Seated in the passenger seat, Lin Jing kept his eyes straight ahead.
Xu Wanzhi asked, “Where to?”
Lin Jing gave him the address from Dean Chang.
Xu Wanzhi seemed to pause for a second before letting out a quiet chuckle. “I should’ve guessed.”
Lin Jing looked puzzled. “What?”
“Nothing.” Xu Wanzhi asked, “How long will you be staying?”
Lin Jing turned his head slightly, a little uncomfortable. “Not sure. Might be a while.”
As the starship lifted off, he finally saw the full scope of District One from above—a towering steel forest, the skyscrapers so massive they seemed to block out the sun.
Dean Chang’s residence was close to the central area. After landing, Xu Wanzhi led him inside. The apartment complex had DNA-based security, but Dean Chang had already registered Lin Jing in the system, so the robots didn’t stop him.
The towering high-tech buildings made the paths through District One incredibly complex.
“You live here too?” Lin Jing asked in the elevator.
“Mm.”
The elevator stopped at the 108th floor. Xu Wanzhi removed his gloves and pressed his palm against the panel.
Fingerprint recognized. The elevator doors slowly opened.
Dean Chang’s address was also on the 108th floor. The moment Lin Jing stepped out, he sighed in relief, about to say thanks—only to freeze in shock.
Xu Wanzhi, without hesitation, was already inputting a passcode.
The door slid open, and a gentle voice welcomed them.
“Welcome home, Master.”
“…….”
The words “thank you” got stuck in Lin Jing’s throat, leaving him frozen in place.
When Xu Wanzhi entered the password, the entire room came to life—automatic dust removal, air exchange, temperature and humidity adjustments, and soft lighting illuminating the space.
Xu Wanzhi asked, “Are you hungry?” His voice was calm. “But since no one really lives here, I’m not sure if there’s anything to eat.”
Standing at the entrance, Lin Jing glanced at the sparsely decorated living room. Hearing the question pulled him back to reality, and he looked toward Xu Wanzhi.
Under the lights, Xu Wanzhi watched him, seemingly amused by his shock. His beautiful, cold eyes carried a hint of amusement, as if enjoying a good show.
Lin Jing was so stunned he could barely speak. “You…”
Xu Wanzhi took off his gloves, thought for a moment, and said, “If he had told me your name earlier, I definitely wouldn’t have gone to training today.”
Lin Jing was still dazed. He had already struggled to converse with Xu Wanzhi in real life, and now, confined in the same space, he was even more at a loss for words. His mind was filled with questions—Xu Wanzhi lived here? Was he Dean Chang’s student or relative? Could there really be such a coincidence in the world?
But before he could figure it out, an unfamiliar phone call came through.
The voice on the other end belonged to a panting young man: “Sorry, junior, something came up on my end. You might have to wait a few more hours.”
Lin Jing’s emotions were complicated. “It’s okay, senior. I’m already here, so you don’t need to trouble yourself.”
The senior was incredulous. “What?! You’re already there?”
“Yeah, someone gave me a ride.”
The senior’s voice immediately shot up: “Someone gave you a ride?! Junior, you didn’t get scammed, did you? These days, criminals are getting more and more sophisticated.”
Lin Jing, feeling a bit awkward, said, “No, it’s a friend of mine.”
The senior grew even more anxious. “What kind of friend has the ability to drop you off at a home in District One? Is he forcing you to say that? Junior, don’t panic. Stay calm. Don’t alert him. I’ll be right there.”
Seeing that the senior refused to believe him, Lin Jing silently switched to a video call and aimed the camera at Xu Wanzhi.
The senior was still rambling, “If he doesn’t move, you don’t move. Be careful—see if he’s after your money or your looks—”
His words abruptly cut off.
On the other side of the call, the tall and slender senior, dressed in a white lab coat, suddenly fell silent. His expression twitched uncontrollably as he processed what he was seeing.
Xu Wanzhi’s gaze remained indifferent.
“Uh—” The senior looked like he had seen a ghost. Stuttering for a moment, he failed to string a sentence together before hanging up in a flash.
Lin Jing: “……”
Xu Wanzhi didn’t seem inclined to explain anything. Instead, he asked if Lin Jing wanted to take a shower. After a day filled with unexpected twists and turns, Lin Jing felt the need to clear his mind and nodded.
