The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 11

Consciousness surfaced slowly from a cold, dark seabed.

The first thing to return was sensation. A chill, smelling of disinfectant and distinct from the freezing metal of the abandoned shipyard, seeped into his skin through thin fabric. Beneath him was a medical mattress that was soft but by no means comfortable. At his wrists and ankles, he felt the gentle but unyielding restraint of a flexible material.

Then came the awareness of his internal state. The burning pain and crystalline friction in his lungs were now covered by a layer of numbness. However, the sense of weakness and depletion, stemming from the very roots of his life, was clearly etched into every inch of bone and every fiber of muscle. His throat was dry and tight, carrying the faint metallic taste of blood and the cloying, sweet aftertaste of high-grade nutrients.

Finally, Yun Shu struggled to open his eyes.

What met his vision was a soft, indirect cold-white light emanating from seamless LED strips embedded in the ceiling. He was lying in a narrow, white-walled room devoid of any superfluous decoration. Aside from the medical bed, the only other object in the room was a life-sign monitor operating silently, its screen flickering with complex physiological parameters. An inconspicuous ventilation duct sat in the corner.

There were no windows. The only exit was a heavy metal sliding door that looked as though it required high-level clearance to open.

It was an Imperial prison cell, or perhaps a medical observation room.

He tried to move a finger, only to find that the flexible restraints on his wrists, while not painful, effectively restricted most of his range of motion. Even turning his head proved to be a struggle. His filthy work clothes had been replaced by a set of pure white, soft garments resembling a patient’s uniform.

It was total control with no way to resist.

Yun Shu closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air still carried a sense of stagnation deep within his chest, but at least it did not trigger a violent coughing fit. The Empire’s top-tier medical technology had temporarily stabilized his collapsing body, but it had also pinned him firmly to this bed, making him a prisoner in every sense of the word.

He recalled the last images before he lost consciousness: Ling Yao’s cold, scrutinizing eyes and that emotionless command to take him away.

Where was he now? Was he still in Star-Fragment City, or had he already been taken to a secret facility somewhere within the Chenhuan Empire? What did Ling Yao want from him? Was it merely the truth behind the intrusion into the Imperial database, or perhaps more conjectures regarding “Tartarus”?

Amidst his chaotic thoughts, the heavy metal sliding door opened silently. A figure walked in. It was Ling Yao.

He had changed into the dark black service uniform of an Imperial Marshal. His epaulettes gleamed and his posture was ramrod straight, looking entirely out of place in this pale, cold cell. Holding a thin data pad, his expression was blank as he walked straight to the bedside and looked down at Yun Shu from a height.

His gaze was like a precision scanning instrument. He once again carefully and unabashedly scrutinized Yun Shu’s pale face, his slender and fragile restrained wrists, and the pulsing data on the monitor that heralded a flickering life.

“You look a bit more presentable than you did in that heap of trash,” Ling Yao spoke. His tone still carried that sharp-tongued edge, making it hard to tell if it was mockery or a simple statement of fact. “Though you still look like you would break at a single touch.”

Yun Shu reopened his eyes to meet his gaze. Despite being at an absolute disadvantage and physically frail, his eyes remained calm. They even held a faint trace of quiet derision.

“I have inconvenienced Marshal Ling to personally watch over a prisoner who breaks so easily.”

Ling Yao seemed indifferent to the retort. He held the data pad before Yun Shu’s eyes. The screen displayed complex snippets of code and network access logs; specifically, it was the reconstructed traces Yun Shu had left during his multiple attempts to hack the Imperial database, particularly the final one where he used a “Hunting Net” vulnerability to cut into the inner Shadow Zone.

“Stardust Encryption Variant Type 7, dynamic obfuscation algorithms, consciousness-dive masquerade protocols, with a few of your own original little toys mixed in.” Ling Yao’s finger swiped across the screen, his tone as flat as if he were reviewing a routine report. “Decent technique. Unfortunately, the underlying framework is still that antique set from Xilan. The core logic is rigid; it lacks a true creative breakthrough.”

His words were like a knife, accurately piercing the shortcomings of Xilan’s technological level with a characteristically Imperial arrogance.

Yun Shu’s face grew a shade paler, not out of fear, but from a sense of slighted technical dignity. He pursed his dry, cracked lips. His voice was weak but clear. “At least that ‘antique’ nearly touched the core data that the Empire prides itself on being indestructible.”

