After mixing the gel film, Song Jin waved at Li Xiao. “Sit down.”

“This won’t disfigure me, will it?” Even as the words left his mouth, Li Xiao sat down opposite him.

“It’s ancestral craftsmanship; you’re getting a bargain today.” Song Jin cupped Li Xiao’s chin, inspecting his face carefully.

Facial disguise required making the smallest possible adjustments based on bone structure and facial features to achieve maximum visual contrast.

Seeing how intently Song Jin was looking at him, Li Xiao actually believed for a split second that the kid was taking this seriously.

Then Song Jin leaned in, planted a kiss on his lips, and sighed in admiration. “My taste really is top-notch.”

Li Xiao: “…”

He’d believed him too soon.

Song Jin smeared the setting gel film onto Li Xiao’s face and casually remarked, “The atmosphere between your brother and Director Yan is really tense.”

Li Xiao let him mess with his face. “How can you tell?”

Song Jin replied, “Every time they meet, they act like they’re avoiding each other. Even though they pretend nothing’s wrong, it feels like they’re hiding something. Could it be related to your birth history?”

Li Xiao chuckled softly. “You care that much?”

“I care about you,” Song Jin said, using a tool to shape the gel film. “Is there any chance you’re actually your brother’s son?”

Li Xiao: “…”

Song Jin had a dead-serious expression. “Originally, Director Yan and your brother were childhood sweethearts. Then your brother suddenly had a son, causing their relationship to fall apart. Outsiders thought Director Yan gave birth to your dad’s kid, but in reality, you were your brother’s child, and Director Yan just took the fall. Your brother couldn’t bring himself to kill him, so he secretly let him go, and they never contacted each other again.”

Li Xiao: “…How many fathers are you planning on giving me?”

Song Jin: “There aren’t that many people to begin with anyway, and every single one of them is suspicious.”

Li Xiao played along and asked, “So what’s the deal with Wei Feng’s genes then? While traveling in his youth, your brother met the star pirate Wei Feng, fell head over heels at first sight, and spiraled into an uncontrollable romance?”

Just as Song Jin opened his mouth to reply, Li Xiao cut in, “My brother is a recessive Omega—can he even give birth? And then he ran off with a cub?”

Song Jin: “…”

“Don’t steal my lines,” Song Jin grumbled, pinching his cheek in annoyance. “Look at how readily Director Yan admitted you were his son. Wasn’t that just to cover up his ex-boyfriend’s scandal—swallowing his pride to play the cheap dad?”

Li Xiao added, “Then it’s pretty impressive that Director Yan and Wei Feng can get along so harmoniously.”

Song Jin reasoned, “One is the unattainable ‘white moonlight,’ and the other is the passionate ‘vermilion mole.’ But for your sake, your brother chose to stay single. He’s really pitiful.”

Li Xiao teased, “Look at you, all grown up and acting like a relationship expert.”

Song Jin preened, “I’ve always had high comprehension in this area.”

Li Xiao nodded slowly, intentionally teasing him. “Then guess whether you’re the white moonlight or the vermilion mole in my heart?”

Song Jin paused. He suddenly grabbed Li Xiao by the collar, his narrowed eyes overflowing with murderous intent. “For a question like that, the default answer is usually both.”

Li Xiao: “…No threatening the test maker.”

Song Jin demanded, “Your answer?”

Li Xiao said, “I’ll tell you when you’re done.”

Song Jin: “…”

Still keeping him in suspense.

Twenty minutes later, Li Xiao looked at himself in the mirror. With slight adjustments to the arch of his brow bones, the shape of his eyes, and the bridge of his nose, the whole feel of his face had transformed. Adding a pair of round-framed glasses, changing his hair color, and adopting a slightly dull expression, he looked completely like a gloomy, shut-in homebody.

“Compared to Master Li’s craftsmanship, how is Master Song’s work?” Song Jin stood to the side with arms crossed, admiring his creation.

