Chapter 85: Fear and Unease

“Boss!” Someone burst through the door, running straight to Xi Ming and shouting, “Boss, boss! The Federation just announced to the Empire that Xu Lihan is dead!”

Shi Chan was also present, originally practicing his spiritual power on the side. Upon hearing that familiar name, he instinctively looked up.

A few days ago, when Xi Ming took his men to the Tani Sector, he hadn’t hidden it from Shi Chan. However, due to Shi Chan’s former engagement to Xu Lihan, Xi Ming had never mentioned Xu Lihan’s name in front of him.

When they returned victorious, Shi Chan assumed it had been an ordinary battle and didn’t inquire. The other star pirates also didn’t dare gossip about Xu Lihan in front of him.

So now, hearing Xu Lihan’s name again — and as a death announcement — Shi Chan couldn’t help but feel as though it belonged to another lifetime.

“The Empire’s star network is practically crashing. Everyone’s cursing out the Federation, demanding proof. They refuse to believe Xu Lihan is dead… I don’t know if the Federation has evidence. The starships from the Tani Sector were all towed back by us. Maybe we should leak something, just to let those Imperial citizens blame us every day,” the little star pirate said maliciously, clearly bearing a grudge against the Empire and eager to kick them while they’re down.

“Got it.” Xi Ming wasn’t surprised by the Federation’s decision. He waved the man away, then turned to the pensive Shi Chan, stood up, walked over, and bent down beside him. His gaze was deep and steady. “What are you thinking about?”

Shi Chan snapped out of his thoughts, slightly startled by Xi Ming speaking so close to his ear. He shook his head with a hint of helplessness. “Nothing. Just… didn’t expect it to end like this.”

Shi Chan didn’t have particularly strong feelings toward Xu Lihan — mostly because Xu Lihan had broken off their engagement just before Shi Chan was due for system-matching, throwing him into a forced partner assignment. But that had ultimately led him to meet Xi Ming, so he felt neither hatred nor resentment toward Xu Lihan.

“We only met a few times…” he added. Their so-called engagement was only nominal — a duty-bound alpha who wanted to serve the Empire clearly had no interest in a noble omega enjoying a leisurely life on the capital star. They could count the number of times they’d actually met on one hand.

In fact, Shi Chan probably knew less about Xu Lihan than Xi Ming did. After Shi Chan had mentioned the lackluster engagement, it was Xi Ming who told him the touching love story between Xu Lihan and Ye Wen — a name Shi Chan had only heard for the first time then.

The Empire and the Federation. A general and a spy. A story of patriotic sacrifice and doomed love…

It should have been a tragic, soul-stirring romance — but in this room, one person hated the Empire to the bone, and the other had been its collateral damage.

Beyond that, Shi Chan was Xi Ming’s staunch supporter. He knew exactly why the Empire exalted Xu Lihan and gave him the title “Rising Star of the Empire.” It was all to erase the former glory of Xi Ming — whom they now considered a national disgrace. Everything the Empire gave Xu Lihan was to overwrite what Xi Ming once represented.

“Ye Wen turned out to be an omega spy… seems like the Federation trained quite a few omegas for their service,” Shi Chan muttered with a frown. Having come from a cultivation-based world, he didn’t feel much national loyalty, and couldn’t quite understand the mentality of omegas sacrificing themselves for their nation. “I think, beyond the Empire, we should probably investigate among the star pirates too.”

Xi Ming nodded, twirling a lock of Shi Chan’s hair in his fingers. His eyes darkened. “Exactly what I was thinking. With a weapon like this, the Federation wouldn’t only target the Empire. Even if they’ve deployed all their spies there for this war, the Empire won’t last much longer. When it falls, we’ll be their next target.”

“This tactic is hard to defend against,” Shi Chan added with concern. “A lot of these star pirates aren’t exactly the most mentally stable. They could easily be influenced.” The last time the pirate corps fractured and ended up trapped in a wormhole was still a fresh memory.

Star pirates were reckless and unruly — no one could truly control them.

“If we didn’t know about the omega spy tactic, then sure, it’d be dangerous. But now that it’s been exposed, it’s not such a threat,” Xi Ming said calmly. This omega spy crisis only caused such damage because of the nature of omegas. With proper vigilance, they were no harder to deal with than any other spies.

“By the way, Brother Ming, how much spiritual power can you control now?” Shi Chan changed the subject. Regardless of the outside world, personal strength was always the foundation.

Xi Ming straightened slightly. “Should be about ready. I’ve followed your advice, broken it into parts for practice, but I haven’t tried it all at once yet.”

“Mm.” Shi Chan nodded, finally at ease. He hugged Xi Ming and spoke with some hesitation, “I’m still not sure whether this technique suits you. So far, no one else has been able to circulate spiritual power internally like you. When you try it, you must do it while I’m there. If anything goes wrong, I’ll treat you immediately.”

