Thirty-one.

On a summer morning, the cicadas were buzzing incessantly.

Under the shade of the trees, Feng Yuanming watched the freshmen undergoing military training within the defensive barrier, a pleasant smile on his face. From afar, cadets caught sight of the prominent figure and saluted him one after another. Feng Yuanming noticed and waved back cordially.

As a former hero of the apocalyptic Zerg Tide, Feng Yuanming was less of an honorary principal of the Imperial First Military Academy and more of a mascot. With a light teaching load of only one public lecture per week, he spent the rest of his time playing with dogs and walking birds.

"Father." After settling the military training affairs, Feng Bai approached, carrying a freshly prepared vacuum flask.

Feng Yuanming took the flask and unscrewed the lid. The red dates and goji berries inside had not yet fully steeped. He took a small sip of the steaming tea and spoke as if making idle conversation: "Has Wei Wenwei not returned yet?"

"No." Feng Bai shook his head. "The Privy Council contacted him suddenly two days ago, and he left before he could even finish his tea."

"If I’m not mistaken, there must be new developments in the investigation regarding that person."

At the mention of "that person," the surrounding air suddenly turned still; even the noisy cicadas seemed to retreat into the distance. The scorching summer sun cast shards of golden light, which rested coldly on the skin, inexplicably sending a chill down one's spine.

"The day you arrived, Wei Wenwei told me what happened back then." Feng Yuanming closed the lid of his cup. "He is not that kind of person; there is something fishy about this matter."

As he closed the lid, a faint ripple spread out from beneath his feet. A ghostly silhouette of a golden-eyed black cat—remarkably similar to Feng Bai’s own mimetic form, but clearly much older—emerged behind Feng Yuanming, silently activating a shielding skill.

In an instant, the chirping of the cicadas ceased abruptly. Within this narrow radius, only the voices of the father and son could be heard, effectively blocking all means of eavesdropping.

"Yes, Father. There is indeed something suspicious." Feng Bai lowered his eyes, his thumb rubbing the pad of his other hand. "For the past few years, the Execution Department of the Privy Council has been strictly monitoring my movements. They suspect it was the doing of the Third Legion’s remnants."

As someone who had experienced the events firsthand, he was naturally qualified to speak. Yet, in recent years, Feng Bai had not even had the chance to interact with outsiders.

It was well known that the Feng father and son were quite famous in the interstellar community. They had both served as adjutants in the Empire’s Third Legion—though Feng Yuanming held the position twenty years ago, and Feng Bai twenty years later. Twenty years ago, the commander of the Third Legion was Hai Dongqing. Twenty years later, the commander was the newly promoted Wei Wenwei. This connection alone was enough to land the pair on the Military Department’s high-priority surveillance list.

"Back then, after we captured him, we outfitted him with full-body restraints, administered a sixty-fold dose of tranquilizers, sealed him in a cryo-pod, and lowered him into a liquid nitrogen iron cage to be transported to the Central Underground Prison."

The Central Underground Prison was a terrifying place, known as the hell of criminals. Speaking of this past, Feng Bai struggled to remain calm. He skillfully pulled a few cigarettes from his space button and handed one to Feng Yuanming. Seeing his actions, Feng Yuanming’s brow twitched. For once, he didn't criticize; instead, he took the cigarette, lit it, held it between his fingers, and gazed down at the rising smoke. After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"Did he really lose his Saint-tier status?"

"The person in charge of the verification was Wei Wenwei. After being escorted to the Central Underground Prison, special examinations were conducted by doctors from the Imperial Execution Department. There could be no mistake." Feng Bai nodded. "Father, you know that the Saint-tier officer who came to make the arrest was only at the early Saint-tier level; he was no match for Hai Dongqing. Yet, he was very quiet the whole way, offering no resistance."

The smoke began to tremble. In truth, it was Feng Yuanming’s hand that was shaking.

Feng Bai politely averted his gaze. "The remnants also considered breaking him out of prison, but the ones who ultimately acted were not us. It was another, more mysterious force with an even more powerful and terrifying background."

To be able to pull off such a feat under the nose of the Central Underground Prison, the terrifying extent of this faction was beyond their imagination. Even more frightening was that it remained hidden in the shadows, and its cleanup work was so thorough that it left almost no trace, which was truly startling.

"There is no doubt that there is an insider within the Imperial Department. But the real mole I suspect exists within the Privy Council and the upper and lower houses of parliament. Even the Third Legion itself might not be immune."

"Since the Privy Council has lifted the blockade on you, they must have obtained new leads." Feng Yuanming took a sharp drag of his cigarette. "It’s a pity that Wei Wenwei is such a straight-laced person. He has rejected the remnants' applications multiple times; it is impossible for him to disclose the specific details to us."

Silence fell between the two again. Feng Bai looked toward the freshmen platoons practicing in pairs not far away. His gaze locked onto one point, and he suddenly said, "It may not be entirely without leads. Perhaps we can approach this from another angle."