Li Xiao evaluated, “Four stars.”

Song Jin frowned. “Where did the last star go?”

Li Xiao: “The story you told was too thrilling; it threw off my mindset.”

Song Jin: “…”

Song Jin snatched the mirror out of his hand and set it aside. “What about the answer from earlier?”

Seeing how persistent he was, Li Xiao broke into a smile. “You’re my wife, whatever you say goes.”

Song Jin: “…”

Keeping a straight face, Song Jin warned, “Don’t smile after we go out.”

Li Xiao was puzzled. “Why?”

Song Jin: “It’ll blow your cover.”

Li Xiao: “…”

While Song Jin was putting on his own disguise, Li Xiao checked the progress of Yi Lian’s interrogation, thinking about what the kitten had just said.

Even though the story he made up was completely absurd, the kitten’s intuition was spot on about one thing: his brother and Yan Qing were definitely avoiding something. To him, it didn’t seem like a romantic entanglement—could it be connected to the death of their parents back then?

Twenty minutes later, the bright and vibrant kitten had also turned into a gloomy cat.

Li Xiao asked, “…Is this the only style you know how to do?”

“Walking together only looks natural if we’re the same type,” Song Jin explained, spraying brown dye onto his hair, pulling his bangs down, and putting on a hat. “07, switch iris color.”

07: “Received!”

Song Jin closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his irises had turned brown.

07 couldn’t actually alter iris color, it just made them appear changed.

In the command cabin, Wei Feng caught sight of two unfamiliar youths walking over out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t help double-taking. “Right now, you two look more like thugs than I do.”

Li Xiao and Song Jin had changed into casual clothes. However, to create a contrast, the style was completely different from their usual attire—both gloomy and arrogant, like low-level gang members who had just finished collecting rent.

“What do you mean ‘thugs’? We’re shut-in homebodies now. Are you blind?” Song Jin snapped back.

Wei Feng clicked his tongue with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Which shut-in walks around acting like they own the place like you guys? Stepping out the door, you look like you can’t wait to recruit a whole street of lackeys.”

Song Jin said, “This is a completely normal walking posture.”

Wei Feng offered, “Come on, let Dad teach you.”

While they were talking, Li Xiao walked over to Li Ji’s side. “Xiao Jin and I are leaving now. Contact us anytime if something comes up.”

Li Ji knit his brows slightly. “So soon?”

Li Xiao asked, “What did Gao Cheng’s side say?”

Li Ji replied, “He might arrive a few hours later than you guys. He’ll contact you then.”

Thinking of Yan Qing, Li Xiao saw that no one else was around and asked in a low voice, “What’s going on between you and Director Yan?”

Hearing this, Li Ji picked up his teacup to take a sip, avoiding Li Xiao’s gaze. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’?”

Li Xiao asked casually, “You two didn’t use to date, did you?”

“Pfft… cough, cough, cough, cough…” Li Ji spilled the entire cup of tea all over himself. “What nonsense are you talking about?”

Li Xiao said, “I just asked casually. What are you panicking for?”

Li Ji: “…”

Seeing this, Old Liu hurriedly wiped Li Ji’s hands and clothes.

Li Ji tossed the teacup aside. “Stay safe on the road.”

Was he refusing to bring it up again?

Li Xiao hadn’t expected his brother to say anything useful anyway.

As long as it was something his brother wanted to hide, unless you shoved the evidence right in his face, he would never spill the beans on his own.

Li Xiao turned his head and happened to see Wei Feng teaching the kitten how to walk—hunching his neck and slinking around like a thief out scoping a target. The kitten promptly threw a punch over to teach him a lesson in proper conduct.

“…”

Taking a shuttle from the main warship’s hangar to Civilian Space Station No. 224 in the Zifu Cluster, Li Xiao and Song Jin transferred to a commercial flight to head to Z152.

With 09 and 07 handling things, passing through security was smooth sailing.

