Chapter 69

Ben Yian’s movements came to a complete stop. He turned his head to look at Woody, the emotions in his eyes all sinking into the depths of his heart.

Even so, his actions had already exposed his thoughts. Woody lowered his gaze to look at him, then smiled faintly and said in a low voice, “We’ve known each other for over ten years. Though we often disagree on how to handle things now, I still see you as a brother…”

“What’s the method?” Ben Yian interrupted his rambling, asking only about what concerned him.

The moment he asked that question, Woody knew he had succeeded. His voice was soft, laced with regret and indignation on his behalf. “Have you ever wondered why the person by the colonel’s side has always been so steadfast, while you’re trapped in this darkness?”

Ben Yian gritted his teeth and said, “What’s the method, exactly?!”

“Actually, you could make a greater contribution on our side. There’s no need to tie yourself to him for life, don’t you think?” Woody continued to steer away from the topic, his eyes glancing at Ben Yian’s reaction.

Ben Yian could no longer tolerate it. He grabbed Woody’s collar, raised his voice, and snarled fiercely, “Tell me! What’s the method!”

That year, their family had come from Langdao City. His parents had died early on the road, leaving only him and Ben Mu alive when they reached Loch City. He had no way to support her and they had frozen for two nights on the streets amid ice and snow.

Then he met Horne.

For a long time, Horne helped the siblings, but they were just one of the countless people he had aided. The ones who truly depended on each other were still only him and Ben Mu.

He was willing to pay any price to keep his sister.

Woody straightened his collar and patted Ben Yian’s shoulder, telling him not to get agitated.

“I can tell you the method, but I don’t want to negotiate terms with you because you’re one of the few friends I have from Langdao City.” Woody looked at Ben Yian seriously and said, “You can’t tell anyone about this either, or I’ll be punished.”

Ben Yian’s head throbbed. The image of the person on the sickbed kept flashing in his mind, and his tightly clenched hand trembled slightly.

After a long while, he let out an “Mm.”

“The government reached an agreement with the Aliens. They provide each other with particles and cells for research. Implanting immortality particles into the human body has already succeeded. The reason they don’t die is because they read the state of past particles, but the human body can’t withstand such large-scale regression for now. After a period of time, the body will still collapse, just with a much longer lifespan than normal.”

In other words, Ben Mu would recover to the state of a healthy girl in a very short time and live normally for a few years before dying.

Though it didn’t achieve true immortality, for the current Ben Mu, it was a heavenly mercy.

Ben Yian only needed to agree to hand his sister over to the laboratory for observation, verification, and experiments.

Woody tilted his head to look at Ben Yian, his expression extremely cautious. He kept glancing toward the door, making sure no one would suddenly come in and hear the information he was revealing.

For the extra lifespan gained, for immortality, eight years of endurance was utterly negligible.

Ben Yian remained silent for a long time. His heart raced, his gaze barely able to focus, countless images crashing through his mind.

Woody said, “But there’s a condition.”

“What?”

Woody curled up the corner of his mouth, revealing teeth stained yellow from smoking.

–

The dark clouds parted, and cold sunlight once again filtered through the glass of the command room, spilling inside.

A soft light also fell on the wooden floor, carrying a hint of warmth, while the air was saturated with the scent of alcohol.

Hels sat bare-chested on the armrest of that black single-seater sofa, his head slightly bowed.

Horne applied medicine to him, but the two remained utterly silent.

The wounds on Hels’s body weren’t that severe. Ben Yian had held back when he hit him, and most of the injuries were just scrapes from bumping into objects—abrasions and bruises. Disinfecting, applying ointment, and bandaging the deeper ones sufficed.

Compared to the wounds on Hels, the layers of bandages wrapped around Horne’s body were far more serious.

Even though the temperature outside was mild, the air between them was icy cold.

Halfway through, Hels suddenly stood up. Horne paused his movements, his face expressionless as he watched him walk to the corner of the living room and turn on the record player.

Music played slowly. Hels sat back on the armrest, hunched over, and Horne continued to gently apply the medicine with his fingertips over each wound.

The warm light intertwined with the music. Horne felt the suppressed pain in his heart easing bit by bit, but it still wasn’t enough.

Getting injured in training was commonplace, and so was getting hurt fighting the Aliens. He never felt sorry for himself or pitied himself, but at least not in this way.

He was very irritated inside, yet his hands remained extremely gentle, worried that touching too much would hurt Hels. He only skimmed the edges, carefully watching those marks.

He was no longer that skinny boy from back then. Now his muscle lines were perfectly toned and powerful, without an ounce of excess fat. Only his back still bore a few scars from his childhood injuries, impossible to erase. Every time Hels went shirtless at home, Horne always wondered what this person had gone through as a child.

Hels might not remember clearly, or perhaps he didn’t want to talk about it. In any case, even now, Horne knew nothing about his past except that he must have really liked his own mother.

The fresh red of the wounds gradually clotted.

Once everything was done, Horne packed away the medical kit but still said nothing. He turned to leave.

