Chapter 125

Chapter 125

"The world is already a labyrinth; there's no need to build another." —Jorge Luis Borges, *The Aleph*

Perhaps, as the doctor had said, his condition was steadily improving.

The present-day Xia Qing not only possessed the complete memories of his life before the age of 16—something the earlier Xia Qing had lacked—but as his waking hours grew longer, he also saw more and more of "his" memories. This was precisely why he had been identified as the dominant personality.

Whether in fleeting glimpses during daily life or in dreams at night, he could see and feel many memories and emotions that had been profoundly significant to the earlier Xia Qing. The more he understood the latter, the harder it became to distinguish between himself and "him."

Thus, on nights when he lay entwined with the 29-year-old Beta Commissioner Xu Zhangying, Xia Qing often found himself recalling fragmented moments where "his" gaze lingered on the familiar yet unfamiliar face of the Beta youth—not just in the university dissection room, but also at a rain-lashed harbor, or in a hospital ward thick with the scent of disinfectant. Yet, in most of these moments, Xu Zhangying remained oblivious to those glances.

Though the 28-year-old Xia Qing was entirely different from the 16-year-old version, and the 29-year-old Beta Commissioner bore little resemblance to his 21-year-old self, it seemed that as long as one was "Xia Qing," one was fated to be drawn to "Xu Zhangying." Even an Elite Alpha living in unbroken tranquility could not help but feel that searing, déjà vu-like emotion the moment he laid eyes on the Beta Commissioner.

However, one thing was strange: in these past few months, Xia Qing had never recovered any memories from the ages of 16 to 20—not even fleeting fragments.

Before leaving for Abu Dhabi, the doctor assigned by the relevant department had told him that this was perfectly normal and that maintaining his current state was ideal. For patients not plagued by dissociation disorder, the inability to recall trauma-related memories was, generally, a good thing.

"Memories are just memories. Don’t assign them meaning or value. Treat them as events that have already passed."

The silver-haired psychiatrist sat down in his chair, the collar of his military green uniform peeking out from beneath his white coat. He looked at Xia Qing and said gently, "Even if one day you accidentally recall painful memories, remember these words."

Xu Zhangying had never minded the four-year gap in his memories either. The Beta youth only felt his habitual guilt and remorse—for hurting him under the influence of information disorder, and for running away, leading Xia Qing to mistakenly believe he had died in the tunnel explosion.

But by now, everyone could guess that the high-speed tunnel explosion, which had somehow implicated Xu Zhangying on a completely different highway, must have been connected to Lawrence.

It was in those flames that the 20-year-old Xia Qing lost contact with Xu Zhangying and developed dissociation disorder. And whether it was Xu Zhangying later meeting Tang Youning, reuniting with Laura in Los Angeles and becoming an AGB Commissioner, or eventually rising to the position of the *Fourth Seat Emperor*—all these twists of fate could be traced back to that accident in 2014.

Fate may be shaped by chance, but behind Xu Zhangying’s destiny lurked a pair of eyes, ceaselessly monitoring and correcting its course.

Finally, after Xu Zhangying left, Xia Qing saw, for the first time in the depths of his consciousness, the memories of the 20-year-old Xia Qing—though they were fragmented, disjointed glimpses.

One such flashback was brief, just a few scattered scenes. In the dream, the 19-year-old Xia Qing stood beneath the shade of a tree at the art college, accompanied by a familiar Beta senior who asked if he, too, had come to see the graduation exhibition.

"What brings you to the art college? Business?" the girl asked.

"Nothing much," replied "Xia Qing," a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He turned his head, his face calm under the summer shade of Beijing’s trees. "Just passing by on my way back from the east gate. What about you, Senior Quwen?"

Chi Quwen laughed brightly, her face free of makeup, a slung canvas bag resting against her arm. "I just ran an errand to the finance office for my professor. Thought I’d stop by since the art college is hosting their grad show. Wanna check it out together?"

In the dream, Xia Qing inexplicably knew that "he" hadn’t come for the exhibition. Xu Zhangying’s oil painting had won gold at the London Art Awards, and it had only been returned to the department that week, now displayed in the art college. The Elite Alpha had been glowing with pride at home for days, so "he" had come specifically to see that painting—even though "he" had meticulously archived its creation from sketch to final product.