As the two boarded the shuttle, Li Ji had Old Liu use a private account to issue an announcement that the royal tour of the Zifu Cluster was about to begin. He also forwarded the Third Legion’s announcement regarding escorting the students back to school, stating that the students had performed outstandingly this time, earning double military merit rewards, as well as priority choice of assignment upon graduation when joining the military.

As soon as the notice was posted, it was immediately pushed to the top of the trending searches. The comment sections under related topics were filled with praise for the royal family’s actions:

“Awesome! The students really turned a misfortune into a blessing this time!”

“Even though the league ended in a draw/nothingness, everyone saw your strength. The future is bright!”

“Sobbing, the royal family finally gives me the feeling that they’ve woken up lately!”

“Those who deserve rewards got rewarded, so when is it the turn of those who deserve punishment? Looking forward to it!”

“I heard the Suyang Cluster is in total chaos right now. Tons of officials are reporting their own corruption and bribery, begging to be locked up.”

“Everyone going in belongs to the Qi faction. This time they’re pulling up the radish and bringing the dirt with it—completely clearing out the Qi family.”

Soon after, the Shengya military account posted a second batch of photos from the cleanup site. They had not only discovered massive amounts of blood, human bones, and organs, but also a location resembling a large-scale cultivation base, with countless containers holding fragmented human bodies.

[#BorderAntiVice# The military legion discovered a large-scale illegal organization cultivation base at the Hyena Star Pirate Group. Preliminary assessments indicate it was used for human organ cultivation, privately sold to certain private hospitals and research institutes to reap massive profits. The military reminds the public that organs cultivated through this method carry extremely high risks and are unsuitable for transplantation.]

The comments below flooded in:

“You don’t get it, do you? They weren’t meant for transplantation in the first place—they were meant for eating (doge face)”

“When it comes to eating people, Shengya loses completely.”

“These are no different from the broiler chickens and meat pigs raised in factory farms, it just looks disgusting.”

“My god, my worldview has been shattered! How can they have no bottom line at all?!”

“This scale isn’t small. Looks like the demand is huge—is it really that delicious? (swallows spit)”

“It’s said that drinking human blood can extend your lifespan. Even if you have to hold your nose, you’d still have to eat it.”

Because the militaries of both countries were operating frequently near the border, netizens from both sides were constantly jumping over to check out the situation on the other side.

The topic of the Mengyue tribe eating human flesh on the Danse network also caused huge waves in Shengya. After the military update was posted, many people, guided by sensationalist self-media, began discussing the taste of human flesh.

The Shengya military urgently issued a notice, warning all citizens not to blindly believe rumors on the internet.

Hospitals and research institutes of all sizes issued science communication posts, specifically analyzing the hazards of consuming human flesh.

Immediately after, someone noticed that the Snow Planet Royal Biological Research Institute had also posted an update. Unlike other educational posts, this one was written in extremely casual, colloquial language:

[[Debunking Rumors] Claims that eating human flesh and drinking human blood can extend lifespan, grant immortality, or raise pheromone levels are ALL FAKE! FAKE! FAKE! At best, eating it gives you severe diarrhea; at worst, you get infected with a virus and die. (If drinking human blood could grant immortality, then everyone could just take a sip of their own blood and nobody would ever die.)]

Many people knew that the previous Empress, Shen Sinian, used to conduct research here. Every year, countless medical students fought tooth and nail to get into this research institute. Even though it was located in a remote area covered in perpetual ice and snow, it still couldn’t dampen the students’ enthusiasm.

Before long, this notice hit the top headlines across all Shengya platforms.

Comments under this post:

“LMAO, ‘take a sip of your own blood’—reminds me of a perpetual motion machine.”

“Why does this tone sound so much like something Empress Shen would post? Hahaha!”

“It even alarmed the royal family! Everyone should stop discussing the topic of eating human flesh.”

“The uncivilized primitive kingdom next door is terrifying.”