“Brother.” Hels immediately called out to him. He grabbed his clothes with one hand and hurried to Horne’s side, his steps anxious. He stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Horne was cold. He took a step to the left, and Hels blocked him from the left. Horne switched directions, and he blocked again. The two stalemated in the living room.

Horne frowned and said, slightly raising his head, “Move.”

Hels didn’t listen. He stood firmly in front of Horne and said stubbornly, “Punish me.”

Horne pressed his lips together, his facial muscles taut, standing ramrod straight like he did in the Military District. He averted his gaze from Hels, looking elsewhere, and said coldly, “I’ll submit it to the terminal on the Military District side.”

“Fine, handle it officially with him. Then can you not be mad at me privately?” Hels asked very cautiously.

In truth, if given another chance, he would still choose to beat Ben Yian. He could accept punishment, but it wouldn’t let Ben Yian off easy either.

He shouldn’t have said it. The air around Horne chilled abruptly. He shifted his gaze to Hels, staring seriously into his eyes. Their gazes collided, and both held their breath at the same time.

Hels was cautious; Horne was suppressing his emotions.

After a moment, Horne lowered his voice, reining in all his anger, and asked coldly word by word, “What did I tell you last night?”

Hels opened his mouth but didn’t dare speak.

Anything could happen on the battlefield, but Horne didn’t understand why Hels had to choose a method of mutual destruction to settle things privately.

Even though Hels was exceptionally talented and would surely become a powerhouse surpassing him in the future, he still wasn’t mature enough. He couldn’t yet achieve a suppressive takedown against Ben Yian, who was over ten years his senior.

He didn’t want Ben Yian injured, and even less did he want Hels hurt.

It would be better to throw him into a fire to burn—that would hurt even more.

“Hels,” Horne said solemnly, “I don’t need you using your imagination to fight my battles for me. I only hope you won’t get hurt. It would…”

At that point, Horne suddenly choked up, unable to say the rest.

He glared at Hels, suppressing the sudden surge in his chest. If he said one more word, the sea would erupt into massive waves.

Even with the warm lighting in the living room, Hels still saw the faint redness at the corner of Horne’s eye.

He panicked instantly, not daring to breathe. He froze in place for several seconds, then took a step forward to get closer and reached out to touch Horne’s face.

Horne turned his head away and took a small step back, avoiding Hels’s touch.

“Horne?” Hels called tentatively.

Horne closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths, pushing down the emotions lodged in his throat and gradually calming his mood.

Hels took another step forward and reached out with both hands to cup Horne’s head. His thumbs gradually rubbed against the skin of his face, but there was no wetness as he had imagined—just the familiar feel of skin.

The record player switched tracks, from symphony to a piano and cello duet. The atmosphere softened instantly.

“Horne…”

Horne still had his eyes closed. He opened them slightly, and before him was Hels’s tense and worried expression. Those eyes nearly pierced right through him.

“It’s fine now.” Horne’s voice was a bit hoarse. He patted his hand, signaling him to let go.

Hels didn’t. He asked softly, “What were you going to say just now?”

“I…” Horne parted his lips slightly, not knowing how to say it. He could only lower his lashes, avoiding the gaze of the person in front of him.

“You don’t want me hurt—what?” Hels pressed. He gently applied force with his hands, forcing Horne to lift his eyes and look at him.

This person was always so steadfast and powerful outside, so it was easy to forget that at home, he was also someone who could say “I need you,” sincere enough to allow himself vulnerability.

Horne took another deep breath. He didn’t want to hide it and could only let his voice soften as he said, “…It would hurt.”

A massive shiver ran across his skin—from the trembling of the hands on his face.

Hels had hated himself countless times for not protecting Horne enough. Despite Horne’s injuries being worse than his own, he still cared for him, applied medicine, and handled his affairs.

He wanted to embrace Horne but feared touching his wounds. He could only lower his voice to a near whisper and ask, “Does it hurt a lot?”

Horne gave a helpless smile. “I’m not a robot—why wouldn’t it?”

Because it hurt so much, he didn’t want the other to hurt. He even wondered why humans couldn’t transfer pain. He had been so harsh with Hels before, only hoping that in the future, Hels wouldn’t get hurt again.

“I’m sorry.” Hels felt like he was always apologizing, always causing trouble for Horne. It seemed his way of protecting him was never what Horne wanted.

“Enough.” Horne quickly pried open Hels’s hands, then gently embraced him, quickly pressing his cheek against the other’s face. He sorted out his emotions and said softly, “I still have teaching to do. Check the terminal notifications later. When I get back, I found a book—we can read it together tonight.”

But he was always so gentle, so stern, so tolerant.

Making one feel loved, deeply loved.

The door closed. Hels stood alone inside, staring blankly at the door that had shut, as if it were Horne’s receding back.

So he hurt too.

In that moment, Hels suddenly realized something. He remembered standing in this very spot as a child—right where he was now.

He turned around and looked at the living room. There had once been the figures of all four of them there.

When he had stared warily at the four people playing in the living room, Wen Yu had said: Guard your own heart.

Absolute power without love led to extremes, but pure love without power was easily trampled. To maintain that balance, one had to guard their own heart.