By then, Chi Quwen had already stepped closer. Seeing the handsome boy in a white shirt with a black backpack and a Sony mirrorless camera in hand, she chuckled. "A Qing, this isn’t just a casual visit. You came prepared! Didn’t know you were so into art."

In truth, "Xia Qing’s" interest in and knowledge of art began and ended with Xu Zhangying himself. The old camera in his hands had been in use since high school. Ever since Xu Zhangying had pursued art professionally, "he" had made a habit of documenting the Elite Alpha’s works at every stage. By now, his archive spanned thousands. But explaining all that would be unnecessary, so "he" simply shrugged. "Just a little."

"Come on, let’s take a look around, then grab lunch at the canteen," Chi Quwen said warmly. "I also wanted to ask you about some lab stuff."

"Xia Qing" hesitated. It was Friday morning, and Xu Zhangying had been called in by their dean to demonstrate sketching for freshmen. They’d agreed that if class ended early, they’d go out for lunch together. But just as "he" was about to speak, Chi Quwen looked up toward the art building’s small plaza and let out a soft "Ah."

Following her gaze, "Xia Qing" froze the moment his eyes focused.

A group of people—about seven or eight—were emerging from the art building. Leading them was the gray-haired dean of the art college, Kui Zhesheng, surrounded by young students. At that moment, the famously old, unpredictable dean was turned slightly, speaking to a boy in a black T-shirt at his left, an uncharacteristically amiable smile on his face.

Though Chi Quwen and "Xia Qing" were some distance away, it was immediately obvious why Dean Kui was in such high spirits: the tall boy in black. As the group stepped into the center of the plaza, midday glare spilled over them, making the young student at the forefront radiate artistic magnetism.

That, of course, was the 20-year-old Xu Zhangying. He was the tallest of the group, one hand in his pocket, a white backpack—the same model as Xia Qing’s—slung over his shoulder. Even in profile, his striking features stood out sharply in the sunlight. On a whim that year, he’d grown his hair out a little, now half-tied at the back, exuding artistic magnetism.

Though the Elite Alpha wasn’t at the center of the group, every pair of eyes hung on his every gesture, every flicker of expression.

"Wow, that must be the Elite Alpha heartthrob from the art school. Though I haven’t seen him in person much, this one’s definitely more impressive than the previous ones—he stands out in any crowd."

Xia Qing gazed at the faintly smiling Xu Zhangying from afar, only then realizing that the smile on the Elite Alpha’s face felt unfamiliar—somehow, Xu Zhangying had gradually begun to wear this polite but hollow expression, one where the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Paired with the young man’s striking looks and physique, "he" suddenly grasped for the first time that Xu Zhangying had truly grown into an adult man.

The flashback began to blur after these few scenes. Xia Qing didn’t understand why this memory had abruptly surfaced in his mind. All the settings and dialogues were hazy, except for the Elite Alpha surrounded by others under the sunlight—his handsome, confident face was so vivid, even the curve of his faint smile at the corners of his eyes seemed etched into "Xia Qing’s" vision, as clear as if it were yesterday.

The beta girl standing nearby seemed to glance at the distant Xu Zhangying while casually asking her junior a few more questions out of curiosity. "Xia Qing, didn’t you used to be quite close with Xu Zhangying?"

"Isn’t it stressful being with an Elite Alpha?"

In the fading dream, "Xia Qing" seemed to murmur something in response—or perhaps said nothing at all. But none of it mattered, because by the time the flashback neared its end, Xia Qing had already clearly sensed the emotions and thoughts surging within "himself" at that moment.

—It was so right that Xu Zhangying became an Elite Alpha.

In this seemingly peaceful and civilized world, one that concealed cruelty and injustice beneath, Xu Zhangying—who would have been a good person regardless of gender—was so fortunate to have become an Elite Alpha.

Standing under the shade of the tree, 19-year-old Xia Qing thought exactly that.

And at this very moment, Xia Qing—who didn’t belong to this memory—finally felt an intense pain radiating from the depths of his soul, so overwhelming that even in reality, his body instinctively curled in on itself.