Fortunately, Xu Wanzhi seemed tired tonight as well. After making Lin Jing a cup of warm milk to help him sleep, he went straight to his room.
“Uh…” Standing on the staircase of the small duplex, Lin Jing suddenly called out to him.
Xu Wanzhi turned back, looking at him in question.
Lin Jing hesitated.
Xu Wanzhi suddenly smiled and drawled, “Do you need a goodnight kiss?”
Lin Jing jolted awake in fright. “No! I just wanted to say thanks.”
He all but fled into his room, clutching the warm milk. After finishing it, he stared at the empty cup for a long time before flopping back onto the bed, frustrated.
Annoying.
In Lin Jing’s original plan, he had wanted to properly thank Xu Wanzhi by treating him to a meal when he arrived on the main star.
But now, he was staying at the man’s home—possibly for more than a day.
From online acquaintances in a game to awkward strangers under the same roof, their relationship had taken an unexpected turn.
The most irritating part was that Lin Jing wasn’t usually shy or bad at socializing, but for some reason, everything felt off when it came to Xu Wanzhi.
It was manageable in the game, but in real life? A disaster.
Feeling restless, he called his family.
His mother answered.
“Baby, have you arrived?”
Lin Jing replied, “Yeah.”
His mother chuckled. “Tomorrow, you’ll be heading to the base. Excited?”
Lin Jing hesitated. “That soon?”
His mother said, “The sooner you recover, the better, right?”
Lin Jing struggled to find the words. “I… I’m a little nervous.”
His mother teased, “Oh wow, I can’t believe I’m hearing that from you. Why are you nervous? You grew up there as a child—it should feel just like home.”
Lin Jing frowned. He remembered staying at a research base when he was little, but he hadn’t connected it to this place.
“You mean…” He tightened his grip on his phone, asking cautiously, “That’s the same place from my childhood?”
His mother nodded with a smile. “Of course. Don’t forget, your father and Dean Chang studied under the same mentor. It’s not surprising they worked at the same base.”
Lin Jing probed further. “Hyacinth?”
His mother responded, “Yes.”
Lin Jing: “……” Unbelievable.
His mother frowned. “What kind of expression is that?”
Lin Jing muttered, “Nothing… It’s just that fate is really too strange.”
Too strange indeed.
So strange that Lin Jing sat up in bed, unable to sleep.
But on the main star, there was no night sky to look at when he couldn’t sleep. All he could do was get up and drink some water, his bare feet stepping onto the cold floor. As he drank, he slowly wandered in front of the bookshelf.
The guest room bookshelf in Dean Chang’s residence was filled entirely with books related to mental power. Lin Jing opened a drawer—it was packed with science magazines and copies of the Main Star Daily, the most recent issue dating back three months. It seemed that Dean Chang really didn’t stay here often.
The first book on the shelf was—Mental Power: Brain Development.
Since he wasn’t sleepy at all, Lin Jing turned on the bedside lamp, leaned back, and started reading.
The introduction outlined the author’s personal understanding of mental power and the reasoning behind the study of brain development.
“Mental power is a concept that only emerged in the interstellar era. Simply put, it quantifies a person’s natural abilities, including cognitive skills, learning capacity, exploration potential, and operational proficiency. For most ordinary people, mental power may remain an abstract concept throughout their lives, as the majority of fields do not require innate talent to succeed.”
Only in two fields—mecha control and cosmic exploration—is mental power an essential entry ticket.
Operating mechas demands an immense level of cognitive processing. As for space exploration, it is even more unforgiving—“Effort determines the baseline, talent determines the ceiling.” Humanity has already stepped beyond the Milky Way, and this is now a domain where a baseline is no longer required.
In Star Calendar Year B123, countless SS-level researchers reached a bottleneck at the boundary of our supercluster, unable to progress further. The Empire needed a new upper limit, leading to the proposal of the “Brain Development Project.”
The author of Mental Power was almost fanatical, dedicating several chapters to justifying the feasibility of this project.
“The human brain is the vessel of mental power, yet even if you were to arrange every cell in perfect order, you might not find it. It does not reside within the intricate network of nerves or the winding folds of the cerebral cortex. We have attempted to analyze the formation of an infant’s brain within the womb, yet we found no discernible pattern.”
