CR CH19

Chapter 19: The Fuse

In the evening, the emerald surface of the water rippled gently.

Ji Yandong sat down beside Jiang Tianji, a jacket slung over his shoulders. “Want to talk?”

Jiang Tianji was lying on the grass, his eyes fixed on the defensive grid high above the base. Layer upon layer of faint, shimmering ripples distorted the light of the stars and the moon, making it feel as if they were lying on the seabed, unable to surface.

The technician, Jiang, had once mentioned that this was one of the few places in Z01 where one could unwind, but since its completion, almost no one ever came here.

During his first few days at Z01, the phrase Jiang Tianji heard the most was: “This place isn’t school.”

Back at school, most of the people around him fell into three categories: those who spent every day finding new ways to coax themselves to survive, those who stared at the rankings and clawed their way up, and those who were discontented with their lot but, lacking the strength to change it, had no choice but to resign themselves to fate.

Arriving at Z01, he realized it wasn’t all that different. Most people simply chose to fulfill their immediate tasks and directives.

Helplessness born of the environment bordered on rapidly advancing technology; the people on this land could do nothing but keep running.

In this race, civilization was left with only a faint spark, as a race equipped with mechanical lighthouses gradually discarded its primitive kindling.

“Captain, I’m not angry.”

Hearing this, Ji Yandong sighed. “I know.”

“This whole thing has nothing to do with you. Feng Huo crossed the line.”

“He’s a bit different from us. He comes from a D-rank planet. He has no family, only a younger brother and sister he picked up, though he originally had an older brother too.”

Ji Yandong didn’t pursue that line of thought, shifting the conversation instead.

“Feng Huo values loyalty deeply, but he’s far too stubborn. A brain the size of a sesame seed can’t process that many things, yet he insists on overthinking.”

“This matter is his fault. Don’t enable him. Scold him if he needs it, hit him if he deserves it.”

Jiang Tianji let out a chuckle, turning on his side to rest his head on his arm. “I’m just a frail scholar. How could I ever win a fight against him?”

Ji Yandong patted his firm, streamlined muscles. “Looked to me like the scholar was pretty good at dodging today.”

“Pff.” Jiang Tianji waved it off. “Cowards are all like that.”

Ji Yandong chuckled, not pressing the matter.

“When Feng Huo first arrived, he was a total rebel who refused to submit to authority. Huang Qi used to call him a savage from a D-rank planet behind his back.”

“A while back, during training, he suddenly vanished for a few days. Since he wasn’t popular, no one noticed. One day, I happened to return to the dorm and saw him sitting alone by the edge of his bed, looking like a puppy caught in the rain.”

“He didn’t glare at me coldly like he usually did. Instead, he asked a question completely out of the blue: ‘Are our lives just worthless?’“

“His expression was entirely serious, free of any intense emotion. I didn’t know how to answer, and I didn’t ask him what had happened either. I just walked over, sat down, and asked if he wanted to grab food, my treat.”

“After that day, his attitude improved considerably, as if he realized we weren’t out to hurt him.”

“Huang Qi isn’t stupid either; he just prefers to look at things simply.”

“We can guess a bit about the reason behind Feng Huo’s abnormal behavior, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to throw a tantrum. Huang Qi was furious today, scolding him from the morning simulation all the way until now. Feng Huo probably knows he’s in the wrong, so he kept a grim face and didn’t talk back.”

“Tianji,” Ji Yandong suddenly called his name. “I’m telling you all this today because I want you to give us a chance to understand each other.”

“The people in this base come from all corners of the universe. Once we step out of these gates, we might never see each other again. While you’re here, you can give anyone a chance to know you—just consider it giving yourself a chance.”

Jiang Tianji locked eyes with his calm, steady gaze, feeling for a split second as though he had been seen right through.

He lowered his head, running a hand through his messy hair, and muttered evasively, “We’ll get to know each other just by spending time together. Captain, I’m already twenty. Can we please skip the late-night heart-to-heart?”

Ji Yandong didn’t take the bait, merely keeping his eyes on him. “Is that so?”

In the distance, the lights of the officers’ quarters went out one by one, signaling the end of their conversation.

Jiang Tianji didn’t offer a response. Ji Yandong stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes.

“Think it over. Don’t stay out here too long.”

“…Got it.”

