The technology of the interstellar era was far beyond anything Earth had ever seen.
It was only much later that Ye Lingxi learned that the device on their wrists—called a “Personal Terminal”—could not only project virtual screens and parse languages, but also interface directly with a Sentinel’s neurons, transmitting all kinds of data in real time.
Just moments ago, the moment the language analysis was complete, twelve Sentinels’ minds had simultaneously been fed with the preliminary parsed Chinese pronunciation and grammar system.
Mingzhou stepped out from the crowd and came to a stop in front of Ye Lingxi.
The man stood tall and straight, his pitch-black eyes looking especially deep beneath the blood moon, with bizarre black totems spreading across half his face.
But at this moment, the way he looked at her was as gentle as a shallow pool.
“Guide.”
Mingzhou spoke.
Clear articulation. Perfect pronunciation.
“Seventh Army Special Operations Unit Commander, Mingzhou, greets you.”
Ye Lingxi blinked, momentarily unable to react.
Then, the other eleven Sentinels stepped forward in unison, striking their chests with their right hands in perfect synchronization, their voices booming like bells:
“Seventh Army Special Operations Unit, Lin Chuan, greets you!”
“Shi Qi!”
“Ji Xiao!”
“Pei Jin!”
“Cang Lan!”
“Fen Tian!”
“Fan Yin!”
“Zhuo Tong!”
“Sui Lin!”
“Xiao Ze!”
“Jiu Ya!”
Eleven people, eleven names, announced clearly and distinctly.
All in perfectly articulated Mandarin.
“Seventh Army, Special Operations Unit—all members greet you!”
Ye Lingxi: “…”
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like a fish gasping for air.
“You—wait, wait a minute!”
She stared blankly at the Sentinels lined up in a row, her eyes wide as saucers. “You, you suddenly… how did you suddenly…”
She pointed at Mingzhou, then at the others, unable to find the right words for a moment.
Just moments ago, they couldn’t even speak Chinese…
The corner of Mingzhou’s lips curved slightly. He raised his wrist, revealing the silver-white Personal Terminal.
“Guide, please allow me to explain the current situation.”
His tone remained steady and unhurried. “The translation module on our Personal Terminals requires collecting enough language samples to complete the analysis.
Originally, we planned to spend the night letting the system decipher your language, then formally communicate with you tomorrow.”
He paused, his gaze landing on Ye Lingxi’s face, a hint of apology in his dark eyes.
“We just didn’t expect that you would… attempt to leave tonight.”
The corner of Ye Lingxi’s mouth twitched.
Running away was running away—”attempt to leave” was certainly a euphemistic way to put it.
“Hehehe, well, I was just… stretching my limbs…” Ye Lingxi let out a dry laugh, guiltily rubbing her nose.
Mingzhou didn’t call her out on it.
“So…” Ye Lingxi pointed at Mingzhou, then at the Personal Terminal on his wrist. “You can speak Mandarin now because this thing has already learned it?”
Mingzhou nodded. “Basic analysis is complete. Complex sentence structures still need time, but daily communication is no longer a problem.”
Ye Lingxi fell silent.
She looked at Mingzhou’s composed, handsome yet eerie face, then at Lin Chuan and Shi Qi standing not far away, and the ring of Sentinels surrounding them.
Suddenly, she had a strange feeling.
It was as if she were a primitive person who had fallen onto an alien planet, and these people had just finished downloading her “language pack.”
Finally, her gaze returned to Mingzhou.
Mingzhou still stood not far away, his dark eyes fixed on her, the black totems on his face gleaming faintly beneath the blood moon.
Seeing her look over, he curved his lips slightly. “Guide, please allow me to formally introduce our identities.”
Mingzhou’s Mandarin had become much more fluent than just moments ago. “I am Mingzhou, Commander of the Seventh Army Special Operations Unit, SS-class Sentinel.”
Then he gestured to Lin Chuan. “This is Lin Chuan, Deputy Commander of the Special Operations Unit, S-class Sentinel.”
“Shi Qi, S-class Sentinel.”
Shi Qi immediately puffed out his chest and flashed Ye Lingxi a big grin.
“Pei Jin, S-class Sentinel.”
“Ji Xiao, S-class Sentinel.”
…
Mingzhou introduced them one by one—the members of the Seventh Army Special Operations Unit, twelve Sentinels in total. One was SS-class, and all the rest were S-class.
Ye Lingxi listened, utterly bewildered.
What S-class? What Sentinel?
She understood the words individually, but put together, she had no idea what they meant.
Mingzhou seemed to notice her confusion, a flicker of thought passing through his eyes.
He didn’t delve deeper into the explanation. Instead, he changed the subject and asked, “Guide, how should we address you?”
“My name is Ye Lingxi.”
“Ye Lingxi.” Mingzhou repeated it, his pronunciation flawless. “A beautiful name.”
He asked again, “Then, Lingxi, how did you end up on this desolate planet? What about your ship? Your companions?”
Desolate planet? Ship? Companions?
Ye Lingxi struggled to get her sluggish brain moving.
Perhaps it was the sheer volume of information, but her thoughts were moving unusually slowly.
Almost instinctively, she tilted her head up, and what her vision caught was a blood-red moon.
As reluctant as she was to admit it, at this point she had no choice but to face reality.
She might have… truly transmigrated…
Actually, the signs had been there all along.
A star completely different from the sun, aircraft she had never seen before, a blood-red moon, and… men far more formidable than humans from Earth… or rather, Sentinels…
Mingzhou’s voice continued to drift over, pulling her scattered thoughts back.
“Guide, how did you arrive here? This place is seventeen light-years from the nearest Federation-inhabited star system. An ordinary person couldn’t possibly reach it.”
Ye Lingxi lifted her gaze to the man before her. “What did you just say this place is?”
“The Sentinel’s Slumbering Lands, Sector Seventy-Seven, a nameless Desolate Planet.”
At that moment, Ye Lingxi seemed to hear a crack.
The taut string in her heart finally snapped.
No more room for wishful thinking—it wasn’t a possibility. She had truly transmigrated.
Ye Lingxi stood still, head tilted up, staring at that blood moon, as if all the strength had been drained from her body.
“Sentinel’s Slumbering Lands… Sector Seventy-Seven… nameless Desolate Planet…” she murmured, repeating the words over and over, her voice so soft it sounded like sleep-talking.
Mingzhou watched her, his brow furrowing slightly.
He didn’t urge her, simply stood quietly in place, waiting for her to process the information.
The other Sentinels around them also remained silent, a dozen pairs of eyes resting on that small figure with concern and curiosity.
A long moment passed.
Ye Lingxi lowered her head, meeting Mingzhou’s pitch-black eyes.
She tugged at the corner of her lips, forcing a smile.
The smile was so strained, so forced, that Mingzhou felt something in his heart give a gentle tug.
“I don’t know how I got here either.” Her voice was a little hoarse. “I just… tripped and fell.”
As she spoke, her eyes suddenly reddened.
Before she even realized it, tears spilled out without any warning, rolling down her cheeks.
“I really just tripped and fell…” she said again, her voice beginning to tremble.