The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 83

The last word from Gu Qingfeng—“bait”—felt like a poisoned ice spike, piercing straight into Xiao Lin’s heart, stirring something inside his chest, evoking a sharp, intricate pain.

Bait.

He had personally ignited the brightest lighthouse in the universe.

He had personally turned Ning Ning—the one he treasured above all, the one he wanted to hide away for a lifetime—into the most conspicuous and lethal bait in the entire universe.

This realization crushed him more than any battlefield defeat could ever do; it shattered his pride and seemed to grind his bones to dust.

Xiao Lin returned to his room without a word.

The heavy alloy door closed silently behind him, cutting off the outside world. Yet the string in his mind, stretched to its absolute limit, did not relax in the slightest.

An enormous sense of humiliation, coupled with an even greater, nearly suffocating fear, gripped him like two invisible hands, choking him to the point that even breathing became difficult.

The power he had always taken pride in, the authority he relied on to protect Ning Ning—all of it, in this moment, became a cruel joke.

He had thought he was building the strongest fortress for his treasure, but in reality, he had personally pushed that treasure onto the sacrificial altar.

……

Night fell, dark and terrifying.

The interior of the flagship was silent, with only the faint hum of the life support system, like a tireless timer, counting down to the looming crisis.

In the neighboring room, Ning Ning was sleeping deeply. Purifying an S-class Sentinel’s mental sea had nearly exhausted all his spiritual power; now he curled up under soft blankets, his silver hair spread across the pillow, breathing light and shallow.

But next door, in the room belonging to the Marshal, the atmosphere was oppressive and frightening.

Xiao Lin lay on his bed, still in his crisp uniform, having only undone the top button of his collar.

He wasn’t asleep—or rather, he dared not close his eyes.

The moment he did, Gu Qingfeng’s face, curled into a mocking smile, and the giant net slowly tightening across the star map, would replay endlessly in his mind.

Exhaustion, like an irresistible tide, eventually dragged him into the depths of darkness.

He had a dream.

A bloody nightmare that had haunted the first half of his life, one that always brought unbearable pain whenever it appeared.

In the dream were deafening explosions, and the repulsive, ear-piercing screeches of the insectoid species. A young Xiao Lin was held tightly in his mother’s arms—a strong and gentle S-class Guide—who used her fragile body to shield him from the insectoid’s deadly jaws.

Warm blood splashed across his face, scalding, then quickly cooled.

“Survive… Lin…”

His mother’s voice, so faint, left an indelible mark on his soul.

The scene shifted violently, spinning.

The person surrounded by the insectoid swarm, about to be torn apart, was no longer his mother.

The pale, terrified face had soft, silver hair and a pair of dreamy purple eyes carved deep into his bones.

It was Ning Ning!

“No—!”

Fear clenched his heart, leaving him feeling as if he were in a vacuum, almost suffocating.

“Don’t touch him!!”

“…don’t go…”

“Don’t… don’t leave me…”

Broken, agony-twisted whispers spilled from his mouth. His tall frame writhed on the bed, forehead beaded with cold sweat, brows tightly furrowed, like a trapped lone wolf on the brink of death.

This stifling, tearful sobbing seeped through the thick walls, like a tiny feather softly scratching against Ning Ning’s ear next door.

Ning Ning stirred in his sleep, frowning slightly, turning over.

But the sound persisted, faint yet stubbornly drilling into his ear.

He squinted his eyes, hazy with sleep.

Was it the communicator?

No.

The sound seemed to come from next door.

It was Xiao Lin.

Suddenly fully awake, Ning Ning sat up and perked his ears. This time, he could hear clearly. It was a voice he had never heard before—a voice belonging to Xiao Lin. Gone was the usual rigidity and sharpness, replaced by suppressed pain and… childlike vulnerability.

“…I beg you…”

Just two short words, like a weightless little hammer, softly striking Ning Ning’s heart.

It was a little sour, a little painful.

The man who always stood like a mountain in front of him, shielding him from wind and rain, so strong he seemed invincible… was crying?

