a wreck—there was hardly a place left to stand.
Shards of stone and metal flew, brushing just the hem of Gu Heng’s coat.
And the cause of it all—the raging Zerg—kept screaming, as if it were the one being struck. Smoke rose from its overheating body as it accelerated—faster, faster—
Gu Heng, having suffered once before, didn’t dare underestimate it again. Losing here would be a disgrace.
Advancing through danger as if walking on a knife’s edge, he faced the Zerg’s furred, spiked forelimbs head-on. Seeing how it twisted its body just to land another blow, Gu Heng broke into a wild, reckless smile.
Seizing the moment as the limb came down, he didn’t dodge. Instead, he moved in the opposite direction—grabbing hold of it—and tore off the entire forelimb, mechanical bone and all.
With a flick, he threw the severed limb aside.
The Zerg shrieked upward, then swung its remaining forelimb even more viciously toward Gu Heng.
Unfortunately, Gu Heng, who had already seen through everything long ago, soon tore off the Zerg’s forelegs, hindlegs, and mechanical wings one by one. Losing all support, it crashed heavily to the ground.
In the end, the Zerg writhed helplessly on the floor like a maggot.
For once, Gu Heng showed a hint of caution. He didn’t recklessly approach, but instead half-squatted before the Zerg, which had lost all its limbs. Meeting its compound eyes—filled with pain—he looked past it, toward the cold and emotionless puppet master controlling from behind the scenes, and with a mocking, arrogant smile, asked:
“No other tricks left? I was actually expecting more. So this is all you’ve got?”
The only response was the abrupt severing of the connection between the Zerg and its controller.
Immediately, the temperature of the ground rose sharply.
As though enraged, the person behind the scenes triggered the lab’s self-destruct system—pre-set beforehand—and a chain of explosions erupted, clearly intending to blow Gu Heng to pieces and bury him alive.
Gu Heng looked up at the ceiling that was collapsing piece by piece, his dark eyes full of scorn. “Can’t even play properly, huh.”
The explosions wouldn’t last long before the already fragile underground mine, built on unstable foundations, would collapse entirely. Gu Heng didn’t plan to dig his way out later.
But before leaving—
He looked down coldly at the Zerg crawling weakly on the ground. Its modified body was almost completely destroyed, the cross-section of its torso decayed and charred, faintly smoking.
To keep up with him in battle, the modified Zerg had been forced to push its physical limits beyond endurance; its cells’ lifespan plummeted, energy depleted, and most were already dead.
Even without his interference, a failed experiment like this wouldn’t live much longer.
Now free of its controller, the Zerg regained control of its body—only to gradually still. Its blurry compound eyes stared weakly up at the human looking down on it, showing no will to live, as if waiting for something.
“Never thought I’d ever say this to a Zerg—rest in peace.”
Gu Heng’s expression remained cold as he raised his dagger and, in one swift motion, severed the Zerg’s head and neural network. The creature twitched once and went completely still, freed from all sensation and pain.
What flowed out wasn’t insect blood, but a pool of thick, blue-green nutrient fluid.
Its body had long been hollowed out and replaced with mechanical power units that barely sustained life—like a mecha wearing a bug’s skin.
Though Gu Heng had killed countless Zerg, he had never resorted to torturing his enemies.
He had to admit—the person behind all this was impressive. Even the low-level Zerg, known for their tenacity, couldn’t withstand such torment. Their methods were enough to make even Zerg afraid.
Which only made Gu Heng more determined to catch the one responsible.
He sliced open the Zerg’s carapace.
Inside, he found a chip that was still alive, faintly twitching. Red, vein-like filaments connected it to the Zerg’s neural system—but now, Gu Heng had extracted it completely.
A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes as he examined it. “So this is the biochip mentioned in the data… Can’t believe it’s still alive after being removed.”
There was no time for further study—the explosion’s firelight was already flooding the sealed chamber.
Gu Heng quickly filled a container with some of the blue-green nutrient fluid, submerged the biochip in it, slipped it into his pocket, and left the underground tunnel in haste.
He had to admit—this mission’s harvest was substantial.
***
Outside.
The Federation Police had finally arrived. Groups of rescued hostages swarmed toward them; to anyone unaware, it looked as if the police were the ones being surrounded.
Even the officers who had just arrived were shocked to see so many survivors. They hurriedly called for reinforcements to maintain order, assist the hostages, and arrest the star pirates who hadn’t managed to escape.
No matter which side they were from, none of their ships could carry so many people.
Then came another round of explosions from the mine below. Before long, the tunnels collapsed completely, drawing screams and cries from the crowd.
