The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 37

Ling Yao’s private laboratory became a peculiar and fleeting island, isolated from the storms of the outside world. Here, time flowed to a different rhythm.

Yun Shu was completely immersed.

The pain, his status as a prisoner, the threats of the Empire, the lamentations of his fallen homeland; all these burdens, heavy enough to crush a soul, seemed temporarily walled off by an invisible barrier the moment his fingertips touched the control interface and his consciousness synced with the torrent of data.

He was curled up inside the specialized medical pod. His body remained as frail as a piece of crystal glass that might shatter at the slightest touch. Under the faint blue glow of the instruments, his face appeared increasingly pale and transparent, the light blue veins beneath his skin almost visible.

Every breath was shallow and hurried, frequently interrupted by a suppressed, low cough. At those moments, he was forced to stop, curling his body slightly until the tremors subsided before placing his shaking but determined fingers back onto the control interface.

However, once he engaged with his work, his entire aura underwent a singular transformation.

Those eyes, which often appeared weary and vacant due to prolonged illness, would suddenly focus with a startling brilliance; clear, sharp, and profound. His brows would knit in deep thought or smooth out slightly as if capturing a flash of sudden insight.

His operations were not fast. Due to the limitations of his physical strength and mental energy, every command was issued only after deliberate consideration, yet they carried a precision and elegance that bordered on artistry. Complex and profound energy models were gradually constructed, debugged, verified, discarded, and rebuilt under his hands in a tireless cycle.

Most of the time, Ling Yao simply stood silently at the master console, processing the military documents that seemed never-ending or communicating with the outside world through encrypted channels to issue orders that could decide the fate of countless star systems.

His presence itself was an iceberg radiating an invisible pressure. But his attention was unable to remain fully concentrated as it usually was. His gaze would uncontrollably drift away from the light screen in front of him, past the cold environment of the lab, and finally land on the Xilan man immersed in his own world.

This was a novel and foreign experience.

Ling Yao had seen countless people under heavy pressure: the loyalty and awe of subordinates, the fear and hatred of enemies, the calculations and flattery of colleagues, and even the unfathomable majesty of the Emperor. He was long accustomed to looking past appearances to see the deepest desires and weaknesses of the human heart, using them as fulcra for control.

But he had never seen a state like this.

Yun Shu’s concentration was a form of purity, detached from low-level desires; it was a state of complete devotion to the process of “solving” itself. There was no longing for reward, no fear of punishment, and not even a trace of lingering attachment to his own life. All that existed was a near-obsessive, powerful will to tear apart the mystery before him and see its true essence.

This will was so strong that it temporarily overrode the painful groans of his ravaged body.

Ling Yao saw Yun Shu bite his lower lip hard due to a computational bottleneck, staying completely unaware even when a row of deep teeth marks appeared on his bloodless lips and beads of blood seeped out. He saw his eyes brighten with a sudden inspiration, and those fingers, which had been trembling from weakness, would suddenly erupt with incredible stability and speed to type a series of commands, as if pain had been entirely forgotten in that moment.

He saw the blue energy streams surging within the pod when the energy simulator started, illuminating the profile of Yun Shu’s face like an ice sculpture. That focused expression revealed a nearly sacred, heart-stopping beauty and fragility.

A subtle sense of discomfort, one that even Ling Yao himself had not realized, rippled through the cold depths of his heart. He did not like seeing the blood on those lips. He did not like hearing those suppressed, broken coughs. This feeling was strange and abrupt, entirely at odds with his usual way of thinking.

A moment later, Yun Shu seemed to be attempting to guide an exceptionally complex energy frequency. The simulator suddenly emitted a sharp warning of an overload, and the energy stream instantly became unstable, flickering violently.

Yun Shu’s body jerked. His face turned even more deathly pale as his mental strength suffered a violent impact.

Almost instinctively, Ling Yao’s fingers moved faster than his thoughts. He rapidly entered a series of commands on the master console to intervene forcefully, lowering the energy output and initiating an emergency stabilization program. His movements were lightning-fast and unerringly precise, as if he had rehearsed them countless times.

