Evolution - Chapter 151
Chapter 151
In the blink of an eye, the email burst into flames, burning away every last trace.
It happened so fast that for a dazed moment, one might have mistaken it for a hallucination.
The sender had clearly come prepared, setting the email to self-destruct after being read.
Ji Changqing gripped her comms device, her knuckles turning white from the force.
“What’s wrong?” A teammate who had come out with her, now sitting in the vehicle waiting for the rest of the squad, asked with concern. “Are you hurt somewhere?”
Her pale, weakened appearance truly made it look like she was enduring some internal injury.
Ji Changqing slowly shook her head, her voice hoarse. “No.”
The teammate looked as if he’d seen a ghost. With the state she was in, her denial wasn’t the least bit convincing. He urged her dryly, “Why don’t you get it checked out?”
Hearing the word “checked,” a flicker of life finally returned to Ji Changqing’s face. Her eyes shifted to the technician sitting before a row of instruments, the one who kept the entire operation team’s communications open. “Um, can you help me trace an email address?”
Bathed in the blue glow of the vehicle’s instruments, the technician, whose pallor made him look even more ghostly than she did, turned his head with a grim expression.
The two teammates sitting beside her recoiled in a tactical lean-back.
“Sure.” He was idle anyway.
The technician skillfully accessed her comms device and ran a trace based on her description. “The email from a few minutes ago? Can’t be traced. All tracks have been wiped. It’s clean.”
His spirits suddenly lifted, and he didn’t exit his surveillance of Ji Changqing’s comms device. “Based on what you said, they’re bound to send you another email soon.”
The last word had barely left his mouth when a notification for a new email popped up on Ji Changqing’s device.
Ji Changqing looked at him. He frowned and gave a barely perceptible nod.
Ji Changqing opened the email. This time there was no photo, nor was the font blood-red. It was like a simple note: “You can’t trace me. Don’t waste your energy.”
It also self-destructed after being read.
Ji Changqing and the technician were startled, instinctively looking around.
But they quickly realized it wasn’t that the other party could monitor their every move, but that they had simply made a logical deduction—anyone who received a threatening message would, if they had the means, immediately try to trace its source.
The technician furiously typed on his keyboard for a while before stopping in frustration. He shook his head at Ji Changqing. “They’re very cautious. I only managed to trace two virtual addresses in the instant you opened the email.”
He figured that anyone daring enough to pluck the tiger’s whiskers of their unit wouldn’t be caught dead without at least dozens, if not hundreds, of virtual addresses to bounce the signal through. Anything less would be an insult to their own audacity.
In other words, the sender could send Ji Changqing a hundred emails, and he still might not be able to trace the real address.
Ji Changqing’s fingers rubbed together unconsciously. Before she could even begin to ponder who could have obtained her heavily encrypted data, another email arrived, again in the style of a simple note: “Tomorrow at 3 p.m., deliver 200 grams of Iridium Gold Stream to the luggage storage at the Qingyue City high-speed maglev station on Muyun Planet.”
In another blink, the familiar flames flared up, leaving no trace behind.
Muyun Planet, Qingyue City.
The technician had already pulled up a star chart. “Looks like they don’t know your whereabouts very well, do they?”
But Ji Changqing was staring intently at the planets near Muyun Planet, her voice tight with an anger she couldn’t suppress. She enunciated each word carefully, “Our current mission hasn’t been submitted yet. Don’t you get it?”
She quickly activated her wireless comms. “Captain, don’t submit the mission report yet!”
The captain on the other end had no idea what had gotten into her and replied, bewildered, “What’s the rush? I haven’t even finished the report!” Normally, they would write the report and submit the mission on their way back.
“Tell the patrol forces not to submit theirs either,” Ji Changqing said urgently. “Delay it for a few days!”
The captain was sharp, however, and immediately asked, “What’s happened?”
Ji Changqing explained the whole story of the threatening letters. Before she could add her deductions, the captain’s voice grew grave. “For them to know our internal mission information, it means they either have someone on the inside, or it’s someone with higher-level clearance—or both. Don’t panic. I’ll be back soon, we’ll talk then.”
After all, the other party not only knew what mission her squad had accepted, but also what items Ji Changqing had redeemed. The only people they could rule out were the few high-level insiders who knew their actual whereabouts.
