The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 28

The icy white light of the medical prison cell shone mercilessly upon Yun Shu’s face, which was as pale as paper. The monitor’s alarms had gradually subsided, replaced by a much weaker but still anxiety-inducing rhythmic ticking. It showed his vital signs to be like a candle in the wind; though not yet extinguished, he hovered on the brink of total collapse.

He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. His vision was blurred and shaky, finally focusing on the tall figure standing before his bed. Ling Yao stood with his back to the light source, his face shrouded in shadows, making it impossible to see his exact expression. However, the icy rage radiating from him, nearly solid in its intensity, and his tight vigilance were more suffocating than any clear threat.

Their eyes met.

In those bottomless pupils, Yun Shu saw a lingering murderous intent and cold calculation. Yet, deeper within, there seemed to be a flash of something else, a fierce look like that of a lone wolf driven into a corner, much like his own current situation.

Ling Yao did not speak immediately. He simply stared down at him as if re-evaluating the value of this tool and how to dispose of it. A silent, hair-trigger tension filled the air. Yun Shu’s heart tightened in its weakness. He tried to muster what little strength he had left to think and analyze the reason behind Ling Yao’s abnormal state. But his brain felt like rusty gears; every turn brought a jarring, sharp pain. He could only struggle to maintain his breathing and await the other’s judgment.

Finally, Ling Yao moved.

He did not approach. Instead, he turned abruptly to the console and completely shut down all surveillance cameras and recording equipment in the medical cell. The indicator lights went out instantly with a soft beep. Absolute silence descended, leaving only the sound of their nearly inaudible breathing and the ticking of the instruments.

This was a signal. It was a signal that this place was temporarily severed from Imperial control.

Ling Yao turned back toward Yun Shu. His voice was low and raspy, having lost its usual cold smoothness. It carried a storm suppressed to the extreme. “The things you just heard and saw, including this message,” he flicked his wrist, indicating the terminal that had just displayed the Shadowfang warning, “are the Empire’s highest-level taboos. If you leak a single word, I will make you regret ever coming into this world.”

This was a warning, but also a disguised admission. He admitted that they had both touched a secret capable of overturning everything, and he admitted that he himself had fallen into a massive crisis.

Yun Shu looked at him. Very slowly, using all his strength, he gave a slight nod. The movement was so small it was nearly invisible, but the message in his eyes was unmistakable: he understood, and he had no intention of seeking his own death.

His cooperation and clarity seemed to make the hostility around Ling Yao recede slightly. The Marshal took a deep breath as if forcing down his towering rage to return to the state of a cold, calculating commander.

“Sector VII of Tartarus has spiraled out of control, and it may have even formed a Side Door to an unknown domain,” Ling Yao’s voice regained some of its hardness, but he spoke faster, with an unprecedented gravity. “The Imperial high command’s reaction is a blockade and purification. This means that not only I, but all who know, and perhaps everything in that region, will be completely erased.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto Yun Shu like a hawk. “That includes any possible clues regarding the origin of the Turbid Core, or even a cure for Crystal-Erosion Disease.”

This sentence struck Yun Shu’s heart like a cold spike. Was the final hope to be purified along with that forbidden land?

Seeing the sudden flash of despair and resentment in Yun Shu’s eyes, Ling Yao knew his words had hit their mark. He needed the wisdom of this Xilan genius and his eerie ability to resonate with ancient energy. However, he was no longer acting solely as a conqueror or a master; he was now a gambler forced to throw down his chips.

“You want to save your country. I want to,” Ling Yao’s voice paused as if choosing his words, finally saying coldly, “find out the truth and stay alive.”

He took a small step forward, closing the distance between them. The pressure intensified once more. “The Council is ready to move. I do not have much time, and you have even less. Now, there are only two paths before you.”

“First,” he extended his index finger, cold and merciless, “I give you a quick end right now, then find a way to deal with the traces and face the coming situation alone. You die, and Xilan’s hope is completely cut off.”

“Second,” he lowered his hand, his gaze sharp as a blade, “you help me. Use your brain to help me crack the core data of Tartarus. Find the truth of the Sector VII Side Door, find what the Council wants to hide, and find a possible turning point. In return,” he paused again, his gaze sweeping over the startling data on the monitor, his tone carrying a sense of near-charity yet remaining unquestionable, “I can give you the full set of data from Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07. Furthermore, I will use my authority to find a way to apply that frequency to stabilize your condition. I might even consider giving you and Xilan a chance after everything ends.”

A chance. It was such a vague yet enticing word.

Yun Shu coughed violently, blood foam once again escaping the corner of his lips. He knew this so-called chance was as faint as stardust and might even be a deeper trap. Ling Yao was merely using him like a convenient weapon. Once his value was gone or the situation changed, he would still be a pawn to be discarded at any time.

