The Imperial Marshal’s Darling at the Tip of His Heart - Chapter 4

Room 7-B, third floor of the “Mole Hole” inn, Third Port District, Star-Shatter City.

Yun Shu leaned against the cold metal wall, panting slightly.

The clamor outside the door had gradually subsided, but the threat posed by the “Grabbers” had not faded. The simultaneous pressure from the Chenhuan Empire’s “Iron Curtain” tracking scans and the local gang’s search made him feel as if he were trapped in a cage that was steadily tightening.

Time had become the most expensive luxury.

He no longer hesitated and sat back in the creaking chair, connecting his portable light-computer to the unstable but functional data port in the room. The screen lit up, its ghostly blue glow reflecting on his bloodless face. Fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead—not from heat, but from the continuous internal depletion and pain of his body.

He first took a moment to further strengthen the connection link with the “Firefly” backup relay. He set up multiple layers of dynamic springboards and camouflage signals to make his traffic appear as routine encrypted data used by an underground casino in Star-Shatter City for transferring funds. Sometimes, the chaos of a lawless land was the best cover.

Having finished this, he took a deep breath. From a small metal box he carried, he took out a neural interface patch that was smaller and darker in color than standard models. This was a high-intensity interface specially developed for him by the Xi Lan laboratory; it provided higher data throughput and a subtle enhancement for consciousness intrusion.

However, the load it placed on the nervous system increased exponentially.

He skillfully applied the cold patch to the skin on the back of his neck, just above the spine. A slight stinging sensation followed, and then a strange feeling, as if his consciousness were being gently pulled by invisible tentacles.

“Lin Xiao, I’m beginning. Monitor my vitals. If there is an abnormality, proceed with Protocol C.”

He gave the instructions in a low voice through the encrypted channel, his tone calm to the point of being cold. Protocol C meant that if his consciousness failed to return, all connections would be forcibly cut and the core data of the local device would be destroyed.

“Teacher…” Lin Xiao’s voice came through the channel, filled with extreme worry, but it ultimately turned into a single sentence: “…Please be very careful.”

Yun Shu closed his eyes, and his consciousness dived once more into the boundless ocean of darkness composed of data.

This time, the sensation was entirely different. He was no longer in the relatively familiar network environment of Xi Lan; he was directly facing the cold, hard, and aggressive external data barrier of the Chenhuan Empire. The massive flow of information hit his senses like a cold tide carrying ice shards.

Countless firewalls stood like towering steel Great Walls shimmering with dangerous electrical sparks, layered one after another without an end in sight. Automated killing programs floated in the data stream like ghostly jellyfish, radiating cold hostility. Any unauthorized contact would invite a devastating counterattack. Every data packet here bore the cold insignia of the Empire; the order was strict, the logic rigorous, and it carried a suffocating sense of pressure.

Yun Shu’s consciousness, acting as a literal ghost, cautiously attached itself to a compliant data stream belonging to a registered Imperial trading company. Like catching a ride, he attempted to approach the massive barrier. He did his utmost to suppress all his digital signatures, mimicking every subtle fluctuation and verification response of the surrounding traffic.

A massive load hit him instantly. Even with the aid of the high-intensity patch, his brain felt as if it were being pierced by countless fine needles. His temples throbbed violently, and a high-frequency humming rang in his ears. The pressure in his lungs became increasingly clear; he had to use all his willpower to suppress the cough that threatened to break out from his throat.

He “saw” the “Net Hunt” laid out by Ling Yao.

It was indeed an extremely sophisticated and dangerous trap. It masqueraded as a low-security channel to a low-level cache in the “Pillars of Creation” database, seemingly appearing briefly due to routine system maintenance. Scattered around were fragments of “Primordial Genetic Sequence” information that looked enticing but were actually poisonous bait. These fragments were highly realistic, enough to fool an impatient thief.

However, embedded within them were countless tracking tags and logic bombs. Upon contact, the tracking tags would lock onto the source of the intrusion like maggots on a bone, while the logic bombs would detonate instantly, enough to completely destroy the intruder’s consciousness and even their physical access equipment.

Ling Yao’s methods were indeed ruthless and direct, leaving no room for error.

Yun Shu’s consciousness hovered cautiously at the edge of the trap, like walking along the brink of a bottomless abyss. He could feel countless invisible “eyes”—the Empire’s monitoring AI and technicians—focusing on this spot, waiting for the prey to take the bait. A direct attack or even a touch would result in certain death.

His advantage lay in the fact that he had not come to steal those baits; his goal was more specific and fundamental. He needed to find the extremely subtle “ripples” created by the very setup of this “Iron Wall” trap.

No matter how perfect a system is, it will inevitably produce tiny resource reallocations and logical deviations when executing a specific large-scale task. Especially to maintain the high realism of this trap, it was necessary to call upon parts of the actual data streams from surrounding areas for simulation and filling.

