Chapter 71: Get On Board First, Buy the Ticket Later

Seeing that the on-site cleanup was mostly wrapped up, Luo Shang bid farewell to β-62 and Chen Guyi. He instructed them to haul the tree branch back to the Reincarnation Space while he carried Su Mingyao home to the Su Family Villa.

Wen Yanjun stayed put, keeping watch over the unconscious priests and waiting for reinforcements to arrive so he could relay Luo Shang’s message.

As for the skeleton dog, Luo Shang handed it over to Wen Yanjun for free and let him decide what to do with it. This dog, fashioned from a skeleton, was actually an undead creature. It didn’t need food or water—just a bit of yin energy replenishment and a spot in a graveyard would do.

Wen Yanjun eyed the skeleton dog as it squatted beside him, staring right at him. Memories of the crimson soulfire flickering in its eyes while it thrashed in the formation made the pressure mount.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with this thing? Might as well toss it into the Qin Emperor’s Mausoleum. It could help guard those Yin Soldiers—put the mutt to good use.

Patrol duty at the Qin Emperor’s Mausoleum now fell to their Anomalous Affairs Bureau. After hours, they scoured every shadowy corner for signs of loosened seals that might let Yin Soldiers slip out. But the job sucked the life out of you, draining your yang energy dry. They rotated personnel every three years, or you’d end up too depleted—attracting other spectral pests and cutting your lifespan short.

This dog changed everything. As an undead being, it wouldn’t mind the yang drain. Hell, it could gobble up excess yin energy to stay powered.

The more Wen Yanjun mulled it over, the brighter his eyes shone.

Worthy of a true heavyweight—even his castoffs would keep them going for ages.

~~~

Chen Guyi and β-62 had barely returned to the squad’s affiliated space with the white branch in tow when they spotted a man brooding darkly on the sofa. His features were sharp and profound, his demeanor icy and austere with an undercurrent of sickly frailty. His face was soft yet strikingly handsome, lips pressed into a thin line.

The whole space felt oppressively gloomy, the light itself devoured by shadows.

One look at Ke Yanjin in that state, and Chen Guyi backpedaled a few steps, already turning to bolt.

“How… is he doing?” Ke Yanjin asked.

Chen Guyi froze solid, not daring to take another step.

Hot on his heels was β-62, still buzzing with excitement over her new toy. She bumped into him after two eager steps forward, looking peeved.

She opened her mouth to complain, but Chen Guyi clapped a hand over it, muffling her.

We’ve only been split up a few days, Chen Guyi griped inwardly, and you’re phrasing it like you’ve been apart forever—like the deputy captain’s been up to no good behind your back. All the while, his mind raced for an answer.

Tough question.

Say the deputy captain was doing fine, and it sounded like he didn’t need Ke Yanjin to thrive. No need to rile him up right now.

Say he was doing poorly, and it’d twist the knife in Ke Yanjin’s gut. He’d spiral, fretting over just how bad things were, his inner torment cranking up to eleven.

So Chen Guyi pivoted, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“The deputy captain’s planning a surprise for you, Captain.”

Not a fib, either. Clearly, the deputy was scheming their date itinerary—picking spots, vetting movies, running them through trial runs like lab rats.

“Oh?” Ke Yanjin’s voice perked up, a spark of cheer breaking through.

“He’s still got me on his mind, after all.”

Damn right he does. Who shakes off love that fast?

The deputy captain was the nostalgic sort, loyal to a fault. After every dungeon, he’d drag home piles of souvenirs, cramming the squad’s storage space to bursting. Every time Chen Guyi tried to purge the junk, Luo Shang would hit him with the puppy eyes: “You can’t toss this one.”

Turned out it was a gift from some buddy in a dungeon centuries back. Happened over and over—charms past their prime, crystals gone dull, plastic warped and crumbling—yet he’d cling to them all!

It left Chen Guyi equal parts exasperated and helpless. He handled the team’s inventory, and spotting Luo Shang’s hoards of useless trinkets always hit him like a heart attack.

Fat lot of good that did. Luo Shang always had his list of reasons, one through five.

When a guy’s that obsessively sentimental, no way he’d ditch his ride-or-die.

After a beat of silent bafflement at his captain’s separation anxiety, Chen Guyi pressed on.

“If you’re that worried about the deputy captain, why not go check on him yourself?”

“He never gave me the address of his native world. I can’t just show up.”

Ke Yanjin stated it with iron conviction.

“Getting caught is the only thing that counts as showing up,” Chen Guyi shot back smoothly.

He knew Ke Yanjin desperately wanted to go, so there was no way he’d sit around here waiting for Chen Guyi and β-62 to return—let alone release his killing intent to stake his claim.

No, he was just waiting for a teammate to give him an out.

Throughout the whole exchange, Chen Guyi kept his hand clamped over β-62’s mouth. With the robust physique of a sword cultivator, he pinned down the medical logistics specialist and silenced her. Otherwise, that graceful exit wouldn’t have been possible—β-62 clearly didn’t want Ke Yanjin tagging along.

But if the captain stayed cooped up in the internal team space, it would be pure torture for the two of them. Better to let him go!

“You’re right,” Ke Yanjin agreed, just as Chen Guyi had hoped.

“If they weren’t discovered, that means they didn’t go.”

With that, he turned and strode out of the team public space, leaving it to Chen Guyi and β-62.

Only then did Chen Guyi release his grip. β-62 wrenched herself free at once and spat on the ground several times, her expression one of utter disgust.

“What the hell are you doing?!” she demanded, glaring daggers at him.

“You trying to betray your senior brother?!”

I’ve already betrayed him ages ago… Chen Guyi fell silent for a moment.

After all, he’d shared plenty of stories with Ke Yanjin about Luo Shang’s early days in the sect.

“Senior Brother will understand,” Chen Guyi said.

“Of course this isn’t betrayal. It’s just a few little hints. You think if I stayed quiet, the captain really wouldn’t go?”

“You know how much effort he put into prying that info out of Sophia’s mouth back then. Do you really think my words could sway his decision? You’re giving me way too much credit.” Chen Guyi let out a sigh.

β-62 hesitated. “…You’re right.”

“Then I’ll send a message to the deputy captain to give him a heads-up.”

“Wait!” Chen Guyi blocked her again.

“What now?” β-62 shot him a sidelong glance.

“The captain wants to surprise the deputy captain. How could we ruin that?” Chen Guyi said righteously.

“That’s not a surprise—that’s a freaking jumpscare,” β-62 retorted.

“What if the captain changes his mind and doesn’t go? Then your message turns into a false alarm.” Chen Guyi pressed on.

“He’s a master at these feints, real or fake—you know how petty he can be. Maybe he came to me today just to set this trap for you. Once you warn the deputy captain, and the captain sits it out anyway, the deputy captain realizes your tip was bogus. That gives the captain the perfect opening to badmouth you and tank the deputy captain’s opinion of you. Totally possible.”

β-62 thought back to how Ke Yanjin ruthlessly toyed with the other squads on a regular basis. A shiver ran down her spine as she nodded.

She had to concede that Chen Guyi’s logic held water.

“So… I do nothing?”

“Exactly. We can stand guard just outside the deputy captain’s world and monitor for fluctuations. If any other player tries to leave a projection behind to mess with his plans, we handle it preemptively—just like we did this time.” Chen Guyi glanced at the white branch clutched in β-62’s hand.

“You’re right,” β-62 agreed.