Ever since discovering that Xi Ming could circulate spiritual energy inside his body, Shi Chan had been thrilled for days. He even tried teaching Lan Ying, but the boy hadn’t learned anything before he was taken away.

Later, they recruited a few other star pirates to try, but with zero results. And the Jugu people, who were more familiar with cultivation concepts, couldn’t even sense spiritual power.

In other words, in the entire galaxy, only Xi Ming and Shi Chan could currently circulate spiritual energy internally.

The cultivation techniques Shi Chan had were all tied to his specific spiritual root attributes. There were some so-called “universal techniques” in the cultivation world that didn’t require specific roots, but they usually needed spiritual energy to function. When Shi Chan replaced spiritual energy with mental power, they simply didn’t work.

The only technique Shi Chan knew that worked purely with mental awareness was the Curse Rebound Technique he had used before — but its spiritual flow pattern was too complex for a beginner.

Still, since Xi Ming had already begun to stir spiritual power, they had to try something. After much hesitation, Shi Chan finally handed over the introductory technique he had learned during his Qi Refining stage. Though it had spiritual root requirements, it was widely used and relatively beginner-friendly.

“It’s fine — power always comes with danger,” Xi Ming said. If he were afraid of risk, he wouldn’t have become the Empire’s former shining star, nor would he have built Hengxing to what it was today.

“I’m just afraid…” Shi Chan looked at the now radiant and powerful Xi Ming, but what flashed through his mind was the man’s initial disheveled appearance. His breath caught slightly, and with warm eyes he whispered, “I hope you’ll never be hurt again.”

Xi Ming froze, staring at the young man before him. His grip on Shi Chan’s hands tightened, his throat trembling slightly. “…Chan Chan.”

He pulled Shi Chan into a full embrace, burying his face in his neck and inhaling deeply. A strange, aching emotion surged in his chest like electricity, flooding through his limbs and leaving his fingers trembling uncontrollably — desperate to hold on to anything, to anchor himself against this overwhelming wave of numb vulnerability.

Xi Ming had heard many voices in his life — voices of encouragement, blessings, praise, commands, insults, hatred… They either bound him to some kind of glory or weighed him down with the lives of people he had never even met. Xi Ming was always a symbol — of honor, of duty, of vengeance. He rarely belonged to himself.

And rarely… perhaps never, had anyone ever said to him, “Don’t get hurt.”

His wounds were medals of the Empire, symbols of humanity’s hope against the Zerg, warnings to their enemies. Pain was never something to be avoided — it was something to be worn like armor.

But his Chan Chan said it — “Don’t get hurt.”

Xi Ming, who had never feared hardship or pain, had never experienced this kind of soft, trembling emotion at the bottom of his heart. He hugged Shi Chan tightly, hiding his reddened, stinging eyes.

A long time passed. Once he had calmed his emotions, Xi Ming gently bit Shi Chan’s earlobe, giving in to the overwhelming, endless desire surging inside him. His eyes were deep as an ancient pool, and his fingers slowly caressed the back of Shi Chan’s neck.

“Shi Chan… Chan Chan…”
You’ll stay by my side forever. Always.

Shi Chan nestled closer into Xi Ming’s embrace, silently accepting all of his emotions.

That night, under Shi Chan’s watchful care, Xi Ming began attempting to circulate the complete cultivation technique.

“…Xuanji… Shendao… Yangguan…” Shi Chan guided Xi Ming with his spiritual sense, fingers tracing across Xi Ming’s body. Even if Xi Ming didn’t understand, he explained everything he knew in detail. “Don’t rush. Feel my spiritual sense. Let your mental power settle here… then continue downward. Gather it — don’t let it disperse. Keep going…”

Even when Shi Chan first learned cultivation, his own master hadn’t guided him this patiently. He’d forgotten how many injuries and wrong paths he had suffered before truly stepping onto this path.

But now, he felt it hadn’t been in vain — all the hardships and mistakes were now experience, helping him guide Xi Ming forward.

This was a form of energy Xi Ming had never encountered before. Even just barely circulating mental energy within his body had once given him a sharp clarity. Now, under Shi Chan’s guidance, he was trying to move that energy according to fixed rules, in a rhythmic flow…

Failure followed failure, but each one brought corrections — each attempt starting from the beginning again.

When it came to Xi Ming, Shi Chan had endless patience. No matter how many times he failed, Shi Chan’s voice remained calm, even gentler with each setback. He kept reassuring Xi Ming that it was normal — he himself had taken months before successfully circulating the technique for the first time.

As a triple-S-level alpha with SS mental and S physique attributes, Xi Ming had always been a genius — he could easily top any field he studied, seamlessly applying theory to real-life combat, analyzing ever-changing battlefield conditions and making precise decisions.