“Seeing this topic made me feel like I traveled back ten thousand years in time. My feelings are complex.”

This post was forwarded by Danse media outlets, causing an even bigger stir on the Danse network.

The rumor of eating human flesh was ridiculous enough on its own, but to think it had spread next door and led to collective mockery from the neighbors—who could stomach that?

A group of angry Danse netizens stormed over to the Shengya network to shout, clarifying that Danse people don’t eat human flesh either, except for an extremely small minority of tribes starting with “Meng.”

In the shuttle’s passenger cabin, Song Jin scrolled through the update posted by his dad. Switching to a virtual keyboard, he typed rapidly, posting a new update under the topic #MengyueTribe#:

[Everyone knows that a certain Meng-tribe loves to eat human flesh and drink human blood. In fact, not only do they eat it themselves, but they also like to invite others to share in it—enjoying the thrill of watching others go crazy, lose their minds, and be tortured to death bit by bit after catching infections. But because they’ve consumed human flesh and blood long-term themselves, they’ve developed immunity and are fine no matter how much they eat.]

[An elder brother of mine—unrelated by blood or marriage—drank the blood they shared, suffered full-body ulcerations and madness, and dropped dead suddenly last month, sob sob sob…]

After posting, he refreshed the page, and quite a few comments were already following beneath it.

Song Jin had 07 take over to boost this post onto the hot trending list for the topic.

Li Xiao heard the commotion and glanced at his screen. “Won’t the modified humans be scared to death seeing this?”

Song Jin asked, “Is the targeting too obvious?”

They still had a lot of things left unverified and it wasn’t time for a complete, open fallout with the Meng family yet. The main target this time was the Qi family—putting constant pressure on the Meng family so that old man Meng would have no choice but to choose between protecting the Qi family or protecting himself.

Li Xiao noted, “There are too many rumors floating around; blending into them won’t make it stand out too much.”

Taking the exact same event and altering the cause and effect made it look especially ridiculous, but the core matter was real—it was just that outsiders couldn’t read between the lines.

Noticing Li Xiao’s screen out of the corner of his eye, Song Jin looked over. “Watching Wei Feng’s video?”

“Yeah.” Li Xiao replayed it at the slowest speed. “Seeing if I can dig up any more clues.”

Song Jin watched it with him a few times. “Is this your grandfather’s study?”

“Doesn’t look like the palace’s interior design.” Li Xiao paused on a specific frame and circled a small wooden carved ornament on a shelf. “That should be a Golden Oriole.”

“The interior doesn’t match, and Wei Feng’s subordinates and kids are coming in and out.” Song Jin pondered, “Which means your grandfather left the palace to meet Wei Feng?”

When a King wanted to see someone, he would summon them directly into the palace; it was almost impossible for him to lower his status and actively leave the palace to find someone. That was the rule, unless they had an exceptionally close relationship or a truly unavoidable reason.

Li Xiao observed, “Both of their states are very relaxed, indicating they usually had a pretty good relationship.”

Song Jin added, “Your grandfather’s attitude toward the kid bursting in was permissive. It’s very likely wasn’t his first time visiting.”

Li Xiao concluded, “He was a grandfather who liked dropping by for visits.”

Song Jin: “…”

That’s the only conclusion you drew?

The terminal vibrated. Li Xiao swiped it open—it was a message sent by Jiang Chi.

Jiang Chi: [The border is a total mess. Word from the brothers is that Shengya troops approached today—they’re not gonna blow up my lair, are they?]

Li Xiao: [They won’t. Tell them not to run around and they’ll be fine.]

Meng Jian had already dispatched troops, which posed a risk of accidentally harming Snow Leopard. Song Jin had Shengya’s forces cover that area to ensure the Meng family army couldn’t cross over.

Jiang Chi: [With all the noise online, sales of ‘Divine Blood’ have completely stalled. Both transactions I was tracking got suspended.]

