Chapter 109: Don’t Live Through Me
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: Karai
A chilling thought surfaced in Zhao Minghe’s mind. “He has a mole in the military. They’ve followed him all the way to the Nameless Star System.”
“Investigate everyone involved in this operation. See if anyone acted suspiciously, and who might want to harm Lu Yao,” Zhou Yunchen commanded in a deep, controlled voice.
Who would want to kill Lu Yao? He could not have made enemies so deadly that they would seek his blood. Even the vicious Black Sea Star Pirates had only wanted his technology; after kidnapping him, they had treated him well, never intending to kill him… No, the Black Sea Star Pirates had faked Lu Yao’s death scene.
The military and the interstellar police saw it as an unprecedented provocation against the Federation’s authority. But from what had happened on B13, it seemed the pirates had only wanted Lu Yao to build a mecha. The staged death was likely just to make the military abandon the search.
But that contradicted the apparent goal of provoking the star police. The star police had been lured to the pirates’ warp exit by an intel tip. Had that tip really come from the Black Sea Star Pirates themselves, just to draw the police into a trap? Provocation, deception, enticement—what was truly the Black Sea Star Pirates’ objective?
“Zhao Minghe, come back!” Zhou Yunchen shouted, stopping the aide from turning away.
“General?”
“Don’t rush the internal investigation. Go to Li Mo and get a living star pirate. I have questions.”
“What does the General want to ask?”
“I suspect there’s a client behind the Black Sea Star Pirates who wants Lu Yao dead, the same one who hired those mercenaries.”
The blood they had flamboyantly spilled across the battlefield had been a message to the client’s mole in the military. But evidently, the client realized they had been deceived and quickly orchestrated a second assassination attempt.
In the darkness of space, three stars moved slowly around each other. Terrifying tongues of fire roiled across their surfaces, as if determined to consume all living things. Against the backdrop of these massive stars, the R68 drifted like a tiny speck of dust, reflecting harsh silver light under the intense glare.
Lu Yao sat in the cockpit, activating the ship’s light-blocking systems to shield against heat and radiation. Normally, the ship’s intelligent defense systems could avoid drifting debris, but now, so close to the stars, Lu Yao had to manually adjust the course to avoid being drawn into their suddenly intense gravity. Torque disliked the harsh light, hiding in the shadow beneath the pilot’s console and rubbing against Lu Yao’s legs, refusing to appear.
Lu Yao temporarily fired the remaining thrusters to accelerate away from the chaotic triple-star system. Once the ship skimmed past a blue planet, where the air carried only a faint warmth, he picked up Torque, holding the cat in his arms, and stepped out of the button- and lever-filled cockpit.
He closed the cockpit door tightly, placed Torque in a cardboard box in the lounge, topped it with food and water, then suited up for an EVA to continue repairing the ship’s exterior damage.
The ship drifted through a barren, lifeless star system. With little else to do, Lu Yao repeated the mechanical work—repairing every breach in the hull, repainting the R68, and completing a full ship inspection. Yet the three stars, their movements still unpredictable, glimmered in the distant view, endlessly radiating light and heat.
The ship did not rotate, and Lu Yao, busy as he was, often ignored the changing daylight panels. The view outside remained an eternal black, day blending into night. He lost track of how long he had been on the R68. Days blurred; his body grew lethargic and unwell.
During one EVA, distracted and fatigued, Lu Yao dropped a wrench that struck the exhaust port, damaging it. He realized he couldn’t continue like this. If he kept living in this dazed state, he might as well enter a hibernation pod—maybe his body would be healthier upon awakening.
Lu Yao ascended to the ship’s second-floor training room, accessed the smart database, and pulled up the mecha combat data package. He selected the file labeled A001, which contained records of Zhou Yunchen piloting Distant Star. He began following Distant Star’s combat simulations to train himself.
He practiced until he could barely breathe, then rested. During breaks, he tried to repair the ship’s communication system. But it was too badly damaged. Lacking the right components in storage, he had to forge and assemble parts manually, designing and polishing them from scratch. Even after sculpting his abs from four to eight, the communication system still emitted only faint, cold static.
In the empty cockpit, Torque slept curled up in a corner, face buried in its paws, almost silent. Lu Yao sank into the wide pilot’s seat, feeling enveloped by the vast space around him. The air was eerily still, almost like a vacuum, with intermittent, rough static carrying no information.
The three stars in his view had shrunk into tiny, glowing dots, orbiting each other. Their immense energies tore through the cosmos, yet no sound reached human ears. In their chaotic, near-overlapping paths, only darkness stretched beyond. Other stars, dimmed by the giants’ light, vanished into the thick blackness.