***

On the other side, Yuan Hanxuang and Xuanyuan Sheng bowed to each other and assumed their starting stances. Instructor Niu held a pocket watch: "Three, two, one, go!"

"Bang!"

Almost instantly, the light swords of the other groups clashed, creating a dazzling, kaleidoscopic display of "light pollution" as they traded blows. However, the group consisting of Yuan Hanxuang and Xuanyuan Sheng remained eerily quiet. The two focused intently on observing each other, failing to notice Instructor Niu wandering over and stopping nearby.

Setting aside Xuanyuan Sheng’s status, the teacher he studied under was the Seventh Legion Commander, Guang Wuran—nicknamed "Light Pollution" and widely recognized as a Sword Saint. His fighting style on the battlefield was elegant—exceedingly elegant.

"I wonder how much of that flamboyant essence the little imperial grandson has learned from his teacher," Niu Hu said with anticipation.

"I just hope he doesn't end up like General Guang." Instructor Ma joined in to watch the fun. "Back when we were performing cleanup tasks on a polluted star, General Guang happened to be assigned next to me. His mimetic skills were already flashy enough, and combined with his dual light swords, he nearly blinded me."

"Old Niu, you need to keep an eye on that girl across from him. Swords have no eyes."

Niu Hu replied, "I know that without you telling me. Don't worry, this is just a routine drill. The little imperial grandson wouldn't lack that much sense of proportion."

"That's true." Watching the high-spirited blond youth on the field, Instructor Ma sighed. "It's a pity. If not for his mimetic defects, the little imperial grandson should have at least gone to one of the two top military academies."

"Who's to say?"

Because he had agreed to take the defensive position first, Xuanyuan Sheng did not choose to strike first, instead remaining in place with his light sword hilt in hand. He was too proud and too confident. This composure stemmed from his teacher, his mimetic rank, his status, his grueling training, and his strength. It could be said that at the age of seventeen or eighteen, being a front-runner in all aspects, Xuanyuan Sheng certainly had the qualifications to look down on everyone.

The standoff lasted for a few seconds before Yuan Hanxuang suddenly chuckled: "Watch out, I'm coming."

Xuanyuan Sheng was about to say there was no need to be so polite. Even though he was in the defensive position, he could judge which direction a beginner would likely attack based on their stance. But the moment he spoke, Yuan Hanxuang took a slow, leisurely step forward.

Then, a violent gale suddenly swept through. Mixed into the gale was a fierce, overbearing, cold murderous intent.

This murderous intent was so swift and terrifying that, in that instant, every hair on Xuanyuan Sheng's body stood on end. He had only felt such terrifying killing intent when sparring with his teacher. In a trance, Xuanyuan Sheng seemed to return to that battlefield littered with Zerg limbs and the scent of blood.

By the time the wind dissipated, the light sword had already slammed heavily against his chest. Because of the excessive force, the cold hilt sent him stumbling back a few steps, nearly causing him to fall to the ground.

"Ah, sorry, my hand slipped."

Xuanyuan Sheng: "???"

He retreated a few more steps, barely steadying himself, and stared down in disbelief at the ordinary, blue-glowing light sword issued by the school, his expression as if he had just seen a ghost. Not only him, but the classmates nearby who had just lowered their own swords and witnessed the scene also had their mouths agape.

"Good heavens, that looked painful!" Wu Haoxuan shuddered, feeling incredibly fortunate that he had run away early and hadn't been grouped with the boss.

Possessing a high-level mimetic form, Xuanyuan Sheng’s dynamic vision was extremely enhanced. It was precisely because of his strong dynamic vision that he was so surprised. Yuan Hanxuang’s movements just now had been very ordinary—she had simply held the sword and walked a few steps forward—and then, with a burst of wind, the sword had appeared at his throat! It was as if the combat calculation had been triggered in advance; there had been no intermediate process at all!

Only then did Xuanyuan Sheng realize that this black-haired, twin-tailed, beautiful girl in the close-combat department, whose physical strength was on par with his own, was actually a master of swordsmanship.

"What is the name of that move?"

Yuan Hanxuang shrugged. "Dragon Raises its Head."

This was the only sword technique she was truly proficient in. Its style was extremely simple and crude: step forward, then strike upward. "Dragon Raises its Head" had no bells or whistles; it was a sword technique specifically meant for killing. The only reason she managed to stop in time was that she had retracted the light sword at the last second, striking him with the hilt instead, otherwise it would have been hard to end the spar cleanly.

"A great move! It must have been inherited from some major ancient martial arts sect; the move is fierce, overbearing, and ruthless." Xuanyuan Sheng didn't even have time to check his aching chest before giving a trademark thumbs-up, loudly praising her. "As expected of the classmate I admire! It was my fault for underestimating you earlier."

