Chapter 78 Return to School

Chapter 78: Return to the Academy

Dai Mo glanced at Qi Yanshen, who had objected. “Reason.”

Qi Yanshen stated his rationale: “This is a psychic interrogation. By policy, it shouldn’t be administered to military academy students. Moreover, Ji Anzhi is still in his secondary psychic development phase. What if something goes wrong?”

Dai Mo refused to yield. “I have full control.”

Qi Yanshen opened his mouth to protest further, but Ji Anzhi interjected first: “I trust your expertise and am willing to cooperate fully with the Federation’s investigation. I also hope you’ll exercise precision—after all, should I sustain injury, it wouldn’t reflect well on you either.”

Ji Anzhi’s words signaled both his familiarity with Federation protocols and his willingness to undergo psychic interrogation—provided it posed no physical risk to him, a perfectly reasonable condition.

Seeing this, Qi Yanshen—concerned that Ji Anzhi underestimated the intensity of such an interrogation—was about to elaborate when Ji Anzhi seized his hand and squeezed it firmly.

At that moment, Qi Yanshen forgot every word he’d intended to say. He stared down at their tightly clasped hands, his mind flooded by the simple, startling fact that Ji Anzhi had initiated physical contact.

He couldn’t quite name the feeling—but he desperately wanted to snap a photo and send it to Chi Yan. *Is this his payback for making me jealous?* Honestly, it felt nice—though slightly bony.

Qi Yanshen secretly savored the warmth in his palm but dared not move. Ji Anzhi hadn’t yet accepted his pursuit; acting too eagerly would only mark him as a creep.

Watching the two young men openly display affection before her, Dai Mo couldn’t help but think of Lin Dusheng and Levin—a similarly entangled pair. Half their squabbles inevitably became the First Legion’s problem. Fully aware they couldn’t rein in Levin, they still insisted the First Legion bear responsibility. When he vanished, they docked the Legion’s military funds. *What utter jerks.*

Snapping back to reality, Dai Mo spoke coldly: “Then I’ll take your silence as consent. Don’t be nervous—I won’t harm you.”

She closed her eyes. Invisible psychic threads extended toward Ji Anzhi and Qi Yanshen. Neither shut theirs, yet only Ji Anzhi perceived Dai Mo’s mental energy—a soft, fluorescent white, nonthreatening, instinctively inviting closeness.

The thread approached him, circling gently near his head. Ji Anzhi felt nothing. After a moment, he watched it retreat to Dai Mo and slowly dissipate.

Dai Mo opened her eyes. Her psychic capacity fell short of memory extraction or mind control, but she could detect emotions and surface thoughts. Just now, she’d sensed no anomalies—neither harbored guilt nor concealed intent.

Could they truly be uninvolved?

Dai Mo frowned. Why had the majority of insectoids targeted Qi Yanshen specifically?

And that abrupt halt in attacks at the critical moment—as if frozen mid-motion—couldn’t possibly mean the insectoids had suddenly developed mercy and spat out their prey. Compared to that absurdity, Dai Mo found the existence of a Queen Insect far more plausible.

With no immediate answers, she shifted topics. “Where do you plan to go next? The academy’s on break.”

Ji Anzhi replied, “I intend to return to the academy.”

Qi Yanshen followed instantly: “I’m returning to the academy as well.”

Dai Mo fixed Qi Yanshen with a direct look. “Aren’t you planning to visit your mother?”

“I’ll inform her.”

Noting Qi Yanshen’s unwavering resolve, Dai Mo said no more. This was a private family matter; a gentle reminder sufficed. Pressing further would overstep.

After the two departed, Dai Mo messaged her former classmate Levin. Receiving no reply, she set aside her comm device and resumed work.

Meanwhile, Ji Anzhi and Qi Yanshen headed to the cafeteria for a meal. After over a month of nutrient paste, real food promised a welcome change.

They arrived at eleven—still early—so the cafeteria was nearly empty. They collected their trays swiftly and sat at a corner table within five minutes.

No sooner had they settled than Qi Yanshen said, “Next time someone requests a psychic interrogation, don’t agree. An S-class Omega’s psychic threads are inherently potent. With further development, they can even extract memories.”

Ji Anzhi knew this well. Inside his Space Bracelet resided a being capable of reading memories at will.

“I know.”

His casual reply left Qi Yanshen momentarily baffled. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Ji Anzhi lifted his gaze, meeting Qi Yanshen’s with a faint, amused glint. “Why should I be?”

Qi Yanshen fell silent. He couldn’t very well admit he already knew Ji Anzhi’s true identity—and feared the military uncovering it.

Receiving no answer, Ji Anzhi returned to his meal. Qi Yanshen paused briefly before doing the same. Knowing Ji Anzhi harbored secrets, some questions were best left unasked.

