Cyril had vanished.
The altar lay in ruins, shattered into pieces. This sacred family heirloom, once used to ward off evil, bless the people, and summon spirits, was now completely destroyed.
The elder’s mood was as dark and lifeless as the night sky. He didn’t even want to accept the truth and muttered to himself, “It’s just a dream…”
Maybe it was a dream?
He wasn’t the only one clinging to that thought. Many others would rather believe this was a nightmare than face reality.
How could a soul-summoning ritual—centered around Su Cha’s demon bead—summon anything else?
But when they looked up and saw Su Yeling, that fragile fantasy was immediately shattered.
Su Yeling’s swollen face was a constant reminder: this wasn’t a dream!
His usually refined features now bore a faint trace of anger. He turned to one of the elders and said, “Seal off the area.”
Partly to stop others from watching the spectacle unfold, and partly to track down any trace of Su Cha.
As for the overwhelming force that had just appeared, the elders had not yet connected it to Su Cha. No matter how imaginative they were, it would never occur to them that it came from a planet tens of thousands of miles away.
Yet, the questions gnawing at their hearts remained—what exactly went wrong with the soul-summoning ritual?
Su Yeling stood alone before the shattered altar, unease growing in his chest. He tried to reassure himself: if that terrifying person was really Su Cha’s ally, then with such powerful backup, Su Cha would’ve already returned to seek revenge. Why wait until now?
…
A cool autumn breeze whispered through the air. Su Cha had been sleeping peacefully—until a sound like an explosion jolted him awake.
Eyes opening, he stared at the ceiling for two seconds—no, this wasn’t a dream.
Then came another BOOM, and the whole ground trembled.
Su Cha shot upright like a spring-loaded fish. From outside, the butler’s voice called out, “It’s not an attack, Your Highness, no need to worry.”
Relieved, Su Cha threw on a robe and stepped out of bed.
When he opened the door, the castle was brightly lit and still orderly.
Cyril’s guards were posted at every checkpoint. The butler had even managed, in that short time, to prepare a calming tea and handed it to Su Cha.
While sipping, Su Cha kept glancing toward the source of the disturbance—exactly where Cyril was.
“It might’ve been the King’s spirit force losing control for a moment,” the butler explained.
It had happened before, though not often in recent years.
Su Cha asked, “Can I go check?”
The butler nodded and handed him another cup of tea. “The King will be glad to see you.”
Unlike Su Cha’s luxurious room, this one was vast and sparse. The floor tiles, like the castle walls, radiated a cold metallic sheen.
Too wide and too empty—it felt more like a grand hall for state affairs.
The moment Cyril’s soul returned, the spirit backlash had destroyed nearly everything inside.
Even the specially-made door had disintegrated into dust.
Out of courtesy, Su Cha tapped twice on the nearby wall.
Just as the butler had said, Cyril looked in good spirits when he saw Su Cha. His silver hair clung to one arm, the surroundings were a mess—perhaps the most disheveled Cyril had ever looked.
He gestured for Su Cha to come closer.
“Are you alright?” Su Cha set the tray aside.
Cyril replied, “Had a bit of a…”
“A nightmare?”
“Not quite.” Cyril picked up his tea, still poised and elegant.
Su Cha felt vaguely uneasy. This incident didn’t seem like a random accident. How could it so conveniently happen right when he was worried about the soul-summoning ritual?
Even stranger—his persistent headaches had eased significantly tonight.
Silence settled between them when Su Cha said nothing. Cyril didn’t press him. Reclining against the cushion, he closed his eyes halfway to rest.
“Go sleep early,” Cyril said eventually.
The situation had stabilized. He was giving Su Cha the choice of whether to speak or not.
Su Cha wasn’t one to avoid issues. He simply said, “Soul-summoning.”
Cyril’s slender brows lifted slightly. He immediately understood what the altar had been for.
His expression—and the fact that he asked no more—told Su Cha all he needed to know: Cyril had been summoned tonight.
“Was my dance not impressive enough?”
He’d been blessed by the Flower God—how could something like this still happen on the very same day?
Cyril reopened his eyes, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. “I tampered with your spirit.”
Su Cha’s round eyes widened slightly. After a moment, he murmured, “So that’s how it was.”
