Chapter 81 – A Strange Atmosphere

Lately, the atmosphere within Stellar had become strange.

Many had already learned the truth about Xi Ming’s identity, and that his omega was the only radiation healer in the entire interstellar domain. Regardless of what the StarNet said about Shi Chan, everyone within Stellar treated him with great respect—after all, space pirates were the group most prone to radiation exposure in the galaxy.

Space pirate lives were cheap. In the past, if anyone was found to be infected by cosmic radiation, as long as they weren’t one of the higher-ups in the pirate crews, they would most likely be thrown into space immediately, to prevent the radiation from affecting inhabited planets—efficient and eco-friendly.

But now that they had Healer Shi, space pirates finally had a chance at survival after radiation exposure. They just needed to wait in the radiation quarantine room. After all, while cosmic radiation was deadly, it was a “chronic illness”—wait a leisurely ten days or so, and Healer Shi would come and cure them all at once.

Many pirates had privately lamented: what a pity Healer Shi was Xi Ming’s omega. Otherwise, they would definitely pursue him enthusiastically. Imagine opening a radiation treatment hospital with someone like that—powerful figures across the galaxy would be begging for treatment. What a life that would be.

But those fantasies only went so far. Everyone knew how devoted Healer Shi was to Xi Ming—he barely spoke to anyone else. Pirates didn’t care about things without benefits, and someone like Shi Chan, who brought no visible return on investment, was naturally left alone.

However… lately, things had been very off. Some pirates had suddenly changed their attitude toward Shi Chan, becoming overly enthusiastic and attentive. Whenever Xi Ming wasn’t around, they would swarm around Healer Shi, showing concern and care. Even though Healer Shi ignored them, their enthusiasm didn’t waver one bit.

“Don’t you think brother Zhao’s been acting weird lately?” A few younger pirates huddled together whispering.

“You noticed it too? brother Zhao hasn’t even gone to his favorite singer’s concerts. He’s been staying at headquarters the whole time.”

“Yeah, and he’s always…” Someone hesitated mid-sentence, but the others understood what he meant.

Pirates drifted across the stars, homeless and with unpredictable life spans. Few had stable partners. Most raided a settlement, then enjoyed the spoils on a nearby residential planet. Their companions were usually determined by how much loot they had.

In the beginning, some had tried to approach Shi Chan with thoughts of “a one-night spring breeze,” but they were severely punished by Xi Ming. Coupled with Shi Chan’s consistently cold and aloof demeanor toward anyone but Xi Ming, that whole idea quickly died.

But now, some people clearly had… rekindled certain thoughts.

“Do you think he’s trying to pursue the healer Shi? But I haven’t heard anything about the healer Shi being emotionally unstable or anything like that.” Xi Ming’s reputation was still terrifying to most pirates—untouchable.

A young pirate was confused. “But why? brother Zhao can’t beat the boss, and Healer Shi would never accept him. What’s he struggling for?”

“I’ve noticed it’s not just brother Zhao. Brother Lian, XX, XXX… they’ve all been acting weird around the healer!” one pirate dropped a bombshell.

“?! I’ve seen XX a few times too. He’s involved as well?”

“You guys haven’t been on StarNet, have you? People on Capital Star are saying our Healer Shi is stunningly beautiful—so beautiful he could juggle multiple lovers. Think about that. But based on Healer Shi’s looks…”

“…maybe it just means people on Capital Star have different beauty standards?” someone said hesitantly. Shi Chan wasn’t bad-looking, perhaps even delicate, but calling him “stunningly beautiful” seemed like a stretch.

“You idiot!” Someone smacked the speaker on the head. “The people on Capital Star have seen way more beauties than you. If they say Shi Chan is that gorgeous, it must mean he’s hiding his real face!”

“Hiding his real face??”

“Why else would those guys suddenly change their attitude? They must’ve seen Healer Shi’s true appearance.”

“His true appearance? Is he really as stunning as StarNet says? When will Healer Shi show his real face again? I want to see it too!”

“What’s the point? Pretty omegas are always taken by big shots. You’re just a stinking pirate with your head tied to your belt—no omega would ever look at you.”

“So what if we’re pirates? I think we live more freely than the Empire or the Federation. Even if I can’t have him, can’t I at least dream about it?”

Unfortunately, ever since Shi Chan had accidentally revealed his real face and attracted a crowd of gawking pirates, he hadn’t slipped up again. Lately, he had been too busy teaching Xi Ming and Lan Ying how to manipulate mental power and dealing with StarNet backlash from the curses. He barely stepped outside.

The rumor that Xi Ming’s omega was breathtakingly beautiful had spread far and wide, but no one had a photo. Even those who had evidence couldn’t share it widely due to StarNet restrictions, and so the matter gradually faded into another unsolved mystery.

While Stellar was still speculating about Shi Chan’s real appearance, Xi Ming had already finished reviewing the intelligence sent from the frontlines. “All battle teams, prepare for deployment. We set out in two hours.”

Xi Ming remembered the incident of Xu Lihan going missing.

In the previous life, Xu Lihan’s disappearance happened in the year 5334. Back then, Xi Ming wasn’t involved. Xu Lihan, the Empire’s youngest general, hailed as the “New Star of the Empire,” was its pride and hope.

The Empire was in decline, and only Xu Lihan’s occasional victories brought any optimism. People pinned their hopes on him to turn the tide of war. And Xu Lihan truly had the ability—despite the decaying Empire dragging him down, he fought on the frontlines, locked in a stalemate with the Federation, resisting their advance with all his might.