“In B145, during the pregnancy of an SS-ranked female officer, we made a startling discovery about the manipulability of mental power. This officer gave birth to a malformed child—its brain was underdeveloped, its body incomplete—yet it was breathing, alive. For safety reasons, the hospital temporarily placed the infant in a womb-like incubation tube for nurturing. During this period, an initial mental power assessment rated the infant at B. But after just one month in the incubator, the hospital found that the rating had increased to A.”
“This news shocked the scientific community. Unfortunately, the infant did not survive. However, through the mother’s account, researchers pinpointed the key detail: during her interstellar voyage, she had passed by a small planet named SI90. Countless studies later, scientists finally uncovered the answer.”
“A blue liquid extracted from SI90’s soil, when exposed to specific radiation, reacts with a substance found in the human womb, creating a ‘catalyst’ that prolongs the gestational period.”
“The birth of life is one of the great mysteries of the universe, as enigmatic as the primordial explosion. A person is made up of both body and mind; the union of sperm and egg begins shaping the body, yet we do not know at which stage of cellular division or differentiation the ‘mind’ is truly granted. But if we could slow this process down, extending the time in which the ‘mind’ is formed, perhaps we could achieve the goal of brain development.”
“Of course, this remains merely a hypothesis.”
“The extraction of SI90 liquid is incredibly difficult, time-consuming, and exceedingly rare. Even the first case—the infant—did not survive.”
The author’s words were filled with regret.
Lin Jing thought to himself—
The author of this book died early. Otherwise, he would have realized that the Brain Development Project actually succeeded—of course, it was later terminated.
The content of the book was not rigorously academic. It read more like the musings of a scientific fantasist.
Lin Jing took a sip of water and kept flipping through the pages. Both of his parents were scientists, and he had spent his childhood at an experimental base. However, that environment had never sparked any interest in mental power research within him. On the contrary, he instinctively rejected it. Compared to that, he loved mechas, battles, the galaxy, and the vast and distant universe.
After finishing Mental Power, Lin Jing moved on to the next book. Dean Chang’s books seemed to be arranged with a clear logic.
The previous book presented hypotheses, while this one was already discussing theories—
The title: The SI90 Deification Project.
This author proposed that SI90 did not need to be injected into the mother’s body; instead, newborns could be nurtured in incubation tubes after birth.
However, like the previous book, this one also remained purely theoretical. No one dared to test it. Or perhaps, someone had already tested it but never revealed the results.
It was written in response to the first book, Mental Power, which had caused significant public controversy upon its release.
Many sociologists strongly criticized it, arguing that experimenting on infants was a violation of human ethics.
They listed a series of dire consequences—“If we begin with brain modifications, will DNA modifications follow? If we relentlessly pursue superior and more powerful humans, will childbirth become nothing more than an assembly line?”
Some even questioned, “What right do you have to decide such things for a newborn?”
The author of The SI90 Deification Project scoffed at such concerns.
“These sociologists are clearly overthinking it. SI90 is far too rare to be wasted on trivial upgrades from ‘B’ to ‘A’ in mental power. It will never be mass-produced. Its sole purpose is to create gods.”
Lin Jing finished his water, lowered his gaze, and found himself unable to agree with the arrogance and glee radiating from the author’s words.
Who could say for certain?
In the end, would humanity create gods—or monsters?
Two clipped newspaper articles tucked inside a children’s storybook seemed to be the best proof of that uncertainty.
—“This is a double-edged sword. We simply miscalculated and failed to wield it correctly.”
—“This was a mistake against humanity itself. Continuing forward will only lead to even more irreversible consequences.”
Reading about brain development made Lin Jing’s head ache. He pulled out a newspaper from the drawer instead.
The main star’s newspapers were primarily focused on political affairs, with very few social stories, and absolutely no celebrity gossip.
The latest issue was from three months ago. The headline nearly made Lin Jing choke on his drink— “Osmond—Born for Honor.”
Lin Jing was speechless. You’re a serious newspaper—why does this headline sound like it was written by a desperate fanboy?
Then he read the first sentence—
“‘Born for Honor’ is the ancestral motto of the Osmond family.”
Lin Jing: “…”
Never mind. Apologies for the misunderstanding.
