The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 40

The victory banquet was arranged in the base’s central mess. Though crude, the atmosphere was unusually exuberant. Synthetic steaks sizzled and oozed fat; concentrated nutrient rations were handed out, and the wounded even received extra energy bars. It was a revelry born of surviving the catastrophe — cheers and whistles threatened to tear off the tin roof.

But at the center of this storm, someone was being carefully “kept” in the private rest room of the marshal’s office.

Xiao Lin didn’t allow Ning Ning to attend.

He had the boy wrapped snugly in his military blanket redolent with strong cedar scent, and personally, with warm damp towels, one finger at a time, meticulously wiped the youngster’s hands.

Ning Ning had expended too much spiritual energy during his earlier outburst and now lay limp on the sofa. His face was as pale and translucent as thin paper, which made his dreamy violet eyes look even deeper and revealed a heartbreaking fragility.

[Help, this fatherly service is a bit too much… This pressure — it doesn’t feel like someone wiping my hands, more like someone polishing collectible walnuts, afraid of missing a spot.]

Ning Ning had little strength and could only rant mentally; on the surface he was like a purring cat, letting the man fuss over him. He could clearly smell the lingering metallic, gunpowder-tinged musk of Xiao Lin’s body and feel the man’s post-tensioned exhaustion that came with a sense of release.

The tall man stayed at his side like a wall, blocking all the noise and prying eyes from outside.

“They’re all grateful to you.” Xiao Lin’s voice was very low; his wiping grew ever gentler, as if a little force would shatter the precious thing in his hands.

Ning Ning gave a weak “hmm” and didn’t bother to raise his eyelids.

[Grateful to me? They’re grateful to this walking BUG, right. System, KPI’s through the roof this round — does that mean double year-end bonus?]

“Do you want to eat something?” Xiao Lin put down the towel and picked up a thermally regulated cup of sweet-smelling high-grade nutrient fluid, carefully inserting a soft tube and holding it to Ning Ning’s lips.

Ning Ning shook his head; his eyelids were as heavy as if glued, and all he wanted was to sleep until the book ended.

At that moment the office communicator beeped, and a restrained anxious voice came from outside: “Marshal, I have an urgent report!”

Xiao Lin’s brows immediately knitted into a deep furrow — a flash of displeasure crossed his dark-gold eyes. He had already issued strict orders: under no circumstances was anyone to approach this office. No matter what, they were not to come near.

He was about to snap at them when the heavy metal door to the office whooshed as it was forcibly unlocked from the outside with high-level clearance.

The door slid open and a tall, upright figure stood backlit in the doorway.

The visitor was wearing a clean white dress uniform, with a dark-blue long coat thrown over it — travel-worn and dusty, yet still elegant and noble, like a prince stepping out of a classical painting.

It was Gu Qingfeng.

His jet-black hair was slightly disordered, and his normally steady breathing carried the faint quickness that only a top-tier sentinel’s senses could detect; he had evidently used maximum clearance to get from the capital star at top speed.

His gaze seemed to have built-in target-acquisition; it swept over the mountain-like form of Xiao Lin and locked precisely and firmly on the small face peeking from the blanket on the sofa.

“Ning Ning.”

There was a hint of rasp and fright in Gu Qingfeng’s voice that even he may not have noticed. He practically strode over, ignoring the hostile S-class sentinel pressure that erupted from Xiao Lin, and knelt on one knee at the sofa so he could be level with Ning Ning. The deep, bottomless black of his eyes clearly reflected the frail pale face.

“I heard,” he spoke quickly, full of repressed worry. “Were you scared?”

He reached out; the bone-defined fingers had a microtremor, as if wanting to touch Ning Ning’s forehead and confirm his temperature.

[Here he comes! The battlefield fireworks make their grand entrance! Help, I should’ve pretended to be asleep — is it too late to play dead now?]

Alarm bells went off in Ning Ning’s head, but his body was pinned as if nailed down.

That graceful hand halted midair, caught by another gloved hand wearing black tactical gloves.