The next second, an overwhelming floral scent, cloying with tuberose, suddenly flooded the dream. Xia Qing found it strange—he had never smelled this scent in reality, let alone encountered pheromones of such terrifying intensity. But in the dream, he had no time to think before plunging into the thick, syrup-thick sweetness, as if submerged in a river.

These pheromones carried no discernible emotion, like a raging yet silent river. Adrift in the fragrance, Xia Qing felt neither physiological rejection nor instinctive attraction, and so he quickly realized:

This was an alpha’s pheromones.

And the moment this thought surfaced, the dream abruptly ended.

Damp, salty sea air filled the cabin, replacing the nonexistent tuberose scent. All that remained in the real world was a heart still pounding violently in his chest and a constricting pain.

-

"You’re awake."

Xia Qing opened his eyes to see Zhao Yang sitting cross-legged on the carpet opposite him, studying him as if he’d been watching for a long time.

After saying this, Zhao Yang glanced down at the diving watch on his wrist and deadpanned, "Only 14 minutes of sleep in 48 hours. We’ve got two more hours to go. If you black out in the helicopter, we’ll be in trouble."

But his words lacked conviction—his own eyes were bloodshot, and though he’d shaved just hours ago, his face was drawn with fatigue.

Xia Qing slowly sat up. His heart still hammered wildly in his chest, and a sharp, throbbing pain pulsed deep in his skull—a body’s warning signal from severe sleep deprivation.

Yet, if not for Zhao Yang’s comment, Xia Qing would have thought he slept for an eternity. His mind still felt disoriented, struggling to pull away from the flashback that had felt like a past life. It took him a full three seconds to confirm that the overwhelming sweetness had been nothing but his imagination.

Lifting his gaze, Xia Qing caught sight of the vast ocean beyond the balcony where Zhao Yang sat, finally remembering where he was.

The South Pacific. The Beagle Channel.

The date was November 23, 4 PM in the UTC-3 time zone.

Two hours earlier, they’d departed from the Free Port of Ushuaia, Argentina, heading northwest along the Beagle Channel toward international waters 300 nautical miles offshore—where Laura’s Team A would launch an assault to secure an offshore base an hour ahead of them.

But just 20 hours ago, no one had even suspected that Life would be hiding in international waters—until the investigation team received a tip with an IP address traced to Argentina.

It was a suspiciously encrypted message, containing only a vague piece of maritime data: the entry and exit records of a fuel supply vessel that had departed from Ushuaia on November 15, 2022.

Within twenty minutes, Amber and the others had uncovered the ship’s background. It belonged to an independent bunkering company registered in Chile, but a closer examination of its connections revealed that its largest shareholder was none other than the Canadian energy conglomerate—the Nauron Family.

The moment the Octavius faction came into the picture, this maritime data became far more significant. Amber immediately pulled satellite AIS data from that day in the South Pacific, quickly spotting the tanker’s tracked route in the global ship-tracking system—and spotting an anomaly.

The tanker’s route showed no other vessels along its path. Yet, five hours after it returned to port, a vessel’s satellite signature suddenly appeared in international waters 100 nautical miles away from its documented course.

According to the regulations of the International Maritime Organization (IMO), all vessels must ensure the normal operation of the Global Maritime Distress and Safety System (GMDSS). Unauthorized shutdown of satellite communication systems directly violates international laws and could theoretically lead to legal consequences.

Thus, the encrypted message's shipping information directly implies the presence of a vessel deliberately concealing its whereabouts in the international waters of the South Pacific, operating under the influence of the Nauron Family.

Globally, an average of over 830,000 vessels sail the seas daily. Without this message, even with the entire IGO System engaged in a joint operation against Life—just as in 2004—locating a suspicious vessel in the South Pacific's international waters would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

However, despite their best efforts, Benjamin and other cybersecurity officers failed to trace the origin of the message. After investigation, he was almost certain it was an internal directive from Life—only Life's dark web system possessed such sophisticated and impenetrable encryption technology.

Ushuaia port, shipping information, Life's internal directive—by this point, a name surfaced in everyone's mind simultaneously.

—Tang Youning.

Or rather, the Third-Generation Messiah, Claudius.