Yun Shu concentrated all his mental energy, enduring the pain that felt like his nerves were burning, and began a nearly insane operation. He no longer attempted to break through; instead, he consumed his rapidly dwindling mental strength in an almost extravagant manner. He sought to perceive and calculate the almost negligible power fluctuations and data timing differences generated by the execution of the “Net Hunt” protocol within that massive firewall system.

His consciousness worked at an overload; his face was as pale as paper. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, and cold sweat soaked his shirt. The metallic taste of blood in his throat grew stronger.

Once… twice… his perception was ruthlessly repelled by the cold firewalls. Three times… four times… his calculation results were scattered by the massive torrent of junk data. Five times… six times… he almost touched the alert range of a hidden killing program. He avoided it by a hair’s breadth, but his consciousness felt as if it had been pierced by an ice pick, bringing a surge of violent dizziness.

Just as he was about to collapse from the dual limits of his mind and body—

Found it!

An extremely tiny, fleeting timing gap!

It originated from a very brief calling delay to a real data buffer in an adjacent area while the “Net Hunt” protocol was verifying a high-realism poisonous bait. This gap was too small to transmit any data; it wasn’t even enough for a complete probe signal to pass through.

But for Yun Shu, it was enough.

In that instant, his consciousness condensed into a probe pulse finer than a spider’s silk, with almost no energy signature. In the billionth of a second before that tiny gap closed, he noiselessly slipped into the inner shadow zone of the firewall. It wasn’t a breakthrough; rather, like light bending around an obstacle, he “refracted” inward using the microscopic rift generated by the system’s own operation!

No alarms were triggered.

Entering the inner shadow zone did not mean he had entered the core database. This was still a heavily defended area, but it was out of the direct coverage of the “Net Hunt.” Although the monitoring here was still strict, it was more routine.

Yun Shu did not dare stay for even a second; his time was measured in milliseconds. He moved rapidly along the inner wall of the firewall, searching for any data flow markers related to the “Pillars of Creation” or genetic sequences.

Massive fragments of information flashed past his perception: ship scheduling logs, logistics supply lists, peripheral star region weather reports… all were inconsequential. Every search consumed his rapidly decaying mental strength. His body’s protests had reached their limit. A violent, uncontrollable spasmodic cough nearly broke through his willpower, threatening to forcibly kick him out of the interface state!

He gritted his teeth hard, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

On the verge of his consciousness scattering, his “gaze” caught a trace of an unusual data flow. It was extremely heavily encrypted, but the format of its data packet identifiers and verification patterns bore a high similarity to the top-secret Imperial characteristics of the fragment he had originally obtained!

Moreover, its flow was not directed toward the cache where the “Net Hunt” trap was located, but toward another deeper, more hidden physical storage area!

Could this be… the true, original data backup line that was not being used as bait?! Perhaps it was used for cross-departmental access by high-level researchers within the Empire?

A chance! A once-in-a-thousand-years chance!

Yun Shu used the last of his strength to mobilize all his computational resources. He attempted to parse a tiny vulnerability in the outer encryption of that data flow before it disappeared. He wanted to glimpse even a shred of the real content—he didn’t need to copy it all, even just a single confirmatory keyword would do!

His consciousness was like climbing a smooth wall of ice in a hurricane—difficult and desperate.

【Genetic sequence… fragment… archiving… verification…】 【Source project… access rights…】 【Warning: Physical isolation zone…】

Several fragmented, heavily encrypted fields flashed across his perception like lightning!

Almost at the same instant, within the Chenhuan Empire’s “Iron Curtain” center, a piercing alarm finally rang out! It wasn’t the alarm for the “Net Hunt” being triggered, but a secondary alarm from the inner shadow zone of the core firewall, detecting an abnormal parsing behavior!

“Alert! Unauthorized data snooping detected! Location: Inner Shadow Zone Sector-7B!” a technician reported shrilly, his voice carrying unbelievable horror.

Something had actually bypassed the “Net Hunt” and reached such a deep level?!

Ling Yao, who had been sitting in the command seat with his eyes closed as if resting, suddenly snapped his eyes open. A cold light burst from his gaze! He instantly cut into the main control system. The screen clearly displayed a faint signal source that was almost about to dissipate, retreating frantically in an attempt to disconnect!

“Lock onto it! Full suppression! Reverse parse the physical coordinates! Fast!”

Ling Yao’s voice was like ice shards scraping against metal, carrying a trace of rage from being thoroughly provoked and a hint of… rapid, almost instinctive admiration?

What a ghost!

To think he actually nearly exploited such a loophole!

The massive Imperial AI and computational resources instantly lunged like a pack of starving wolves toward the retreating signal.