But did he have a choice? Death was imminent. Cooperation might offer a sliver of life, a chance to touch the truth, and a possibility of securing a tiny spark of hope for the billions of his fellow citizens in Xilan. The gambler had been driven to a dead end; there was no other choice.

He raised his eyes to meet Ling Yao’s bottomless ones, which were currently swirling with calculation and dangerous light. Using all his strength, he made his voice as clear as possible.

“Give me the data.” He chose the second path without even bargaining, for he had no capital. “I need Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07 and all the peripheral sensor data from Tartarus Sector VII for cross-referencing.”

His directness and efficiency seemed to please Ling Yao, or rather, it met Ling Yao’s expectations for a useful tool.

“Very well,” Ling Yao agreed decisively, immediately using his clearance to retrieve the data. “But you had better produce something that satisfies me. My patience and resources are limited.”

Soon, a new data stream flowed into the pad by Yun Shu’s bed through an encrypted channel. At the same time, the medical officer entered again. At Ling Yao’s signal, they injected Yun Shu with another potent drug specifically used to stimulate mental and cognitive activity, even though this would undoubtedly further overdraw his already exhausted life force.

The injection of the cool medicine brought a brief, almost illusory sense of clarity. The pain seemed to be pushed away, and his thinking became exceptionally sharp, yet it also brought a floating sensation as if his soul and body were about to separate.

Yun Shu clung to this brief clarity bought with his life and turned his gaze to the data pad. With his left hand, he pulled up the energy frequency model from “Fragments of the Fallen Star Era-07,” and with his right, he called up the chaotic and dangerous data stream from Tartarus Sector VII.

His fingers danced across the virtual keyboard with difficulty yet speed. Codes and formulas flowed as if they possessed lives of their own. He was conducting an extremely bold deduction: since that specific frequency could produce a soothing effect on Crystal-Erosion Disease crystals, and since the energy characteristics of the disease shared the same source as the Turbid Core, could this frequency also produce some form of interference or stabilizing effect on the exceptionally active energy in Sector VII?

It was a wild hypothesis based on limited information, but he had no other way.

Ling Yao stood by his side, watching him work in silence. He watched those eyes, which appeared exceptionally bright and almost eerie due to the pain and medication, and those pale, slender fingers that seemed to contain startling power.

Time passed in a state of high-tension silence. Suddenly, Yun Shu’s movements stopped. He stared fixedly at a simulation result that had just been generated, his pupils contracting sharply.

“How is it?” Ling Yao asked immediately.

“Theoretically, it is feasible,” Yun Shu’s voice carried an unbelievable tremor and extreme fatigue. “That frequency can indeed, within a tiny range, temporarily neutralize or shield the abnormal energy riots at the edge of Sector VII. It is like a key inserted into the wrong lock; though it cannot open it, it can jam it, temporarily preventing a total eruption.”

He coughed abruptly, and the clarity began to fade quickly as darkness rushed back. “However, it requires extremely precise deployment and a massive energy source. Furthermore, it is only a temporary measure. It treats the symptoms, not the root cause.”

“That is enough!” A sharp light erupted in Ling Yao’s eyes. He did not need a cure; he needed a breakthrough, a chip that would give him the chance to enter Sector VII and uncover the truth rather than being immediately purified. The idea Yun Shu provided was merely a theory, yet it gave him an unprecedented direction for action.

Just then, Ling Yao’s terminal vibrated again. He glanced at it, and his expression instantly became even more dark and cold.

“The Council’s Cleanup Team has already departed. They are faster than expected.” He looked at Yun Shu with a complex, unreadable gaze that finally settled into a firm decision. “We have no more time.”

He manipulated the console sharply to connect to the bridge communications. His voice regained the cold severity and authority of an Imperial Marshal as he issued an extremely dangerous command.

“Inform the loyalist fleet to change course. Target: the edge of Tartarus Sector VII! Maximum combat readiness! All units, prepare to execute the Firefly Plan!”

After issuing the order, he looked at Yun Shu, who had fallen back into a semi-conscious state due to exhaustion. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly whispered something very quickly, almost as if to himself, yet it sounded like a cold promise.

“Stay alive. Your life is now my most important asset.”

Having said that, he did not stay any longer. He turned and strode out of the cell. The heavy sliding door closed behind him, locking away all the crisis, calculation, and that tiny, new hope within.

Yun Shu slumped on the medical bed, his consciousness floating on the edge of darkness.

The Firefly Plan? Was the tiny firefly he had ignited using himself as fuel finally about to be cast into the deepest darkness?