Though Tang Youning's true allegiance remained uncertain, existing intelligence suggested that after the Vancouver Tang family massacre, Tang Youning, who had obtained the title of Emperor, had completely severed ties with the Octavius faction.

Yet, even if the intel came from outside the Octavius faction, it was still highly dangerous. Amber and Laura deliberated at length—they were unsure whether to trust this lead, as they no longer had the capacity or time to determine if it pointed to an answer or an abyss.

By then, Xu Zhangying had been missing for over 50 hours, during which his Wiesler bio-tracker had not emitted a single signal. No one voiced it, but their minds were fraught with unease—this could only mean two possibilities: either Beta’s signal was being actively jammed, or he had truly sunk to the icy depths of the ocean.

This was because the Wiesler bio-tracker, at its core, utilized the same cutting-edge technology as the "bombs" implanted in Life's noble members—the implantable Micro-Electro-Mechanical Systems (iMEMS). Ranging in size from micrometers to millimeters, most iMEMS devices did not rely on batteries but were powered by mechanical or chemical energy—specifically, the body's bioelectricity.

If the host died, the iMEMS would lose its energy supply and cease functioning automatically.

Whether it was Zhao Yang and Qi Feng or Zeiss and Amber, they all subconsciously avoided considering the second possibility, focusing instead on methodically tracking Beta's whereabouts.

However, after pinpointing the Octavius faction’s stronghold, the investigation into Life was fully back on track. Locating and rescuing Xu Zhangying was no longer the primary objective of the large-scale multinational operation—it wasn't even a secondary priority.

The fate of the missing Fourth-Generation Messiah remained unknown. While he undoubtedly held valuable intelligence, his political and symbolic significance had diminished after his betrayal of his identity as an AGB Officer. For instance, Amber, as the operation's commander, could not include "rescuing ‘Beta’ Police Superintendent" in the joint counterterrorism operation's mandate.

Perhaps this was precisely why Xu Zhangying could confidently declare, "I never want to see anyone in this room again in this lifetime."

"However, considering the Octavius faction's movements, Edmund himself is highly likely to be brought before Octavius. Therefore, we will simultaneously execute a rescue mission during this operation."

As the plane landed at Ushuaia Airport, Amber made this announcement.

Ushuaia, known as *the end of the world,* is the closest city to Antarctica. Due to its location along the Beagle Channel, which connects the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, its free port serves as a vital gateway and supply base for Antarctica.

Additionally, tourism is the region's most important industry, with large numbers of visitors arriving year-round from around the world. As a result, the local shipping and port industries are bustling, with commercial vessels constantly ferrying tourists to see penguins and whales in the nearby waters.

Yet no one could have imagined that, within these same waters, lurked a ghost cruise ship belonging to an international terrorist organization.

By late November, early summer in South America, even the southernmost Ushuaia entered its peak tourist season. As Xia Qing descended the aircraft steps, he noticed many East Asian faces—mostly young people clad in windbreakers and quick-dry pants, exuding youthful vigor as they chatted excitedly with fellow travelers they'd met on the plane.

When snowflakes brushed his face, Xia Qing suddenly recalled a high school afternoon when Xu Zhangying, flipping through random magazines at home in Guangzhou, had casually remarked that once they made money, they should go see penguins together.

The world wasn’t as vast as the boy had imagined. Standing on the Ushuaia tarmac, Xia Qing paused for a fraction of a second before striding resolutely alongside Laura toward the waiting tactical vehicle without a backward glance.

Four hours later, the elite team Amber had selected from AGB Officers stationed across the Americas had assembled. After two months of setbacks, the special investigation task force targeting Life was finally launching its largest international joint operation.

"Team B." The cabin door knocked, and both Xia Qing and Zhao Yang—seated by the yacht's second-floor terrace—looked up as Zeiss entered, in full tactical gear.

Aside from Laura's Team A, the 15-person Teams B and C were now aboard the Ferretti 1000 yacht, chartered from a local Argentine yacht company. Before the operation commenced, this commercial yacht showed no signs of suspicion in either its route or appearance.

Yet inside the cabin, aside from Xia Qing and another American Officer serving as a decoy—both still in civilian suits—everyone else had changed into black tactical gear.

