The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 1

The laboratory was silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the machinery.

Cold, white light fell across Yun Shu’s face, making his skin appear almost translucent. He stared at the massive light-screen before him, where countless genetic sequences flowed slowly like a rolling river. His gaze was focused, but deep within his eyes lay a weariness that could not be hidden.

His fingers tapped lightly on the console, pulling up a new set of data. His fingers were long but devoid of color, and his knuckles turned slightly white from the strain.

Suddenly, a violent fit of coughing interrupted his work.

He bent over abruptly, pressing a handkerchief firmly against his mouth. His thin shoulders trembled violently; he coughed as if he were about to tear his very lungs and heart out. The tranquility of the lab was utterly shattered, leaving only the sound of his suppressed, ragged gasps.

It took a long while before the coughing slowly subsided.

He straightened up slowly and unfolded the white handkerchief in his hand. A few tiny, blue crystals lay in the center like shards of broken glass, glinting with a cold light under the lamps.

Crystal Erosion Disease. Late Stage.

This disease was incurable.

In those afflicted, these blue crystals would slowly grow inside the body. They would erode the internal organs, destroy the nervous system, and eventually turn the entire person into a cold, lifeless statue. The process was agonizing and impossible to stop.

He was the Chief Biological Architect of the Xi Lan Federation, the nation’s most brilliant mind, yet now he found it difficult even to breathe.

The lab door slid open, and his assistant, Lin Xiao, walked in quickly, his face etched with worry. He carried a glass of water and a small box containing a single blue pill.

“Teacher, did you cough again?” Lin Xiao’s voice was soft, as if afraid of startling something fragile. “It’s time for your medicine.”

Yun Shu nodded, taking the pill and the water. The medicine was bitter, but he didn’t even flinch. The water was lukewarm, slightly easing the discomfort in his throat.

“The results of the 7,314th simulation; how were they?” he asked. His voice was raspy but calm.

Lin Xiao lowered his head, his voice dropping even further. “Still a failure. The energy of the Turbid Crystal is too strong; our existing gene fragments are completely useless. Its erosive nature is fundamental.”

Yun Shu said nothing.

He turned his gaze back to the light-screen, where an eerie model representing the “Turbid Crystal” rotated. This thing was like a demon born from the “Great Pollution” a century ago. No one knew exactly where the pollution came from; they only knew that the Xi Lan Star Region had suffered the most.

The number of dead was already beyond counting.

He was the nation’s last hope, but now, even he was being consumed by that very hope.

An emergency news alert suddenly popped up in the corner of the screen, muted. The footage showed a protest on a frontier agricultural satellite. Due to Crystal Erosion Disease, the labor force was severely depleted, and food rations had been cut again and again. People held up photos of their loved ones, their faces filled with despair.

Though he could not hear the sound, the grief was palpable.

Yun Shu’s gaze lingered on the image for a moment, and his fingers involuntarily curled. He was not just living for himself.

“Connect to the ‘Star Map’ database,” he said suddenly, walking toward the neural interface pod in the center of the room.

“Teacher!” Lin Xiao hurried to stop him. “Your mental state cannot handle another deep interface! Last time you accessed it, you were coughing up blood for an entire day!”

Yun Shu did not stop. “One last attempt.”

His tone was calm, yet it brooked no argument.

The neural interface pod resembled a giant silver cocoon. He lay inside, and the pod automatically adjusted to his abnormally low body temperature. Cold electrodes attached to his temples, bringing a sharp, slight sting. The hatch closed slowly, sealing out the world.

His consciousness dived into the ocean of data.

In an instant, a torrent of information rushed toward him. Research reports on Crystal Erosion, clinical data, failed cases; it was as vast as a sea, yet every path was a dead end. His consciousness, like a nimble fish, darted through the cold data, searching for any gap that might have been overlooked.

The high-intensity mental load caused a splitting headache, and his temples throbbed violently. His body protested fiercely, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Time lost meaning within the data stream.

Perhaps minutes passed, or perhaps hours. Just as his consciousness was about to scatter from extreme exhaustion, a slight anomaly caught his attention.

It was a fragment of information, encrypted multiple times and buried deep within the layers of useless data junk. The encryption style was unique: cold and precise, bearing the distinct hallmarks of the Chenhuan Empire.

The fragment was shattered and incomplete, like a torn piece of paper. It seemed to be the remains of a log from an early interstellar exploration mission, mentioning a blurred coordinate.

There were also several keywords: “Primordial Genetic Sequence Sample,” “Pure Template Pre-Great Pollution,” and “Potential for High Adaptability and Neutralization.”

Yun Shu’s heart skipped a beat.

The Chenhuan Empire. That powerful neighbor. Their technology was at least an era ahead of Xi Lan’s. Were they also researching “Turbid Core” pollution? Could this “Primordial Genetic Sequence Sample” be the key to cracking Crystal Erosion Disease? At the very least, could it delay the progression?

Hope sparked like a match struck in the dark: brief and bright.

But in the next second, the crushing weight of reality hit him. That was the Chenhuan Empire, a powerhouse with strained relations and constant border friction with the Xi Lan Federation. Their cyber-barriers were famously impregnable, especially core databases involving biological genes and pollution research. They were guarded by the Empire’s top cyber-security forces and AI.

To steal it? It was a fantasy. The success rate was infinitely close to zero.

If he failed, not only would he be torn apart by the Empire’s electronic defenses, but he might also bring a cataclysmic diplomatic disaster to the already struggling Federation.

But…

His consciousness withdrew from the pod. The hatch opened.

Yun Shu snapped his eyes open, and the world spun around him. Another violent fit of coughing seized him, even more intense than before. He slumped against the side of the pod, his body shaking. This time, the handkerchief was stained with even more blue crystals, and even a faint streak of bright red blood.

Lin Xiao rushed over in a panic to support him, his voice thick with tears. “Teacher! How are you?”

Yun Shu waved a hand, signaling that he was alright. He braced himself against the console, struggling to stand steady. He looked out through the lab’s observation window.

Outside was the artificial nightscape of Xi Lan’s capital planet. Neon lights flickered and traffic flowed like ribbons of light, trying its best to maintain a facade of prosperity, yet always betraying an underlying exhaustion from resource scarcity.

In the distance, a massive holographic projection silently played a recruitment ad, urging healthy youths to join the Federation Guard to protect their home.

Meanwhile, many more people like him were in hospital isolation wards, or in unnoticed corners, being silently consumed by crystals and slowly turning cold.

His time was running out. The Federation’s time was also running out.

That encrypted message was his only lighthouse, but it was also a noose that could drag him into the abyss.

If he went, he might die. If he did not go, he would certainly die.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat.

“Lin Xiao,” he spoke, his voice unusually steady. “Prepare a top-secret application. I need to meet with the Head of State immediately.”

Lin Xiao froze, tears still on his face. “Meet the Head of State? Why? You need rest right now!”

Yun Shu turned his head. His face was as pale as paper, but his eyes burned with a nearly crazed, desperate resolve.

“We need to talk,” he said, every word crystal clear. “About how to snatch the medicine that will save our lives from the ‘Dragon’s Throat’ of the Empire.”

Though a firefly’s light is dim, it still desires to steal the radiance of the stars. Even if there is only a sliver of light, and even if the price is burning to ashes.