Ji Shenwen, anxious after failing to contact His Highness, widened his eyes in shock as he watched the mine cave in. Just as he was about to rush over, he saw a lone figure emerge from the dust-filled entrance.
Relief washed over him when he saw who it was.
Running up, Ji Shenwen noticed the faint injuries on Gu Heng’s face and exclaimed, “Your Highness! Where did you go? I couldn’t reach you, and you’re hurt! Should we have a Federation doctor take a look?”
Gu Heng brushed the dust off his head—his once-black hair now nearly brown with grime. A cut on his cheek, left by the Zerg, had already scabbed over.
“It’s just a scratch. First, take this back for analysis.”
He tossed the container from his pocket to Ji Shenwen and added, “Get ready. We’re returning to the Federation’s main planet.”
Ji Shenwen caught the container, about to peek inside, when he heard the sudden change in orders and couldn’t help but ask, “But didn’t you say we were returning to the Empire?”
“I ran into someone troublesome. You might not be a match for him.”
A spark of interest flashed in Gu Heng’s dark eyes. Even he had taken a slight hit—if it were Ji Shenwen, a young and relatively inexperienced Alpha, he wouldn’t stand a chance against that shadowy figure.
Ji Shenwen’s expression grew grave. The thought that His Highness could even be injured made him tense. Furrowing his brow, he said, “Understood. I’ll begin the investigation immediately once we return. May I ask—what kind of enemy are we dealing with? Should we deploy more men?”
“No need for now. Someone’s coming…”
Gu Heng’s gaze shifted toward a group of people approaching—Federation Police in uniform.
The middle-aged officer leading them sized Gu Heng and Ji Shenwen up subtly, then broke into a cordial smile.
“Hello there. We’re with the Federation Police, here to investigate this star pirate incident. Witnesses say you saved many lives. We’re also here to thank you personally. How about coming by the 27th District Border Police Bureau later? I’m the deputy chief there, and I’d love to hear your story in detail.”
Ji Shenwen glanced anxiously at Gu Heng beside him, only to see the prince give a slight shake of his head.
Gu Heng’s dark eyes narrowed as he said coldly, “I can tell you everything about what happened here with the star pirates, but I’m afraid we don’t have time to make a trip to the police station.”
A hot-headed young officer beside the middle-aged policeman immediately protested, “As a citizen of the Federation, you’re obliged to cooperate with our work!”
“Little Li, mind your manners,” the middle-aged officer barked. “And remember—it’s us who are asking for their help this time.”
Turning back to Gu Heng, the officer continued politely, “I actually have another request. I hope you two might consider joining the Federation Police Force. With capable young people like you, we could better protect the Federation’s safety.”
Gu Heng gave him a sharp, assessing glance before replying curtly, “No need. Catch the traitor within your Federation Police first.”
Halfway through, a mocking smile tugged at his lips. “As far as I know, the star pirates got the news early and withdrew long before your people arrived. You came so late that most of them were already gone.”
The young officer, Little Li, glared furiously. “Are you saying we Federation Police are incompetent?!”
The middle-aged officer frowned, his expression turning grim at being criticized by a civilian.
Even if there were problems within their own ranks, it wasn’t for outsiders to point fingers. He had just been thinking about recruiting these two capable young men—but now, that idea was gone.
“The Federation Police have our own protocols,” he said sternly. “Every operation requires thorough preparation. It’s not as simple as you outsiders think!”
Clearly, he intended to deflect blame and had no plan to investigate the traitor.
“Oh? You think I’m not qualified to question you?”
Gu Heng smiled faintly. He lifted his fingers, pinching out a small identification card stamped with the Federation’s official seal. His noble, arrogant black eyes lifted slightly as he looked down at the group of police officers and said,
“Federal Bureau of Secret Investigation. I’m the one in charge of this star pirate operation and the hostage rescue mission. That makes me, more or less, your superior. Everything was already prepared—we were just waiting for the Federation Police to show up. I didn’t expect you to botch even something this simple.”
The Federation officers, who had been fuming a moment ago, suddenly fell silent.
They had all heard rumors about the Federal Bureau of Secret Investigation—an organization that handled top-level classified affairs: espionage, corruption, warfare, kidnappings, covert intelligence. People taken by them rarely returned; even those questioned and released never dared to speak of it again.
Normally, such an agency would never deal directly with the police. These were just border patrol officers; none of them had ever imagined they’d meet someone from the Secret Bureau face to face.
As they all avoided Gu Heng’s gaze, awkward silence hung in the air—while the Empire prince, standing boldly on Federal soil, reprimanded a squad of Federation Police without the slightest trace of guilt or hesitation.