Li Xiao: “…”

This outcome was entirely predictable.

Who would dare commit a crime at a time like this? Only someone truly stupid with too much money.

He originally intended to tell Jiang Chi to rest for now, but before clicking send, images flashed through Li Xiao’s mind—Yi Yongning’s gaze when looking at Jiang Hao, those bizarre numbers on the wall in the abandoned Z152 underground base, and the “universal mnemonic” Jiang Hao had gotten from Jiang Chi.

Li Xiao deleted the text and re-edited the message.

Li Xiao: [I’ll arrange identity credentials for you. Move out immediately to Zifu Cluster Z152.]

Jiang Chi: [What am I going there for?]

Li Xiao: [To handle some business with me.]

This time, a moment passed on the other end before a reply came back.

Jiang Chi: [I won’t get arrested at security, right? I still have a younger brother to raise, I don’t dare go, sob sob…]

Li Xiao: “…”

At Border N3212, Jiang Chi and a group of his brothers were eating at a small diner.

After replying to the message, the thought of having to go to the Zifu Cluster gave Jiang Chi a throbbing headache. His whole body went cold and started trembling, his symptoms escalating rapidly to the point where he couldn’t even sit upright.

A junior gang member drinking beside him noticed and hurriedly held him up. “Boss! Did you eat something bad?”

The other gang members hurriedly crowded around. “Boss!”

Jiang Chi’s face turned pale and sickly green, covered in cold sweat. He couldn’t even squeeze out a word, his mind consumed by a single wave of terror.

He absolutely could not leave the border. Leaving meant death.

“I can’t leave the border… I’ll die…”

The reporting storm in the Suyang Cluster spread faster than anyone could have imagined.

By the second day, it had already impacted high-ranking military officers stationed at military headquarters.

The fallout from S1301 was simply too massive; even the Meng family couldn’t cover it up, let alone anyone else.

Some received news an hour or two in advance and feigned bathroom breaks on their way to work, picking up their families to flee.

Before they could even exit the military zone, they were dragged back and sent straight to prison.

For a time, everyone across the headquarters was walking on eggshells. Meng Jian’s team of assistants was scrambling just to answer calls and soothe everyone’s panic.

Seeing the situation turn increasingly unfavorable, Meng Jian called a secret meeting with several core members during the night.

“They weren’t even directly involved in S1301, what is there to be afraid of?!” Meng Jian slammed, his face dark. “Go back and calm your own people down! Stop pushing every piece of trash drama over to me!”

One of the Major Generals, whose face was not displayed, piped up, “What everyone is worried about is that we don’t know how far the royal family intends to purge.”

Although these words weren’t spoken outright, everyone present understood.

With Qi Shoude arrested, those hands he had placed in key positions wouldn’t escape this calamity either. Most of the others without tight connections would naturally rush to sever ties and make their positions clear.

If the royal family was merely “killing the chicken to scare the monkey,” they naturally didn’t need to panic too much. But if even they were already part of the next phase of the plan, then they had no choice but to make preparations early.

“What does he have to fight me with?”

Meng Jian sat in the main seat with a grim expression. “Even if I can’t take him down for now, he still can’t touch me either.”

Another Beta Major General spoke up, “As long as they don’t catch any dirt on you, the royal family naturally can’t touch you, Lord Meng. But touching others is child’s play for them. We need to cut our losses in time and end this farce as soon as possible to stabilize army morale. If this continues to spread, I’m afraid—”

The opposite Alpha Lieutenant General chimed in, his voice aged yet forceful, “Shengya has already traced things to the feed base. Although they don’t know the insider details yet, the entire domestic public is watching. If our Super Soldiers panic and leak secrets to the royal family, it will be extremely disadvantageous for us.”

The previous Beta Major General added, “Isn’t that just handing dirt directly to the enemy? While there’s still time, the Qi family can no longer be saved—it’s better to sacrifice them to protect the rest of us.”