Tossing the newspaper aside, he collapsed onto the bed.
Reading really emptied his brain.
He was smart enough to piece things together instantly—those moments in The Ancient Codex when Elena hesitated to speak, and the offhanded remarks Xu Wanzhi had made on that night of the Extinction Event—
“The collective good outweighs individual interests.”
“If sacrifice is enforced, does it still count as greatness?”
“Though… ever since I was born, I’ve never really liked fireworks.”
He had been talking about his mother, hadn’t he?
No one knew whether that girl, at the moment of her birth, had truly wanted to make that exchange.
Many years later, she told the world that she had been unwilling.
Lin Jing stared at the lamp on the bedside table.
When Laixiya died, Xu Wanzhi was still young, not even ten years old.
Did his family not care for him? He lived at Dean Chang’s place. What about his father? And his family?
Lin Jing had no interest in digging into others’ scars.
He just felt that, at that time, the young Xu Wanzhi… was a little pitiful.
***
The next day, Xu Wanzhi cleared his schedule and took him to the base. The Imperial Research Institute’s main base was located deep in a forest. The outskirts were lush and green, waves of trees rustling in the wind. Further in, the landscape transformed into a unique valley.
Amidst countless signal towers, a massive, inverted crescent-shaped base stood tall before him.
The security procedures for entering the base were incredibly complex. Lin Jing couldn’t help but wonder—if all the research on mental power was conducted here, could the big data from Survivor also be accessed here?
The person greeting them was the same senior sister who had answered the phone that day—long, straight hair, an oval face, exuding a classic beauty.
“Welcome to the base, dear Lin Jing ba…ba-ba-baby,” she said warmly, but her words faltered into a stammer as soon as she caught sight of Xu Wanzhi.
Lin Jing smiled and nodded at her, then turned to Xu Wanzhi and murmured just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “What exactly did you do?”
Why were all of Dean Chang’s students so afraid of him?
Xu Wanzhi gave an enigmatic smile.
The senior sister looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Wanzhi, why are you here? Weren’t you supposed to be with the military for training?”
Xu Wanzhi replied, “I’m just dropping off a little friend.”
The senior sister was even more confused. “You two know each other?”
Xu Wanzhi answered indifferently with a single “Mm,” clearly unwilling to continue the conversation, and walked ahead.
The senior sister was stunned on the spot.
Dean Chang was waiting for them in his office.
When Lin Jing entered, the dean greeted him with a warm smile and a wave. He was seated in his chair, an elderly man past his fifties, with graying hair and a gentle, refined demeanor—he looked like a kind old gentleman.
Lin Jing’s nervousness gradually eased.
Regarding the sudden drop in his mental power due to injury, Dean Chang poured him a cup of tea and reassured him, “Don’t worry. I’ve been researching mental power for so long, and I’ve never seen an ordinary car accident cause permanent change. Mental power is more like something ingrained in the body, almost like a genetic trait—it’s extremely difficult to alter, whether increasing or decreasing. To truly change your mental power level, you’d have to start from birth. What you’re experiencing now is only temporary, probably due to memory loss or some other factor.”
Lin Jing nodded, half understanding.
Dean Chang continued, “However, recovery might require some stimulation. Once you’ve stabilized a bit more, I’ll perform surgery.”
Lin Jing responded, “Alright.”
Dean Chang stood up. “Come on, let’s run some tests.”
The test results confirmed that his mental body was indeed still too fragile and needed more training.
Leaving the lab, he ran into the senior sister from earlier.
She had tied her hair into a high ponytail. Seeing him emerge, she beamed and said, “The dean said that if you’re planning to stay at the base, I should take you to the place where Senior Lin used to live. I’m here to show you the way.”
Lin Jing actually had no plans to stay. His mother had been right—stepping into this place filled him with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He had lived here for a time as a child, but he didn’t like it.
Sensing his hesitation, the senior sister quickly added, “Of course, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay here. People your age probably wouldn’t want to be stuck in such a dull place.”
Lin Jing replied politely, “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I lived here for a while when I was a kid—I just don’t want to trouble you.”
The senior sister seemed to like him more and more. “Can I call you Little Jing?”
Lin Jing: “…Sure.”
Holding back a flood of questions all the way here, the senior sister finally couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Little Jing, how did you and Wanzhi meet?”
