The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 77

Lin Jing shook his head.

Xu Wanzhi smiled slightly and sat beside him, tilting his head back to gaze at the night sky. “It’s nice sitting here. We might see a meteor shower later.”

Given their proximity to the asteroid belt, meteor showers were probably a common sight here. Lin Jing held his cup and finally voiced the question that had been on his mind: “Filna Star is in such a dangerous location. Why did the Empire decide to build the Oasis Base here?”

Xu Wanzhi thought for a moment before answering, “Probably because, compared to other places, this is already the safest option.”

He pointed straight ahead at the towering, icy black spire. “See that tower?”

Lin Jing blinked and replied, “Yeah, I asked about it earlier. It’s a monitoring station used to track space conditions around Filna Star.”

Xu Wanzhi’s eyes darkened. “That’s not entirely accurate. The tower’s main function is to study TI90. The Empire established Oasis to uncover the deeper truth behind it.”

Lin Jing was stunned.

Xu Wanzhi continued, “There’s actually another tower just like this one on TI90 itself, buried deep underground. It was personally built by Laixiya.”

Hearing that name from Xu Wanzhi’s mouth made Lin Jing instinctively look up, only to meet his eyes—dark, amused, and filled with unspoken meaning.

Lin Jing awkwardly shrank his neck.

Xu Wanzhi smirked and asked, “Is there something you want to ask?”

Lin Jing lowered his head and took another sip of water. “N-No, nothing to ask.”

“Oh?” Xu Wanzhi’s tone was light and casual. “So instead, you’ll just overthink it and conclude that I’m mysterious, distant, and unapproachable?”

“Cough, cough—”

Lin Jing nearly choked on his water.

Xu Wanzhi chuckled and spoke slowly, “Lin Jing, if you keep this up, I’m going to start feeling wronged.”

Lin Jing set the cup down, scratching his head awkwardly. “Can we just pretend the science museum incident never happened? It’s not that I don’t want to ask. I just figured… it’s been so long, maybe you don’t want to talk about it.”

Xu Wanzhi neither confirmed nor denied it, just quietly watching him, and asked, “Do you want to know?”

The deep blue and smoky purple night sky was streaked with faint shooting stars.

Lin Jing met his pitch-black, profound gaze. Xu Wanzhi carried the cool scent of body wash after a bath.

Lin Jing, whose throat had gone dry again despite drinking water, looked puzzled and lost, as if he didn’t understand why he was being pressed so hard. He murmured to himself, “Dean Chang already told me most of it… What else do I want to know?”

Xu Wanzhi was amused by his sluggish response and said softly, “You want to know if I still hate, don’t you?”

His voice was lazy and laced with a smile—light, gentle—but it struck straight into the depths of Lin Jing’s soul.

Like a bolt of lightning, it shattered the emotions Lin Jing had been suppressing, making them surge forth once more.

Lin Jing’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at him.

Xu Wanzhi’s beautiful, icy gaze curved into a gentle arc. He spoke softly, “Lin Jing, isn’t honesty the most important thing between lovers?”

He continued calmly, “The past didn’t affect me as deeply as you think. It never caused me any harm. So, I don’t hate anyone.”

Xu Wanzhi’s tone was indifferent. “The only thing I feel is regret—because that fireworks show never had a perfect ending.”

Lin Jing had no words. After a moment of silence, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Xu Wanzhi’s waist.

His sudden affectionate gesture made Xu Wanzhi freeze for a second. The coldness within him melted away as he belatedly raised his arms to embrace him.

Lin Jing closed his eyes, resting his head against Xu Wanzhi’s chest. “Alright, I get it—you don’t hate.” Then he muttered in frustration, “But honesty doesn’t mean what you’re doing. Xu Wanzhi, I swear, I can never hide anything from you, and it’s really annoying.”

Xu Wanzhi lowered his gaze, his expression shadowed.

Lin Jing continued, “But I still want you to understand—I didn’t come to Filna just for answers. I came here simply because I wanted to see you.”

