In the basement—

“Like this… there really won’t be a problem?” Lin Fan studied the delicate machine, worry pooling like rainwater on still stone.

After that, Jier Yisi rested at his place for a day, and the next morning the custom machine for Xiao Qianxue rolled into the Lin Clan manor like a steel caravan.

Lin Fan had cleared space in advance, and when he heard it arrived, he bolted out like an arrow loosed from a bow. Jier Yisi followed, her face frost-pale and her dark eye-bags fading like night pushed back by dawn.

Once assembled, the equipment became a life-support capsule, a glass tank perched on a nest of precision hardware like a crystal bell over clockwork gears.

“Bring your girlfriend over, we’re almost done tuning,” Jier Yisi said, waving a hand like a fan while two girls in white coats tinkered by the capsule like sparrows pecking at wires.

“Okay.” Lin Fan stepped into the elevator, and in the mirror like a calm pond, he saw guilt, confusion, helplessness, and a hint of fear clouding his face like low fog.

“Young Master, steady yourself,” the old butler said, his voice a warm lamp in winter wind.

“The situation isn’t as bad as it feels, so there’s no need to blame yourself,” the butler went on, pausing like a drumbeat. “At least you saved her, and without the intel you bled for, we’d be in darkness like a ship without stars.”

“I know. I’m just afraid she won’t wake up.” Lin Fan cut him off, dread pricking like thorny vines. “That kind of brain damage… it’s like a cracked sky.”

“The future’s a sealed horizon; no one can see past it,” the butler cut back gently, and the elevator doors parted like eyelids to light.

They entered Xiao Qianxue’s ward, and the butler gripped the medical pod’s handles like reins, helping Lin Fan push it along with wheels whispering like rain on slate.

“It’s fine. I’m ready,” Lin Fan said, and as he looked at the sleeping beauty in the pod, his eyes set like stone against the tide.

—

After Tang Shaoyu scattered the crowd at the door, the frost on his face melted away like dew under sun.

“Every time I use my power, I end up freezing myself—without that armor, it’s a pain,” he muttered, rubbing where the frost clung like thin glaze. That custom battle armor held a temperature system inside, heating him as he unleashed his power like a hearth beneath a winter coat.

“Bro, I heard you brought a woman back,” a familiar girl’s voice rose behind him like a bell.

“Ling’er, what are you doing here?” Tang Shaoyu turned to his sister, Tang Ling, her long off-white hair flowing like pale wheat and her blue eyes fixed not on him, but on the girl in the bed like a drawn compass.

Tang Ling drifted to the bedside, raised her hand above the white-haired girl, and cold mist spilled from her palm like breath on glass, quickly swathing Qing Xing from head to toe like falling frost.

Tang Shaoyu knew what she was doing, and he didn’t interfere, his calm like still ice under wind. His own ice bent toward attack and defense like spears and shields; his sister’s ice bent toward aid and healing like silk and balm.

In battle, she could freeze wounds and even severed limbs like sealing cracks in crystal, hasten recovery like spring coaxing shoots, and cast ice shields to block blades and bolts like a winter wall. In the organization, her name carried weight, because support-type espers were rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

“I gave her a quick treatment. She should wake soon,” Tang Ling said, flicking a glance at Tang Shaoyu by the window like a pebble skipping water, then she left the room with light steps like drifting snow. “The rest is on you, big bro.”

“Mm. Good girl, Ling’er,” he replied, warmth rising like embers.

Tang Ling’s cheeks flushed like peach petals, but with her back turned, he didn’t see a thing as she slipped out like a shadow behind a screen.

“Of all people, you chose that one,” she murmured, her voice thin as thread, yet in the quiet room Tang Shaoyu caught every word like a hawk catching a leaf.

He lifted his shoulders in helplessness like a man under light snow; from her view, knowing the “Tyrant’s” history, the complaint wasn’t without cause, like a thorn that’s hard to pluck.

Time trickled by like sand, and Qing Xing’s eyes opened like shutters to morning.

“You’re awake—” he began, but the words snagged as cold steel kissed his throat like a moonlit icicle and his Adam’s apple stilled under the blade.

