I believe you

An Yu⁠‌​⁠‌‍⁠​⁠‍⁠​‍‌⁠‌⁠⁠‍‍⁠‌⁠⁠ opened his eyes again, but he did not appear in the shipping container.

He was standing at one end of a long, narrow, and dark corridor. He hesitated at the unfamiliar scene before him, then took a step forward.

His shoes striking the cold floor made hollow echoes.

He looked down at the bulky isolation suit he was wearing. The armband was printed with personal information.

[Organization: Brain]

[Role: #0930’s Exclusive Researcher]

[Name: …]

[ID: …]

The last two lines were blurry. He looked left and right, trying to find a mirror to see his face, but discovered there was nothing reflective there.

He stared blankly at the rows of metal doors on either side for a moment, and his heart suddenly seemed to stop.

This was the first time he had appeared in his own time-space in someone else’s identity. This was because it wasn’t an event he had personally experienced, but rather a memory he had read.

—When he had read the Commander’s memories, he knew the Commander always had an exclusive researcher, but at the time, his attention had been entirely on the Commander. He had paid no mind to that person’s name or appearance.

At this moment, he himself had become this researcher.

An Yu suddenly remembered what “he” was supposed to do and fumbled in his pocket for two tightly sealed test tubes.

They were two vials of new aberrant gene injections, which were to be administered to #0930.

He slowly walked toward the door at the end of the corridor. The main door opened, and he heard a whimpering sound from inside, like a small beast licking its wounds in solitude.

The young Qin Zhilu was curled up in the corner, his head buried deep between his knees, sobbing uncontrollably from the pain.

The moment the door opened, his shoulders flinched. He tremblingly looked up at the person who had entered.

His youthful face was completely drained of color, but he still pulled up the corners of his mouth, striving to smile at An Yu. He said softly, “Mr. Researcher, my functional reaction this time didn’t seem too severe.”

He repeated this sentence several times as if hypnotizing himself. He pushed himself off the ground, staggered to his feet, and walked unsteadily toward the test bench.

“Are these the two we talked about yesterday?” He looked at the test tubes in An Yu’s hand and his face turned even paler. He forced a smile. “The medium is red. It looks like this one isn’t going to be easy.”

He obediently lay flat on the test bench. He hesitated for a moment, then used his right hand to help fasten the cold shackle onto his left wrist. He said in a low voice, “It’s better to restrain me. I’m afraid I’ll lose control and hurt you. As for this hand… I’ll have to trouble you.”

An Yu stood motionless, as if something was constricting his limbs.

The only thing that could move was his heart, and every beat felt like a knife plunging deeper, stirring up a monstrous sense of humiliation.

That was clearly a period of time he had missed.

But at this moment, he hated his own powerlessness.

Zhong Ke had not personally stayed in this time-space. He seemed to have sensed that An Yu was getting stronger. Although he couldn’t guess what An Yu was up to, he was very cunning; he had merely tricked An Yu into entering and had already left.

This realization, however, made An Yu’s heart ache even more, because he knew the person before him was real, existing in the objective world—his Commander, from over a decade ago.

Lying flat, Qin Zhilu turned his head with difficulty. “What’s wrong? You haven’t spoken at all today. Is it… is my test data from yesterday abnormal?”

Fear flashed through those black eyes. The young Qin Zhilu said, stunned, “No way… I didn’t feel anything…”

“No abnormality.” An Yu finally managed to speak. “There’s nothing wrong. Your condition is very good. Don’t worry.”

He slowly stepped forward, crouched in front of the boy, and instinctively stroked his hair lightly.

So the Commander’s hair had been this soft when he was young.

“Does it hurt?” An Yu said softly.

The young Qin Zhilu paused. “It’s… manageable.”

An Yu averted his gaze. He mechanically activated the machine and placed the test tubes into the fixed slot.

His fingertips paused for a moment, then lightly pressed the injection button.

A hysterical scream pierced his eardrums. Without warning, he felt a cold drop slide down his cheek.

He immediately turned and, while quickly walking away, tried to pull his consciousness free.

“Mr. Researcher…” a hoarse voice suddenly sounded behind him, holding a vulnerability he had never heard before.

“Could you… stay with me a little longer…” The young Qin Zhilu looked at the figure wrapped in layers of protective clothing as his vision blurred. He mumbled, “I shouldn’t aberrate. I don’t have any abnormal feelings… My hands and feet are tied, I won’t hurt you… Stay with me a while, I’m begging you…”

An Yu almost instinctively started to turn back.

But he had just shifted one foot, only to stiffly move it back.