Like Zhao Yang, Zeiss carried his Ops-Core helmet rather than wearing it. Due to time constraints, all their equipment—even the German-made M27 rifles slung across their backs—had been borrowed from the U.S. Marines.

After all, by this point, a 50-member counterterrorism team composed of elite operatives had already assembled near the Beagle Channel. Without reporting the operation to the AGB Security Council in Geneva, Director Amber, as the mission commander, had organized this last-minute cooperation with U.S. and Argentine national security agencies within just 20 hours, leveraging support from the North American branch and regional council.

Of course, the reason Amber, as the head of AGB's Asian Division, could wield such influence across the Pacific was undoubtedly due to the support of others—such as the Duncan family, which wields major influence within the IGO System.

"That KING has already boarded the 'Oasis.' Laura and her Team A will probably move in in about 15 minutes."

Zeiss casually placed his tactical helmet on the oak table and sat down on the corner of the leather sofa where Zhao Yang was leaning. "I asked Samuel where you two had gone, and he said Professor Ralph was sleeping."

The "Oasis" referred to a superyacht located approximately 300 nautical miles from the coastline. Built in 2010 by the German shipyard Blohm+Voss, its previous owner was a well-known Russian oligarch. However, in 2015, it was suddenly transferred to a little-known Argentine shell company and renamed "Oasis."

Yet, the Oasis was not the true target of this operation. This superyacht, capable of accommodating nearly a hundred people, was merely a waystation to the heart of LEBEN's power. Members ranked DUKE or higher had to board this yacht first, undergo identity verification, and then take a helicopter to a cruise ship on the high seas 200 nautical miles away.

The "KING" Zeiss mentioned was originally scheduled to board the cruise ship at 6 p.m. tonight—a European politician and LEBEN noble who had been under AGB surveillance since entering the U.S. After his last contact with Octavius' faction, he arrived in Ushuaia, where he was immediately apprehended by waiting AGB officers and became the bait for this operation. Five undercover operatives, disguised as his close associates and family members, accompanied him onto the Oasis.

With their assistance, Team A, led by Laura, would board covertly through the submarine compartment at the bottom and secure the Oasis by 5 p.m. Teams B and C would then rendezvous with them before forcibly boarding the cruise ship under Octavius' control at 6 p.m., with 15-minute intervals between each team.

"Just how paranoid are these people? Switching between sea, land, and air routes—must be nice to have fuck-you money," Zhao Yang muttered, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his M27, rubbing his temples. "If not for Tang Youning, who could’ve tracked them down?"

"But Claudius did betray Octavius," Zeiss remarked mockingly. "If Octavius and Tiberius weren’t so cautious, deliberately anchoring the cruise ship beyond the range of ordinary helicopters, we’d probably already be standing in its captain’s room by now."

"Claudius..." Zhao Yang repeated under his breath before scoffing and shaking his head. "That Tang guy really is insane. I’ve racked my brain, but I still can’t make heads or tails of Tang Youning’s logic."

"His motives might not be complicated. Often, the simpler a person’s desires, the harder their actions are to understand."

The measured voice belonged to Xia Qing, who had been mostly silent. Dressed in a dark gray windowpane suit, his expression was calm but slightly pale. After speaking, he turned his gaze away from the sea and fixed it on Zhao Yang, his eyes carrying an emotion Zhao Yang couldn’t quite decipher. "In contrast, people like Octavius, whose desires keep expanding, are far easier to predict."

—Tang Youning’s desires?

Zhao Yang froze for a moment, frowning as he belatedly realized that while Tang Youning had always indulged in conspicuous consumption, he couldn’t recall him ever expressing any particular strong desires.

The image of Tang Youning’s handsome but vacant face flashed in Zhao Yang’s mind—his histrionic displays, his exaggerated reactions. He couldn’t help but think, Could someone’s greatest wish really just be staying by their Senior’s side?

Come to think of it, Tang Youning didn’t even seem jealous of Xia Qing. At times, he even got along with him in an uncannily chummy way.

How bizarre— Just as Zhao Yang was about to mentally rant, he suddenly realized it wasn’t bizarre at all.

Because, deep down, he felt the same way.

