Chapter 42

Being back home was incredibly boring.

Bai Ruonian was still wrestling with that precious Blue Snowflake seed. He felt like he had won himself a huge hassle, because he honestly had no idea what to do with it. After mulling it over for ages, he finally decided to try planting it in the garden.

However, after studying and researching on StarNet for half the day, the tutorials taught him that the soil here—no, the soil on the entire Capital Star—was incompatible. Despite all his research, he was getting nowhere.

[The success rate of natural cultivation in the current environment is below 0.0001%. Using a simulated ecosphere or a dedicated cultivation planet is recommended…]

[The Capital Star’s soil composition is severely metallized, lacking key organic matter and active microbial clusters. Catalysis using Mental Power is recommended…]

Bai Ruonian stared at the list of terms he couldn’t understand at all, feeling very dejected. He had no choice but to call Rui Rui for help.

As soon as Rui Rui heard he wanted to try cultivating, her eyes lit up and she immediately switched back into her wheedling mode. “Oh my, our Imperial Academy has specialized cultivation planets and top-tier labs! They not only cultivate all kinds of rare plants, but there are even specific courses that teach you how to use Mental Power to stimulate plant growth. In this current environment, without Mental Power, plants just can’t survive!”

Bai Ruonian responded weakly, “But… but I don’t know how to use Mental Power. I don’t even know what it is…”

Still refusing to give up, Rui Rui said, “You’ll know once you pass the Imperial Academy entrance exam. Mental Power, you’ll pick it up as soon as you learn! What’s your current ranking?”

Bai Ruonian opened his Personal Terminal to check his ranking. One look and he wilted—the ranking hadn’t budged. He’d been too busy having fun lately, so he probably had no hope now. He sighed, waving his hand dismissively. “Forget it, forget it…”

Such a precious thing should be left to professionals to study.

Since he couldn’t plant the Blue Snowflake, he settled for second best and wrestled with the Catgrass he had bought on Commercial Street before.

When Lu Mingjin returned home, he found Bai Ruonian crouched in a corner of the garden, fussing over a tiny, wind-swayed Catgrass seedling. Dirt was flying everywhere from his digging, his small face was smudged with mud, and the whole corner was a complete mess.

Lu Mingjin walked over to him silently and stared down at him. “Bai Ruonian.”

Bai Ruonian jumped in fright.

A clod of dirt flew into Lu Mingjin’s face. Bai Ruonian, however, was the one who jumped first. “You scared me to death!”

After his little trip out, Bai Ruonian was already showing signs of becoming completely lawless.

“What are you doing?” Lu Mingjin wiped the dirt from his face.

“Oh… I wanted… I wanted to plant something!”

The moment the topic turned to what he was doing, Bai Ruonian’s displeasure at being interrupted vanished instantly. He raised his mud-streaked face, his eyes sparkling, and pointed at the fragile Catgrass.

Lu Mingjin glanced around this courtyard, constructed from top-tier materials yet utterly devoid of natural life, and found it a little amusing. “Nothing is suitable for planting here.”

This was simply not a place where life was meant to grow.

“If you want to plant something…”

He thought of that sovereign planet he had won at the auction.

Just right for growing grass.

However, before he could finish speaking, Bai Ruonian had already reached out his paws and grabbed Lu Mingjin’s hand, pulling him towards the house as he spoke. “That’s not it, look!”

He pointed at the windowsill like he was presenting a treasure.

Lu Mingjin followed his gaze and froze.

On the windowsill, in a familiar flowerpot, a tender green Catgrass was stretching its leaves, gently swaying in the room’s temperature-controlled breeze.

Images overlapped.

He could almost see the silhouette of a little cat circling a Catgrass plant.

“I grew it from seeds.”

Bai Ruonian was a little proud. He remembered how his Master had bought seeds before, nurturing them for so long just to get that tiny little sprout, getting covered in dirt and dust in the process. Now, he was actually better than his Master.

Looking at the young man so focused on planting grass, Lu Mingjin’s heart felt like it was viciously squeezed. An indescribable warm current mixed with a pang of sourness surged through his entire body. He reached out, gently rubbing the mud off Bai Ruonian’s cheek with his fingertip, his voice softer than he himself realized. “Mm, very good, very beautiful. Keep it up.”

Bai Ruonian looked at his Master, sensing that there was more he wanted to say.

“If you have anything you want to tell me, anytime.” Lu Mingjin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He chose his words carefully. “You can treat me… like a Brother.”

After he said this, he raised his hand and lightly pinched Bai Ruonian’s soft cheek.

Bai Ruonian just blinked, clearly not grasping the meaning behind his words.

Why a Brother?

Wasn’t it Hubby?

Huh?

Was there a fundamental difference between a Brother and a Hubby?

Lu Mingjin felt a little awkward after saying it too. He withdrew his hand, straightened up, and averted his gaze. “I have a mission to go on. I probably won’t be back for the next couple of days.”

Bai Ruonian looked at him blankly, finally just tugging at the corner of his mouth and whispering, “Be careful on the road then.”

Lu Mingjin turned to leave. He had only taken a few steps when the sound of hurried footsteps came from behind. Bai Ruonian suddenly rushed over, hugged him tightly for a brief moment, then quickly let go.

Lu Mingjin paused slightly but didn’t look back, leaving behind only a single sentence. “Wait for me to come back.”

It seemed like they were back to how things were before.

That was good.

=

Military Command, 10th Division Garrison.

The atmosphere was grim. A sudden emergency mission announcement sent the entire Division into high gear.

Next week, Lu Mingjin would personally lead the team.

That very night after the orders were issued, the entire 10th Division began confiscating terminals to prevent information leaks. Several squads were itching to go, waiting to be selected.

