Ning Li was just about to step forward when she pulled her leg back.
She walked into the researchers’ office as if she were an old acquaintance, and spoke casually, “Is that the latest news?”
The three people in the office were instantly drawn by her words.
“You are?”
Ning Li’s tone was easy and natural.
“Oh, I’m a researcher from the 46th floor working on Abnormal Species forms. My surname is Wang.”
The others played along, “So it’s Researcher Wang! Pleasure to meet you.”
This top-tier Senior Research Institute had thirty floors above ground, but seventy more below, totaling a hundred.
With over ten thousand people in the institute and new faces arriving daily, it was impossible to know every researcher.
The researchers working underground had more illustrious résumés—almost all started as Deputy Professors.
Judging from her outfit, she wasn’t an assistant but an actual researcher.
Then they saw her badge—it was indeed from the 46th floor, the surname Wang, her position listed as Director of the 46th Floor Abnormal Species Forms Office, Deputy Professor.
By rank, this Wang was actually of higher status than them.
They fell silent.
Their attitudes became respectful, and they answered Ning Li’s questions without hesitation.
After Ning Li entered, K strode in as if it were his own domain, neither of them acting like intruders at all—so brazen it was almost admirable.
Who would have guessed they’d come to blow up the institute?
Lu Guang couldn’t help but curse them as lunatics in his heart.
Where else would you see such brazen outsiders?
It only proved: never judge experimental subjects by ordinary standards.
Lu Guang repeatedly wanted to expose their identities and call the Security Department to restrain them—teach them a lesson. In the end, he held back.
They looked too confident, completely unconcerned about being exposed.
If he made a rash move, the consequences could be dire.
Just wait.
Lu Guang told himself to be patient.
Times were different now—discretion was the better part of valor.
So he stood by silently, listening to their chat without any unnecessary movements.
A researcher in the office answered Ning Li, “The news is from five hours ago, but we’ve only just finished our experiment and saw it ourselves.”
Ning Li reached out her hand.
“Let me take a look.”
The female researcher didn’t even hesitate and simply handed over her wristband.
Ning Li glanced at it—yes, the news was indeed five hours old.
Today, the Election concluded, and the final result was out. In three days would be the Inauguration Ceremony for the new Commander.
These three days were for the transition.
As she extended a finger to open the video, another hand—knuckles clearly defined—appeared beside hers.
“Vice-Professor Wang, we’re pressed for time.”
It was K interrupting her.
Ning Li was unmoved.
“No hurry, Xiao Zhang.”
Another researcher who didn’t know the situation chimed in, “The video’s only about three minutes—won’t take long to watch.”
“We haven’t had a chance to watch it ourselves yet.”
Ning Li decisively tapped the video.
It was Yin Que’s gratitude speech after winning the Election.
After two months apart, he looked much the same as before, only thinner, a trace of fatigue at the gentle corners of his eyes.
His skin was fair, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out all the more.
Had he not been resting well?
From the wristband, Yin Que’s voice rang out clearly:
“The Election is over.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for every vote cast for me, and for every ounce of your support.”
“In these two-plus months of campaigning, so much has happened—battles never ceased. In some war zones, citizens resisted the Abnormal Species while still managing to vote for me, even canvassing for me offline. I am deeply grateful.”
“Our fight against the Abnormal Species has lasted thousands of years. Even in this time of fatigue, I promise every citizen: I will faithfully fulfill my duty as Commander and defend every inch of our land. My Rose of the Universe and I will always be with you.”
“Here, I must thank many people. I thank my rivals, who also worked hard to prepare each speech. I thank my Vice-Commander and the Former Guard Captain—through it all, they’ve helped me so much.”
“In truth, the one I want to thank most is someone who changed my outlook, who made me stand here again. Regrettably, she is not present to witness my victory…”
Ning Li had no interest in what followed.
She heard the disappointment and regret in his words, which stirred her own emotions.
K clicked his tongue, face impatient.
“What the hell is this? That’s it? I could be Commander too! If I’d known, I’d have run in the Election myself!”
The three researchers in the office: ???
Wait, is this guy a Yin Que hater?
This was the first time they’d met a Yin Que hater in person.
Of course, Yin Que wasn’t currency—he couldn’t be loved by everyone.
At least, some of the rival Commander candidates probably hated him.
If Yin Que hadn’t been resurrected, the next Commander would’ve been that other person for sure.
Among the billions in the Guide/Sentinel world, the ratio of those who love Yin Que to those who dislike him is about 19:1—a frightening statistic.
That means, among every twenty people you meet, only one is indifferent or even dislikes him; of the other nineteen, about seventeen are diehard fans and the remaining two are rational admirers.
Since ancient times, who but Yin Que could achieve that?
“…Fortunately, my Spiritual Companion has always been by my side, along with my Rose of the Universe.”
These words dropped into Ning Li’s ears like oil on water.
Right—Xiao Hei.
“Xiao Hei, you’ve stayed by Yin Que’s side all this time?”
Ning Li communicated with Xiao Hei through the Seaspirit Domain.
In these two months, they had almost zero communication, as if they’d returned to the state two hundred years later.
[Yes.]
“How’s it going, playing with Xiao K?”
[Not bad.]
Xiao Hei had returned to its old, monosyllabic self.
But Ning Li, as its master, could still sense that something was different from before.