Now, Xi Ming lived up to his reputation. He never made the same mistake twice. Soon, he had mastered the technique’s intricacies. Under Shi Chan’s excited gaze, he circulated his mental energy throughout his body and guided it back to the origin—

“Pfft—”
A mouthful of blood gushed out.

“Brother Ming!” Shi Chan had been watching closely and immediately wrapped Xi Ming’s body in spiritual power, his eyes filled with worry.

Xi Ming waved a hand dismissively, unconcerned by the failure. “I’ll try again.”

But… the heavens seemed unwilling to open the door of cultivation to Xi Ming. Again and again, all he got in return was searing pain in his meridians, never once sensing the “spiritual energy of heaven and earth” that Shi Chan had described.

Xi Ming sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes tightly shut. Beads of sweat the size of peas rolled down his face. His muscles twitched, and pain wracked his entire body.

“Brother Ming, stop.” Shi Chan could no longer watch Xi Ming torture himself like this. He reached out to stop him, gently stroking his back again and again, pressing his forehead to Xi Ming’s. “Maybe this technique just isn’t right for you. Or maybe this world doesn’t have a cultivation system at all. If it’s not meant to be, we don’t have to force it, okay?”

Under Shi Chan’s repeated comfort, Xi Ming finally emerged from that near-mad state. He clenched his teeth, his eyes deep and unreadable.

Shi Chan said nothing more. He simply continued to soothe him quietly, even extending his spiritual sense to intertwine with Xi Ming’s — gentle, calm, enveloping his chaotic emotions with warm understanding.

Xi Ming took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Shi Chan, enjoying the comfort of his presence. But his gaze slowly shifted to his open palm.

He had thought… that once his body, power, and influence had all recovered, he had also been restored — that he was once again the strong, confident, reliable Xi Ming.

But…

Xi Ming slowly curled his fingers into a fist, closed his eyes, and sank into memory.

How long had it been since he realized he couldn’t accept anyone else in Shi Chan’s world?

Whether it was Shi Chan’s friends, his pets, his ex-fiancé, or those silent admirers who would charge into battle with a single look — he couldn’t stand it.

Even though Shi Chan stayed beside him… even though Shi Chan had been marked with a powerful temporary bond… Xi Ming was still deeply insecure.

He would never forget that his life was saved by Shi Chan. But the love Shi Chan felt for him… was for the former Imperial Lieutenant General — for the Star Marshal, the Empire’s Brightest Star.

And what about now?

Now he was dark, ruthless, stirring chaos everywhere. His former brilliance had been corroded by hatred. His hands were stained with the blood of countless innocent civilians caught in war.

Xi Ming would never give up his revenge — even if it cost him his soul.

But at the same time, he would never give up Shi Chan.

His world had already lost all its color. Shi Chan was his only remaining light, the last flower in a withered garden — the lifeline that pulled him back from the abyss.

He couldn’t live without Shi Chan.

He had said it again and again, the desire growing so strong it bordered on obsession. He gripped Shi Chan’s hand tightly, kept him close, made him wear a wristband with surveillance functions — trying to control everything about him.

Xi Ming wanted Shi Chan’s world to contain only him. That way, he could monopolize Shi Chan’s pure gaze, his clear voice, his warm hugs, his everything…

But Xi Ming held himself back.

He wasn’t like those arrogant, entitled alphas from the Empire. He would never imprison Shi Chan under the guise of love. Even if he wanted to destroy the world, he couldn’t bear to let Shi Chan suffer in any way.

He hated and was indifferent to the world — but he knew Shi Chan loved basking in sunlight by the window, walking barefoot in clear streams, watching animals play on green lawns, listening to raindrops on leaves, staring at the boundless night sky, preparing surprises for friends, seeing smiles on the faces of those around him…

Xi Ming knew — even though Shi Chan was always by his side, even though he understood his pain and supported all his plans — Shi Chan still loved the world.

Shi Chan’s heart had always been strong and free, untouched by chains.

His love, his reliance, his constant presence — it all came from his own heart. No power or violence could force it.

Xi Ming had wanted, countless times, to shackle Shi Chan in the name of love. But…

How could he bear it?

He wanted Shi Chan always beside him, but he also wanted to see Shi Chan’s smile — unshadowed and bright. He wanted to see his clear, trusting eyes.

Shi Chan’s inner strength filled Xi Ming with pride and fear in equal measure. He feared that one day Shi Chan would grow tired of him — realize that he was no longer that bright star, be repulsed by his decaying, corrupted pheromones, grow to hate his endless vengeance and war-mongering, and finally…

Turn away.

This fear and unease exploded the moment Xi Ming realized he couldn’t learn Shi Chan’s technique — when he realized he might never reach the “true” Shi Chan.

Xi Ming’s embrace became so tight it was as if he wanted to fuse Shi Chan into his very flesh. His eyes dimmed, filled with only one agonizing, maddening thought:

He can’t live without Shi Chan.
But Shi Chan… could leave at any time.