~~~

The moment Luo Shang stepped back into the villa, he sneezed for no apparent reason and warily scanned his surroundings.

Ke Yanjin must be thinking about me again, he mused.

No sooner had he set foot in the place than the system chimed in with its report.

“Plot progress advanced. Current progress: 33%.”

Luo Shang released his hold without a flicker of expression. Su Mingyao mumbled an awkward thank-you and bolted straight for his room, vanishing from sight.

The poor guy had been through too much of a shock. He needed time to recover.

“Progress bumped up… So which event just cleared?”

Luo Shang glanced at the wall clock in the living room.

“Ah, right. It must line up with the conflict between me and Su Mingyao.”

In the original plot, Su Shang had just visited the Shen family, only to get thoroughly mocked by Shen Changqing, who vowed to call off the engagement with the Su family. The next morning, in a foul mood, Su Shang picked a petty fight with Su Mingyao over nothing, embarrassing him so badly that the kid started avoiding him altogether.

This time, he’d stumbled into the goal by accident…

Not bad at all.

Luo Shang had previously assumed plot progress required specific characters performing exact actions at precise locations and times within certain windows.

But this time, there’d been no argument in the living room. He’d simply brought Su Mingyao back here and landed—and the Main God’s system still marked it complete.

Maybe it wasn’t about the specific actions at all. Maybe it just needed the right outcome: getting the relevant characters into the same emotional state and reactions as in the original plot.

The argument was just one possible trigger. It could be swapped out for something else, so long as Su Mingyao ended up in that frame of mind.

Luo Shang pondered for a moment.

Still, better to follow the script to the letter. Just to be safe.

Thus, Luo Shang called Su Mingyao out of the room and ran through the corresponding plot from the original text once more.

Su Mingyao: ???

What the heck? Didn’t you already finish it? I heard the whole thing! Why’d you call me out here again?

At Luo Shang’s insistence, Su Mingyao tearfully went through the plot a second time.

Luo Shang’s attitude on the matter?

[Board first, buy the ticket later.] He thought to himself.

So you’re treating this like your personal off-field coaching, huh? Su Mingyao thought.

It’s so damn convenient—no need to explain a thing out loud! As expected, hearing your heart voice is no blessing.

Su Mingyao confirmed that point once again.