The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 2

Chenhuan Empire. Central Star Region, “Iron Curtain” Cyber Security Center.

It was so quiet here that one could hear the faint hum of electrical currents coursing through the air. A massive circular light-screen occupied the entire wall, where countless data streams cascaded down like blue waterfalls. The air was thick with the chilling, metallic scent unique to low-temperature cooling equipment.

Ling Yao stood before the command console, his posture ramrod straight. He wore the ink-black uniform of an Empire Marshal, the stars on his epaulets cold and dazzling. His features were handsome to the point of being sharp; his jawline was taut, and his gaze swept across the light-screen like a hawk patrolling its territory.

“The frequency of abnormal fluctuations at Data Port No. 3 has increased by another 0.3%.” A technician’s voice, laced with tension, broke the silence. “Pattern recognition shows a high correlation with the previous seven tentative contacts.”

Ling Yao said nothing, merely tilting his chin slightly.

Beside him, an older technician wiped away sweat. “The opponent is very cunning, Marshal. Every point of contact is different, and the dwell time is extremely short. It is like… like a mosquito bite; it sucks a bit of blood and flees. By the time we lock onto the general area, the signal has vanished.”

“A mosquito?”

Ling Yao finally spoke. His voice was deep and devoid of emotion, yet it caused the surrounding temperature to drop several degrees. “You let a mosquito bite the Empire’s core data fortress seven times?”

The technicians fell into a collective, terrified silence.

Ling Yao’s fingers swiped rapidly across the console, pulling up the trajectory maps of those seven abnormal fluctuations. Glowing lines flickered, sketching a drifting, elusive path.

“It is not a mosquito,” he concluded, the corner of his mouth curving into a cold arc. “It is a ghost. Or rather, a ghost that thinks it is very clever.”

He turned around, his gaze sweeping the room. “Encryption analysis?”

“It… it is a variant of the Xi Lan Federation’s highest-level ‘Stardust’ encryption!” the technician reported hurriedly. “But the opponent’s cracking and camouflage techniques are… highly sophisticated. It is unlike their usual style.”

“Xi Lan?” Ling Yao’s brow arched slightly. “That neighbor so poor they can barely afford starship fuel, where the entire populace is waiting to turn into crystal statues?”

There was blatant contempt in his words, but his eyes grew sharp.

When things are out of the ordinary, there is bound to be a motive. Why would a nation gasping for its final breath under the weight of Crystal Erosion Disease suddenly dispatch a “ghost” with such high technical skill to frequently touch the Empire’s most sensitive genetic database? This did not sound like a desperate struggle; it sounded like a targeted reconnaissance.

“What is the objective?” he asked.

“Based on behavioral pattern analysis, the target points toward… the ‘Primordial Genetic Sequence’ archive under the ‘Pillars of Creation’ project.”

The technician’s voice grew even lower. That was one of the Empire’s highest secrets, involving the initial genetic research into “Turbid Core” pollution.

Ling Yao’s gaze turned completely cold.

Very well. Not only had a ghost arrived, but it was a ghost with a massive appetite.

“Activate the ‘Net Hunt’ protocol,” he ordered, his voice brook no argument. “Authorization Level: Gamma. Set a stage for him and lay out some bait—use fake coordinates for the ‘Primordial Sequence’ and some real but inconsequential peripheral data. I want him alive. At the very least, I want to see what this ghost looks like.”

“Yes, Marshal!”

The entire “Iron Curtain” center instantly began to operate like a precision war machine. Invisible data traps were meticulously woven.

Ling Yao returned to his command seat and sat down, his long legs crossed. An adjutant handed him a glass of concentrated energy liquid; he took it and took a small sip. His eyes never left the phantom signal marked on the main light-screen.

He wanted to see exactly what this ghost from Xi Lan was trying to do.

At the same time, Xi Lan Federation, deep beneath the Head of State’s residence, the Safe House.

Yun Shu sat on a soft sofa, a thin blanket draped over him. The holographic projection before him was playing the Head of State’s nearly tearful plea.

“…Mr. Yun Shu, you are the Federation’s last hope! Your value exceeds that of the entire interstellar fleet! I cannot… I absolutely cannot agree to let you take such a risk! If we lose you, the Federation is truly finished!”

