On the forty-eighth day of cohabitation, Lin Xia received a mission notification from the Branch.
It wasn’t about Yin Qi—it was a B-level Meme incident.
Abnormal phenomena had appeared near a residential area in the suburbs, suspected to be some kind of Emotion Interference Meme.
The range of influence was expanding, and three ordinary residents had already developed unexplained emotional disturbances.
The Branch had dispatched two squads.
As a Non-combat Support Agent, Lin Xia needed to remain on standby during the incident, assist with information compilation, but she didn’t have to go to the scene.
She sat at the desk, flipped through the mission file, marked a few key points, then opened the organization’s internal intelligence compilation system to synchronize real-time reports for the squads.
Once she entered work mode, her attention was mostly fixed on the screen, to the point where she almost forgot about her surroundings.
About an hour later, she felt something gently placed beside her.
It was a cup of tea, at the perfect temperature, still emitting a faint wisp of steam.
She looked up.
Yin Qi had already returned to the sofa, holding a book, as if nothing had happened.
“Thanks,” Lin Xia said.
“Mm.”
Yin Qi turned a page.
“How much longer will you be busy?”
“Not sure. It’ll be over once the incident is handled,”
Lin Xia said.
“I feel like you might need to handle dinner on your own tonight.”
“It’s fine,” Yin Qi said.
“I’ll just order takeout. Do you want some?”
“Yes,” Lin Xia said,
“but I’m not sure when I’ll have time to eat.”
“Then I’ll order something that keeps well,” Yin Qi said.
“What do you want?”
“…Fried rice, or something,”
Lin Xia said.
“Do you actually know how to use the takeout app now?”
“Better than you,”
Yin Qi said.
“…What do you mean?”
Lin Xia wanted to say, “Don’t go through my phone,” but she realized she’d already said that last time and it didn’t work.
Besides, Su Xin had her own phone now, so she dropped it and went back to work.
***
That day’s B-level incident turned out to be more complicated than expected.
Not because the Meme was particularly strong, but because Emotion Interference-type Memes were trickier to handle with ordinary people.
Two nearby residents had developed persistent low mood symptoms, and another had a relatively severe anxiety reaction.
The GMRA containment squad had to narrow the contact range step by step while protecting the residents.
Lin Xia stayed in the organization’s internal system the whole time, assisting and coordinating, compiling reports from various parties, and helping to draft temporary intelligence summaries.
Her eyes were glued to the screen.
Around nine in the evening, the containment work entered its final phase.
Lin Xia’s workload began to ease, and she finally had a chance to lean back in her chair and rub her eyes.
Her neck was a bit sore.
She took a brief break to wolf down half a bowl of dinner.
“Almost done?”
She turned her head.
Yin Qi was sitting on the sofa, book already put down, watching her with her chin resting in her hands.
“Yeah, almost done,” Lin Xia said.
“Just need to wait a little longer.”
“Mm,” Yin Qi said.
“How are you all handling that Meme?”
Lin Xia thought about it.
This information wasn’t classified, so she could say:
“It’s almost contained, but there are a few nearby residents affected by the emotional disturbance. They need follow-up treatment.”
“Emotion interference type,” Yin Qi said, her tone calm.
“Recovery isn’t hard, but it takes time. Can’t rush it.”
“Do you know about this kind of Meme?”
“Maybe,”
Yin Qi said.
“The essence of Emotion Interference is to stimulate and amplify emotions that people already have, not to forcibly implant an emotion. So if you try to suppress it forcefully during handling, it might actually cause side effects.”
Lin Xia stared at her for a moment, then decided to send that exact paragraph to the team leader in charge of the scene.
She didn’t note the source.
Two minutes later, the team leader replied:
Makes sense.
Adjusting the handling plan.
Thanks for the intel.
Lin Xia looked at that reply, remembered the analysis from that video call, and then glanced at Yin Qi.
“Did you study Memetics?”
“No,” Yin Qi said, “but… I can sense it.”
“Sense it…”
Lin Xia repeated.
“Can you sense that B-level Meme right now?”
Yin Qi paused for a second, then said,
“It’s a bit far. I can’t sense it clearly, but I know it’s chaotic over there.”
“Chaotic how?”
“The emotions are very chaotic,” Yin Qi said.
“There are three people with very strong emotions, and one…”
She paused.
“One person is very scared, but it doesn’t feel like the kind of fear from emotional interference. It feels more like someone from your team on-site.”
“An agent on the scene?”
“I don’t know if it’s an agent,” Yin Qi said.
“I just sensed it. I could be wrong.”
Lin Xia opened the communication system to contact the on-site squad and confirm their personnel status.
Two minutes later, the squad leader replied: One squad member experienced mild emotional interference, now disengaged. Currently stable.
Lin Xia saw that reply and slowly turned her head toward Yin Qi, speaking in a tone she obviously tried to keep calm: “That person you sensed just now… was probably an agent on-site. They got some emotional interference, but they’ve disengaged now.”
Yin Qi nodded, expression neutral.
“Good.”
“You’re two kilometers away,” Lin Xia said, pointing at her.
“You sensed the emotional state of an agent on-site from that distance.”
“At this range, the sensation is very vague,” Yin Qi said.
“I just felt someone was afraid. I didn’t get any more specific information.”
Lin Xia stared at her.
In her mind, she revisited all the subjective evaluations she’d ever written for Su Xin.
Then she took a deep breath, let go of her chair’s backrest, turned around, and added a new entry to her memo: “Subject suspected of possessing an Emotion Sensing Ability. Effective range at least 2 kilometers. Accuracy sufficient to perceive the emotional type of a specific individual at that distance. This ability was not reflected in the assessment report. Recommend follow-up.”