The conspirators labored for three hours, weaving their audacious scheme. Han Jue, with his bureaucratic finesse, took charge of distilling their ideas into a formal plan. "I've never drafted anything so… unconventional," he said, handing the document to Bai Sha with a wry caution. "Don't expect miracles. If His Majesty rejects it, I won't question his wisdom."
"Don't be so glum," Bai Sha replied, her voice honeyed, a brigand coaxing a reluctant accomplice. "We haven't even tried yet—how can you call it doomed?"
Han Jue's silence spoke volumes. He'd compiled the plan with ruthless efficiency, forwarding it to her. "You'll need to present this to His Majesty yourself."
"Of course," Bai Sha muttered under her breath. "Only I stand a chance of swaying Uncle." In her eyes, Emperor Cecil Ronin was a doting guardian, indulgent to a fault. Yet when he reviewed her proposal, his verdict was merciless: "Sloppy details, inadequate flexibility. Rejected."
"This plan is high-risk, low-reward," he said, his tone that of a general dismissing a flawed strategy. "In my campaigns, I'd never approve such a submission."
"We're pressed for time," Bai Sha countered, her deep blue eyes shimmering with rare vulnerability. "This is the best we could do. Teach me—how do we fix it?" Her plea, soft and earnest, disarmed him. She seldom showed such deference, and it softened the edges of his resolve.
Cecil raised a brow, clearing his throat. "I could guide you… but there's a condition." Bai Sha's gaze sparkled with anticipation. "Once they're here, you don't bring them all to Youdu Star."
"Obviously," Bai Sha said, nodding. "Youdu's our home—your wishes matter. I know you dislike outsiders lingering. I'm not hiding them forever, just ensuring they wake safely. Once they're in the Empire, the danger's halved."
"Fine," Cecil relented, activating his holoscreen to revise the plan's flaws.
Bai Sha watched his profile, then ventured cautiously, "Uncle, do you ever dabble in virtual spaces?"
"When I was young, they were novel," he said, pausing. "I don't play much now. I'm no rigid old fool—virtual worlds aren't some scourge. They're dreamlike, offering sensations alien to reality, but they're rooted in it. Without reality, there's no virtual."
Virtual worlds, a subculture inseparable from the tangible, relied on physical devices—owned and managed by someone. The value created within was at the mercy of those controllers. Stories abounded of worlds collapsing due to outdated hardware, their digital treasures rarely transferrable without loss. Virtual realms were inherently unstable, unlike reality's solidity. Laws favored physical property; virtual losses were rarely recouped. Most saw these spaces as mere playgrounds, not life's anchor.
Youth, especially students, were most susceptible to addiction, some neglecting studies, though their numbers were negligible against the broader population. Virtual worlds hadn't yet disrupted reality's order. They were fleeting blossoms on water—beautiful, but ephemeral.
"Have you heard of the Unbounded City?" Bai Sha asked.
"Yes," Cecil said. "Never visited. I hear it requires mental energy linkage—too risky for our kind. Have you been?"
Bai Sha nodded faintly. Then, frowning, she added, "Ning Hongxue recommended it."
Cecil's pen froze. "Explain."
Her first holographic simulator was a gift from Ning. He'd secured her City access before she'd even activated it. In retrospect, that permit was suspicious. A student on the cusp of military academy exams, she'd been encouraged to roam virtual realms, handed a pass to the galaxy's most vibrant digital hub. What was his game?
"He never wanted me to join the Federation's Central Academy, did he?" Bai Sha said, her face darkening.
"He got you a City permit without certification?" Cecil asked.
"Certification?"
"Entry requires submitting mental energy data," he explained. "Each person's mental signature is unique, preventing account sharing. It exposes personal data, though—privacy risks."
Bai Sha thought back. "I never submitted anything. I logged in seamlessly."
"Then it wasn't a true permit," Cecil said, his voice iron. "He gave you a backdoor."
"How did he have that authority?" Bai Sha began, then stopped, realization dawning. In virtual worlds, "authority" was paramount—ownership or shared control. "Is Ning the City's mastermind?"
"It's possible," Cecil said, eyeing her plan again. "If true, stealing them is futile. Their minds are tethered to the City—Ning decides their fate. If he's targeted them, our researchers might be powerless."
He deactivated the holoscreen. "Pursuing this could trap you in his web. He holds hostages."
"We can't ignore it," Bai Sha insisted.