He said he’d talk when he got back, and less than half an hour later, he returned at top speed. The full squad had assembled by then, so they drove to their warship. It wasn’t until they were aboard their small but exceptionally fast, well-armed, and well-defended vessel that he called Ji Changqing aside to talk.
“I’ve already spoken with the patrol forces. For now, the mission will only be submitted up to the point of pursuing the space pirates and rescuing the hostages.” He gave a cunning smile. “We dragged out so many so-called socialites tonight. Just investigating and gathering enough evidence to nail them will take quite some time, so don’t you worry.”
How could Ji Changqing possibly not worry? The fact that she wasn’t pacing anxiously was already a testament to her incredible mental fortitude.
“What about the External Affairs Department?” she reminded him eagerly.
The captain’s smile slowly faded. “It’s fine. We’ll just say we found it on the space pirates.” He looked at Ji Changqing, his gaze heavy. “You also suspect it’s someone with higher-level clearance?”
What else could Ji Changqing say? She wasn’t a fool. Even though the mission report hadn’t been submitted, it was impossible for a squad to be deployed without some internal notice. But the fact that the enemy seemed to think they were still in their original mission area was, in itself, a flaw in their plan.
Of course, it was also possible there really was a mole, but clearly, this mole wasn’t among the people they were in direct contact with.
This deduction brought her a small measure of peace.
“Let’s run a test,” the captain said, winking at her.
Ji Changqing’s heart was pounding. “Before the test,” she said with difficulty, “shouldn’t we make some arrangements first?”
The captain’s expression turned serious. “You don’t need to worry about Yu Zhiyao. Hmm, contact Major General Xie’er. Xiao Xia should still be in charge of military defense on Blue Star right now.”
Major General Xie’er was somewhat surprised to receive Ji Changqing’s call. Upon learning about the series of threatening emails, she rubbed her brow. “Blue Star has indeed been restless lately.”
There’s a small faction of people who are never content. It’s not just about the sudden disappearance of the gender privileges they’d grown accustomed to enjoying effortlessly. It’s also because after Blue Star joined the Alliance, those used to being on top saw their power slip away. They could no longer command the wind and rain or decide life and death with a single word as they once did.
Before she left Blue Star, she had carried out a ruthless purge, eliminating many who simply wanted to continue enjoying their gender privileges. The deterrent effect was sufficient, but afterward, wave after wave of officials who failed the Alliance’s assessments were removed from their posts. These people were undoubtedly scheming to cause trouble and reclaim power.
But while military affairs were under her command, political matters were not.
After Claire left, the person the Alliance sent to replace her had a gentler approach, believing that with such a vast technological gap, what kind of trouble could they possibly stir up?
As it turned out, they managed to make a flower of terrorism bloom for him.
Over the years, those who wanted to reclaim their gender privileges had gradually resurfaced, secretly colluding with the faction that had lost power but harbored malicious intent. They had been furtively stirring up a lot of trouble.
They even started using slogans like “Those not of our race must have different hearts,” claiming that the alien invasion was a plot to boil the frog slowly, to gradually colonize Blue Star. Otherwise, why wasn’t Blue Star’s supreme leader a native of Blue Star?
Major General Xie’er felt nothing but contempt for their ploys. What she found even more foolish was that a significant number of people on Blue Star actually supported this rhetoric.
They never stopped to think about what their lives were like before joining the Alliance. Perhaps this was a common flaw in human nature—always finding countless things to complain about in their current lives, always harboring endless dissatisfaction.
“I’ll have Xiao Xia make the arrangements.” Major General Xie’er was very efficient. “But your family has previously refused to settle in the Alliance, saying they don’t want to leave their familiar surroundings. The most we can do is move them into a military district for protection. We can’t dispatch troops to guard each of them individually.”
She paused, thinking of Ji Changqing’s terrifyingly large number of relatives, and added cautiously, “At most, we can arrange for your immediate family—your parents’ and sisters’ households. On second thought, I’ll have Xiao Xia run a thorough check on anyone who has recently entered Blue Star, as well as anyone who has appeared around your relatives and friends.”
That was, of course, the best possible outcome. Ji Changqing thanked Major General Xie’er with great sincerity.
Xie’er gave a brief smile, then her expression turned serious again. “Your files are encrypted. If I didn’t already know your situation from the beginning, I would have basically no authority to access them.”