Cyril suddenly reached out and patted his head. “I know what you’re worried about. Tonight’s events were a little strange—like something out of a myth about vanished demons.”
Su Cha pressed his lips together. Cyril had come dangerously close to the truth.
“But no matter the reason,” Cyril said, “I’m not so old-fashioned as to treat you like a monster.”
“…” No, actually… a little old-fashioned would be better.
There were many things Su Cha couldn’t explain. His term of service had ended with a signed confidentiality agreement. He summarized everything in four words: “Past life, present life.”
Cyril thought of those eyes that resembled Su Cha’s and the obviously hostile demeanor.
“An enemy from a past life? With some blood ties?”
“Clanmate,” Su Cha said after a brief pause. “Maybe they sensed I was still alive and wanted to eliminate me completely.”
Not giving Cyril time to respond, Su Cha quickly added, “If it bothers you, I can leave right away.”
A reincarnated child with memories of a past life wasn’t something everyone could easily accept. After all, children were supposed to be blank slates—learning everything anew.
The silence that followed felt like a long trial.
Eventually, Cyril slowly shook his head, reaffirming what he had said before. “I told you—I’m not so narrow-minded as to see you as a little monster.”
“…Please be narrow-minded.”
He really used to be.
Cyril’s hand on his head stilled. “It’s alright.”
He called the butler, who swiftly cleaned up the shattered porcelain to prevent Su Cha from stepping on anything sharp.
When the butler finished and left, Cyril said in a low voice, “Don’t mention any of this to anyone again.”
Su Cha understood perfectly. Someone like Luan Zheng, who would commit unspeakable acts for mere genetic data—maniacs like him existed throughout the galaxy. If they found out about reincarnation, they’d spark a bloodbath centered around him.
Su Cha nodded solemnly, so convincingly that Cyril gave a small smile. A few seconds later, it vanished. “How old were you when the accident happened?”
His gut told him this kid had lived a hard life.
“Not yet thirty.” Flower spirits age similarly to humans after gaining consciousness.
Cyril met his wandering eyes. “Oh?”
“…Not yet twenty.”
Silence was the theme tonight.
“…Alright, not yet nineteen.”
He didn’t amount to much.
He had worked so hard to form a demon bead and catch up to the best of his clan—only to be undone by Su Yeling’s premature romance.
Early love kills.
Seeing his frown deepen, Cyril shifted his focus. “Staying up late stunts your growth.”
It really was getting late. Drowsiness hit him. Su Cha was amazed that even after such a “catastrophic” night, he still felt sleepy.
Cyril, however, didn’t seem surprised. He simply urged him to rest.
Just before falling asleep earlier, Su Cha had seen the system vanish. Now it had returned.
It was back to ensure everything was foolproof—if Cyril couldn’t accept him or acted rashly, the system would take him away immediately.
“Honestly, even if Cyril couldn’t accept me, I don’t think he’d hurt me.”
Some people you could never fully understand, even after a decade. But others, even after a few meetings, you could see right through.
Cyril, at heart, was warm and accommodating. Even at hospitals, he would think of the children’s comfort.
The system had no interest in Cyril’s personality. It simply reminded, “Make sure the altar’s really destroyed.”
Su Cha didn’t reply—he had already fallen asleep.
Outside, the autumn wind kept sweeping fallen leaves across the ground. The system quietly withdrew into the eleventh dimension.
The next day dawned bright and clear, a perfect fall morning.
The butler hadn’t woken Su Cha for breakfast. Cyril had specifically told him to let the boy sleep in.
When Su Cha finally woke, it was already ten o’clock. He hadn’t slept in like that for a long time. Seeing the time, he was momentarily stunned.
Robots moved through the castle, repairing damaged items. As Su Cha sat down at the long table, he noticed a set of dishes across from him—Cyril’s seat.
The butler explained, “His Majesty summoned the Marshal early for a meeting. He hasn’t had time to eat yet.”
Su Cha picked up his chopsticks and sighed, “Being king is hard.”
Cyril must live a long, long life.
“When he comes back, I’ll remind him to eat more.”
The king’s life—I’ll protect it.
The butler smiled. He had once struggled with smiling, as most Fog Star people did. But under Su Cha’s influence, the corners of his mouth were now much more natural.