Meng Zai listened in silence to their dialogue, smoking one cigarette after another.

“Father, what they say makes sense,” Meng Zai urged. “We need to turn passive into active. Right now, the most important thing is to preserve ourselves. If the ship capsizes, no one survives.”

Meng Jian looked at that Alpha Lieutenant General; his corresponding screen showed only a black silhouette.

“Then what do you mean?”

The Alpha Lieutenant General replied, “Rather than waiting for the royal family to slowly investigate, it’s better if we actively provide the chain of evidence to let them close the case early. As long as the Suyang Cluster remains in your hands, things are still within our control.”

Meng Jian’s hand resting on the table clenched tight.

This meant throwing the Qi family out to take the fall.

Shifting all charges onto the Qi family so they could pull themselves out clean.

Meng Jian pondered for a moment, his eyes turning sinister.

Since they were going to throw someone under the bus, they might as well do it thoroughly.

Sitting in prison, Qi Shoude seemed to have aged ten years in just a few short days, his face haggard with exhaustion.

Not a moment passed where he wasn’t thinking about what method Meng Jian would use to bail him out. Yet never in his wild dreams did he expect that Meng Jian not only had no intention of saving him, but actually wanted to pin every single crime onto his head.

There was no day or night in the dungeon; he had almost lost track of time.

The heavy metal door slowly slid open, and footsteps echoed from outside.

Qi Shoude’s eyelids twitched. He raised his head and looked over. “Who are you?”

The visitor made a silencing gesture, unlocked the cell, and entered. “The higher-ups sent me to save you.”

Noticing the person was wearing gloves, Qi Shoude took a cautious step back. “Save me how?”

The visitor drew a pen from his chest pocket and suddenly grinned. “By granting you an early relief.”

“Mmph!“

A muffled thud came from inside the cell, followed immediately by the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

The person left silently without a sound.

Behind him, Qi Shoude tightly clutched the pen plunged deep into his neck, twitching in a pool of blood as his consciousness gradually faded. Soon, he stopped moving altogether.

In the prison monitoring center.

A guard on duty lifted his groggy head, rubbing his throbbing temples. Turning to see his colleague also slumped over asleep, he realized something was wrong and hurriedly checked the surveillance feed inside Qi Shoude’s cell.

“Something happened—!”

Zifu Cluster, Z152.

Li Xiao and Song Jin emerged from the airport terminal. The rental car queue was stretching into a long line.

Seeing public transit nearby, Song Jin didn’t think twice and pulled Li Xiao over to board a bus.

There were no empty seats left on the vehicle. Fearing Song Jin wouldn’t be used to it, Li Xiao found a corner spot and sheltered him in front of his body.

Seeing Song Jin’s annoyed expression, Li Xiao remarked offhandedly, “It’s still not too late to get off.”

Song Jin knit his brows. “Too troublesome. It’ll take just fifteen minutes to arrive.”

A young couple sat in the seats in front of them. Seeing Li Xiao and Song Jin standing like two solid walls with fierce, intimidating faces and powerful, oppressive auras, they clearly looked like people not to be messed with.

The Beta boy felt a bit intimidated and silently slunk away with his girlfriend.

“Sit.” Delighted, Song Jin gestured for Li Xiao to sit down.

The long bench seat originally held six people, but the second Song Jin and Li Xiao sat down, the people on both sides acted as if their butts had been scalded and all bolted away.

Only then did Song Jin notice something was amiss. He raised his eyes and scanned the surroundings.

Anyone caught by his gaze ducked their heads to avoid eye contact.

On the crowded bus, a whole square meter of empty space had been forcibly carved out right in front of them.

Song Jin: “…”

Li Xiao: “…”

Maybe Wei Feng’s intuition was right.

They really ought to tone it down a bit.

Just as the bus started moving, Li Xiao’s terminal received a message.

[Qi Shoude committed suicide in prison—]