Lin Jing: “Uh… in a game.”
Senior sister: “Survivor?”
Lin Jing nodded.
She looked puzzled. “Really? Because of Wanzhi’s… special circumstances, we’ve observed some of his matches. But he’s always a lone wolf, crushing his way through.”
Lin Jing struggled to explain. “When we met, he wasn’t a player.”
The senior sister had an epiphany, then playfully winked at him. “Want to know why Wanzhi entered the game in that form?”
Lin Jing met her gaze silently, slowly pondering.
The senior sister chuckled. “It’s because of his emotional deficiency—he needs more human interaction. But his real-life identity makes that difficult, so the dean threw him into the game. The problem was, as a player, he would just massacre his way through. So the dean figured, why not just make him an NPC?”
Lin Jing caught the key term. “Emotional deficiency?”
The senior sister nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t you noticed how cold he is? Ever since I’ve known him, I’ve barely seen him smile.”
Lin Jing: “…”
He had actually seen Xu Wanzhi smile countless times.
Through their conversation, Lin Jing gathered that the senior sister’s impression of Xu Wanzhi was limited to “an aloof, unapproachable handsome guy” and “the son of a deceased friend of the dean”—she knew nothing beyond that.
Which only made Lin Jing even more curious about who Elena was.
Xu Wanzhi, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to investigate some matters at the research institute.
Survivor, a so-called “game” released as a national experiment, occupied an entire top-floor space in the base.
Dean Chang tucked Lin Jing’s test results away and, holding his thermos, accompanied him to the elevator.
When his face was expressionless, the dean carried an air of quiet authority. “So Lin Jing is the ‘old friend’ you mentioned?”
Xu Wanzhi: “Mm.”
Dean Chang muttered, “So it really is an old acquaintance.”
Xu Wanzhi gave a faint smile. “He and I have always been deeply connected.”
Watching the elevator numbers change, the dean pondered for a moment before sighing, “I thought you had begun to understand human joys and sorrows. But it turns out, the only thing that has ever stirred your emotions has always been the same person.”
An eerie silence flowed through the elevator.
Dean Chang asked, “What if that kid doesn’t like you?”
Xu Wanzhi gave a faint, unreadable smile. The beauty mark at the corner of his eye carried a hint of coldness. “Then… it doesn’t matter.”
The central operating system of Survivor was housed here.
Pale blue light blanketed the spacious room like a thin mist, its mysterious radiation streaming through every piece of data.
Dean Chang put on a protective suit as he entered. “The entire system overhaul of Survivor was meant to guard against those people. But I didn’t expect there’d still be some who slipped through the cracks.”
Xu Wanzhi: “Not surprised.”
In other words, your system wasn’t that great to begin with.
Dean Chang was almost constantly irritated by him, but he forced himself to stay calm. “For them to retain tracking technology, it must have been someone who left the institute back then. Your last world’s data was wiped, and she used a fake name. We can’t find her right now. But for someone to hate you that much, they must have lost a loved one in that explosion. That narrows the search.”
“Mm.” Xu Wanzhi stood amid the blue radiation, his expression indifferent and composed.
Dean Chang continued, “I’ve ruled out some suspects and narrowed it down to one girl named Diana.”
He pulled up her file in the information processing center.
“She’s the daughter of Bayer and Joe.”
“Bayer died in the explosion.”
“And Joe… Joe used to be part of our base. After everything happened, she couldn’t bear the grief of losing her husband and took her own life at home.”
***
Mother Lin used to live in the back area of the base.
As the senior led the way, she suddenly said, “Don’t blink in a second.”
Lin Jing: “Huh?”
Walking through a long corridor, the doors opened automatically, and in an instant, bright white sunlight poured in like a flood. It hit him head-on, so dazzling that he instinctively shut his eyes.
The next moment, an elegant and rich floral scent wrapped around his senses. Cool petals, lifted by the breeze, brushed against his cheek.
Lin Jing opened his eyes.
The senior beside him grinned. “Now, you’re looking at the most romantic place in the entire base.”
The most romantic place.
He looked ahead.
It was an endless sea of hyacinths.
![The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar]](https://i1.wp.com/lazygirltranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/unnamed-5.jpg?resize=151,215 "The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar]")