Ji Shenwen watched with wide eyes, heart pounding with anxiety. Your Highness, please don’t push this too far!
He knew that although the credentials were real, their clearance level was the lowest possible tier—external affiliates, no more than registered informants.
The Empire intelligence agency had gone through great trouble to forge multiple layers of identity for the prince before his journey to the Federation, all to ensure his safety.
Before accompanying His Highness, Ji Shenwen had been personally warned by his family, superiors, and even senior Imperial officers—names written in history books—that if anything happened to the prince, he was to risk his life and burn every network the Empire had built in the Federation to rescue him.
And now…
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
Gu Heng’s smirk was full of contempt, utterly fearless before the dark-faced Federation officers—arrogant and unrestrained as ever.
If only anyone here could beat him…
Watching this all-too-familiar scene, Ji Shenwen felt his heart nearly stop.
It was just like their days back at the Empire Academy—His Highness, hiding his true identity, beating up every Alpha who challenged him, with even the headmaster covering for him afterward.
Clutching his trembling heart, Ji Shenwen silently screamed inside: This is the Federation, Your Highness! Please, have some restraint!
The stubborn young officer, Little Li, still refused to back down. “Who knows if that ID is real? Unless you let me take a closer look!”
Gu Heng gave a short, cold laugh and actually handed it over. “Still not giving up, huh? Fine. You can check it. But if there’s any crease or damage on it, you’ll bear the consequences yourself.”
The open threat made everyone tense. Normally, anyone speaking that way to the police would have been arrested on the spot.
But as Little Li took the thin identification card of the Federal Bureau of Secret Investigation, his hands trembled, fear finally sinking in. His mind went blank.
Still, having come this far, he had to keep up appearances. He glanced over the photo and serial number, confirming they matched the imposing Beta standing before him—but beyond that, he had no idea what to do.
He was just a small-time border cop—how could he possibly deal with someone even his superiors couldn’t touch?
At last, the middle-aged officer took the ID from Xiao Li.
As deputy chief, he knew a little more than most. He made a quick call to his higher-ups, verified the ID number, and upon confirming its authenticity, returned it respectfully to Gu Heng with a polite smile.
“Comrade from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, thank you for your hard work.”
Gu Heng accepted it lazily, his dark eyes sweeping coldly over the group as he said with faint amusement, “It has been troublesome. So, no—we won’t be coming to the police station. Or rather…”
His lips curved in a meaningful smile. “Perhaps you should come visit the Federal Investigation Bureau instead.”
The atmosphere instantly grew heavy and tense.
Several of the Federation police officers, lacking strong nerves, turned pale; cold sweat gathered on their foreheads as they feared that if they made one wrong move, they might be taken away by the Federal Bureau of Secret Investigation—never to return.
The middle-aged officer’s expression chilled, but he forced a laugh. “That’s… against protocol, isn’t it?”
Gu Heng sneered. “Haven’t figured it out yet? You plan to stop me?”
Completely disregarding everyone’s feelings, Gu Heng randomly pointed at one of the thinner police officers. His dark eyes lifted toward the middle-aged officer, and he smiled with arrogant amusement.
“Why don’t we start by interrogating him? See if he’s the one who leaked intel to the star pirates and caused the Federal Bureau of Secret Investigation to let a big fish slip away!”
That had truly infuriated Gu Heng—because of the leak, he hadn’t been able to rescue all the Empire citizens.
Everyone could see he was openly using his authority as a pretext to pick a fight with the border patrol, but the problem was that he wasn’t entirely wrong—and in some ways, they were at fault.
Watching Gu Heng step closer to the ashen-faced officer, the middle-aged officer finally couldn’t hold back. “What exactly do you want? We can negotiate terms!”
“Terms?”
Gu Heng’s black eyes swept over the tense, nervous crowd. They looked more serious now than when they were facing star pirates. To an outsider, it would seem he was the enemy.
Even the Empire spies he’d sent into the Federation were more useful than this group of freeloaders.
Thinking that made Gu Heng feel it was hardly worth the effort.
He gave a short, mocking laugh. “Hand over the culprit. If I find them myself and report it to the Bureau, I can’t promise whose badges will be stripped—or whose heads might roll along with them.”
His dark gaze glinted with sardonic threat as he turned to the deputy director. “What do you say, Deputy Director?”
That open, confident smile on his strikingly handsome face was more terrifying than a ghost.
Someone finally broke under the pressure, terrified of being taken away by someone even more fearsome than the star pirates.
“I report—it was XX! When the alert about the star pirates came in, I saw him using a communicator to send some kind of message!”