"Even if he admits controlling the City, he's just purging rivals with tech," Cecil said. "He commands half the Federation's military—black becomes white in his hands. The safest move is rallying the noble families to strip his power. But he's only ensnared Federation minds, sparing Imperials. What's his message?"
Ning was saying: You know it's me. Stay out.
He'd drawn a line, signaling restraint. Cross it, and he'd retaliate. Whether he couldn't or wouldn't trap Imperials was unclear, but caution assumed a warning.
"For our citizens' safety, I can't approve this," Cecil said, meeting her gaze. "I'll ban Imperial access to the City—you included, for your safety."
"But—" Bai Sha protested.
"This is the Federation's mess," he said, his voice heavy with authority. "As Imperial heir, you stay clear. Any other proposals, Bai Sha Ronin?"
His tone brooked no argument. Bai Sha inhaled deeply, defiance flickering. "Yes."
Cecil blinked, surprised.
"My new material's entered practical development," she said swiftly. "I need a manufacturing plant and testing grounds."
"Youdu Star's not big enough?"
"What if an experiment explodes or pollutes?"
"Fine. I'll allocate two uninhabited planets."
"Uncle, you're the best investor," Bai Sha said, flashing a thumbs-up.
"Go," Cecil said, a hint of relief in his voice. He'd braced for a fight over the plan, but her pivot was unexpectedly swift.
"Don't fret," he added. "If Ning meant to kill them, they'd be long gone. They're alive—he's not ready to end them."
"Got it," Bai Sha said, feigning nonchalance. "Thanks, Uncle."
She stepped back, dipped into a graceful farewell curtsy, and slipped from the study like a breeze, her head bowed. Cecil watched her go, a shadow of unease stirring. The Federation's military was a thorny problem.
He rubbed his throbbing temples and spoke to a shadowed corner. "Your thoughts?"
A figure emerged—golden hair, emerald eyes, exuding unearthly calm. Uriel. "Your decision is sound," he said. "The plan's unworkable. Rescuing her friends without addressing Ning and his backers is a half-measure."
"True," Cecil said. "But asking her to abandon them? She'd never. Ning's rise is suspicious—exiled with nothing, yet he rallied an army. I'll investigate."
Uriel nodded, his respect for the Emperor absolute despite his ancient existence.
"The final exercise may bring trouble," Cecil said. "Join her in the Federation competition."
Uriel paused. "If she orders me to kill Ning outright?"
Cecil's eye twitched. "Refuse."
"She woke me," Uriel said. "You know I can't deny her."
"Don't tell me angels lack principles," Cecil snapped. Traditionally, emperors awakened angels, their authority equal. Bai Sha's command should bind Uriel, but he wasn't a mere machine—he could choose his loyalties.
"Not that," Uriel said, smiling faintly, his eyes shimmering. "I can't refuse her because I want her happy. That's all."
Cecil's face contorted, a muscle twitching. All his precautions, and the threat was within? "Then don't go," he said icily. "Investigate Ning instead."
Uriel was ushered out, the study door slamming.
Bai Sha returned to her palace, her spirit leaden. She sent a message to her team: Rescue plan denied.
Responses trickled in—silence or words of comfort. Then an unexpected reply flashed: What rescue plan?
Kaxin Greiz. She'd misfired the group message. Her fingers hovered over a dismissal—"Nothing"—but instead, she sent the plan. I just want to save my friends.
Kaxin's reply was a string of ellipses, then: This is confidential. Why share it?
"It's dead anyway," Bai Sha wrote. "Only an idiot would follow it now. No signature—say it's mine, and who'd believe you? You're Greiz, I'm Ronin. I'd deny it, and you'd look like a schemer."
Kaxin: … He regretted asking.
Three days later, the final joint exercise commenced.
In the Federation hospital, Yan Jingyi's strength returned, though her mind remained a fractured tapestry. Ya Ning updated her: Zhou Wei's condition was unchanged, the doctors baffled. "The Nexus isn't just holding them," she said. "It's choosing who stays."
Ya Ning's eyes darkened. "It's a god in there, and we're its playthings."
On Youdu Star, Bai Sha's resolve burned brighter. The Nexus wasn't just a trap—it was Ning's weapon, and she'd dismantle it. She messaged Xi Nuo: Prep for the exercise. We're not done. The galaxy quivered, but she'd defy it to save her own.