Lu Yao’s arms began to shake, the tremors spreading to his shoulders, back, thighs, and ankles, cramping him until he could barely breathe. Endless loneliness and unending darkness were enough to break a human mind. He tilted his jaw to draw in more air, fearing suffocation.
Zhou Yunchen had once experienced the same drift. Alone, piloting Distant Star, he had wandered through space for fifteen years. Has he ever been driven to madness?
The white bird’s wings fluttered, and the pink sunlight streamed over the museum’s “Swords into Ploughshares” sculpture. Old memories flickered in Lu Yao’s mind, revealing his own figure in blurry glimpses.
“General Zhou,” a voice had once asked, “you too have drifted alone in unknown systems for fifteen years. Do you not understand, as I do, that life can be dull and empty, with only a flicker of perseverance to carry one through? Until this task is complete, nothing else matters.”
Had Zhou Yunchen responded? Lu Yao did not know. At the time, he hadn’t understood Zhou Yunchen’s silence, but he did not question it. Words could not capture sensation or memory; empathy felt hollow and meaningless. Everyone had their own past and future. No one could live another’s life for them. Lu Yao never judged or questioned others’ experiences. But was it true? Did words truly lack power?
In this vast, silent universe, where time and space churned endlessly, loneliness and darkness intertwined. Could someone traversing it wish to hear a voice calling their name? Had Zhou Yunchen, in that silence long ago, yearned to hear Lu Yao’s voice?
No need for empathy. No one needed to become him. Lu Yao knew that, in this very silence, he wanted to hear Zhou Yunchen’s voice. No need for empathy, no need for understanding. He did not need Zhou Yunchen to become him—he only wanted Zhou Yunchen, as Zhou Yunchen, back by his side. Life could be dull and empty, but a flicker of hope was enough to keep one going through hardship.
The remnants of the Black Sea Star Pirates had all been captured. But during the following days of interrogation, the pirate leader, Creisson, refused to speak. The others—the big-bearded one and the crippled pirate—were driven mad under questioning, repeatedly smashing their heads against the walls of the interrogation room.
Outside the one-way glass, the responsible officers watched, faces dark and grim. Cigarette butts littered the floor. Recent internal military investigations had spread like wildfire, the sword of Damocles hanging over everyone. The situation was tense beyond measure.
Li Mo watched Creisson, eyes closed and uncooperative, then whispered to Zhao Minghe, “Leave him to me. Some things you officials can’t do. I will.”
Zhao Minghe regarded him with a complex expression. “What do you plan to do?”
“The military rarely deals directly with star pirates. I know better than you what they fear,” Li Mo said, his voice as hoarse and sandy as ever.
“But…” Zhao Minghe frowned, still hesitant.
“Let Captain Li Mo handle it,” Zhou Yunchen interjected, standing like a sculpture. Tired yet lucid red veins showed in his eyes.
A day later, Li Mo sent word that he had made progress, but requested that General Zhou and Zhao Minghe come aboard the Rambler to discuss matters. They met in Li Mo’s captain’s quarters.
“Where’s Creisson?” Zhao Minghe asked. Li Mo looked at him. “He’s temporarily unable to speak. Don’t worry—the doctor is watching him. He’ll be left alive for you.”
Zhou Yunchen got straight to the point. “What did he confess?”
“Creisson said he, too, took the job from the Week Eight website. The assignment was to assassinate Lu Yao. Bringing Lu Yao to B13 was his own decision. And he couldn’t determine the identity of the client from the site.”
“But?” Zhou Yunchen lifted a brow, skeptical. He didn’t believe Li Mo had invited them to the Wanderer just to relay such trivial details. Li Mo met his gaze. “But Creisson had a precaution. The warp channel they used to enter the military exercise area was set up by the client, and so was the channel they used to escape. The client is generous with resources, and Creisson deduced the client’s identity after some thought. This made him suspicious of the escape channel; he feared the client might want to eliminate them to cover their tracks. So he prepared for combat before leaving the warp point and, taking advantage of the timing difference, defeated the pursuing star police. And by the way, the intel tip wasn’t sent by them to the star police.”
“Who is the client?” Zhou Yunchen asked.
“Creisson believes it’s someone from Jaeger Industries. You can trace it further using the intel tip.”
Zhao Minghe asked, “This is a key lead. Why not send it directly to the Hermes and act immediately?”
Li Mo paused, then said, “It’s certain that Jaeger Industries has no agents directly embedded in the military, but they’re capable of tracking every military move.”
Author’s note:
Lu Yao: drifting alone through space—and building eight-pack abs while at it.
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