As Hu Jing’s voice faded.
Everything before her eyes grew blurry and dim.
The long-lost sense of consciousness receded like a tide once more.
Chu You didn’t even have time to react before she was pulled back into endless silence.
Who knew how much time had passed.
A faint, intermittent sound of sobbing drifted to her ears.
Chu You struggled to gather her hazy awareness, and with great effort, she slowly opened her eyes.
She was still in Xia Ji’s home.
This time, however, the furnishings had changed.
The layout looked much closer to how Xia Ji’s real home appeared.
Many family photos of Xia Ji with her parents hung on the living room walls, and the cloth covering the sofa was trendier than before.
The scene was clearer and more vivid than last time, with more realistic details—enough that Chu You began to have her own suspicions.
At that moment, several people were seated at opposite ends of the sofa.
On one side, Hu Jing was clutching the young Xia Ji, quietly sobbing and unable to hold back her tears.
On the other, several soldiers in Pioneer Corps uniforms sat, their faces etched with grief and shame.
“I’m sorry, sister-in-law… I was supposed to take this pioneering mission,” said the leading officer as he slowly rose to his feet.
His shoulders trembled uncontrollably, his voice choked with emotion.
“I’ve let you down. I’ve let the Captain down.”
“It’s not your fault, Dong Liang.”
Hu Jing looked up, her eyes red and her voice hoarse.
“Nan Chen was the Captain. Leading the team on the expedition was his duty. You don’t have to blame yourself.”
She said this, then lifted a shaking hand to the Huafu Army insignia on her chest, and spoke with utmost solemnity: “To pioneer the wasteland, so that civilization may not perish…”
“To resist invasion, so that our homeland may never fall!”
“Both Nan Chen and I are soldiers. From the moment we enlisted, we were prepared for the possibility that one of us might be lost at any time.”
“Dong Liang, I only want to ask you one thing today—”
Hu Jing choked on her words, tears streaming silently down her face, nearly breaking down: “Can Nan Chen’s body be recovered?”
At her words, the officer’s breath caught.
His shoulders slumped, as if all the strength and spirit had drained out of him in that instant.
“Sister-in-law…”
“I’m… sorry…”
Within two hours of Captain Xia Nan Chen’s pioneering team going missing, the higher-ups had already dispatched over a dozen teams to search the mission area.
But that pioneering team seemed to have been wiped from the face of the earth, not a single trace left behind.
“It’s… it’s alright,” Hu Jing drew a deep breath, closing her eyes as she let her tears fall freely.
“If the body can’t be found, maybe… maybe he’s not dead yet… It’s fine, it’s fine…”
At that moment, little Xia Ji, still cradled in her mother’s arms, seemed to sense the sorrow radiating from Hu Jing.
She looked up and clumsily wiped at her mother’s tear-stained face with her chubby little hands.
“Mama, don’t cry.”
Little Xia Ji comforted her mother while peeking timidly at the soldiers at the other end of the sofa, softly asking, “Uncles, when is my daddy coming home…”
The soldiers hung their heads, unable to meet the gaze of the small girl.
Little Xia Ji stared at them, then looked up at her mother again.
Her eyes gradually reddened, and though so young, she seemed to realize something.
“Daddy…”
“Where is Daddy… Why isn’t he coming home yet…”
“I want Daddy…”
In Xia Ji’s helpless cries for her father, the scene blurred and faded once again.
Damn it, does it have to be like this every time?
Chu You gritted her teeth and no longer tried to resist the senseless withdrawal of consciousness.
Everything before her eyes swiftly faded to black, and she was cast once again into endless silence.
No telling how much time passed before that strange feeling of consciousness slowly reformed and awakened from the void.
Chu You slowly lifted her heavy eyelids.
This time, at last, the scene changed—
No longer the warmth of a family home, but the solemn chill of a Law Enforcement Bureau.
On a long blue plastic bench, Xia Ji—now in her middle school uniform—huddled helplessly in the corner, arms wrapped tight around her knees.
Her small frame trembled, like a frightened young beast with nowhere to hide.
Before long, the door to the interrogation room quietly opened.
A law enforcement officer in uniform, with a rather fierce appearance, entered.
His gaze landed on the small, shivering figure in the corner.
He paused, then deliberately softened his steps, walking over to stand in front of Xia Ji.
Surprisingly, the fierce-looking officer didn’t look down from above.