Like Ji Changqing and her team, she was inclined to suspect someone with higher-level clearance.
Her eyes darkened. “It seems there were people hidden even deeper back then who we never rooted out. Ask Nankong and He Qingzhi if they’ve noticed anything unusual lately.”
Saiweiyala was just a child back then, and her only relative is Sith, so they probably wouldn’t dare touch her. Nankong is an orphan, so any trouble would likely target him directly. He Qingzhi’s father is in the Empire, and his mother divorced long ago and is single, so there’s no connection there; any move would be against him personally.
Which left Ji Changqing as the unlucky one. With a huge network of friends and family, she was, for the moment, a soft persimmon they could squeeze.
But why involve Yu Zhiyao?
Why create such a powerful enemy for themselves out of thin air? Wasn’t that just making things harder for themselves?
Major General Xie’er truly couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Xiao Xia was incredibly fast. In less than three hours, she reported to Major General Xie’er that Ji Changqing’s parents and all her sisters’ families had been moved into the military district.
As for Yu Zhiyao, no one could contact her. She was part of a two-and-a-half-year classified project and, by all rights, should still be completely isolated from the outside world.
That’s why Xie’er found it so strange—but then she quickly put the pieces together and couldn’t help but curse.
Only a handful of people knew the location of the classified project. But the project was guarded by military personnel, and there were far too many of them!
Who would ever suspect the very people sent to protect them? If even one of them was compromised, it would be a complete disaster!
The test Ji Changqing and her captain were running soon yielded results.
Minutes after they submitted their mission report, a new mission popped up: “Rescue missing research personnel from a classified Academy of Sciences project.”
Confusingly, the only clear information provided was the time of disappearance. The rest was all speculative. For instance, it stated they were likely not far from the chaotic starfields and marked a possible current location, a possible location after one day, and a possible location after two days.
The circle grew larger and larger, offering no clear direction.
The only reason they received this mission was because they were the closest unit—based on the planet they listed when submitting their report, their warship’s speed would allow them to intersect with the mission’s projected one-day search area.
They had just finished reading the mission details and hadn’t even had time to assemble the team when Ji Changqing received a call from her unit commander. Commander Xingchen was characteristically blunt: “Ji Changqing, the missing person—or rather, the person who was abducted—is Yu Zhiyao. The Academy of Sciences’ positioning systems have been completely blocked. Do you and she have any kind of special tracking or sensory system between you?”
The moment he said Yu Zhiyao’s name, Ji Changqing froze. Her mind went blank, a roar filled her ears, and she couldn’t hear anything he said after that.
It was her squad captain who reacted quickly, giving her a solid punch. “Do you two have some kind of, uh, special couple’s tracking system?!” he demanded, exasperated.
To think they were now pinning their hopes on Yu Zhiyao having implemented some kind of black technology between them! How tragic was that?!
“Yes, we do,” Ji Changqing managed, trying hard to control herself, but her slightly trembling hands betrayed her fear.
It was probably born from the morbid thought that if one of them were to die out there, the other would have to be able to find the body, no matter how many thousands of miles away. Because Ji Changqing often undertook dangerous missions, Yu Zhiyao had custom-made a pair of positioning systems. They were constructed from her own mental power and integrated with Ji Changqing’s mental power imprint. Once activated, they would point to the other’s location, just as a compass always points south.
This kind of single-use device, meticulously constructed directly onto the skeleton with mental power, was likely something no one besides Yu Zhiyao, with her extraordinarily mutated mental power, could create, let alone detect.
Ji Changqing rolled up her sleeve and held out her right arm. She stared intently at her bare forearm for a moment, and then, on the middle section of her arm, a shimmering white arrow gradually appeared.
And so, the unit commander and Ji Changqing’s squad captain watched this fantastical scene unfold, silently screaming, Holy shit!
What fucking black technology was this?! This was clearly a supernatural ability!
The warship quickly corrected its course, flashing through the sea of stars.
Before night had even fallen, she received another self-destructing email. This time, the style had reverted to the first one she received: a photo of Yu Zhiyao with her head bowed, and a line of text that looked as if it were written in blood: “If I don’t see the Iridium Gold Stream by three o’clock tomorrow, I’ll have to invite you to a fireworks show.”
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