CR CH51

Chapter 51: Shadows

As the trial came to an end, the remaining instructors and personnel were wrapping things up.

“Captain?”

Realizing something was off, Irene immediately hurried toward Ling Kongmiao’s direction, but he kept walking straight into the ship without looking back.

Seeing that he didn’t respond, Irene knew something bad was happening. Tang Min, standing beside her, seemed to notice something as well and took two steps after her.

“Sister Irene, the Captain’s energy feels wrong.”

“I know.” Irene turned back hastily and pointed to the squad not far away. “You guys carry on. I’ll go check on him.”

Tang Min nodded and stopped following.

Inside the transport ship, the corridor near the Commander’s quarters was completely empty. Irene ran up to catch up just in time to see Ling Kongmiao open the door to his room. Their eyes met for a brief second.

The color of his eyes had undergone a stark change—one was an almost translucent light blue, while the other held the deep shade of the ocean, swirling with wave-like energy.

The energy inside his body had fallen out of balance; his state was very strange, and an unnatural flush crept across his cheeks and down the back of his ears.

Irene lunged forward, but she was still too slow. The mechanical door sealed shut right in front of her, shutting her out.

“Ling Kongmiao, you didn’t listen to a single word I said!”

Her voice flared with anger as she slapped her palm hard against the door.

“How many times have I told you not to inject suppressants recently?! Under these conditions, the suppressant will only irritate your body further! You need to revert to your beast form to release all that built-up energy! You must rest tomorrow!”

Complete silence reigned inside the room. Without another word, gold energy began gathering in Irene’s hand.

“…I didn’t inject a suppressant.”

The small speaker by the doorway lit up with a green indicator, and Ling Kongmiao’s slightly raspy voice came through.

As if he had anticipated Irene’s temper, his tone carried a trace of compromise.

“You didn’t?”

Irene paused, her brows instantly knitting even tighter.

“Impossible. Without an external trigger, your energy wouldn’t suddenly go out of control like this.”

When the person inside fell silent again, Irene lost her patience and banged on the door.

“Forget it… open the door first and let me see what’s going on.”

“I’m fine. I’m going to rest.”

“Are you still a kid?” Irene’s temper flared completely. “Back then, whenever you needed medicine, shots, or treatment, I had to coax you just to open the door! It’s been so many years, and you still want to go through that same routine?”

“…”

“Whenever you’re sick or feeling unwell, all you know how to do is hide! Do you think you can heal yourself without seeing a doctor?”

“A whole month ago, I kept telling you that you needed to vent more energy, but you just refused to listen.”

Seeing that he still didn’t respond, Irene lost her patience entirely.

“Ling Kongmiao, I’m counting to three. If you don’t…”

Finally, the person inside reached his limit. With a loud clatter, something was thrown onto the floor.

“Why would I see a doctor during my rut?! Didn’t you say no suppressants?!”

Dead silence fell between the two of them.

“…Oh.”

Being an Alpha herself, Irene felt a little awkward. Her fiery rage receded like a tide, and she cleared her throat.

“Why so suddenly…”

Mid-sentence, her eyes suddenly flickered, as if a realization had struck her.

“Then… rest well. Leave the rest of the matters to You Li for now.”

Ling Kongmiao gave no response. Irene shifted her gaze to the door’s display screen, where the blinking green light turned gray.

She pursed her lips, turned around, and walked out.

Inside the medical ship, people moved back and forth. Jiang Tianji, who had just finished his suppressant injection, leaned casually against the wall with his shirt off, looking absentminded.

The atmosphere today was subtly subdued. Even the loudest talkers in the squad were barely speaking, making the surroundings quieter than usual.

Tomorrow, based on their scores over the past few months and the trial rankings, adjustments would be made. Whenever changes were about to happen, a fleeting sense of aimlessness would surface in everyone’s hearts.

After differentiating, they had to leave their familiar environments and enter the basic units, quickly adapting from written studies to practical combat training, then establishing their goals through competition, awakening, and ranking.

Most people had hardly adapted to the previous stage before being pushed headlong into the next. Everyone was accustomed to change, and those walking in front were simply the ones best suited to the current environment.

While waiting for treatment, the staff had handed out paper confirmation forms that required everyone’s signature. It didn’t hold much practical significance, but the act of putting pen to paper amplified certain emotions.