Xu Wanzhi’s voice was husky as he said, “Okay.”

Lin Jing sighed. “So, I’m begging you, the next time you notice I’m not saying what I mean, can you not call me out on it? It’s so embarrassing.” And it really was.

A SSS-level mental ability was an extension of SS-level, but in reality, the gap between them was like the difference between humans and gods. Lin Jing had finally witnessed Xu Wanzhi’s terrifying ability to learn firsthand. His emotional perception was almost supernatural.

Xu Wanzhi stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

Lin Jing looked up, gritting his teeth. His previous embarrassment transformed into irritation as he blurted out, “Why do I need you to apologize? We’re already together! Can we talk about something normal? I traveled all the way to Filna, and on the first night, I’m here getting bullied by you?!”

D*mn it, this was infuriating!

Xu Wanzhi pondered for a long moment, then gazed into his eyes and smiled faintly. “Baby, are you pouting?”

Lin Jing: “……”

Lin Jing immediately got up to leave.

But before he could escape, Xu Wanzhi grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. The world spun for a second, and the next thing Lin Jing knew, he was sitting directly in his lap.

Surrounded by the cool scent of Xu Wanzhi, he suddenly felt trapped. Xu Wanzhi’s arm wrapped around his waist, his other hand pressing gently against the back of his neck before a deep, scorching kiss sealed his lips. The intensity was overwhelming.

Lin Jing was caught completely off guard.

Xu Wanzhi’s long, cold fingers rested against his waistline, making Lin Jing feel utterly captured.

By the time the kiss ended, Lin Jing was dazed. His clear eyes were rimmed with red.

He stared blankly at Xu Wanzhi’s dark, unreadable gaze.

Under the dim light, the tear mole at the corner of Xu Wanzhi’s eye seemed tinged with something both wicked and sensual. His voice was husky as he smiled and asked, “So, how exactly should a lover’s first night together not make you feel wronged?”

Lin Jing: “……”

Xu Wanzhi: “Let’s discuss it in bed.”

This was absolutely a case of digging his own grave!

Lin Jing regretted it so much he wanted to bite off his own tongue. He sprang up in a panic, his words stumbling over each other. “No no no, that’s not what I meant! Xu Wanzhi, I’m not ready for this!”

The wind on the balcony grew colder.

Xu Wanzhi, seeing his flustered state, chuckled and said, “I wasn’t suggesting that, either. Your body hasn’t fully recovered yet. I wouldn’t be that heartless.”

Lin Jing opened his mouth but had no retort. His mind was now completely overheated.

Xu Wanzhi continued, “It’s getting colder. Let’s go inside.”

Lin Jing’s face burned as he nodded.

In the previous instances where they had to share a bed—whether in the Doors of Life and Death or the Ancient Codex script—they were already used to it.

After his shower, Lin Jing fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, exhaustion taking over completely.

“I’m sleeping first.”

“Mm, good night. I have a few things to finish.”

Xu Wanzhi leaned against the headboard, dimming the lights as he worked on his computer, dealing with tasks from earlier in the day.

The sound of his typing was incredibly light.

Lin Jing curled up under the blankets, unable to summon the energy to move. The familiar scent around him and the soft sound of keystrokes lulled him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d had in a long time.

***

Aurora.

“It means ‘dawn.’”

“Huh? But isn’t that Sleeping Beauty’s name?”

Mother Lin, long used to his scattered way of thinking, replied with a straight face, “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Lin Jing swung his legs and suddenly said, “Mom, if I told you I actually saw Sleeping Beauty, would you believe me?”

Mother Lin: “Lying makes your nose grow longer.”

Lin Jing gasped and immediately covered his nose. “I’m not lying! Just a few days ago, I was chasing a butterfly and ended up in Dad’s lab. I saw this huge glass chamber with a really beautiful girl sleeping inside.”

Mother Lin paused, then sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That wasn’t a girl.”

Lin Jing was shocked. “It wasn’t?!”

