The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 36

Yun Shu’s transfer was silent yet highly efficient.

A medical team composed entirely of members from Ling Yao’s direct “Obsidian” Guard extracted him from the isolation medical zone using an unmarked, black levitating armored transport. The vehicle’s windows were specially treated, preventing even a glimpse of the interior from the outside. The route was meticulously planned to perfectly avoid all major surveillance nodes and high-traffic areas; it was as if a single drop of water had vanished into the night.

The vehicle eventually pulled into an inconspicuous silver-grey building on the edge of the research base. The exterior bore no names or serial numbers: only encrypted identity scanners and concealed weapon probes hinted at its extraordinary security level.

After passing through layers of iris scans, genetic sequencing, and dynamic password verification, the internal airtight doors slid open soundlessly to reveal the scene within.

It was entirely different from the luxury or sci-fi aesthetic Yun Shu had imagined for an Imperial Marshal’s private laboratory. The space was spacious but exceptionally minimalist; it was austere, even. Cold metal walls met seamless dark flooring, and the air held a faint scent of ozone and coolant. Most of the instruments and equipment were matte black or deep grey with rugged lines. They were not the latest models, but they were maintained to perfection.

This was Ling Yao’s private domain: a space of absolute utilitarianism that perfectly matched his personal style, which was efficient, precise, and stripped of all unnecessary decoration.

Yun Shu was carefully placed into a specialized medical pod in a corner of the lab. This pod had clearly been modified to provide life support while easily connecting to the lab’s main data ports and various non-contact sensors.

His gaze was immediately drawn to the two core pieces of equipment in the center of the room.

One was a streamlined silver-white pod, its shell covered in incredibly complex energy-conduction patterns, a simplified version of a “Harmonic Resonance Simulator.” Although its volume was a size smaller than the main models used in the “Pillars of Creation,” the core principles were the same, capable of generating and manipulating extremely precise energy frequencies.

The other consisted of several black pillars arranged in a semi-circle, their tops emitting a soft blue glow. Within that glow, countless tiny laser probes flickered in and out of sight. This was an older “Energy Field Topological Analysis Array.” While its sampling speed and precision might not match the newest models, its stability was incredibly high, making it particularly adept at capturing the macro-structures and long-term trends of energy fields.

For the current Yun Shu, these were the tools of his dreams.

His fingertips gave an imperceptible tremor, not out of fear, but from a near-instinctive researcher’s longing for cutting-edge equipment.

Just as he was familiarizing himself with the environment, the main entrance slid open and Ling Yao strode in. He had changed out of his Marshal’s formal uniform into a dark combat suit better suited for movement. He seemed to have just finished handling urgent military affairs, as a trace of lingering coldness still rested between his brows.

Following behind him was a middle-aged man in a technical officer’s uniform. The man clutched a data pad, his face etched with obvious unease and a look of wanting to speak but hesitating.

“Is this him?” Upon seeing Yun Shu in the medical pod, the technical officer’s eyes flashed with undisguised surprise and doubt. He involuntarily lowered his voice. “Marshal, this, the simulation data for Project ‘Scavenger’ is still running in the background, and the energy channels haven’t fully cooled yet. Accessing an external, unknown biological signal now, especially,” he glanced at Yun Shu’s pale face, “an individual in this state carries a high risk coefficient! If it triggers energy backlash or data contamination, it could very likely damage,”

“I have already assessed the risks,” Ling Yao interrupted. His voice was flat, yet it carried an unquestionable weight of authority. “Execute the order, Technical Officer Karen. Authorization code: Gamma-7-9-Omega. Immediately move Project ‘Scavenger’ to background hibernation, release all permissions for the ‘Harmonic Simulator’ and ‘Topological Array,’ and connect them to the medical pod’s Type-B interface.”

Technical Officer Karen’s face paled. A Gamma-level authorization code was one of the highest directives; he could not disobey.

Still, he couldn’t help but argue one last time: “Marshal, at the very least, we need to perform a comprehensive biological signal isolation and purification process first! According to Base Security Regulation Article 117,”

“There are no Base Security Regulations here.” Ling Yao turned his head, his icy gaze landing on Technical Officer Karen with tangible weight. “There is only my command. Or perhaps, do you need me to submit a detailed report to the Council regarding your unauthorized modification of the ‘Stardust’ project’s energy consumption data three years ago, which resulted in three failed experiments?”

Technical Officer Karen went silent instantly. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his lips trembled, unable to utter another word.

He lowered his head in terror. “As, as you command, Marshal! I will execute it immediately!”

He practically stumbled to the main console, his fingers shaking but moving rapidly across the controls.

Ling Yao stopped looking at him and walked over to Yun Shu’s medical pod. He inserted a small authorization key, which flickered with shifting, encrypted light streams, into the pod’s interface.

