Chapter Seventy-Six: Fortunately, You Are Here

After logging off, Xuan Xuan was about to sit up when she sensed someone sitting at the head of her bed. Her expression tightened, but just as she was about to open her eyes, a familiar presence washed over her, easing her body ever so slightly. She remained in her previous posture, preparing to sleep.

“Xuan Xuan, I’m glad you’re here,” came a voice.

Xuan Xuan frowned faintly; his voice was still so hoarse and low.

She wanted to look up, but then heard Wan Qi Lianhao let out a bitter laugh, then murmur, “It’s my fault—you and Xiao Ruo suffered because of me.”

Xiao Ruo? Who was Xiao Ruo, anyway?

Wan Qi Lianhao’s rough, calloused hand gently stroked Xuan Xuan’s hair, his voice filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

Shouldn’t have returned? Xuan Xuan was even more confused; since arriving at the Imperial Capital, she hadn’t met anyone named Xiao Ruo.

“It’s only been a few months, and already something happened. If today Zhan Yu…” Wan Qi Lianhao’s voice trembled with terror, “If he hadn’t picked you up, if he’d been just a step too late, then…”

Xuan Xuan’s nose tingled involuntarily, and she nearly burst into tears. She had never thought herself capable of crying—she wasn’t sad, wasn’t grieving, yet her eyes burned and her heart felt warmly and achingly sour.

She had been too confident, never considering his feelings, and had made her father worry so much.

She longed to turn and glance at the person behind her, but the hand resting on her head felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, and the name “Xiao Ruo” weighed just as much. She couldn’t turn, no matter how she tried. She wanted to know who Xiao Ruo was.

Yet Wan Qi Lianhao said nothing more, only gazing intently at Xuan Xuan, his hand occasionally caressing her black hair.

Xiao Ruo—clearly a woman’s name. There was no one by that name in the Wan Qi family as far as she knew.

Then—Xuan Xuan’s heart skipped a beat—the relationship between Xiao Ruo and her father was obviously unusual. Could it be…?

The answer hovered on her lips, but she forced herself to hold back. If it was her, then where had she gone?

Wan Qi Lianhao claimed he had caused her death—death?

For some reason, Xuan Xuan suddenly felt anxious and didn’t want to think further about this person whose fate was so entwined with her own.

Feeling Wan Qi Lianhao’s presence behind her, Xuan Xuan rolled over, eyes still closed, and hugged his arm. She wanted to tell him—he still had her.

Wan Qi Lianhao didn’t notice, letting Xuan Xuan cling to his arm, and gently pulled the quilt back over her after she’d rolled over.

Xuan Xuan had never thought family or kinship mattered. Whether she had them or not was insignificant; with the protection of her clan, she might live better, but even without it, she could survive.

After meeting her teacher, family ties seemed even less important. Yet in this life, she realized how deeply she yearned for and wished to cherish family and kinship.

Unconsciously, she fell asleep holding Wan Qi Lianhao’s hand; as a child, Xuan Xuan’s body was still a bit weak and easily succumbed to sleepiness.

Meanwhile, Zhan Yu was unable to sleep. After leaving the Wan Qi residence, he went straight to the old Zhan family house. Coming off the star network, he paced around his bedroom twice, hesitated, checked the time—his grandfather tended to stay up late and likely hadn’t retired yet.

He headed directly to Zhan Shaohua’s study, knocked softly, “Grandfather.”

“Yao Yao? Come in,” Zhan Shaohua smiled as his grandson entered. Noticing the furrowed brow, he asked, “It’s late—why aren’t you resting?”

“Grandfather…” Zhan Yu felt the news he’d heard today was too shocking; after all, the war between humans and the insect race had lasted a thousand years, and the energy stones had only been discovered three hundred years ago. Yet he had never heard anything about this matter and was hesitant.

His grandson was always steady, never indecisive, decisive in all things; it was rare to see him so unsettled. Zhan Shaohua was curious, so he rose from his desk and sat on the nearby sofa, inviting Zhan Yu, “Sit and take your time.”

Zhan Yu stepped forward and sat beside his grandfather.

Seeing Zhan Yu hesitate, Zhan Shaohua did not press him, waiting patiently.

“Grandfather, do you remember the great battle fifteen years ago?” Zhan Yu lowered his head, his voice deep and somber. “Tell me about it.”

Zhan Shaohua’s heart stirred, his face tinged with bitterness. He reached out to touch Zhan Yu’s head and asked, “Missing your parents?”

Zhan Yu’s head was bowed, making it hard for Zhan Shaohua to discern his emotions, but he knew the pain in his grandson’s heart. “No, Grandfather, tell me about the insect race.”