"If only I could stay with Xu Zhangying, Qi Feng, and Xia Qing forever..." —From many years ago, that had truly become his only wish.

—"He’s much smarter than you." That annoying voice had whispered mockingly in his ear in Abu Dhabi’s dim, bloodstained storage room. "He’s the one among us who knows exactly what he wants. You’re his opposite."

Zhao Yang abruptly fell silent. Zeiss, sitting beside him, didn’t speak either. The cabin soon grew quiet as the three of them waited—perhaps for Laura, or perhaps for confirmation of a certain suspicion.

—If that text message had indeed come from Tang Youning, then he had only one simple goal.

Time ticked by, the sound of waves filling their ears. The southernmost waters they were in were about to enter the midnight sun season. Though evening was approaching in terms of time, the unending daylight still hung high above them, casting an eerie time warp effect alongside the shimmering sea.

"Beep."

After an indeterminate length of time, the radio hissed through the silence before Amber’s voice abruptly came through the comms.

November 23, 4:37 p.m. UTC-3.

Team A of the Ushuaia joint operation had successfully secured LEBEN’s superyacht, the "Oasis," by force.

Additionally, the Oasis’ crew confirmed that they had indeed received a Beta faction member codenamed "Nero," who had been transferred to the cruise ship six hours prior.

-

When Xu Zhangying woke up, everything was pitch black, and he couldn’t move—a familiar sensation of restraint. He had been tied down with four-point restraints more than a few times during his years at the Secondary Gender Experimentation Center.

The beta instinctively struggled for a moment before realizing his eyes were covered with a black cloth, his entire body strapped to a stretcher. He also registered the nasal cannula in his nose and the familiar beeping of a heart rate monitor by his ear.

This situation completely overturned Xu Zhangying's expectations before the chain-reaction car crash—he had imagined his fate would resemble that of the unfortunate hostages held by militants near the Red Sea: a sack over his head, wrists bound with rope, thrown into a basement to await being revived with saltwater.

Just like the scene he had imagined many times of Xu Yiyuan’s death.

Who would have thought that after twenty years, LEBEN’s hostage protocols had advanced several levels, even incorporating modern medical interventions.

Deprived of sight, Xu Zhangying had no idea where he was or whether a LEBEN operative was silently watching him nearby. He struggled briefly before realizing his entire body ached as if shattered, and his lungs were compromised—even slightly rapid breathing was difficult.

Gradually, the last images before his unconsciousness resurfaced in his mind—he only remembered the Police Superintendent and the car they were in speeding smoothly across the Thomas Bridge when, suddenly, a series of crashes and screeching tires erupted from the traffic ahead. Their car had just slowed when a tremendous force slammed into them from behind.

The windshield shattered instantly. The airbags in the driver and passenger seats deployed just as a white SUV rammed into them from the left. Then, Xu Zhangying felt weightless—and in that second of freefall, he blacked out.

Based on the crash scene in his memory, Xu Zhangying could roughly deduce that the modified BMW he was in must have plunged into the bay. Though he had anticipated Octavius’ abduction attempt, he never expected the dark web nobility’s methods to be so extreme.

Compared to an armed highway interception, retrieving someone from Los Angeles Bay was a hundred times more complicated.

But from this perspective, perhaps Corbett and his men hadn’t intended eliminating him but erasing him—plunging into the sea would ensure "Xu Zhangying" disappeared completely from public society.

He just didn’t know how severe the casualties were among the Officers escorting him.

Xu Zhangying lay in the darkness a while longer, still hearing no movement. He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been unconscious, which left him frustrated.

Thanks to his extensive experience with restraints, Xu Zhangying didn’t waste energy trying to break free. Instead, he silently glared beneath the blindfold until his lungs ached again, then simply closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

Without sight, Xu Zhangying had no sense of how long he had slept—or been unconscious—when he woke again. But he keenly sensed he had been moved.

The oxygen tube and finger monitor had been removed—apparently, someone had confirmed his vitals were stable. Now, he remained blindfolded and tightly strapped to the stretcher bed.

Just as Xu Zhangying debated whether to shout for attention, the sound of a door opening and footsteps reached him. When the door closed, the beta smelled salt air and froze.

Why was there salt air?