The moment the alarm blared, Yun Shu cut all active connections. His consciousness felt as though it were being yanked by an invisible, colossal force, retreating frantically.

He knew he was exposed!

Ling Yao’s reaction was faster than imagined!

The Empire’s reverse-tracking force pursued him like a tsunami, ferociously smashing against the multiple springboards and camouflage barriers he had pre-set.

One layer, two layers, three layers… the barriers were torn apart one after another like paper!

The “Firefly” relays let out an overburdened wail.

On the other end of the channel, Lin Xiao was screaming his name in terror.

Yun Shu felt as if his consciousness were about to be crushed by this force; agonizing pain surged through his entire body. He abruptly coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood, which splashed onto the light-computer screen—a shocking sight.

At the final critical moment, he activated the last emergency command—not a defense, but the proactive detonation of the two “Firefly” relays closest to the Imperial tracking force!

Boom—!

In the distant interstellar dust belt, two tiny bursts of fire silently erupted. The resulting data storm and energy turbulence instantly and briefly disrupted the continuity of the Imperial tracking signal.

Utilizing this hard-won gap of less than half a second, Yun Shu’s consciousness snapped back into reality!

“Ugh—aaah!”

His entire body rolled from the chair onto the floor, curling into a ball. His body convulsed violently, and he coughed as if his lungs were tearing apart. Fresh red foam continuously bubbled from his lips. His vision went black, and he nearly fainted.

The neural interface patch at the back of his neck had become scalding hot due to the overload, even emitting a faint scent of burning. The portable light-computer screen flickered with a mass of rolling garbled code before finally going completely black; the internal chips had fried.

In the encrypted channel, Lin Xiao’s voice carried a sob and immense panic: “Teacher! Teacher! How are you?! Relays No. 3 and No. 5 signals have vanished! The Imperial tracking signal is weakening… we… we’ve shaken them off for now! Teacher! Answer me!”

Yun Shu lay paralyzed on the cold floor, drenched in cold sweat and blood, looking like a dying fish out of water. He breathed with difficulty; every inhalation brought burning pain to his lungs and the metallic taste of blood to his throat.

He had failed. He hadn’t obtained any substantial data.

Yet, he had succeeded. He had confirmed that the item truly existed, and… he had escaped alive from Ling Yao’s “Net Hunt” and the subsequent thunderous pursuit.

Though the price was heavy.

With trembling hands, he fumbled to find the bottle of medicinal spray and shakily gave his mouth several spritzes. He also inhaled some nerve-stabilizing drugs, only then managing to suppress the lethal coughing and dizziness.

“…I’m… fine.”

He squeezed out a few words hoarsely toward the damaged light-computer, unsure if Lin Xiao could still receive them.

He struggled to sit up against the wall, looking at the startling pool of blood on the floor and the scorched equipment. On his pale face, the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a faint, exhausted, yet sharp arc.

Ling Yao… The Empire’s Marshal… Truly… formidable. But I… have finally touched your edge.

He slowly closed his eyes, gathering his nearly exhausted physical strength.

Next time, it wouldn’t be so easy. Not for him, and not for Ling Yao.

Meanwhile, at the heart of the Chenhuan Empire’s “Iron Curtain,” Ling Yao looked at the signal that had finally vanished from the screen and the faint interference signal from the explosion in the dust belt. His expression was so dark it seemed it could drip ink.

The command center was deathly silent; none of the technicians dared to even breathe loudly.

“Detonating the relays… cutting off the pursuit at the cost of sacrificing peripheral equipment… decisive and ruthless.”

Ling Yao murmured to himself, his fingers lightly tapping the console with a rhythmic clack-clack. “Since when did Xi Lan produce such a character?”

He pulled up the few remaining characteristic codes from the abnormal signal’s retreat.

“The encryption mode carries the distinct style of Xi Lan’s ‘Stardust’ system, but the core algorithm has undergone extreme personalized optimization, it’s almost as if one person reconstructed half the system alone.”

The interest in his eyes intensified, even overshadowing his anger at being provoked.

“Could a nation of sick men, a place so starved of resources, actually raise a ghost like this?”

He stood up, his tall figure casting a shadow heavy with pressure.

“Are the reverse-calculation results out? I want his specific physical coordinates!”

His voice returned to its usual cold and unquestionable tone.

“Reporting, Marshal!” a technician’s voice trembled. “The opponent’s final self-destruction interference was thorough, we can only roughly lock him down to… Star-Shatter City and its surrounding star sectors…”

“Star-Shatter City?” Ling Yao’s brow arched. “That rat hole again.”

He walked to the massive star map, his gaze locking onto that planet shimmering with chaotic light.

“Prepare a fast assault ship,” he ordered. “I’m going to Star-Shatter City myself to see this sick cat who nearly scratched through my iron wall.”

The ghost had revealed its tail. The hunter was finally entering the field in person.