The silent clash of forces made the air in the rest room feel frozen and the temperature drop.

“Second Prince,” Xiao Lin’s voice was as cold as the eternal permafrost of the Seventh Star Sector; each word seemed squeezed through clenched teeth, “this is the frontline, not your private garden.”

“Marshal, you say that,” Gu Qingfeng’s eyes remained glued to Ning Ning’s face. His wrist was clamped in Xiao Lin’s iron grip, yet he showed no sign of panic. Instead he gave a calming, infinitely tender smile toward Ning Ning. “I came in a dual capacity — as a contender for the crown prince and as a special consultant to the military — to comfort the frontline soldiers. I heard Ning Ning is here, so of course I’d come see him first. After all, he’s not some cold ‘strategic asset’; he’s one of my most important friends. Marshal, you wouldn’t deny concern between friends, would you?”

His words were airtight: he declared his identity, seized the moral high ground, and under the guise of “friendship” jabbed a needle into Xiao Lin’s heart.

[Masterful! Definitely a master! Smells faintly of green tea — fresh, natural, refreshing! How can steel-straight Xiao Lin stand up to that?]

Summoning what little strength he had, Ning Ning blinked and croaked, “I’m fine… Qingfeng. Why did you come?”

No sooner had he spoken than he felt the pressure around him drop again.

“I was worried.” Gu Qingfeng answered plainly and affectionately, as if the terrifying, oppressive steel-man beside him were merely decor. With a deft twist he slipped out of Xiao Lin’s hold and produced an exquisite insulated box from a storage button on his coat. “It was my fault back on the Capital Star — I didn’t arrange things well and you got frightened. I brought you some calming elixirs Dr. Huo Ze specially prepared; they’re effective at restoring the spirit-sea.”

He opened the box; a refined, tranquil herbal scent immediately dispersed, dispelling the room’s metallic blood smell. With practiced ease he handed a pale-blue vial to Ning Ning’s lips, acting as though he had done this a thousand times.

Xiao Lin stood expressionless to one side, watching.

He watched Gu Qingfeng’s face full of “concern”; he watched Ning Ning open his mouth, defenseless; he watched the vial be fed in; he watched that private, intimate familiarity between the two, an intimacy no outsider could pierce.

Xiao Lin’s pressure sank inch by inch as he stood there in silence, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. The dark-gold wolfish eyes boiled with a terrifying, frantic possessiveness.

[Don’t drink it! Wait, do drink it! What if it’s poisonous? No, no, Gu Qingfeng wouldn’t do that… But could you two stop making me the battleground? I’m just a poor office worker who wants to go home and sleep.]

When the room’s atmosphere had frozen to the point of nearly exploding, Xiao Lin’s personal terminal signaled an encrypted communication request at the highest level.

A full-hologram projection suddenly unfolded in the center of the room: several senior military elders from the Imperial Council appeared, faces grave.

The white-haired elder at the head of the table spoke straightaway: “Marshal Xiao Lin, we need an explanation concerning the ‘miracle’ in the Seventh Star Sector.”

An unavoidable, urgent secret remote briefing began right in the middle of the fray.

Gu Qingfeng leisurely straightened and nodded slightly to Xiao Lin, speaking with a smarmy tenderness. “Marshal, please attend to official business. I’ll take care of Ning Ning.”

“No need.” Xiao Lin managed to squeeze out two words through his teeth. He turned his head and stared at Ning Ning with an almost obsessive gaze, as if trying to carve the boy into his soul, before facing the projection again and, with the marshal’s cold hardness, said, “As you can see, the Swarm has retreated. A detailed report will be submitted shortly.”

“We don’t want a report!” one hawkish elder slammed a metal fist on the table, his eyes greedy as they swept toward the small figure on the sofa. “We want the ‘truth’! Marshal Xiao Lin, that guide — he is the legendary ‘Moon God,’ isn’t he? An incarnate deity who can command the Swarm! This is a boon for the Empire! He must be immediately sent back to the Capital Star and put under the Royal Academy’s most comprehensive protection and… study!”