Xu Zhangying thought for a second, quickly adjusting his bodily awareness, and indeed detected subtle shifts in the deck beneath him—he must be on a boat or yacht.

Then, he heard a man with a Colombian accent say in English, "Are we taking him aboard?"

Another man, seemingly pausing for a second, replied in more fluent English with a faint trace of a western Canadian accent, "We need to wake him first."

"This beta’s been out for almost three days. Can he even be woken?" the Colombian muttered.

So he’d been unconscious that long. Xu Zhangying, still lying there, was startled.

"It’s fine. The Brazilian medic said his meds included sedatives. He should wake within the next two hours. We can’t delay the Emperor’s business—Tiberius specifically asked to see him." The rank of the Canadian was likely higher than the Colombian’s, his tone more decisive. Standing by the stretcher, he added quietly,

"Call the Brazilian medic over. Give him another injection to wake him. We’re taking him aboard within half an hour."

"So urgent?"

"Do you think we can disobey Tiberius’ orders?"

"...Fine. I’ll go now."

"But if he wakes up, do we still need the injection?"

A third voice, hoarse and hesitant, cautiously interjected. The other two abruptly fell silent.

In the deafening silence, Xu Zhangying—who had spoken up only to avoid the injection—was struck three times, hard enough to make the blindfolded beta’s vision flash white. At the same time, his restraints were peeled away layer by layer, replaced by his arms being efficiently wrenched behind his back. Then, weak-limbed, he was dragged off the stretcher.

Wait—didn’t Octavius say he was the Emperor? Was it really okay for underlings to strike the Emperor like this? The former beta Police Superintendent was reeling. But before he could speak again, he was dragged out of the cabin.

Fortunately, Xu Zhangying could feel no major injuries on his body—aside from his ribs, his limbs didn’t seem fractured. But perhaps due to only receiving glucose infusions for three days, he was weak as if his bones had turned to jelly, unable to even stand straight, and could only lean crookedly against the kidnapper propping him up.

Dragged all the way to the deck, the damp, biting sea wind suddenly rushed into Xu Zhangying’s chest. The captor beside him still hadn’t removed the blindfold, but once they stopped outdoors, the harsh sunlight seeped through the thick fabric, giving him a faint sense of light.

Ample light, temperatures below 10°C—the experienced Xu Zhangying almost instantly deduced that he must be in high-latitude Southern Hemisphere waters.

The wind at sea was fierce, making it hard for Xu Zhangying to catch the hushed conversations on the deck. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, he asked the man holding his left arm, "Are we in Argentina?"

Naturally, the blindfolded Xu Zhangying didn’t see the fleeting look of surprise on the Life member’s face. Luckily, he’d deliberately chosen the Colombian who hadn’t slapped him. The man only snapped at him to shut up before holding him still.

Xu Zhangying felt like he was wearing only a thin shirt. After less than five minutes in the 5-6°C sea wind, his teeth chattered. As he tried to huddle behind the kidnapper for shelter, he wondered if they were really taking him to Stanley Port or Ushuaia in Argentina.

To think they were out at sea—how would Amber and the others ever find him? But then again, this was for the best, Xu Zhangying mused. After his death, there’d be no need to worry about burial—in this vast ocean, dumping a person was no different from tossing a message in a bottle.

Just as Xu Zhangying was lost in thought, the voices around him suddenly grew louder, followed by a powerful gust of wind and the deafening whir of helicopter blades.

Xu Zhangying knew this must be the people coming to "take him aboard." But the downwash and thunderous noise from the helicopter’s rotors disoriented him completely, leaving him to be shoved forward like a blindfolded drunk by the captor gripping his shoulder.

"Hey," Xu Zhangying stumbled forward, turning his head to shout a bargaining attempt, "Can you at least take off the blindfold now? It’s hard to walk like this!"

But the Life members seemed to be following strict protocols—no one responded. Just as Xu Zhangying switched to Spanish, he slammed face-first into a hard metal edge—likely the helicopter’s door. His head spun from the impact, but before he could recover, a pair of hands yanked him inside without ceremony.

Bound and dumped in a corner of the cabin, Xu Zhangying soon felt the weightlessness of takeoff amid the roaring noise. There seemed to be dedicated guards inside, as he felt at least two people kick him.