Jiang Tianji signed his name with a casual flourish, three bold and fluid characters. As he capped his pen and looked up, he happened to spot Feng Huo’s signature.

For a couple of relatively simple characters, his hand looked as if it had never held a pen before—his five fingers were bunched together like a chicken claw, scribbling two crooked characters onto the paper.

“Feng is missing a dot.”

“Holy shit!”

A voice suddenly sounded right beside him, scaring Feng Huo so badly he instinctively shielded his paper. Upon seeing it was Jiang Tianji, he moved his hand away and let out an unnatural “Oh.”

“Thanks.”

“Looks like you really were planning to write a suicide note that day,” Jiang Tianji patted his shoulder. “That microphone icon on the device is for voice recording. Use that next time.”

“…” Feng Huo’s lips twitched, but no words came out.

Right now, the surroundings were too quiet—it wasn’t the right mood for bickering. Huang Qi was unusually quiet today as well, staring blankly into space from time to time.

“What’s up with you?” Feng Huo draped an arm over his shoulder and muttered, “Even if we aren’t teammates anymore, we’re still roommates. And even if we aren’t roommates, we can still stay in touch. Don’t cry.”

“Get lost.” Huang Qi shook him off and rolled his eyes. “I performed beyond my usual level today, so it’s decent enough.”

Li Cheng was somewhat surprised: “Since when did you care about this? Aren’t you just slacking off anymore?”

“I’ve always been striving for progress, alright?!” Huang Qi paused, clutching his paper with a sigh. “…If someone with average talent who usually acts like a clown suddenly tries hard and still turns out totally average, wouldn’t that ruin my cool persona?”

Detecting a hint of genuine seriousness beneath his words, Ji Yandong’s brows twitched slightly, and he cast a glance over.

“You…”

“Squad B0512, prepare for treatment.”

An AI fairy floated in the air above, interrupting their conversation, leaving everyone no choice but to line up first.

A faint sense of melancholy slowly spread through everyone’s hearts.

On the way back to the dorms, the noise of the crowd echoed around them, but they walked slowly. No one was putting their arms around each other’s shoulders or boasting—it was a rare moment of peace.

Ranks and tiers didn’t mean a final goodbye, but the sense of distance they created was even stronger. Even if they remained together, it would always take time to adapt.

It was like bulk snacks sitting together in a supermarket—unlabeled, unclassified, and sharing the same price tag.

No one knew the difference between them, only that their flavors varied, until one day they were separated, placed on shelves with clear price tags, and assigned their respective values.

Perhaps for the buyers, they needed to consider price, flavor, and popularity.

But for a cookie and a chocolate, they were still just a cookie and a chocolate.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

As they approached the dorms, Feng Huo’s voice came from behind.

He usually talked loudly, but now that his voice had suddenly dropped, one could tell his voice wasn’t actually that rough—it sounded quite youthful.

His fierce face and buzz cut always made people overlook the fact that he was only sixteen. Even in Z01, that was considered quite young.

Jiang Tianji turned around and saw him standing a short distance away from the lights, his hands behind his back as he kicked the air on the ground.

“What?” Jiang Tianji intentionally asked again. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I said, you…” Feng Huo grew a bit annoyed. Raising his voice slightly before losing confidence and letting it drop again, he asked, “Why aren’t you mad?”

He was tall and far from frail, yet that posture reminded Jiang Tianji of a tabby cat he had once encountered. Among a sea of soft, affectionate cats, that particular one had been uniquely fierce.

Likely a newcomer, it bore plenty of combat marks on its body.

At the time, seeing it huddled in a corner looking truly pitiable, Jiang Tianji had bought a ham sausage to feed it.

In the end, the cat went straight for his hand. That day, he not only got scratched but also had his food stolen—taking advantage of his pain, the cat pounced, snatched the sausage in its mouth, and bolted without a shred of conscience.

Afterward, he refrained from feeding stray cats for a long time. Just as he was about to forget the incident, while petting a good-tempered big orange cat by the roadside one day, he turned around and spotted a familiar figure crouching by a fountain not far away.

It looked lean, its eyes far colder than those of other cats. Jiang Tianji didn’t pay much attention; he blew a whistle at it, turned back, and continued enjoying his sweet time with the orange cat. At the time, he didn’t know he was about to face the daily ordeal of dealing with dead mice.