Cleaning up stray Zerg branches outside the Zerg Zone every day was boring. Everyone knew that the sovereign star system the Academy of Sciences was talking about was under the Royal Family’s jurisdiction.

If traces of Zerg were found there, it would be huge news.

However, when they saw Lu Mingjin’s list, Song Hanshan, Zhao Lixin, and several squad leaders were dumbfounded.

There were only a few people, not even enough for one squad, and what’s more, they were all—

Zhang Huaijin, looking at the list, was making a rare protest.

“Major General, everyone on this list is…”

“I know.”

All of them were moles.

Lu Mingjin glanced at him, his tone completely impassive. “Cleaning them up on the battlefield is easier than sending them to a Military Tribunal.”

With that, he turned and left, tossing out one last sentence before he was gone. “Notify the people on the list. We depart tonight.”

Zhang Huaijin froze for a second. Wasn’t it supposed to be next week?

He suddenly understood.

A chill crept up his spine.

From beginning to end, Lu Mingjin could have done this mission alone. Calling those three along was purely to root out the moles, to kill the chicken to warn the monkey.

Truly ruthless and cold-hearted, Zhang Huaijin thought with great admiration.

Entering Shen Zeyi’s sovereign star system couldn’t be done with a lot of fanfare, so they flew under stealth mode the whole way.

The moment Lu Mingjin stepped onto the planet at the coordinates provided by the Academy of Sciences, he basically understood what had happened.

The area they were in already bore the scorched, cleansed marks of a cleanup. It had been swept through once already.

Lu Mingjin crouched down, his tactical-gloved fingers pinching a clump of charred black soil. The feeling transmitted through his fingertips was cold and rough, accompanied by a lingering, extremely faint yet incredibly familiar scent—Zerg. It was the distinctive, acidic, and chitinous stench of pheromones left behind after massive Zerg activity.

Not long ago, a staggering number of Zerg must have swarmed this place.

Yet now, as far as the eye could see, there was only a dead silence of scorched earth. No remains, no slime, no signs of battle, not even a single corpse of the lowest worker Zerg.

Zhang Huaijin stood up, dusting the charred dirt from his hands, his expression grave. “Boss, this is too dangerous. Just having traces doesn’t prove anything. Where did all those Zerg go?”

Lu Mingjin maintained a near-indifferent calm, his gaze sweeping over the scorched ground as if he could pierce the surface and see something deeper.

He looked down, the toe of his military boot grinding into the blackened dirt beneath his foot. A faint but persistent heat was radiating from deep underground, transmitting to the soles of his feet. It carried a disquieting, instrument-undetectable pulsating feeling, like countless tiny hearts beating slowly.

Right beneath their feet.

“This must be an Artificial Zerg Hive.”

The moment he said this, silence fell over everyone. A bone-chilling cold rose from under their feet. Zhang Huaijin swallowed hard, barely able to accept it, but the others beside him showed an extraordinarily abnormal level of unease.

One of them said, “Major General, since that’s the case, we should hurry back and report.”

“Mm.” Lu Mingjin’s silver eyes swept over them. He raised his hand.

Almost instantly.

Three people were frozen solid onto the charred ground.

“In the after-action report, these will be counted as combat losses.”

Those who wanted to return to report became part of the report themselves.

Zhang Huaijin was clearly still reeling from the recent shock. In comparison, cleaning up moles seemed like nothing.

This… it was actually a Zerg Hive.

That meant tens of thousands of Zerg could pour out in this star system.

History was about to repeat itself.

Lu Mingjin saw Zhang Huaijin’s worry and spoke indifferently. “Later, we’ll seal the entire planet in ice. These things won’t be able to get out.”

Could they really not get out?

Zhang Huaijin questioned this strongly, but then he heard Lu Mingjin add another sentence. “What you need to worry about now are those things opposite us.”

Zhang Huaijin followed his gaze. In the nearby starry sky, a dozen or so Light Wings were densely flashing, like the eyes of insects.

=

That night, as expected, the Master did not return from his mission.

Bai Ruonian curled up at home, holding the small pot of Catgrass he had grown himself. He buried his nose among the tender green leaves and sniffed hard. The familiar grassy scent, mixed with the smell of earth and sunlight, filled his nostrils.

Strange…

Back when he was a Kitty, smelling this would make him wag his tail excitedly, unable to resist nibbling a few mouthfuls. But for some reason, it wasn’t as intoxicating as it had been back then.

Now—he was a little embarrassed to admit it.

He was addicted to his Master’s scent.

The Master wasn’t coming back today, so the scent in the room was a bit fainter. Bai Ruonian simply piled a bunch of his Master’s clothes on the sofa and curled up on them.

Everything was fine at first.

Until his heart suddenly clenched.

The Suppressant Patch was always stuck on the back of his neck, but now the Gland beneath the patch was throbbing. His heart clenched along with it, and his nerves were jumping too.

It was a very strange sensation. Jumping, flowing, as if a tangible force was dispersing outward from his spirit, merging with the throbbing Gland on his neck. It felt like a distant electromagnetic signal suddenly connecting, or like something far, far away was coupling, stimulating his nerves beat by beat.

He sat bolt upright. He didn’t know why, but he felt terribly flustered, a constant anxiety hanging in his chest.

Telepathy? Or a sixth sense? This sudden feeling was very bad. He didn’t know if it was an aftereffect of the Arena incident. The Catgrass in his arms moved its leaf slightly at that moment, but Bai Ruonian didn’t notice.

He took a small, panting breath and looked around in confusion. His Master wasn’t there. He had no choice but to curl himself into a tight ball and burrow into the nest he had made from his Master’s clothes.

He missed his Master more than ever today.

He hoped his Master missed him too.