After the meal, as Su Cha was about to take a walk, the butler handed him several letters that had arrived that morning.
There were a lot—delivered in a box. Seeing the return address marked “Galan Empire,” Su Cha was surprised. “That fast?”
The distance between the two planets was no joke.
Then he looked at the send date—it was the very day he departed.
So at that time, while he was flying in the sky, the letters were chasing after him?
Apparently, the speed of interstellar couriers couldn’t compare to that of warships, so the letters arrived a few days later.
Su Cha saw a number of familiar names and first opened Ji Tianjin’s envelope. Inside was a USB stick. When he plugged it into his computer, he found a series of mechanical theory exercises and explanations—clearly lectures from a renowned teacher, given the effort taken to send them to him.
Su Cha closed his eyes for a moment. Sent across light-years just to deliver problem sets—very on brand for him.
By comparison, the written message felt much softer:
[The school announced a last-minute friendly competition next week. Rong Shao and the others suggested renaming the team from “He’s Here” to “He Left,” to commemorate you. I refused.]
Reading this, Su Cha let out a breath of relief. At least someone reliable was still around.
[Majority rules, so my refusal was overruled. When we win first place, we’ll send the trophy to you. According to Rong Shao, you can use it to remember us.]
“…”
Su Cha opened a few more letters.
By the time he reached the sixth one, Cyril had returned. Half the dining table was covered in spread-out letters, and a breeze from the door blew one onto the floor.
Cyril bent to pick it up and, as he placed it down, his eyes happened to catch the final line:
[Everyone misses you a little. Also, how is the King of Fog Star? Please convey our sincere regards.]
Several letters had similar closing lines. Cyril narrowed his eyes and ignored the polite ending. Instead, a deep sense of crisis washed over him.
After all the trouble he went through to bring the boy back, now these faraway letters sounded like: “Is the King of Fog Star dead? If so, hurry and come back. We miss you.”
“Tell them—I could still borrow another five hundred years from heaven.”
“…”
Not long after he finished speaking, the butler pulled out a chair, and Cyril slowly sat down.
Su Cha’s words still carried weight—there was no iced water on the table today.
“I’ve already ordered Land to dispatch a hundred warships to the interstellar front.” Originally, Cyril had only paid moderate attention to the newly discovered wormhole, deploying just thirty warships. But after last night’s summoning incident, he recalled Land mentioning Su Cha’s keen interest in the wormhole—and now he had a guess as to why.
Su Cha, however, was thinking about how Land had said the turf war might drag on for years. He was about to say something but was interrupted by Cyril’s flat declaration: “This wormhole holds significant value and strategic importance. That’s precisely why so many major powers are fighting over it.”
“Taking it will be your welcome gift.”
When it came to state matters, Cyril’s word was absolute.
Once the King showed his dominant side, there was no room for debate or questioning.
After the meal, Su Cha started feeling sleepy again—while others felt drowsy in spring, he got drowsy in autumn.
Before heading upstairs, as usual, he heartlessly left his spirit form behind to continue its eternal grind in training mode.
Seeing Su Cha’s tired eyes, Cyril held back from saying a few things he’d intended, and instead summoned a guard in the afternoon: “In my name, send a communiqué to the Galan Empire. Ask whether Sanses is interested in continuing cultural exchange.”
To fight over a wormhole that had drawn the eyes of many, military power alone wouldn’t be enough—alliances were also essential. The Galan Empire had unquestionable military strength, but Cyril had another reason for choosing them… He interlaced his fingers and tapped lightly at his knuckles.
“The exchange will include academic collaboration.”
That way, they could learn Galan’s training methods, and in turn, Galan could absorb some of Fog Star’s knowledge—a win-win.
As for who Galan would send, Cyril didn’t care.
He only wanted to know how Galan trained their young in spiritual power, so he could fill in the gaps and apply it to Su Cha.
…
The communiqué was sent out that very day and quickly reached Sanses after passing through only two necessary hands.
Sanses didn’t even open the message—he scanned it with his spiritual power and immediately grasped its contents. Connecting it to the Fog Star’s increased military presence, he understood Cyril’s intent.
That evening, Sanses held a meeting.
The Chief of Finance spoke first: “The Zerg have also expressed interest in cooperating with us.”