Instead, he slowly crouched so that his eyes were level with Xia Ji, curled up on the bench.
He tried his best to soften his expression, and his voice was unusually gentle, with a hint of comfort.
“Don’t be afraid, child, it’s over now…” he repeated, trying to offer a sense of safety, “The time-variant creatures that broke in have all been eliminated by our Swordbearer comrades. This is the Law Enforcement Bureau—it’s safe here. Nothing can hurt you anymore.”
At his words, Xia Ji slowly looked up.
Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, still carried a trace of lingering fear as she glanced timidly at the officer trying so hard to be kind.
Her voice trembled uncontrollably as she whispered, “Uncle… where are my classmates? Chen Xinyu—how is she? And Xu Yuanzhou…”
When she mentioned the last name, urgency and worry colored her tone.
“He saved us, but then he went back to help another classmate, Lu Ran… Are—are they both okay?”
Hearing her question, the law enforcement officer’s expression froze for a moment, and he turned his gaze aside.
He composed himself for a while before turning back, his tone growing heavy: “Chen Xinyu is safe—just frightened. Her parents have already taken her home to rest.”
“Lu Ran is also fine, just some scrapes. They’ve been treated.”
He paused, as though the next words weighed a thousand catties.
With difficulty, he continued, “As for Xu Yuanzhou…”
Here, the officer’s voice cut off abruptly.
Xia Ji’s heart leapt into her throat.
She stared wide-eyed at the officer, not even daring to breathe.
In his eyes, she saw an unmistakable gloom and sorrow.
The officer took a deep breath and, with a voice full of regret and grief, spoke the cruel truth: “He… to save Lu Ran, was surrounded by a horde of time-variant creatures that arrived on the scene…”
“By the time our rescue teams and the Swordbearers got there, he had already… died heroically.”
“I’m sorry, child… we…”
“Sacrificed…?”
Those two words stabbed into Xia Ji’s ears like sharp icicles, piercing straight to her heart.
Her eyes instantly filled with tears.
She clutched her school uniform tightly, her knuckles turning white with the strain.
Scalding tears rolled down her pale cheeks, falling onto her chilled hands.
“It’s all my fault… it’s all my fault,” she began to mumble, her voice broken and drowning in guilt and pain.
“If it weren’t for me… if we hadn’t called for help… Yuanzhou, he… he wouldn’t have…”
“…It’s all my fault…”
Lost in her grief and self-blame over her friend’s death, Xia Ji didn’t know how much time passed before she finally looked up, wiping her tears and snot away with her sleeve, and turned once more to the officer waiting patiently beside her.
“Uncle… when can I go home? My mom… is she coming to get me?”
But the instant she asked, the officer’s eyes flickered with a sadness and difficulty even deeper than when he’d announced Xu Yuanzhou’s death.
He forced himself to lift his hand, using his rough but gentle fingers to wipe away the unending tears on Xia Ji’s face.
His lips trembled as though each word cost enormous effort.
“I’m sorry… child…”
His voice was painfully hoarse.
“Your mother… she was a truly admirable soldier.”
He hesitated, searching for the gentlest possible words, but found that nothing could soften such a tragedy.
“When word of the large-scale time-variant invasion reached the city, your mother went straight to the Swordbearer branch organizing the resistance, and joined the frontlines without a second thought…”
“Later… later she got word that there were many time-variant creatures near your school, too…”
The officer’s voice grew lower, laden with irreversible sorrow.
“The intense fighting took a heavy toll on her body… She… she said her daughter was still at school, and insisted on going despite all objections…”
“A few Swordbearers and your mother were attacked by a high-grade, unidentified aberrant…”
He could go no further, but the unfinished words and the profound grief in his eyes said it all.
“I’m sorry, child… she… has fallen as well.”
“Sacrificed…?”
Once again, those two words struck Xia Ji’s heart.
This time, she didn’t cry out.
It was as if her soul and strength were sucked out in an instant, leaving her utterly blank.
Her eyes were empty, like dry wells, staring blankly ahead.
Chu You felt cold all over as she watched the emptiness in Xia Ji’s eyes.
It was as if someone were squeezing her heart mercilessly, grinding it over and over.
Xia Ji didn’t speak. Only silent tears streamed from her eyes, dripping from her chin to soak her school uniform.
Her mouth opened slightly, as if she wanted to call out, but no sound came.
In that silent stillness, she could only, again and again, in despair, silently cry out.
Mom…