“Now that you mention it, I saw XXX sneaking off too—maybe he’s part of the same gang!”
“I’ll report too! XX and XX were having an affair on patrol in the spaceship—disgusting!”
“D*mn it, stop spouting nonsense!”
“…”
Voices erupted one after another—mutual accusations and exposures flying.
Gu Heng’s dark eyes deepened. Facing the pale-faced deputy director, he smiled. “See? There, that wasn’t so hard. We already have leads now, don’t we, Deputy Director?”
The deputy director lifted his eyes—heavier and grimmer than ever—and stared at the man who, with just a few words, had sown chaos among them. Clenching his fists, he exhaled in defeat.
“Fine. We’ll follow your orders from here.”
He knew what kind of people his subordinates were.
Reality was never simply black or white. Sometimes they collected “tolls” or “protection fees” from merchants; otherwise, with funding cuts layer after layer, an ordinary Federation officer’s salary couldn’t cover household expenses—and they still risked their lives fighting star pirates.
Minor corruption he could overlook. Even as a deputy director, he himself wasn’t entirely clean. Maintaining the patrol fleet cost a fortune, and funding from above was always delayed.
Besides, the border situation was messy, and the star pirates never truly eradicated—most were desperate criminals backed by powerful figures. Sometimes even captured pirates had to be released on orders from above.
In his youth, the deputy director had been outraged by such injustice. But after years of seeing too much, exhaustion dulled his ideals, leaving him just another ordinary officer swept along by the current.
At times, he even envied the stable, prosperous lives of those in the Empire.
He smoked one cigarette after another, watching as the traitors were finally dragged out—along with communicators linking them to the pirates, the evidence undeniable.
There wasn’t just one or two.
If it had only been about money, perhaps he could’ve turned a blind eye. But this—this had cost the lives of innocent Federation citizens. Even if he wanted to protect them, he couldn’t.
The deputy director shut his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Facing Gu Heng, he said, “Take them. They deserve what’s coming.”
Gu Heng’s eyes darkened.
At first, he had believed this man might handle things properly—that’s why he told Ji Shenwen not to panic. According to the files Gu Heng had read, this officer had once captured numerous star pirates, suffered multiple serious injuries, and kept order in his patrol sector better than most border areas. A good officer, by Federation standards.
That was precisely why Gu Heng now felt disappointed.
He frowned. “Those you caught who just committed minor violations—if they weren’t involved with the star pirates, the Bureau has no interest. You can take them back.”
The deputy director looked up in surprise, lips trembling as he said gratefully, “Thank you for your generosity. I’ll take them back, dismiss them, and clean up the department.”
Gu Heng gave him a critical glance and clicked his tongue impatiently. “Fine. But if this happens again, you’re coming with me to the Bureau.”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
***
“Your Highness, what’s this?”
Ji Shenwen watched as things finally settled down—he’d thought for sure they wouldn’t get out alive after offending the Federation police. Yet now, a brand-new aircraft sat before them.
“If I’m not mistaken,” he said cautiously, “this was given by that middle-aged officer you spoke to earlier?”
“Mm. He said it was a token of gratitude.”
Gu Heng replied coolly, settling into the passenger seat of the craft. Stretching out his long legs, he leaned back and closed his eyes—after spending several days in the star pirates’ territory, he finally intended to get some proper rest.
Ji Shenwen was completely dumbfounded. A thank-you gift?
Thank them for sending a bunch of the deputy director’s subordinates to prison? He suddenly felt like he no longer understood this world.
Seeing that the aircraft still hadn’t started, Gu Heng impatiently opened his eyes. Frowning at Ji Shenwen, who was still spacing out, he said, “Why aren’t we moving yet? How many days to the Federation’s central planet?”
Ji Shenwen immediately sat in the pilot’s seat, checked the navigation route, and replied, “Fastest—three days.”
Three days?
He’d thought he would never get the chance to see him again. But now he had to go to the Federation’s main planet—his heartbeat sped up uncontrollably, along with a few thoughts he shouldn’t be having.
How could he possibly meet Zuo Shihuan again amidst a sea of people—unless he went out of his way to secretly take a look…
A trace of darkness flickered in Gu Heng’s black eyes. He curved his lips in a self-mocking smile, covered his eyes with one hand, and said softly, “The sooner we go and return, the better.”
He couldn’t go see him.
This was just another mission—once it was over, he’d return to the Empire and never again disturb the peaceful life that Zuo Shihuan was meant to have.
To outsiders, he might seem capable of anything—but in truth, there was nothing he could give Zuo Shihuan.
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