The spacecraft touched down on a broad plaza near the dormitory, its sleek hull glinting under the artificial lights of Verdant's orbiting station. The air was crisp, laced with the sterile tang of processed oxygen, a stark contrast to the humid, earthy musk of the planet below. Beyond the plaza, the academy's spires rose like sentinels, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns that shimmered faintly in the twilight of the artificial sky.
Baisha stirred, stretching languidly as she activated her light-brain. The holographic screen flickered to life, displaying a cascade of notifications.
The first was from Han Cong: [Understood. I'll handle it immediately.]
She had sent him a brief account of the day's events, tasking him with ensuring the two Dongluo Military Academy students forgot what they'd witnessed. His reply, though terse, carried the quiet confidence that Baisha trusted implicitly. Han Cong's efficiency was beyond reproach.
The remaining messages were from her uncle, Emperor Cecil Ronin. She had asked him a single question: could the mental entities of the imperial family "evolve"? His response, sent after a half-hour delay, was unequivocal.
[No such thing. Not just for the royal family—no imperial citizen's mental entity can 'evolve.']
[Why do you ask? Is something wrong with your mental entity?]
Baisha disembarked with her companions, too weary to craft a new message. Instead, she copied the report she'd sent Han Cong and forwarded it to her uncle.
Within three seconds, a video call request from Cecil Ronin flashed across her screen.
Baisha blinked, instinctively declining the call.
[I'm surrounded by people, Uncle,] she typed.
Cecil Ronin: [Return to Youdu Star immediately. I'll take you to see Cen Haiyun.]
Cen Haiyun, Baisha's therapist, had conducted exhaustive assessments of her mental entity. If anyone understood its intricacies, it was her.
Baisha: [...]
[The Four Schools Election isn't over yet, and it seems they're moving to another location next,] she replied, her fingers dancing across the holographic keyboard. After a moment's thought, she continued, [Besides, I'm not experiencing any discomfort. I think Little White Cheep has always been like this—I just hadn't noticed before. It's not a mutation, is it?]
Cecil Ronin's response was sharp. [If its true form is the Xuan Bird, then what it's showing now isn't 'evolution'—it's 'regression.' If it was meant to mature into a Xuan Bird but hasn't, that's an innate regression.]
His words made it sound like a condition requiring urgent treatment.
Baisha was momentarily speechless, a knot of exasperation forming in her chest.
A teacher approached, directing the students to form a line and proceed to the laboratory building for decontamination. After battling starbugs, not only their mechs and weapons but the students themselves required sterilization. The starbugs' mimicry was so advanced that a blade of grass or a speck of dust could be their disguise. To eliminate all risks, every student spent twenty minutes in the decontamination chamber upon landing.
When they emerged, they were clad in fresh uniforms, the faint chemical scent of antiseptic clinging to their skin.
Cen Yuehuai walked beside Baisha, stifling a yawn. "I'm exhausted, Your Highness. I'm skipping dinner and heading straight to the dorm to sleep."
Baisha nodded. "I'll hit the cafeteria and grab something for you to eat later."
Verdant had no delivery drones for takeout.
The cafeteria was a feast of abundance, its buffet sprawling across three rows of insulated trays. Dishes ranged from savory, spice-laden stews to delicate, herb-infused pastries, their aromas mingling in a symphony of warmth. Baisha selected a few favorites and settled at a table, only for her light-brain to pulse with a new notification.
It was a leave of absence, personally approved by the academy's headmaster.
Baisha: [...]
[Come back to Youdu Star now,] Cecil Ronin messaged again. [You can skip the next election round and go straight to the main seat challenge.]
Baisha's prowess, and that of her team, was undeniable. They had slain multiple starbugs, a feat few of their peers could match. Excusing them from an extraneous trial would raise no objections—only idle gossip at worst.
Cecil Ronin was resolute in summoning her back to Youdu Star.
Baisha sighed, replying with a simple "Okay." She packed her meal and returned to the dorm to check on Cen Yuehuai before boarding a spacecraft bound for Youdu Star.
As she stepped into the ship's cabin, a prickle of unease ran through her. The crew—from the pilot and astrogator to the attendant at her side—were all familiar faces from the emperor's elite "Po Jun" fleet, the crème de la crème of the imperial guard.
Baisha couldn't help but think her uncle's precautions were excessive.
"Your Highness," a black-uniformed officer said, approaching with a deferential bow. His tone was crisp yet respectful. "His Majesty has granted us access to his private high-speed warp channel. We'll reach Youdu Star at maximum velocity."
Baisha: [...]
The moment the ship landed, she was whisked through Youdu Star's gleaming capital, surrounded by her escort, to the imperial palace. Cecil Ronin awaited her in her private study.
When Baisha entered, he stood with his back to the door, gazing out at the serene, mirror-like lake beyond the window. The room was bathed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, their light dancing across shelves lined with ancient tomes and holographic displays. The lake outside shimmered under Youdu's twin moons, its surface unbroken save for the occasional ripple from unseen aquatic life.
Only with Baisha did Cecil shed the emperor's imperious mantle. His thoughtful expression was unguarded, his profile tinged with a faint pallor that betrayed his fatigue.
"Uncle," Baisha said as the door closed, leaving just the two of them. "I'm back—"
Her words were cut off as she was drawn into a cool embrace.
It wasn't a true hug. Cecil's hand rested lightly on her back, the other gently cradling the back of her head in a gesture of reassurance.
"…I heard you were ambushed by starbugs on Verdant," he said, his voice like chilled spring water, smooth yet piercing. "Were you afraid?"
Baisha's reply was muffled against his chest. "It was fine. A little scary at the time, but nothing worth mentioning."
"Uncle, I'm not a three-year-old anymore. I'm not that fragile."
She pushed gently against his waist, extricating herself from his arms.
"How old are you, really?" Cecil said, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused. "You've already endured more hardship than most Ronins face in a lifetime. And with our family's longevity—longer than the average imperial citizen—you're still a child by our standards."
Baisha inhaled sharply, forced to debate him. "Weren't you my age when you attended the academy? And my mother, too?"
Cecil fell silent, his expression clouding.
"Fine," he said at last, releasing her with a soft sigh.
Baisha frowned, studying him intently. "Uncle, you're acting strange today."
Cecil didn't respond.
"Don't hide it from me," she pressed, her brow furrowing deeper. "Is this 'mental entity regression' really that serious? Why else would you look like this?"
"No," he said quickly, dismissing her concern. "Mental regression isn't incurable. At worst, it weakens your mental force."
Baisha showed no signs of regression—quite the opposite, she seemed to be regaining strength.
What Cecil needed to confirm was whether mental entity regression was hereditary.
…If it was, then the accident that claimed his sister had not only shattered his family but cast a long shadow over his niece's future.
A wound he could never fully heal.