“It’s you.” She saw who it was, slid Silver Moon back and set it at the bedside like a crescent on a sill, then sat quickly on the bed like a cat finding balance.

“Qing Xing, hungry?” Tang Shaoyu’s face warmed like a lamp behind paper, because through the loose hospital gown, that silver-haired girl had flashed a glimpse of curves like snow dunes—and she hadn’t noticed. With anyone else, heads would have rolled like gourds down steps.

“I’ll get something.” Seeing her sit dazed and silent like a statue, he waved, and a food cart that had been waiting at the door rolled in like a faithful hound.

Minutes later, he spread enticing breakfast across the tray table like a colorful market, and Qing Xing didn’t stand on ceremony, lifting her chopsticks and eating fast like a sparrow pecking grain.

“What happened after that?” When her belly felt full like a warmed bowl, she turned to the window-leaning Tang Shaoyu and asked.

“You got hammered and passed out, and I dragged you out at the risk of my life,” Tang Shaoyu said, adding a flourish like a banner in wind.

“Lin Fan?” Her eyes narrowed slightly like a drawn bow.

“He’s fine. He’s safe, and it’s handled,” he said, and when she gave no praise, a small disappointment fell in his chest like a leaf in a well.

After a moment, she said, “Thank you,” her eyes steady like stars in a clear night.

“No problem. If you don’t mind, rest here a few more days,” he said, and looking at the silver hair spilling like moonlight, the world felt gentler like spring light on water.

“Mm.” She listened to her body like a hand on its own pulse, then agreed with a soft sound like a wind chime.

—

“Although we lost a prime chance to strike the Lin Clan, we gained another harvest of great value,” Ouyang Si reported to the high-ranking few like a messenger laying maps before generals.

“Compared to hitting the Lin Clan, this extra harvest is even more crucial, and we got leads on the defector AI and Bloo,” one said, his voice smooth as lacquer. “Ouyang Si, well done.”

“Thank you for the recognition. I’ll take my leave,” Ouyang Si replied, slipping out like a knife back to its sheath.

“The plan we once shelved can restart now,” another said, eyes gleaming like flint under wool.

“I can already see the light of the Ouyang Clan’s unification ahead,” a third murmured, like a lighthouse cutting fog.

“Hahahaha…” Their laughter rose together like crows lifting from a field, and no ears but theirs heard the sound in that sealed room like a locked chest.

—

“Where should Xiaoxue… lie down?” Lin Fan asked, cradling Xiao Qianxue in a princess carry like a knight bearing a sleeping swan from the medical pod.

“Don’t rush. Change her clothes first,” Jier Yisi said, taking the girl from his arms like a nurse catching a falling petal. Seeing his face twist, she smirked like a cat. “What, you gonna help?”

“You do it.” Lin Fan turned away like a shutter drawn, and aside from the two girls at the consoles, everyone else had been sent off like leaves swept from a step.

Moments later, Xiao Qianxue was sealed inside the life-support capsule, and Jier Yisi clapped Lin Fan’s shoulder like a friend at a bar. “You lucky dog. She’s young, but that figure—good grip, good feel,” she teased, words curling like smoke.

“You—” Lin Fan choked, words snagging like thread on a nail. “Alright, alright, don’t be like that. I’ll knock something off the bill later,” Jier Yisi added, business plain as an abacus.

Fine tubes linked to the outfit at every point like vines to trellis, and green fluid flowed into the pod like a quiet river filling a jade pool.

“Even if she stays long, electrical stimulation and nutrient baths will keep muscles active, and the body’s development on track,” Jier Yisi said as the last adjustments clicked into place like pins in a lock. Then she headed for the elevator like a blade sliding forward. “If she wakes, you’ll be the first to know. Relax.”

“…” They stepped into the elevator, and as the doors closed like lips, Lin Fan’s gaze stayed on the capsule like a tethered kite. Xiao Qianxue’s hands had folded over her chest by reflex like petals, half her long hair turned red floating in the nutrient fluid like fire beneath water, and her delicate face held no expression like a mask at rest.

When the elevator shut, only the instruments murmured like distant crickets, and the room held its breath like a forest before dawn.

“Xiaoxue, wake up soon. I’m waiting for you!” he said, voice firm like a lantern held against night.

—End of Volume Two.