He reactivated his light sword, his eyebrows arched with spirit. "To earn your recognition, I’m going to get serious now!"

Yuan Hanxuang: "..." Look at that confident little expression.

Understood, it seems I didn't hit him hard enough just now.

Despite being soundly beaten, Xuanyuan Sheng looked very happy. He knew in his heart that he had indeed been arrogant and hadn't taken it seriously. But there was no denying the excellence of that strike. When he chose Silver Star, he truly hadn't expected it to be such a place of hidden talents.

"Again?" Xuanyuan Sheng’s dark green eyes stared at the twin-tailed black-haired girl, flickering with the competitive spirit of a warrior meeting an equal match.

"Fine." Yuan Hanxuang nodded. She hadn't practiced swordplay in a long time, and compared to the Tang sword she was used to, the light sword was still too light. Since she had found a sparring partner for a "noob fight," why not enjoy it?

"Xuanyuan Sheng, S-rank, mimetic form Golden Raging Lion, please advise."

Due to various reasons, Xuanyuan Sheng almost never made such a formal self-introduction, let alone publicly revealing the full name of his mimetic form in public. This introduction represented that he truly regarded Yuan Hanxuang as an opponent worthy of a fight, extending a hand of friendship.

"Yuan Hanxuang, A-rank, mimetic form Koi Fish."

Their hands gripped each other, and their fighting intent surged instantly.

"That girl is really full of surprises," Instructor Ma remarked after watching the whole thing.

"Indeed. Both have received systematic training in cold weapons; it seems we were overly worried." Instructor Niu shook his head and laughed. "At only seventeen or eighteen, to have such swordsmanship, it's truly not easy. What was that move called? Dragon Raises its Head? It makes me want to try it."

"Hahaha, that move doesn't look simple at all. I wonder who she learned it from."

The duel between the two attracted many other Silver Star students training nearby, who let out exclamations from time to time. The habits and attack styles the two used with their light swords could be said to be completely different. Yuan Hanxuang inherited an ancient martial arts style, her sword strikes carrying a free and easy, unconstrained atmosphere of the "jianghu"; while Xuanyuan Sheng, who pursued elegance and flashiness, used sword techniques that were ornate and showy—twirling the sword one moment and performing a cross-slash the next—so flamboyant that it made people's temples throb.

What was even more exasperating was that while fighting, Xuanyuan Sheng had also activated "chatterbox mode."

"Careful, I'm attacking from the left!"

"Hey, this move is called the Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon!"

"Great hit! This move is cool!"

It had to be said that Xuanyuan Sheng’s ten years of hard work had been effective. The two fought back and forth, creating a sense of being evenly matched, which was highly entertaining. Unfortunately, Yuan Hanxuang was a veteran of a hundred battles; her combat capability far exceeded Xuanyuan Sheng’s, and she spotted quite a few openings. She was not polite, greeting the "dork" with the hilt of her sword, paying special attention to his face.

"Such keen combat intuition—to see an S-rank being suppressed by an A-rank, it's the first time I've seen it." The instructor group winced at the sound of the fierce strikes.

"You can't say it like that. After all, they aren't in a synchronized state, so they can't fully exert the advantages of their mimetic rank. If they were fighting in a synchronized state, the outcome wouldn't necessarily be the same."

"You have a point. The mimetic rank is too important, sigh."

After a dozen rounds, the outcome was decided. Xuanyuan Sheng, with his blond hair soaked in sweat and a face full of sword marks, came over to shake her hand.

"That was spectacular." Although he had been beaten quite badly, Xuanyuan Sheng said sincerely, "This standard-issue light sword doesn't suit you; it limits your performance."

He was the one who had won, yet he was the one who had been beaten throughout the fight. The several times that "hand-slip" hilt had struck his face, it had been so painful that Xuanyuan Sheng could barely handle it, making him wonder deep down if his new friend had some grudge against his handsome, dashing face. Of course, these were just thoughts. Xuanyuan Sheng would never doubt his friend!

Yuan Hanxuang: "You're too kind. Your swordsmanship is also excellent." She was equally satisfied with this battle. Winning or losing didn't matter; the main thing was that beating someone up had felt great.

Seeing that gentle smile, Xuanyuan Sheng felt his front teeth aching.

"Similar, yet not quite the same."

Not far away, Feng Yuanming stood with his hands behind his back. His gaze lingered on Yuan Hanxuang for a long time. Finally, he asked in a low voice, "How much certainty do you have?"

"Less than fifty percent." Feng Bai shook his head. "Not to mention that five years have passed and the personal files were sealed at the highest level. Back then, I only caught a glimpse of it outside the commander’s office on the warship and happened to overhear it. To be precise, it’s probably only thirty percent."

Thirty percent. The two fell into silence once more.

Under the shade of the trees, the long-absent chirping of the cicadas began again. They both knew that when it came to that person, no matter how low the probability, it was worth taking the risk.