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After confirming the prisoners were securely tied, the group had left the lower deck to discuss Ah Cheng’s sudden decision in private, away from Qiu Chantian.

With the Empire’s backing, Qiu Chantian had trampled on Tear City for so long that most of its people wouldn’t mind seeing his corpse floating in the sea. Now that they had the chance, the group found it hard to understand why Ah Cheng was so intent on releasing him.

“Of course, we’re letting him go.”

In the wide warehouse, dim lights flickered over dirty yellow water pooling on the floor. Everyone kept their voices low to avoid echoes. Ah Cheng lit a cigarette, took a drag, and said, “If we kill him, the only thing we’ll gain is a sense of satisfaction. It won’t help us in any meaningful way.”

Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to explain. Xie Feng stood silently to the side, twisting the hem of her s.h.i.+rt with nervous hands. More than anything, she just wanted to leave.

“Think about it,” Ah Cheng continued. “If we kill him after recording the video, the Empire will just say he was coerced into confessing. Even without a body, they could fabricate one, claim he’s dead, and dismiss the video as a lie from a desperate man under threat. Then, it’ll just turn into a useless back-and-forth—’The video’s real.’ ‘No, it’s not.’ And its impact will be ruined.”

Shortie nodded slowly, absorbing the logic.

“If we kill him, the Empire will retaliate,” Ah Cheng said, glancing at Xie Feng. “Thinking Tear City will suddenly unite is just wishful thinking. Submitting to the Empire didn’t unite us, and the Empire isn’t stupid enough to retaliate in the most obvious way. They have countless ways to punish us. Killing Qiu Chantian just to vent our anger isn’t worth it.”

Xie Feng remained silent.

As events have evolved to this point, she felt a strange realization sinking in.

Something monumental was happening—something that could change the future of Tear City. And her phone call had set it in motion. But that didn’t mean she was part of it. She was merely witnessing history s.h.i.+ft. The outcome of these events wasn’t in her hands. Her opinions, in fact, held no sway over what would happen next.

She was nothing more than a bystander who happened to be there.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Tear City was her home, and she had triggered these events, yet when everything started to move, she found herself separated, as if a barrier stood between her and the unfolding future. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, and didn’t know what was exactly causing it.

“So, we’re really giving him two days to escape?” Black Dog asked, clearly reluctant.

“No, that won’t work either,” Ah Cheng replied. “If he goes missing, the Empire will say we killed him. Sure, they’ll secretly worry that he might resurface and probably try to hunt him down, but his disappearance will still weaken the video’s impact and credibility. For us, the best outcome is to send him back—intact—into the Empire’s hands.”

“What?” Shortie gasped. No one had seen that coming.

“Hear me out. If everyone sees him return safely and unharmed, then when we release the video, it’ll hit with full force. A leak or betrayal from within always causes more damage than external resistance.”

Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Ah Cheng’s face was barely visible, but his bitter, hateful smile still shone through. “Of course, we’ll need to make the video look natural, as if he’s just having a conversation. We could set up a camera in front of him so he thinks he’s confessing directly to it, but we’ll film him from the side with a phone instead. We can make it work.”

It was too ruthless.

Xie Feng’s palms were covered in cold sweat.

Sending Qiu Chantian back unharmed before releasing the video would ensure the Empire had no reason to blame Tear City. Their only target would be Qiu Chantian, the “traitor.” Whether he betrayed them willingly or under duress wouldn’t matter—he would be the first one they’d eliminate.

The harshest method Xie Feng could imagine was simply killing Qiu Chantian, but the Empire undoubtedly had ways of tormenting people that were far worse.

She wasn’t worried about Qiu Chantian, of course.

Once he was safely sent back and realized he’d been played, there was no telling what kind of mad dog he would become.

There was one thing Xie Feng was certain of: Dong Luorong, who depended on him, would not have a good ending.

If an object could be used to satisfy l.u.s.t, it could also be used to vent rage.

The others, however, seemed more optimistic. “Will he really cooperate?” Shortie still looked uneasy. “This isn’t some trivial matter…”

The group huddled together, whispering about how to force Qiu Chantian into submission. If he believed Ah Cheng’s lie, they might succeed. A desperate person, after all, would cling to even the flimsiest hope like it was a lifeline.

Xie Feng felt lost in thought as she stood alone outside of the circle.

How could she protect Dong Luorong?

When the discussion ended, the group fell into brief silence. After a few moments, Black Dog sighed. “Then our world, will it come to an end or not?”

“Dawnstar’s destruction was catastrophic, yet the Empire’s first thought was how to use it to expand their territory. That tells me they probably aren’t worried that we’ll meet the same fate,” Ah Cheng said with a wry smile. “If they aren’t worried, maybe we don’t need to be, either.”