The Head of State was a white-haired elder, his fingers trembling with agitation.

Yun Shu coughed softly, his face appearing even paler under the soft lights of the safe house.

“Precisely because I may be the last hope, Your Excellency,” his voice was calm, even weak, but his logic was terrifyingly clear. “That is why I must go. To wait is to watch hope slowly turn into despair. The 7,314th simulation failed. We do not have time for another 7,314 attempts.”

He pulled up the encrypted data fragment and the startling conclusion he had derived from it. “The Chenhuan Empire likely possesses the ‘Primordial Genetic Sequence.’ Theoretically, it is currently the only thing capable of inhibiting or even reversing Crystal Erosion Disease. It exists in their ‘Pillars of Creation’ database. We must obtain it.”

“But the ‘Iron Curtain’! Ling Yao!” the Head of State almost wailed. “That man is Chenhuan’s King of Hell! Even a data flea cannot jump into the places he guards! You are going to your death!”

“Which is why we need a plan, not a suicide mission.” Yun Shu tapped his temple. “His ‘Iron Curtain’ is strong, but it is not infallible. The strongest shield is often the most likely to overlook a tiny ripple from within.”

A faint light of confidence, belonging only to a top architect, flickered in his eyes.

After three hours of repeatedly stating pros and cons, risk assessments, and a debate that bordered on an argument, the Head of State finally slumped into his chair as if all his strength had been drained.

“Fine… fine…” he murmured, seemingly aging ten years in an instant. “The Federation will provide you with all… all possible support. But please… you must, you must come back alive.”

He paused, his eyes red as he added almost incoherently, “Do you need a team of Ghost Agents? Or the latest stealth shuttle? Or… should I send you my private chef? The liquid nutritional meals he makes are quite good…”

Yun Shu: “…Thank you, Your Excellency. The chef will not be necessary.”

He tactfully declined the overly “thoughtful” suggestion.

One hour later, Yun Shu returned to his laboratory.

For the next few days, he worked almost without sleep. Lin Xiao watched him work in a way that seemed to be burning through his very life force, and the assistant’s eyes remained red with worry.

Yun Shu had to do more than just analyze the data fragment and formulate an infiltration plan; he had to… prepare his “final affairs.” He categorized and encrypted all his research data, unfinished simulation models, and his entire understanding of Crystal Erosion Disease, setting them for a timed release. If he did not return, these would be the legacy the Federation left for the next “hope.”

“Teacher, do you really have to do this?” Lin Xiao’s voice was choked with sobs.

Yun Shu was currently testing a high-intensity neural stimulant. This would allow him to stay awake and sharp for a sufficient amount of time when connecting to the Empire’s network. However, the side effects could be permanent nerve damage.

He did not even look up. “Give me the authorization keys for the ‘Firefly’ relays three through seven.”

On the night before his departure, Yun Shu stood alone before the observation window, looking at the artificial sea of stars beneath the night sky. Coughing had become a natural part of his breathing.

He took out a very small, old-fashioned pocket watch. Inside the cover was a slightly yellowed photograph of a couple with gentle smiles: his parents, who had also died of Crystal Erosion Disease. He gently stroked the photo, then closed the cover and tucked it away close to his body.

The next day, an unremarkable, even somewhat shabby civilian cargo ship quietly departed the spaceport of Xi Lan’s capital planet. The ship’s destination was Star-Shatter City, a neutral trade planet located on the border between the two nations.

Yun Shu sat in the narrow cabin, dressed in ordinary gray civilian clothes. He looked like a thin, sickly scholar or a small merchant. The screen before him displayed public information about Ling Yao and limited combat footage. The man in the footage was powerful, cold, and highly efficient, commanding the Imperial fleet like a precision killing machine.

Yun Shu turned off the footage, closed his eyes, and began a final mental simulation of the infiltration route.

He knew that he, a tiny firefly, was about to fly toward that cold and solid iron wall named Ling Yao.

At the same time, far away in the Chenhuan Empire’s “Iron Curtain” center, Ling Yao watched the cautious phantom signal appear once more on the light-screen. The cold smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.

The stage was set, and the bait was laid.

He was just waiting for the ghost to enter the scene.