After eating, Qi Yanshen sought out a mecha technician for repairs. Ji Anzhi, with nothing else pressing, returned to his room to organize the design drafts he’d sketched over the past days—preempting future headaches.

Ji Anjue suddenly spoke up: *I just accessed that female Omega’s memory…*

They were aboard the First Legion’s starship. After what had just transpired, Ji Anzhi dared not speak aloud and responded mentally: *Hmm?*

Ji Anjue hesitated. *She confirmed a Queen Insect has emerged among the insectoids—likely the one who ordered the bugs to capture me.*

Ji Anzhi froze. A Queen Insect?

All interstellar nations taught insectoid studies, even employing hyper-realistic holograms to show children the creatures’ cruelty and bloodlust—depicting them as monsters to be eradicated without mercy. These lessons covered common insectoids and highly destructive Advanced Insectoids alike.

Of course, as nobility, Ji Anzhi had access to classified knowledge ordinary citizens lacked—such as King Insects and Bug Swarms. Yet before arriving in the Federation, he’d known only of their existence—not their destructive potential or reproductive cycles. That insight had come from Ji Anjue, likely shared in confidence to prevent public panic.

But what exactly was a Queen Insect?

Ji Anjue explained: *According to her memory, it’s a recently discovered mutated strain. Traditional insectoids lack psychic capability—but the Queen Insect possesses it. It can manipulate human consciousness and exert direct control over humans.*

*It appears only three Omegas among your species possess comparable control. Of course, you qualify too. After consuming my Guoguo and with my assistance in emotional regulation and stabilization, you could reach their level within a year.*

Ji Anzhi felt a jolt of shock. Over the past year, he’d studied psychic energy extensively—even without prior exposure, he understood how extraordinarily difficult it was to impose mental control over sentient beings. Now he learned an insectoid capable of dominating humans had surfaced?

Uneasily, he asked: “Is there only one Queen Insect?”

Ji Anjue reviewed the memory and relayed precisely: *Unknown. This intelligence came from an Omega with SSS-tier psychic power. He reported only one confirmed instance—no second specimen has been identified. Whether further mutations or derivatives will arise remains uncertain.*

Ji Anzhi’s chest tightened. He felt no allegiance to the Federation, held no grand ambitions, and certainly wouldn’t presume to meddle in another nation’s classified affairs.

Yet the emergence of this Queen Insect struck like a dagger aimed straight at humanity’s throat.

As the dominant interstellar power, the Federation bore primary responsibility for defending the star sector where insectoids originated. In effect, it shielded most of humanity. Should Queen Insects multiply beyond containment—and the Federation falter—humanity would face annihilation. Including himself.

When the nest collapses, no egg survives intact.

Ji Anjue added aptly: *Omegas are less vulnerable to psychic domination. If sufficiently powerful, they’re entirely immune.*

The Federation’s Omegas were exceptional—but what proportion of the population did they represent? Moreover, their physical conditioning generally lagged behind Alphas’. If an Alpha were suddenly possessed, an Omega stood little chance.

Ji Anzhi asked, “What countermeasures does the Federation have?”

*They plan to deploy Omegas to frontline zones—not for combat, but to monitor ambient psychic energy. Any anomaly triggers immediate reporting. It’s purely preventive. I’ve seen no offensive countermeasures.*

Ji Anzhi exhaled silently in relief. Preventive measures were better than nothing. No prior creature had demonstrated human-level psychic control; its sudden appearance would inevitably require time to develop effective responses. He only hoped the Federation held firm—and that catastrophe remained distant.

Then Ji Anzhi recalled Ji Anjue’s own formidable psychic strength and quickly asked: “An Jue—can you control humans?”

A matter-of-fact voice echoed in his mind: *Of course I can.*

“Then could you detect humans already under the Queen Insect’s control?”

Ji Anjue paused, then replied: *Depends on circumstances. I haven’t encountered that revolting creature yet—its strength relative to mine remains unknown. If you’re truly concerned, supply me with more Psychic Stimulants. With accelerated growth, I could reach maturity within a year.*

'Adulthood?'

'Forgot to tell you before, I'm still in my juvenile stage. When my leaves look just like regular green leaves, it means I've left the juvenile stage and officially entered adulthood.'

He poked at Ji Anjue's jade-like leaf and asked curiously, 'It can still change?'

Offended by this rude gesture, Ji Anjue retracted his leaf and said coldly, 'Who said you could touch that? Believe it or not.'

*I haven't forgiven you yet.*

Ji Anzhi awkwardly withdrew his hand. Ji Anjue was still sulking, and nothing seemed to cheer him up. What a headache.

To change the subject, Ji Anzhi continued questioning, 'Is that the only change?'

Unfazed by Ji Anjue's threat, Ji Anzhi didn't care at all. He took out a bucket of special concentrated herbicide, along with a bottle of gene-dissolving spray, with a friendly smile, 'I'm not afraid, you know.'