‘Not necessarily,’ Xie Feng thought. Just because people in power held authority didn’t mean they weren’t foolish or p.r.o.ne to mistakes. They often made poor decisions—history was full of examples. Why? Because they rarely paid the price for their errors. Their ambitions and desires were often incomprehensible to those beneath them.

“If something on Dawnstar destroyed their world, and we had the same thing here, the Empire would be more cautious. The fact that they’re willing to lie about it, scaring the world with this unseen ‘posthuman’ threat, suggests that whatever destroyed Dawnstar isn’t present here.”

Ah Cheng gestured for them to head back to the lower deck.

“What do you think it was?” Shortie asked.

“I don’t know. We can push him for more answers.”

Xie Feng followed the others in silence as they returned below deck. Ah Cheng’s a.n.a.lysis made some sense. If the threat were something immediate—like nuclear fallout—the Empire would tread more carefully. Whatever had wiped out Dawnstar must seem distant or irrelevant to them, something they believed posed no threat to Noonstar.

Lost deep in thought, Xie Feng wasn’t even sure what happened next.

She only remembered the four boys walking ahead of her, descending the narrow stairs one by one and pus.h.i.+ng open the door to the lower cabin. As she prepared to follow, she saw the last boy, the one with the headband, suddenly stumble. His foot caught on something, and he lost his balance, falling forward.

‘He tripped?’

That thought had barely formed when a dull thud echoed from somewhere out of sight in the lower cabin. Xie Feng instinctively recoiled, her foot snapping back as if shocked by electricity.

“The kid’s got a gun!” a strange male voice shouted from below.

“Shortie!” Ah Cheng’s voice rang out, followed by the sharp crash of furniture—a chair, perhaps—being knocked over.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Xie Feng forgot to breathe for a moment, stumbling backward to the upper deck of the yacht. From below, the sounds of violent struggle erupted—grunting voices, the deep growls of men locked in combat, and the heavy thuds of bodies slamming against walls. The entire lower deck seemed to shudder as if the fight itself had taken on a physical form, cras.h.i.+ng wildly throughout the cabin. The yacht rocked under the impact, and Xie Feng lost her balance, falling hard onto the deck. She almost rolled through the railing and overboard.

‘What’s happening? Weren’t the prisoners all tied up? How is this even possible?’

A gunshot suddenly exploded through the chaos, freezing Xie Feng in place, her heart hammering to a stop. She clung tightly to the railing, her eyes fixed on the narrow staircase. More gunfire erupted, one shot after another, the sharp blasts reverberating through the warehouse, making her ears buzz with deafening echoes.

Who fired? Which side was it?

As the echoes of gunfire faded, an eerie silence fell over the lower cabin. It felt like an eternity before Xie Feng finally heard voices from below.

She rubbed her ears and pressed on them, trying to clear the ringing enough to make out the words.

“Sir,” the unfamiliar male voice called, though m.u.f.fled, “are you alright?”

Xie Feng’s heart sank like a stone into the depths of despair.

“Untie me,” Qiu Chantian ordered coldly. “Hurry.”

Amid the sound of shuffling and rustling, she caught fragments of Qiu Chantian’s words, “This time… you reacted well… How did you let these kids get the better of you…?”

The next part came through loud and clear. “There are only four of them, plus a girl who should be outside. Once I’m free, go find her immediately.”

‘No. No, I have to move. Now.’

Despite how easily Xie Feng talked about death—whether it was hers or someone else’s—as if it were nothing, the reality of death closing in hit her hard. Knowing that people she’d just spoken to moments ago could now be dead left her trembling, her limbs weak, and her vision blurred with tears.

In her nineteen years, she had never even attended a funeral.

Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to remember what she needed to do. On all fours, she crawled and rolled toward the rear deck, doing everything she could to stay silent. Qiu Chantian had been tied tightly—untangling him should take at least a few more seconds. Swallowing the sob rising in her throat, Xie Feng finally made it to the rear deck, just as the heavy sound of boots echoed from the narrow stairs.

“Huh?” The man grunted in surprise, a sound escaping from his throat.

It was clear from his reaction that this wasn’t what he expected. This was a warehouse, not open sea. His confusion gave Xie Feng the split-second chance she needed to save herself.

This was the critical moment—she couldn’t afford to make a single noise. No matter how panicked she felt, she had to stay calm and deliberate.

The heavy boots clomped across the front deck in a slow circle. Xie Feng didn’t need to see them to know who they belonged to. She had experienced firsthand just how heavy the boots of the security officers could be.

Finding nothing at the front, the boots abruptly changed direction, stomping purposefully toward the rear deck.

But when the boots reached the back of the yacht, the deck was already empty.

—

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