“This is a temporary authorization key, valid for 72 standard hours,” Ling Yao said in a low voice, ensuring only Yun Shu could hear. “It will allow you to call upon the basic functions of these two devices, but all operation logs and data streams will be synchronized to my private server in real-time. Do not attempt any commands outside the scope. The defense system here is more direct than the one on the Iron Curtain.”

Yun Shu nodded slightly to show he understood.

Looking at Ling Yao’s cold, hard profile, he knew exactly what was happening. That seemingly casual threat wasn’t just to beat down the technical officer; it was for his benefit as well. This was a clear drawing of boundaries: Ling Yao provided the convenience, but he also maintained absolute power over life and death.

The connection was established.

A translucent light screen rose in front of Yun Shu, displaying the control interfaces for both devices. Although it was only basic authorization, the feeling of directly controlling such powerful tools still gave his spirits a slight lift.

He immersed himself immediately. His pale fingers moved slowly but with precision across the virtual keyboard, beginning to import the energy frequency data packets he had previously cracked and setting the initial simulation parameters.

His gaze instantly became focused and sharp, as if the torment of his illness had been temporarily walled off.

Ling Yao stood to the side, watching in silence.

He watched those hands, hands that were originally weak and powerless, erupt with startling stability and dexterity the moment they touched a professional field. He watched as the man, immersed in the world of data, seemed to be infused with an invisible vitality. Though the body remained broken, the light of the soul was exceptionally dazzling.

This intense contrast caused a nearly imperceptible flicker of emotion to cross the depths of Ling Yao’s eyes once more.

At that moment, the lab’s communicator chimed with a request from an encrypted channel. Ling Yao checked the number, frowned slightly, and walked to a corner to answer.

“Speak.” His voice had returned to its usual coldness.

“Marshal, Councilor Morris from the Council’s Science and Technology Oversight Committee just called the base’s central dispatch. He was ‘concerned’ and asked about the abnormal energy fluctuations and permission changes in the B-7 peripheral lab.” The adjutant’s voice carried a hint of tension. “Their people move fast.”

Ling Yao’s eyes went cold. “How did you respond?”

“Per your instructions, the reply was: The Marshal is conducting a highly classified equipment stability test involving a new ship-borne weapon energy core. No further details are available.”

“Hmph.” Ling Yao gave a cold snort. “It seems the Council has even more ‘eyes’ than I imagined. Strengthen the lab’s outer perimeter security and activate the anti-detection energy mist. Any unauthorized approach or probing is to be handled as espionage. You are authorized to use low-lethality suppression weapons.”

“Is!” The adjutant’s voice grew much more resolute.

Hanging up, the frost on Ling Yao’s face deepened. The Council’s tentacles were indeed everywhere; he had only just started the equipment, and they had already caught wind of it. This silent struggle was moving closer and closer to the forefront.

He turned back to look at Yun Shu.

The Xilan seemed completely undisturbed by the commotion. His entire mind was immersed in the light screen and the flowing data. Occasionally, he would frown slightly in thought or let out a very faint gasp of discomfort, but his fingers never stopped moving.

Ling Yao’s gaze lingered on that focused, pale face for a moment. This Xilan man seemed to be the only point of calm in the eye of the storm right now. And would the “calm” he had traded high risk for bring results significant enough to turn the tide?

He walked to the main console and pulled up the background logs and data streams of Yun Shu’s real-time operations. The code scrolled rapidly across the screen, parameters shifting constantly. The level of complexity and sophistication caused even this Marshal, who was not a professional researcher but had seen the Empire’s top technology, to be secretly shocked.

This talent, this almost intuitive understanding of the essence of energy, truly far surpassed the step-by-step scholars of the Empire Research Institute. Perhaps this venture capital of risk was truly worth it.

Just then, Yun Shu seemed to hit a bottleneck. His movements paused, his brows knitting together as he stared at an abnormal energy peak curve on the screen, falling into deep thought. His finger unconsciously pressed against his pale lower lip, and he coughed twice, softly.

Ling Yao almost without thinking reached out to the master console and adjusted a few parameters, slightly lowering the simulator’s energy output and increasing the stability field of the medical pod.

After finishing this tiny action, he himself froze for a second.

Originally, he had only wanted to ensure the equipment wouldn’t be damaged by an overload, but that adjustment just now seemed, more accurately, to consider the operator’s endurance.

Just as he felt a trace of surprise at his near-instinctive behavior, which was one that exceeded pure calculation of interest, Yun Shu seemed to sense something. He suddenly looked up toward the main console. In those clear but weary eyes, a very faint, unreadable flicker of confusion passed before he quickly looked back down to continue his work.

Ling Yao swiftly reined in all emotion. His face returned to its usual icy indifference, as if nothing had happened at all.