Ning Ning’s chest tightened inexplicably; he even forgot to breathe.

He lifted the blanket and stepped onto the cold metal floor barefoot, his toes curling instinctively. He hesitated at the door to his own room, caught between moving forward and staying put.

He shouldn’t go.

It was the Marshal’s private space; intruding so suddenly would be terribly rude.

Yet… that suffocating, fragile sobbing, like an invisible little hand scratching his heart, made it impossible to remain still.

In the end, his inexplicable worry outweighed all hesitation and rules.

Ning Ning silently twisted open his door, creeping out like a little cat. He peeked carefully into the empty hallway, then tiptoed, quietly pushing open Xiao Lin’s door.

It was unlocked.

A faint glow from the corridor lit up a corner of the room.

The air carried the sharp cedar scent, now mixed with heavy fear and sadness, like storm clouds before a blizzard.

Ning Ning’s eyes immediately fell on the tall figure on the bed.

He was curled up like a helpless child, gripping the bedsheet so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His whole body trembled slightly; sweat soaked his hair, making his chiseled, handsome face look fragile and vulnerable.

“…Ning Ning…”

Once again, he called out his name in the dream.

The desperation and fear in that voice made Ning Ning’s own breath pause.

In this moment, there was no imperial Marshal’s authority, no obsessive, terrifying possessiveness—only a person trapped in a nightmare, struggling in pain.

A… pitiful person.

He suddenly remembered, when his own mental sea was on the verge of collapse and agony, how Xiao Lin’s broad, warm hand had firmly covered his forehead, using that overwhelming spiritual power to gently soothe all his pain and confusion.

Driven by some inexplicable instinct, Ning Ning stepped to the bed.

He imitated Xiao Lin, hesitated briefly, then gently placed his fingertips on Xiao Lin’s fevered forehead.

A faint pearl-like purple glow spread from his fingers.

His spiritual power was still weak, far from what he had wielded purifying the Sentinel. This was only a small gesture, the purest care born of instinct, meant to calm this suffering soul.

“It’s okay…” he whispered in a voice only he could hear. “It’s just a dream…”

The gentle, laurel-scented spiritual power dripped into Xiao Lin’s burning, chaotic mental sea.

Something miraculous happened.

The raging, destructive nightmare seemed to hit a pause button.

The man’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed.

The suffocating aura of fear receded, like the tide withdrawing.

Just as Ning Ning thought he had calmed down and tried to quietly withdraw his hand—

A huge hand suddenly grabbed his wrist!

The grip was astonishingly strong, as if a drowning man had seized the only lifeline, holding on with an unyielding force.

Ning Ning jumped, heart skipping a beat, instinctively trying to pull away.

But Xiao Lin remained asleep; unconsciously, he had pulled Ning Ning’s small, cool hand to his chest, covering it with his other hand, holding it tightly, cherishing it.

It was as if letting go would make the only warmth and redemption in his life vanish.

His breathing finally fully stabilized, sinking into genuine, peaceful sleep.

“……”

Ning Ning was held firmly at the side of the bed, unable to move.

He tried to withdraw his hand, only to be held more firmly—the grip felt as if it wanted to fuse his hand into Xiao Lin’s bones.

He could only give up.

Silence returned to the room, broken only by the steady breathing of the two.

Ning Ning looked down at his hand, so firmly held as if it were a rare treasure, then up at Xiao Lin’s handsome, still-sleeping face, tinged with a hint of dependence.

A bittersweet, soft ache rose in his chest once more.

This man, who always wanted to lock him away… harbored such deep fear and wounds in his heart?

Was his overprotectiveness, his obsessive control… all born from the fear of losing someone again? Just like in the dream?

Ning Ning quietly stood there, wrapped in the gentle night.

For the first time, he didn’t feel violated, didn’t want to escape.

He simply watched him, thinking: when morning comes, and this man wakes to find the most vulnerable, weakest side of himself exposed to the one he wants to protect, what expression will he have?

Probably… it would be very interesting.

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