In the past, it truly had nothing to say.
Now, it seemed more like it was pretending.
K always called it Black God—did it have a celebrity image to maintain and not want to drop it?
Ning Li didn’t bother to push; as long as they could communicate, that was enough.
“Congratulate Yin Que for me—tell him congratulations on winning the Election.”
[Okay.]
Ning Li spoke sincerely, “You were the cutest when you used to pick up random things. You were so lively, so enthusiastic. Now you’re always acting cool—”
Xiao Hei was silent for a while, then replied, [You’re never cute.]
Ning Li:
Conversation over.
Ning Li wasn’t angry or provoked.
In truth, she and her Spiritual Companion were one; when she was well, so was it—when she wasn’t, neither was it.
This was Xiao Hei’s first time ever expressing a clear opinion about its master.
As a community of interest, Xiao Hei would never provoke her on purpose—or say anything unnecessary.
So, what was it trying to express?
[You can relax a little.]
Just as Ning Li thought the conversation was over, Xiao Hei’s voice sounded again in her Seaspirit Domain.
It didn’t insist on sticking to its three-word habit; in fact, it had already broken that rule earlier.
The Black God might be cool outside, but to Ning Li, it was just her eternal battle partner.
Guide/Sentinel and Spiritual Companion were bound by life and death; their bond would always remain unbreakable.
[At least, in front of him.]
This time, the conversation truly ended.
***
After leaving the office, Lu Guang coughed a few times, his voice raspy.
“I thought you wouldn’t bother. On someone else’s turf, the less you do or say, the better—caution is the best policy.”
Yet Ning Li’s every step defied his expectations.
Did she really not care about being discovered?
If she did, she wouldn’t have walked into an ordinary researcher’s office, chatted with them, and even spent several minutes watching Yin Que’s speech.
If she didn’t, why be fully armed at all?
Even now, Lu Guang didn’t know what Ning Li and K had come to the institute to do.
They seemed far too relaxed.
That nonchalant air made his heart pound.
Only those who want to escape unscathed are so careful, allowing no mistakes.
If someone doesn’t care about the outcome—or is fully confident—then there’s no need to be so tense.
Lu Guang no longer cared about fear or K hitting him.
He trembled as he asked, “What era are you from?”
He needed to know more about them to guess their purpose here.
With current technology, it was still impossible to artificially create such perfect and powerful Guide/Sentinels.
These two must be the finest works of the Future Institute.
They had to be from the future.
They must possess the god-given artifact—the Retrograde Prism.
Only the Retrograde Prism could manipulate time.
When they reached a corner where no one was around, K suddenly slapped Lu Guang hard across the face.
Lu Guang, already nearly blind with age, felt half his life go with that slap.
“Old man, what do you want to know?”
Lu Guang wanted to shout for Security Department, but K gave him no chance—he simply dislocated Lu Guang’s jaw, leaving him unable to speak.
Ning Li said coolly, “We don’t need him anymore.”
K rolled his right shoulder.
“I know, boss. I held back.”
“Now, this institute already has the blueprint it’ll have two hundred years from now. Seems there’s not much fundamental change in that time.”
That meant, if they could get into the Control Center, they could quickly paralyze the entire institute.
What’s more, the institute had a Self-Destruct Program, set up to prevent Abnormal Species riots, experiment failures, and other unexpected emergencies.
It was a safeguard left by the initial staff of the institute.
Once activated, the Self-Destruct Program would reduce the place to Ruins in half an hour.
Ning Li tilted her head to look at K.
“Guess how many Abnormal Species are being studied here?”
K, somehow having gotten a piece of bubblegum, chewed as he spoke, “Even at the lowest estimate, there have to be thousands, maybe tens of thousands.”
Otherwise, why have a Self-Destruct Program at all?
If over ten thousand Abnormal Species rampaged, ninety-nine percent of researchers would never escape.
Ning Li grabbed the weakened Lu Guang with one hand, used his clearance to open the elevator, and pressed for the 23rd floor.
She had to admit, Lu Guang was quite useful—even as Deputy Professor Wang, her current borrowed identity, she didn’t have clearance for the 23rd floor.
The moment Lu Guang saw the number 23, his eyes went wide in disbelief.
B…
That’s the Control Center’s floor!
Why did she press 23?
Did she know something?!
Too bad—no one answered his question.
K flexed his fingers, sneering, “Get ready for a fight!”
He was in a foul mood, itching for a brawl.
The 23rd floor had the tightest security in the entire institute.
But now, most of the security should’ve been lured out by her Skull Army.
The rest posed no threat.
Ning Li looked up at the numbers in the right-hand corner: 1, 2, 3, 4…
The display ticked down as they descended toward the 23rd floor.
Ding.
The elevator stopped precisely at the 23rd floor.
Just as the doors were about to open, Xiao Hei’s voice sounded in Ning Li’s mind.
[I’ve sent your congratulations to him.]
[He asked me to pass along a question: Have you been well lately?]
Was it almost five in the morning?
Had Yin Que not slept yet, or was he already awake?
The elevator doors slid open with a whoosh.
Ning Li instantly snapped into combat mode.
She heard herself reply, “Pretty good. Thank him for asking.”
“But Xiao Hei, I’m busy now—talk later.”
With that, Ning Li and K flashed out of the elevator and unleashed their abilities simultaneously.