Ji Anjue: '......My mistake. I didn't mean that.'

Hearing Ji Anjue's stifled, choked-up voice, Ji Anzhi, satisfied, put the items away. If Ji Anjue really tried to control him, he wouldn't mind making Ji Anjue quietly disappear.

And Ji Anjue, sensing Ji Anzhi's thoughts, was on the verge of tears. Why did he ever reveal his identity? From the memories he'd seen, he seemed so gentle, and his perception wasn't repelled—who knew he was such a heartless, ruthless person.

Waaah... The outside world is too treacherous, I want to go home...

Ji Anzhi continued threatening Ji Anjue mentally, 'I can help you reach adulthood, but you'd better not entertain any ideas of replacing or controlling me. You can try, and see if I won't take you down with me.'

Ji Anjue knew Ji Anzhi's ruthlessness. Last time, when that stone-faced guy wanted to mark Ji Anzhi, he didn't hesitate to detonate the bomb.

His own psychic power was strong, but his body's vulnerability couldn't be hidden. Once his physical form died, his psychic power and consciousness would vanish within three days at most.

Forced to humble himself, he said, 'I know... I won't...'

'Good that you know. If you don't betray me, I won't betray you either. Trust goes both ways.' As he spoke, Ji Anzhi took out a tube of Psychic Stimulant and administered it. 'I know you're still angry, but An Jue, you have to be mentally prepared. Nothing's certain; you can't guarantee reality matches what you imagine. Hopefully nothing happens, but if something really does occur, you have to learn to come to terms with it.'

Ji Anjue absorbed the stimulant while listening quietly. Though he hadn't experienced much of the world, having read many memories, he knew Ji Anzhi meant well. But he just didn't want to accept it. Even just a conjecture made him anxious and uneasy, subconsciously avoiding reality.

Ji Anjue didn't reply, and Ji Anzhi didn't say more, stopping at the right point.

Saying more would only backfire; it was better to let Ji Anjue figure it out himself.

In the following time, Ji Anzhi continued organizing the design drafts, checking for omissions. By the time he returned to the military academy, only a little was left. Over these two days, Ji Anjue had also come to terms with it, willing to face reality, though his mood was low and his leaves drooped listlessly.

Back at school, Ji Anzhi first returned to the dorm to pack. He planned to stay on the Star Eagle temporarily before the semester started. Since it had the basic amenities, there was no need to waste time in the dorm.

Thus, Qi Yanshen, who had wanted to improve his relationship with Ji Anzhi, ended up alone in the dorm. He could only try cooking by himself, having seen online that to win a lover's heart, you must first win their stomach. He'd give it a try.

Before the semester started, Ji Anzhi returned to the dorm less than ten times. Ninety percent of his time was spent on the starship for modifications, the remaining ten percent on purchasing necessary supplies.

Worried about raising suspicion, Ji Anzhi made modifications while keeping the exterior as unchanged as possible. This effectively reduced the risk of being suspected, especially regarding weapons. Since he was going to wander and explore, how could he manage without some high-damage weapons?

High-damage weapons weren't urgent now. Ji Anzhi planned to take the Star Eagle to the Blue Moon system next year under the guise of graduation assessment. Then, as long as he brought enough supplies, he could completely modify and install starship armaments there, making it harder to be discovered.

For now, the main modifications were in the command center. Psychic-linked piloting was rarely used on starships, whether warships or motherships.

While taking out the psychic conduction wires bought from the black market a few days ago, Ji Anzhi asked Ji Anjue, "An Jue, can you directly control the starship?"

Placed to the side, Ji Anjue answered truthfully, 'I can, but it would be very strenuous. With conduction wires, it's much easier and more stable.'

"How many conduction wires are needed?"

Ji Anjue tested it, mentally estimating and calculating, then concluded, 'Thirty will do. That number feels comfortable.'

Ji Anzhi took out thirty psychic conduction wires. With each installation, he asked Ji Anjue if it was suitable, needing to slowly adjust the positions. It took a whole day, and it wasn't completely installed until evening.

After installation, Ji Anzhi had Ji Anjue try piloting. He connected the psychic conduction wires to patches and attached them to Ji Anjue's leaves, completing the psychic link.

The moment the link was established, all central screens in the command center lit up, and various button operation sub-screens displayed activity, dazzling to the eye.

"Star Eagle preparing for liftoff."

"Boom..."

The starship steadily ascended. Ji Anzhi had only intended to test within a fifty-meter range and stop, but Ji Anjue showed no intention of stopping. Ji Anzhi hurriedly spoke, "This is a test! Don't fly out of the port! We'll get a warning!"

Ji Anjue obediently stopped, halting at a distance of two hundred meters from the ground, then slowly descended to the surface. Ji Anjue said apologetically, 'Got a bit excited and forgot, sorry...'

Ji Anzhi looked at the fine notice from the military academy intranet.

Ten thousand points...