Choosing too many partners would only make things harder to control. He personally preferred Fog Star—Zerg customs were too domineering, even worse than Fog Star, and most people didn’t want to deal with them.
Sanses nodded slightly, already seeming to lean toward a decision. He looked at Xie Rongjue: “Send two teachers, one student, and three medical and mechanical professionals to form a delegation for a one-year academic exchange.”
Those were the three key industries—non-negotiable.
“Allow open registration. You’ll screen the final list.” He added flatly:
“And make sure to emphasize the risks in the announcement.”
Their relationship with Fog Star wasn’t exactly close—even if they were, sending a delegation abroad always involved certain dangers.
The meeting ended in under ten minutes.
Xie Rongjue and the Finance Chief left almost simultaneously. The latter chuckled, “It’s obvious Fog Star won’t send any students.”
In a normal exchange, youth exchange would be the focus.
“Which is why His Majesty only designated one.”
Still, that one was necessary. Young people could more easily form strong friendships, which was good for bilateral relations.
The list of applicants came together quickly.
Unexpectedly, Xie Rongjue spotted Ji Tianjin’s name and summoned him.
He got straight to the point: “Going to Fog Star means everything is unknown. Our affiliated school has the best teachers in the capital.”
Ji Tianjin: “Fog Star’s education shouldn’t be any worse.”
In fact, the affiliated school’s approach was a bit too gentle for him. Ji Tianjin had been sent to the interstellar battlefield by his family early on and had private tutors teach him ahead of the curriculum.
To put it bluntly—he’d be fine anywhere.
Xie Rongjue narrowed in on the real reason: “Because of Su Cha?”
Ji Tianjin admitted that was what drove him to volunteer: “As team captain, I have a duty to look after my teammates.”
He didn’t say much, but his words all hinted at one thing—Su Cha was very delicate.
Delicate?
Xie Rongjue stared at him for three seconds. Okay, so he wasn’t blind.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Ji Tianjin was actually a Fog Star native—how else could he spout such nonsense with a straight face?
To Ji Tianjin, “delicate” wasn’t about cunning. As he’d once told Ji Chong, Su Cha’s plant powers seemed strong, but they had obvious limitations.
Some of Su Cha’s unintentional emotional cues somehow stirred a protective instinct in him.
Maybe in his heart, Su Cha was still the brat in the hospital spouting nonsense.
Xie Rongjue took a calm sip of coffee.
“Does your father know?”
“He knows.” (Or he will, eventually.)
Xie Rongjue gave him a long look.
“According to protocol, we’ll inform your parents.” After a pause, he added, “But from what I know of your father, he won’t object.”
Ji Chong was a businessman, like Xie Rongjue, a believer in the exchange of interests. Ji Tianjin’s spiritual power was too strong, increasing the risk of losing control during awakening. If Su Cha’s deep awakening could help, Ji Chong would certainly allow it.
Otherwise, even if Ji Chong never interfered in Ji Tianjin’s choices, he wouldn’t let his only son go to Fog Star. “Make sure you read the risk disclosures.”
Ji Tianjin: “I’m very safe. If I die, it means the enemy stepped over Su Cha’s dead body to get to me.”
“Cough cough—”
Xie Rongjue choked on his coffee and had to make sure he heard that right.
Ji Tianjin didn’t find it funny. Taking ten thousand steps back—even if Fog Star turned hostile, Su Cha would do whatever it took to shield him. Risk-wise, he was more likely to die during a domestic competition on a desolate star than in Fog Star.
“The warship leaves by tomorrow night at the latest. Go get ready.” Xie Rongjue seemed to recall something amusing. Ji Tianjin had youthful passion, but hadn’t inherited the Ji family’s knack for scheming—something Ji Chong would have to worry about later.
After signing a few more documents, he noticed Ji Tianjin still hadn’t left. “Something else?”
Ji Tianjin: “In Fog Star’s eyes, you’re his adoptive father in name. Out of propriety, you should prepare a gift.”
Given Xie Rongjue’s personality, if he had to spend money, he’d absolutely find a way to make his annoying colleagues chip in too. That way, Su Cha would receive a decent pile of gifts—a good make-up for how everyone only threw a birthday party for Shen Ningze.
Xie Rongjue: “…”
He wasn’t lacking in brains—he just had a traitorous elbow that bent outward.