“I object!” Xiao Lin’s fist crashed onto the metal desk with a thunderous boom that shook the whole command room. “He is not a specimen to be experimented on! He’s a person!”

“Marshal Xiao Lin, control your emotions!” another elder scolded. “This is for the Empire! Personal feelings must be set aside!”

“For the Empire?” Xiao Lin sneered. S-class sentinel pressure unleashed without reservation, disturbing the projection’s signal. “For the Empire, should I just hand him over, lay him on a cold surgical table, and let you examine every strand of his hair like he’s a specimen?! Make him a target for which the Swarm will stop at nothing? Let him become a pawn in people’s power struggles?” His gaze slashed across everyone present, a suppressed madness in his voice. “I tell you — as long as I Xiao Lin live a single day, nobody will touch a single finger of his!”

[Whoa… such a domineering declaration. It’s kind of cheesy, but… why does it look a little cool?] Ning Ning’s inner peanut-gnome nodded repeatedly.

“I agree with the Marshal.”

At that precise moment, Gu Qingfeng’s soft voice resonated just perfectly. He walked calmly to Xiao Lin’s side, faced the elders, and wore that unassailable smile; what he said, however, carried an unquestionable force.

“Members of the Council, the Moon God’s power stems from the integrity and tranquility of his spirit-sea — all classified files on related cases record this.” He paused; a glint flashed across his black eyes. “Any form of coercion, imprisonment, or involuntary experimentation is very likely to permanently damage that power, and even… cause backlash. Which is more valuable to the Empire: a god that soothes the Swarm, or a god who, angered, makes the Swarm even more frenzied? I believe you know the answer. We cannot — and must not — take that risk.”

With a few words he moved the issue from the realm of “personal feeling” to “national security strategy,” making his argument even more persuasive than Xiao Lin’s raw rage.

The meeting fell into a short silence.

…

Far away on the border, aboard a ghost ship disguised as a freighter, Xia Yu stared fixedly at the encrypted channel’s intelligence summary — “Target confirmed: ‘Moon God,’ ability: ‘Command,’ has openly manifested.”

His heart sank; his breath stopped for half a second.

He couldn’t help but recall the silver-haired boy at the academy, once ridiculed for his low spiritual rank. He remembered the boy’s involuntary, heart-softening fragility. He remembered the pure violet eyes that looked at him with no defenses.

Is this what a god looks like? Like a frightened little rabbit that gets cold and fearful and at times clueless?

For the first time, a doubt bloomed in his mind about the person he had sworn allegiance to and about the cause he had been fighting for. The loyalty he’d felt clashed violently with a newly budding, barely acknowledged urge to protect.

He hesitated a long time; his finger hovered over the “forward” button for a full three minutes before, with a numbness in his hand, he forwarded the intel.

…

In another part of the void, in a depth of nebula where not even light could escape, Los stood on the flagship Abyssal Gazer, watching a planet being eaten by swarms until it fell silent and dead.

He looked at the confirmation intel Xia Yu had sent, then replayed — yet again — a blurred clip of Ning Ning forcing the Swarm to retreat. In the footage the slender figure erupted with a godlike aura; all the ferocious bug-kin cowered and submitted, then fled.

Los’ mouth curled into a larger and more twisted smile, and his eyes glittered with sick excitement and greed.

“Moon God… so that’s what it is.” He whispered as if admiring a long-awaited play. “I thought I’d found the key to open the treasury, but I never imagined… the treasure would grow legs and come to me.”

He slowly rose and spread his arms, as if to embrace the whole dark universe.

“Send my orders,” he said, the falsehood in his voice now replaced by unhidden fanaticism and possessiveness, “the ‘Catch the Moon’ plan is fully upgraded! All lurking fleets, no longer hide — converge on the Seventh Star Sector at full speed!”

He turned to the bowed officers and gave them a smile that was almost tender but sent chills down the spine.

“Prepare my thronecraft, ‘Seat of the Gods.’ I will go myself to greet — ”

“— to greet the only being in the universe worthy to stand beside me.”

“Go greet… my god.”

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