The first time he found a dead mouse at his dorm door, he didn’t take it seriously. But as the frequency increased to the point where the guys suspected they were cursed, he caught a familiar cat red-handed at the door.

The tabby held its tail high, lightly hopping up the steps with a mouse in its mouth, setting it down at the doorway. Seeing Jiang Tianji rushing over with a slipper in hand, it even held its head up high with pride and let out a loud meow.

As a result, it got struck right on the head by the slipper, letting out a short yelp as its four paws slipped on the floor.

That was the first time Jiang Tianji had ever seen a cat look genuinely bewildered. He had actually prepared himself to get scratched.

The tabby stood frozen for a moment before suddenly emitting a sharp, angry meow, springing off the ground to kick Jiang Tianji right in the face before vanishing instantly down the stairs.

That was the last time they saw each other, and the dead mice at the door stopped appearing.

Long after that, one day, a ham sausage lay quietly in that same spot—intact and unopened.

Jiang Tianji had laughed at the sight. Even today, he didn’t know if the tabby had been mad at him for hitting it that day, or if it thought he was just too picky of an eater.

Little animals really couldn’t keep score. That day, he had only broken half a sausage for it, but it had returned a whole one.

Buying a sausage was a casual gesture for him, but for the cat to get its hands on one… converted to human age, that meant over a year of effort.

“Kid, you still haven’t gotten over this?”

Hearing that address, Feng Huo’s face flushed instantly: “You bastard!”

“When I was sixteen…” Jiang Tianji sighed, wanting to say something but ultimately holding back, leaving only a heartfelt exclamation, “Planet D really is a magical place.”

Feng Huo opened his mouth to say more, but saw Jiang Tianji turn back around. A faint smile still lingered at the corners of his lips, yet his eyes remained largely emotionless.

“Stop stuffing nutrient packs into my drawer. I don’t like drinking them. And… there aren’t that many good people out there.”

He turned and walked toward the dorms, disappearing into the crowd.

Feng Huo occasionally reminded him of Li Xiao—both looked unlikable and fierce.

One started worrying about those around him at sixteen, while the other was thinking about saving people before he was even taller than a rock.

They were deeply guarded against strangers, sensitive, and appeared hard to approach, yet they were so remarkably pure.

Jiang Tianji didn’t particularly like being around people like that. Their emotions were far too candid, standing before him like a mirror.

He also disliked looking at shadows; looking at them for too long brought a restless irritability to his heart.

Feng Huo was all bark and no bite. When he realized he couldn’t dodge during combat, his expression changed completely. He wore his temper on his sleeve, shouting all day and driving everyone crazy, but that was all he had.

Jiang Tianji hated losing control because he couldn’t gauge his own bottom line either.

Occasionally, it surprised him—a boy who didn’t seem delicate at all could repeatedly and keenly sense the hidden side deep within his heart, something even those he spent day and night with had never noticed.

Feng Huo actually didn’t need to hold any guilt; in a sense, his instincts hadn’t been wrong.

When did it start… perhaps the moment the things he firmly believed in were shattered without warning, or perhaps even earlier.

An occasional thought creeping up would feel unfamiliar even to himself. Usually, it didn’t feel like putting on a act; during relaxed moments, he would completely forget about those dark, gloomy thoughts.

Yet at a certain moment, he would be swallowed by those emotions once more.

That feeling was like a seed planted deep within his heart, constantly struggling to break through the soil in the dark. After suppressing his emotions for too long, he had exploded once in the face of provocation.

Jiang Tianji would never forget the look on Liang Chong’s face that day—amidst the anger and unwillingness, there was actually a faint trace of fear.

Satisfying, interesting.

The sensation made one unconsciously want to sink deeper into it, but a passerby’s gasp brought him instantly back to his senses.

Jiang Tianji saw his own shadow calmly release Liang Chong’s neck, slowly retreating into the corner where the light couldn’t reach, fully merging into the darkness.

Afterward, he spent a long time lost in confusion, slowly hiding that part of himself away.

Perhaps the shadow and the light were meant to coexist; the change simply depended on which side occupied the larger share.

And he knew very well that he couldn’t let that side take over.

From the moment he realized he was falling into a bottomless vortex, he had learned endurance and restraint.

As well as… longing for a rope.

A rope that could hold onto him—one that would allow him to release his true nature without losing himself.