“No,” she said. “Technically, you should be calling him ‘big brother.’”

Lin Jing was even more surprised. “Big brother?”

Mother Lin’s sapphire-blue eyes grew distant as she murmured softly, “Yes, big brother.”

At that moment, a woman in a white lab coat suddenly rushed out of the base, looking flustered and panicked.

“Professor! Professor! He’s waking up!”

Rustle. A white butterfly, hidden in the sea of hyacinths, fluttered its wings and took flight.

Mother Lin instantly looked up, her expression stiff and fractured as she murmured, “Awake?”

The assistant was just as surprised and delighted. “Yes! The data has been fluctuating—there are signs of awakening in the lifeform.”

Mother Lin’s face darkened. She immediately got up and headed toward the base.

Left behind, Lin Jing blinked his big eyes. Naturally playful and drawn to excitement, he was instantly intrigued. He jumped barefoot off the rock. “Wait, Mom! What’s going on? I want to see too!”

He was the only child in the base, and everyone doted on him.

With muddy feet, he ran up to the third floor, only to be stopped and scooped up by a professor—a woman in a lab coat who held him in her arms.

The professor sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “What are you getting involved for?”

Lin Jing’s voice dropped. “I just want to take a look.”

The professor said, “Stay put and don’t cause trouble.”

Lin Jing obediently murmured an “Oh.”

The third floor was crowded—almost everyone from the base had gathered there. At the end of the hallway, the laboratory door remained tightly shut, with a faint blue glow seeping through the gaps in the metal. The light was quiet and cold, cutting through the darkness at the corridor’s end.

Lin Jing blinked.

He suddenly remembered that white butterfly, the one that had been severed by the laser.

A strange sense of tension crept over him. He stretched out his small arms, wrapping them around the professor’s neck, and whispered, “What is that blue light?”

The professor smiled softly. “Something little kids shouldn’t see.”

Lin Jing instantly covered his eyes with his hands. But after a moment’s hesitation, he cracked his fingers open to sneak a peek, muttering, “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

The blue light on the lab door intensified, weaving through the cracks like a dense web.

Then, the door slowly opened.

All the researchers in the hallway held their breath.

From Lin Jing’s perspective, as the blue light spilled into the corridor, the dust particles in the air became visible, clustering together like a sea of butterflies.

And in the midst of that glowing blue butterfly sea, he saw a young boy being wheeled out in a wheelchair.

Behind him stood the director, Mother Lin, Professor Lin, and many others.

The boy was pale, his features delicate, his lips tightly pressed together. At the corner of his eye was a strikingly beautiful tear-shaped mole. Having just awakened, his entire aura was chillingly cold. His pitch-black eyes were as clear as water-drenched glass beads.

Lin Jing’s breath hitched.

“Wanzhi, do you want to get to know them?” Mother Lin asked. She bent down slightly, her voice gentle and warm.

The boy in the wheelchair lifted his gaze at her words.

His eyes were too pure, too untainted—so much so that they exuded an almost indifferent coldness. The air around them seemed to freeze as he stared.

Many people found themselves momentarily breathless.

But Lin Jing simply looked back at him, his bright eyes unblinking.

When their gazes met, the boy—who had remained indifferent to everything—paused for a brief second.

It was too fleeting to reveal anything.

But Lin Jing still smiled.

As a child, he had always been adorable and well-behaved, with two little dimples on his cheeks when he grinned. In that long corridor, it suddenly felt like it was just the two of them left. He raised his hand and waved, like two friends meeting for the first time.

Lin Jing opened his mouth, holding onto a secret that only he knew.

Softly, he whispered, “Aurora.”

As he spoke, his eyes curved into two crescent moons.

The boy at the end of the hall remained silent.

The blue light around them flickered like burning butterflies.

You probably wouldn’t know—before you even opened your eyes, you had already become my childhood’s entire fantasy of romance.

You are the Sleeping Beauty I found, guided by butterflies.

You are the dawn. You are Aurora.

This is a secret that no one but me will ever know.

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