Annoyed, Xu Zhangying lay there like a gutted fish on a slab, impatiently wishing this would all just end quickly—interrogation, then a slit throat or a bullet, and finally being tossed into the sea in a sack.

He didn’t have many wishes left. He just hoped these religious fanatics would spare him their execution videos. That was the one thing he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps—even strangers would find it horrifying, let alone if it fell into the hands of someone he knew.

Especially Xia Qing.

Amid the roar of the Sikorsky S-92, the beta’s bound fingers twitched slightly. A mercenary in a tactical vest leaning against the cabin door noticed but dismissed it with a glance.

In the spacious, modified cabin of the medium rescue helicopter, another mercenary sat on a suspended seat, cradling a submachine gun as he eyed the blindfolded beta sprawled on the floor. After a moment, he grinned at his companion and asked in Portuguese, "Is he really the Emperor?"

The wind by the door was too loud for a reply, so his companion just shrugged—who knew? These were disputes far above their pay grade.

The flight felt interminable for the blindfolded Xu Zhangying. Without visual cues, he could only estimate the duration—about an hour, judging by how numb his bound arms were—meaning they’d traveled over 150 nautical miles. That meant Octavius’s location had to be in international waters.

So this was the level of the Emperor’s wealth and power. Xu Zhangying almost laughed. No wonder that gray-eyed man always looked so exasperated whenever he tossed aside the satellite phone—like watching a beggar throw away a winning lottery ticket.

Before Xu Zhangying could guess which stretch of ocean they were over, he felt the helicopter descending, and static and radio chatter filled the cabin.

Having learned his lesson from the head injury earlier, Xu Zhangying gave up struggling and stayed silent, playing possum until the mercs dragged him up. But instead, three or four minutes later, a rough South American voice barked in English, "Stand up!" before yanking off the blindfold and shoving him out of the helicopter.

Stumbling onto the helipad with his hands still bound, Xu Zhangying was nearly bowled over by the deafening rotor wash and gale-force winds. The sudden flood of light was like a hundred flash grenades exploding at once—his vision flooded with blinding white, his eyes stinging as if pierced by needles. He couldn’t even make out the mercenary in front of him.

Yet the Life members kept pushing him, shouting at him to move. Xu Zhangying could only frown, squeeze his eyes shut, and duck his head as he walked, slowly trying to reopen them and adjust to the light.

After about ten seconds, his vision began to return. He gradually made out the ground beneath him and his surroundings—a vast, open platform. Raising his gaze, he saw the helicopter roaring back into the sky and an unbroken expanse of ocean, its blue nearly indistinguishable from the horizon.

He was standing on the upper deck of a massive cruise ship. Besides the helipad he was on, there was a second one to the right, where an inactive Airbus H175—another medium helicopter often used for maritime rescue and oil rig transport—was parked. It was then that Xu Zhangying realized—this was no mere temporary hideout.

As if confirming his suspicions, a voice suddenly rang out from above as the mercenaries marched him toward the edge of the helipad.

"Welcome to SEL."

Welcome to the Eternal Life Society.

The moment the voice spoke, the mercenary gripping Xu Zhangying’s arm tightened his hold—a reaction that instantly told him this was a high-ranking Life operative.

Xu Zhangying slowly raised his head and saw a figure leaning over the railing of the deck above him. However, his eyes still hadn’t fully adjusted to the light, and tilting his face upward left him nearly blinded by the sunlight, only able to make out a vague silhouette against the blinding glare.

But from that voice alone, even without clear vision, he already knew who it was—or rather, Xu Zhangying had expected this all along.

“I always thought a mysterious organization like SEL would be based somewhere like a private island,” Xu Zhangying said, tilting his head back with a faintly disappointed smile. “Maybe I’ve watched too many movies.”

“Oh?” The man sounded surprised but not offended, even switching back to Chinese as he shook his head. “I didn’t expect your imagination of power to be so... limited.”

“And I didn’t expect your relationship with power to be so... intimate,” Xu Zhangying shot back, shrugging slightly. Just then, his vision finally cleared again, revealing a face so familiar it brought a flicker of warmth.

“Long time no see, Shuhua, my senior.”