This was something that had already happened.

Whether he stayed or not, it would not change the pain that person had experienced.

And if he acted recklessly, it might very well cause an unpredictable time-space incident.

An Yu gasped heavily for air, but the tearing pain in his heart only intensified with every breath. After a long time, he finally said hoarsely, “Sorry, I have to go.”

Behind him, the light in the young Qin Zhilu’s eyes disappeared.

“Oh… that’s fine.” He struggled to gather his breath. “I understand. Then, we’ll… next experiment…”

Before the words had faded, the person with his back to him suddenly spun around.

An Yu wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. He strode back, stood in front of the young Qin Zhilu, and, facing that pair of astonished and helpless black eyes, abruptly bent down.

The moment his lips touched that cold forehead, the sharp pain in his heart finally subsided a little.

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An Yu hugged his Commander tightly, whispering in his ear, “It will get better. I promise you.”

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In front of the screen, An Yu quietly opened his eyes.

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His eyes were wide, bloodshot, the red in his irises deeper than blood.

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Long?

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“Crying?”

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From thousands of miles away, he didn’t mention the mission, only asking soothingly, “What did you see? Was it Ling Qiu’s death again?”

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“You know, sir.”

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Upon hearing this, Qin Zhilu calmly replied with an “Oh,” “This AI program has a lot of flashy functions. I was a bit bored while waiting for you to wake up, so I had my AI send him an invitation. He actually managed to call him over. He is on my screen now.”

As Qin Zhilu spoke, he took a screenshot and sent it. After a few seconds’ delay, the picture popped up on An Yu’s terminal.

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An Yu gave a weak smile. “You don’t actually like coarse bread, do you?”

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In the screen just now, his mental strength had only maintained 100% for about a minute before it plummeted to 0, only recovering the instant before he woke up.

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“You said before that you decided to keep me back then because my mental health was absolutely stable.”

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Qin Zhilu paused for two seconds. “No.”

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The red in his pupils wavered. After a long time, An Yu murmured, “Perhaps that was because I saw another person’s refusal to yield… from a long, long time ago.”

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He had unguardedly uncovered the pain of forgotten memories.

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Within those red pupils, the condensed point of light was disappearing, until his pupils became vertical slits, like a cold god gazing dispassionately at the world.

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Qin Zhilu’s breathing disappeared from the private channel.

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The Poet maintained his posture of looking up at the sky, unmoving.

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That screen was quiet right now, showing no abnormality. But… he had sensed a split-second of movement from within it.

Those without time abilities would be completely frozen. Those with abilities would struggle.

But at that moment, there were no more active time-spaces. He had no escape.

An Yu slowly walked toward that extinguished screen.

Zhong Ke’s savage face suddenly appeared on the screen, glaring at him.

He glanced down at Zhong Ke, moved his foot off Zhong Ke’s face, and said softly, “It’s reasonable for even a simple creature to have a will to survive. Since you like time so much, why not—”

As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the white line between that screen and the central screen.

Zhong Ke began to pound wildly on the screen, as if trying to break out and tear him to shreds!

An Yu’s expression was indifferent. Amidst that toxic glare, he slowly raised his hand and pinched that white line. The veins on his slender arm bulged. The white line snapped instantly, leaving only a single black line connecting the reset hourglass and Zhong Ke’s screen.

As he looked up, the space rippled. The hourglass inverted, and Zhong Ke’s savage face immediately vanished from the screen.

The screen began to tremble violently, signaling its owner’s agony.

“Pain that has been experienced is worth savoring, again and again. Don’t waste the time you worked so hard to steal.”

An Yu’s fingertips moved slightly, and the countless screens in the space resumed playing.

He, too, was instantly drained of all strength. His body and consciousness were empty, no longer able to support even a shred of wakefulness.

As his consciousness blurred, An Yu made one last, tentative call, “Commander?”

The private channel connected as expected.

Qin Zhilu hummed in agreement. “I’m here. I was just about to kick the little octopus chibi back when you froze everyone.”

An Yu said in a low voice, “Did he come back now?”

“Couldn’t get rid of him. You can negotiate with him yourself when you wake up.” Qin Zhilu chuckled, his voice low. “Sleep if you want to. The mission is over, I’m coming to pick you up.”

Author’s Note:

Such a long chapter—

M1zushi: ;w; QZL’s backstory is so sad, he was just a kid trying his best, shouldering the world’s responsabilities on a child’s back
and even though AY knew it was a past he couldn’t change, he just had to hug his Commander and soothe him :blobcry:

btw here’s