But just like this life, in the previous life, Xu Lihan’s disappearance came after a string of victories. The Empire celebrated in euphoria—only for news to follow of their forces being crushed by the Federation, and Xu Lihan disappearing with his personal guard. Even after the Empire surrendered, no further word came—only rumors on StarNet that someone had seen a wrecked Imperial warship in a distant star system.

Xi Ming had studied this event extensively, trying to piece together clues. But in that life, he had been confined to Capital Star, trapped in the Xi family estate, limited to speculation.

This time, he had already made arrangements within the Empire’s military. Not informants or bribes—just subtle tampering with materials purchased by the Empire’s forces.

Now, on his tracking monitor, several red dots remained unmoving in a certain star system.

“Activate star-point tracking. All fleets, follow orders—depart!” Xi Ming’s gaze turned cold. Even though this was a trap he’d set, the Federation would still have dispatched considerable forces. It had been three days since Xu Lihan went missing. Both sides must have suffered casualties—but how badly? That remained to be seen.

---

In the depths of space, the Tani Starfield was filled with shattered celestial bodies and spatial rifts. There was no life, no light—only desolation. It was here that Xu Lihan’s fleet had become trapped.

“General, we still can’t contact the outside world.”
The fleet had been attempting to make contact every hour, but after three whole days, there had still been no response. A communications officer scratched his head. “It’s been three days now… I wonder when the main force will be able to advance this far. I’ll try using a signal booster—if they’re nearby, we might be able to get through.”

But Xu Lihan, standing off to the side, wasn’t so naïve. His expression was grim, with worry faintly visible in his eyes.

Three days earlier, a pivotal turning point had emerged in the war between the Empire and the Federation. Under Xu Lihan’s brilliant command, the Imperial forces had routed several Federation units. But in the final battle, something about the Federation’s behavior was off—they were desperately protecting a particular mech warrior, even sacrificing others to ensure that person’s retreat.

Xu Lihan had noticed this and ordered his troops to focus fire on that mech. Sure enough, the Federation’s tactics instantly fell into disarray, giving the Empire the upper hand. Intel from the battlefield later confirmed that the Federation’s top marshal’s only son had secretly entered the battlefield—and based on analysis, he was the very mech warrior in question.

The Federation, unlike the Empire, had no royal family. But the top marshal’s son was akin to royalty—his status was unimaginably high.

Xu Lihan had initially doubted that the marshal’s son would be so reckless, but the report included the boy’s background in the Federation: he had been born when the marshal was already 160 years old, clearly a “late-born heir.” His mother had died in childbirth, and he had been spoiled from a young age, growing up wild and unruly. The marshal couldn’t bear to punish him severely, which fostered his fearless, troublemaking nature.

It was said that before sneaking to the border, the boy had made countless posts on the Federation’s StarNet vowing to fight for his country and to “bathe the Empire in blood.”

Everyone immediately realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that could shift the tides of war.

Xu Lihan, though cautious by nature, knew that this chance would disappear in an instant. The rest of the troops were already fired up, ready to seize the moment.

After informing the main force to follow, Xu Lihan led his team in pursuit of the Federation fleet, which had hastily fled with the target.

But this fleet was slippery. In their haste, Xu Lihan chased them straight into the Tani Starfield, a dead zone full of planetary debris and interwoven spatial rifts. Once the Federation fleet entered, they no longer appeared panicked—in fact, they even turned back to attack. Launching energy attacks in a zone riddled with rifts was extremely dangerous, as it could trigger the spatial tears and destroy everyone involved.

Xu Lihan responded calmly, but was nonetheless forced deeper into the starfield while trying to dodge the attacks.

The Federation fleet eventually collided with a rift and disintegrated. Xu Lihan’s side also lost several warships during their evasive maneuvers, and now only three remained, hiding deep within the wreckage and rifts.

Suppressing the growing sense of unease in his heart, Xu Lihan ordered, “Temporarily hold off on boosting the signal. Go check if there was anything abnormal in the last message we sent to the main force before we came in.”

“General, do you mean…?” The most skilled communications officer on the ship widened his eyes.

“Also, don’t overlook anything else. Use this time to look for that ‘little rat’ from before,” Xu Lihan said, his gaze sharp as it swept over his trusted subordinates in the room. He emphasized, “Don’t tell anyone else about this task. You will investigate it yourselves.”

“Yes, General!”
With serious expressions, the group received their orders and left to begin their work.

After they had gone, Ye Wen—dressed smartly in his military uniform—knocked and entered, carrying a cup of tea. “Here, something to quench your thirst.”

“Mm.”
Xu Lihan looked at him for a few seconds, then took the cup and drank it in one go. He rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted.

“I’ll do it.”
Ye Wen walked behind him and began gently massaging his head. Even in their dire situation, his voice remained calm. “You’ve been overworking yourself these past few days. You should really rest for a bit.”
But from behind, where Xu Lihan couldn’t see, his eyes were filled with sorrow.

“Wenwen… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
Originally, Ye Wen hadn’t been meant to join this mission, but he had come to deliver documents on the day of departure. Thinking of how the Xu family no longer acknowledged Ye Wen, Xu Lihan had, on impulse, invited him along—figuring this could help him earn some military merit.

Ye Wen had clearly had other matters to attend to, but after a brief hesitation, he agreed. Xu Lihan had hoped this could mend things between him and the family—but now they were both trapped in this place.

Ye Wen lowered her head, silent. But his chest felt tight, as if something was about to surge forth—grief, longing, and burning love. Tears welled silently in his eyes.

Afraid Xu Lihan would notice, he leaned forward and hugged him from behind, burying his face against his back. With his eyes slowly closing, he whispered:

“…It’s okay. I don’t regret coming with you.”

What he regretted was…