Ling Yao’s gaze suddenly sharpened, like a hawk locking onto its prey. He leaned down and braced his arms on the rails of the medical bed, casting Yun Shu into his shadow. A powerful pressure, mixed with a chilling aura, bore down on him.

“So, ‘Tartarus’?” Ling Yao’s voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of an unquestionable interrogation. “Who told you? How much more does Xilan know? To what extent have you understood the ‘Primal Gene Sequence’?”

His questions were direct, piercing, and hit the core. Clearly, this was the key reason he had kept the captive alive and even expended resources to sustain his life.

Yun Shu’s heart tightened slightly, but he maintained his composure. He could not reveal that the true source of the information was that risky eavesdropping, nor could he expose that Xilan actually knew very little about it.

“Why should a dying man answer your questions, Marshal Ling?” He turned his head slightly to avoid the other man’s encroaching gaze. His voice carried a weak but stubborn resilience. “What do the Empire’s secrets have to do with me? From the beginning, all I wanted was something that could save Xilan’s lives.”

“Save Xilan?” Ling Yao sneered and straightened up as if he had heard something absurd. “By relying on technology stolen from the Empire? Technology you cannot even fully understand or control? Even if the ‘Primal Gene Sequence’ were delivered in its entirety to your Consul, what could the Xilan Academy of Sciences do with their pitiful technical reserves? It would be an exercise in futility.”

His words were cruel and realistic, like ice water poured over Yun Shu’s heart.

“Furthermore,” Ling Yao’s tone shifted and his eyes grew deeper. “Who told you that the ‘Primal Gene Sequence’ necessarily means salvation? Perhaps it leads to a destruction even more absolute than Crystal-Erosion Disease.”

Yun Shu’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. What did Ling Yao mean? Was it a threat, or perhaps an allusion to some terrifying truth? Could it be that the secrets hidden within the “Primal Gene Sequence” and “Tartarus” were not hope, but an even greater disaster?

Seeing Yun Shu’s subtle reaction, Ling Yao seemed satisfied. He did not push further. Instead, he stepped back, regaining a composed air of total control.

“You are a smart man, Chief Yun Shu. You should understand your current situation.” He shook the data pad in his hand. “Your life now depends entirely on the Empire’s mercy, or rather, my interest. The secrets you have stolen are enough to have you executed a hundred times over.”

Yun Shu remained silent. He knew Ling Yao was telling the truth.

“But I can give you a choice,” Ling Yao continued, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. “Cooperate with me and answer my questions. Perhaps I can satisfy a bit of your insignificant curiosity in certain areas, or even increase your chances of survival by a fraction.”

This was a naked transaction and a trap. Cooperation meant leaking Xilan’s potential intelligence capabilities and bottom lines. Satisfying curiosity could lead to deeper manipulation. The chance to live was nothing more than a nebulous lure.

Yun Shu slowly turned his head to look at Ling Yao again. His face was pale and translucent like fragile glass, but the light in his eyes had not been extinguished.

“Marshal Ling’s ‘mercy’ is truly overwhelming,” he said softly. His tone was unreadable as to whether he was accepting or refusing. “But how can I trust a man accustomed to ordering others to be taken away to keep his word?”

Ling Yao looked at him. Their gazes clashed in the air—one cold and powerful, the other weak yet tenacious. The air in the cell seemed to freeze.

Suddenly, the monitor emitted a soft notification beep. It showed a brief fluctuation in one of Yun Shu’s physiological indicators, perhaps an emotional surge or a flare-up of physical discomfort.

Ling Yao’s gaze swept over the monitor and then fell back onto Yun Shu’s face. That icy expression seemed to undergo a minuscule, almost imperceptible softening, but it was so quick it felt like an illusion.

Ultimately, he said nothing more. He merely gave Yun Shu a long, deep look before turning toward the door.

“I will give you some time to think, Chief Yun Shu,” he said with his back turned as the sliding door opened. His voice returned to its usual cold hardness. “Think about your value. Think about Xilan, and think about what ‘Tartarus’ actually means.”

The sliding door closed silently, cutting off his tall silhouette. In the cold cell, only Yun Shu remained, accompanied by the rhythmic, monotonous ticking of the monitor.

He closed his eyes tiredly. Ling Yao’s final words and that subtle shift in his gaze echoed in his mind.

Trust was impossible, but was cooperation the only way to buy time, gather information, and perhaps find a path to survival against all odds? This was a dance on the edge of a blade, a deal made with a tiger.

He slowly clenched his restrained fingers. Despite his weakness, he gripped so hard that his knuckles turned white.