The crisis was resolved instantly.

Yun Shu gasped, looking up somewhat blankly toward the main console, seemingly not understanding what had happened. Cold sweat covered his brow, and his eyes still held a trace of the vacancy following the shock.

Ling Yao had already regained his cold expression, as if that moment of intervention was merely a routine operation. He did not even spare Yun Shu a glance, his eyes returning to his military documents. He offered a flat explanation that sounded more like a statement of fact: “An equipment overload triggers security protocols. Watch the energy threshold next time.”

Yun Shu was silent for a moment before replying in a low voice, “Thank you.”

Ling Yao did not respond, but his fingers holding the electronic pen tightened almost imperceptibly. Why did he explain? This wasn’t like his style at all.

Much later, because he had maintained a mentally draining posture for a long time, Yun Shu’s body finally gave out. His hand holding the control interface slipped, and his whole body pitched forward uncontrollably, his forehead nearly striking the hard wall of the pod.

A dark shadow arrived instantly.

Ling Yao had left the master console at some unknown point and appeared by the medical pod, one hand steadily catching Yun Shu’s sliding shoulder. His movement was not gentle; it possessed the characteristic efficiency and force of a soldier, but it was just enough to prevent a collision.

Yun Shu leaned weakly against his arm, panting heavily, unable to speak for a time. Through the thin hospital gown, Ling Yao could clearly feel the thinness and bonicity of the shoulder beneath his hand, as well as the slight, uncontrollable trembling caused by exhaustion.

Too light. Like a bird with broken wings.

The thought entered Ling Yao’s mind inexplicably. He frowned deeply, quickly helped Yun Shu back against the cushions, and then immediately let go as if he had touched something burning hot.

“Extreme operations are meaningless,” Ling Yao’s voice was several degrees colder than usual, carrying a hint of subtle irritation. “What you need is effective data, not worthless self-depletion.”

Yun Shu caught his breath and looked up. Seeing Ling Yao’s face, which clearly showed displeasure but not true rage, his gaze turned complex. He whispered, “There isn’t enough time.”

Those four simple words were like a fine needle, pricking Ling Yao gently. Yes, time. For this Xilan, every minute and every second was stolen from the hands of death.

Ling Yao said no more and turned back to the master console.

But after a while, he operated the internal system to have a mechanical arm deliver a high-concentration nutritional supplement and warm water, placing them silently within Yun Shu’s reach.

Yun Shu looked at the supplement, then at Ling Yao’s cold back. After a moment of silence, he finally reached out to take it and began to sip slowly. The warm liquid flowed into his stomach, slightly dispelling the chill and the feeling of collapse.

The lab returned to the sound of humming machinery. But some things had quietly changed.

Ling Yao found it increasingly difficult to view Yun Shu merely as a “valuable tool” or a “dangerous asset.” He began to unconsciously monitor his state. When Yun Shu hit a bottleneck, Ling Yao would quietly pull up relevant basic data files. When his physical strength failed, he would adjust the medical pod’s support parameters in advance. He even found himself wanting to know what interesting laws Yun Shu had discovered when he saw him purse his lips in deep concentration.

This attention exceeded the scope of a desire for control; it was more like an instinctive observation born of intense fascination. He witnessed how the light of wisdom burned within that ravaged shell, how it held a silent yet thrilling dialogue with the powerful Imperial instruments. This sight was more profoundly shocking to him than any grand scene of an interstellar battle he had ever witnessed.

Beneath the frozen lake of his heart, something solid was being melted and loosened, bit by bit, by this glimmer of concentration.

As for Yun Shu, he continued to race against time calculating, simulating and verifying searching for that slim hope. Only occasionally, in the gaps of extreme exhaustion, would he lift his eyes to look at the figure standing before the master console, silent and powerful as a mountain range.

Their eyes would sometimes meet briefly in the air. A single touch, then apart. Without a word.