After Ji Yandong left, Jiang Tianji didn’t wait long before getting up on his own accord; it was getting late.

At this hour, the dorm hallways were practically deserted. The AI sprites hovered silently overhead, where an occasional, sudden word of concern could startle a daydreaming person into an awkward dance on the spot.

Jiang Tianji took a hot shower. When he returned to the dorm carrying his toiletries, his teammates were in the middle of a conversation.

“You’re back?”

Huang Qi struck up a conversation casually. Jiang Tianji gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, and they resumed their previous topic, both sides clearly not holding a grudge.

“Feng Huo, where are you from again? I think you mentioned it on day one, but I was too busy eating to pay attention,” Huang Qi asked, tilting his head.

Feng Huo had gone to bed early. Hearing the question, he shifted impatiently but still responded in a low voice, “Tianheng Corner. A small place entirely made of ruins. Nothing worth talking about.”

“Tianheng Corner…” Huang Qi murmured, seemingly intending to learn more.

BANG—

A sudden, massive crash erupted right beside them, startling everyone. Jiang Tianji bent down to pick up the toiletries that had dropped onto the floor, shoving them into his locker.

Ji Yandong propped himself up. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Jiang Tianji walked over and switched off the light, his footsteps a bit brisker than usual.

In the darkness, Ji Yandong slowly knit his brows, about to press for answers, when he heard Jiang Tianji let out a yawn.

“Probably just a bit tired. Let’s turn in early.”

Lately, the previously suppressed “Blood Capsule” incident had once again ignited a storm of controversy across the Star Network. An anonymous technical expert had breached the system and published fragments of gruesome footage showing the victims. A mere few seconds of video had plunged citizens across the entire interstellar community into a fury. Even the populations of the Empire and the Beastmen felt outraged on their behalf, demanding a direct response from the Federation government.

Training at Z01 was closed off, but as the most fundamental combat force, its management wasn’t nearly as strict as the echelons above. A wind blowing within an enclosed space, finding no outlet, would eventually sweep into every single corner.

Right at this critical juncture, several new modules testing squad coordination were introduced to the various teams. A single mistake by one individual meant extra training for the entire squad.

“They’re all at the age where their tempers are hardest to restrain. These past two days, I feel like I’m working at a zoo,” a young man who had only recently become an instructor couldn’t help but complain during a break. “It’s like all their tact has vanished, leaving behind nothing but primal urges. I won’t even mention competitive drive—at least that’s constructive—but what am I supposed to do when the slightest provocation makes them bare their teeth at their own teammates?”

Someone choked on their smoke from laughing, pointing at Zhao Hengyi.

“You should learn from Officer Zhao over here. Claiming it’s to foster a harmonious environment in Z01, he went and proposed some joint social mixer to Captain Ling, wanting to bring the Ability Division over from next door to liven things up.”

“And what did Captain Ling say?”

Tang Min cleared her throat, mimicking Ling Kongmiao’s characteristic half-smile. “Sure. Why don’t we organize a field trip while we’re at it? We can drop them back off at school on the way. And don’t forget to ask the little kids if they had fun before they leave.”

The group burst into a roar of laughter. Zhao Hengyi looked utterly defeated, muttering under his breath.

“Wasn’t I just trying to ease the boss’s burdens out of goodwill?”

A voice suddenly drifted coldly from behind them. “You doing fewer things is already easing my burden.”

The instructors instantly snuffed out their cigarettes and straightened their uniforms.

Zhao Hengyi said in pleasant surprise, “Boss, what brings you here?”

Ling Kongmiao took off his formal uniform jacket and cape, his silvery-white hair cascading down to his waist. In his hand, he held his military cap bearing the silver-white badge of the Special Support Chief. He looked as though he had just concluded a rather formal conference. “It ended earlier than expected. I had a bit of time, so I came to take a look.”

He cast a glance inside, raising an eyebrow. “Taking a break?”

Tang Min let out a long sigh, nursing a headache. “The new training modules are causing non-stop friction within the squads. It’s frustrating to watch, so I told them to work out a plan on their own.”

“Captain, today…”

“Of—Officer—”

A sudden commotion erupted not far away. The group followed the sound to see several young men running over, gasping for breath as they shouted frantically.

“Over there… Officer, a fight has broken out!”