Hm? Zhan Shaohua was puzzled, looking at Zhan Yu. The events of fifteen years ago weren’t just painful for Zhan Yu, but for himself as well—his only son and daughter-in-law gone, leaving him and his wife to bury their children.

If they had died honorably in battle, the Zhan family could have accepted it, but they hadn’t—they’d been killed by their own kind.

For Zhan Yu’s sake, he had kept the truth hidden, but he hadn’t expected Kuang Shao and Zhan Yu to investigate the events themselves.

Three years ago, Zhan Yu went alone to the Black Domain. Zhan Shaohua worried he might remain depressed, or that he would change. Only when Zhan Yu returned half a year ago did Zhan Shaohua feel reassured—his grandson had truly grown up. Still, the loss of his son and daughter-in-law remained a hurdle for the Zhan family, one they could never cross or speak of.

He looked at his grandson with a touch of relief—he really had grown up. “Fifteen years ago…”

“At that time, the insect race attacked suddenly—almost as if the entire star system’s insect race had mobilized. Their targets were clear: just a handful of planets. Some were energy planets, which fortunately had more troops stationed and managed to evacuate a few people. The other ordinary planets, though—no one escaped.”

Zhan Shaohua’s face was marked by deep pain; he had been among those sent to the rescue, and not a single soul had survived on those planets. Those who went to investigate could barely endure the horrors found there.

“We used the opportunity to purge the insect remnants from neighboring planets, but repeated assaults on those planets yielded no success.” He sighed, then continued, “After that, we were better prepared—when the insect race returned, casualties weren’t as severe, and we managed to drive them back. But unlike before, they didn’t attack again. Instead, they retreated and concentrated on those few planets, remaining there for over a decade. To this day, all the insect race in the Federation is clustered nearby.”

Zhan Yu frowned, “Grandfather, do you know why the insect race targeted those planets?”

“There’s not much similarity between them, just proximity.” He pondered; they had investigated for some time, but found no common features among the planets suddenly attacked.

“Grandfather.” Zhan Yu saw Zhan Shaohua look at him and hesitated, but voiced his suspicion, “Are all the planets energy planets?”

“No, though most are. But the insect race isn’t human—what would they want with energy?” Zhan Shaohua was still troubled; the loss of those energy planets had caused significant shortages for the Federation, and made it difficult to fight the insect race with full force. The Federation’s weapons now mostly relied on energy stones.

“Grandfather, what if the energy stones are useful to the insect race?” Zhan Yu asked.

“Oh? Useful how?” Zhan Shaohua smiled and asked.

Zhan Yu enunciated, “Advancement, evolution, mutation, accelerated reproduction.”

Zhan Shaohua sprang up from the sofa, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What did you say?”

Zhan Yu stood as well, speaking earnestly, “Energy stones can enable the insect race to advance, evolve, mutate, and accelerate their reproduction.”

Had anyone else said this, Zhan Shaohua would have dismissed it as absurd. But Zhan Yu was different; Zhan Shaohua knew his grandson too well—he would never speak without certainty. His head ached as he considered this, but it explained the sudden attacks, their willingness to abandon other locations in favor of those planets, and why the insect race had spent the past decade recuperating, preparing for something.

“Is the information reliable?” Zhan Shaohua asked.

If the information was true, they were in trouble. Previously, he had thought the insect race’s retreat wasn’t a major problem, but now it was different.

Zhan Yu remembered those blue eyes and nodded confidently—he believed in her.

Zhan Shaohua was puzzled; under Zhan Yu’s command were soldiers, strategists, businessmen—he knew each one, but none were researchers of the insect race. So whose information was this?

It couldn’t be from the Kuang family!

Then who?

“Where did the information come from? Why do you trust him—her—so much?” Zhan Shaohua asked. It was a matter of great importance, and he wanted to learn more about his grandson.

Zhan Yu himself hadn’t thought much about trusting her, but hearing his grandfather ask, a blush crept up his ears, and he answered shyly, “A friend.”

Zhan Shaohua, old in age but young at heart, laughed heartily. “Bring your friend by someday and let me have a look.”

A trace of disappointment flickered in Zhan Yu’s eyes; he still didn’t know where she lived, her name, hadn’t even knocked on her door, but he still nodded.

Zhan Shaohua felt a hint of doubt, but seeing Zhan Yu’s faith, he didn’t question further, only said, “I’ll arrange for an immediate investigation. This matter is too important—there can be no negligence.”

Zhan Yu nodded; with his grandfather’s promise, he was certain it would be thoroughly investigated.

Over at the Kuang family, a similar scene unfolded. Kuang Shao, battered and bruised, hurried to report to his own patriarch. With the old man’s attention focused on this matter, Kuang Shao felt much more at ease—at least this way, no one would discover that Xuan Yang had gotten into trouble.