Mingzhou froze.
Lin Chuan froze too.
They looked at the tear tracks on Ye Lingxi’s face, at those black-and-white eyes soaked through with tears, at the droplets rolling down her cheeks…
Every Sentinel stood as if struck by a binding spell, rigid in place.
As frontline warriors, they had witnessed life and death countless times, but they had seen Guides only a handful of times in their lives.
Ye Lingxi’s sudden tears sent everyone into a panic.
Shi Qi looked at Ye Lingxi helplessly, at a complete loss. “Lady Lingxi, please don’t cry.”
Ji Xiao’s face flushed red with anxiety. He stood there fidgeting, his hands not knowing where to go, stammering, “Lady Lingxi, did someone bully you? Tell me who, and I’ll kill them!”
Pei Jin was equally frantic, his tall frame pacing in circles on the spot, yet he had no idea how to comfort a crying Guide.
Lin Chuan stood off to the side, equally flustered, completely at a loss for what to do.
His mind raced at full speed, frantically searching his memories for any record of “how to comfort a crying Guide”—
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The Federation’s archives contained only physiological data, mental metrics, and grooming guidelines for Guides. Not a single entry ever wrote “what to do when a Guide cries.”
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found he had no idea what to say.
Mingzhou stood closest to Ye Lingxi, watching the tear tracks on her face, watching the droplets fall. It was as if something had struck him hard.
He had been through countless battles, faced the most vicious enemies. He had seen rivers of blood, fields strewn with corpses, the most brutal of wars.
But he had never seen a Guide’s tears.
Those droplets landed on her cheeks, yet they seemed to strike his heart, burning so hot that his very organs ached.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
He only knew that he would rather face a hundred elite rebel soldiers than see her cry again.
He stepped forward and raised his hand.
His rough fingertip touched her cheek, gently wiping away the tears.
The motion was feather-light, as if touching something fragile and precious.
But no sooner had he wiped away one trail of tears than even more spilled forth.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice was low, soft, yet utterly sincere.
Ye Lingxi looked up, her eyes glistening with moisture, meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes.
The blood-red moonlight fell across the man’s face, and the black tattoos gleamed with a cold, faint light in the dark of night.
But his gaze was impossibly gentle.
Ye Lingxi’s eyes grew hot again.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her throat blocked as if by something lodged inside.
She lowered her head and began rummaging through her backpack.
The Sentinels formed a circle around her, watching quietly.
She pulled out her phone first and pressed the screen.
No signal.
She stared at it for a moment, then tucked it away.
Then she pulled out the Compass.
The needle didn’t move at all.
Tucked it away.
Then she pulled out a peach-wood sword.
An arm’s length of peach wood, densely carved with runes.
Runes carved by her master’s own hand.
She gripped the hilt, looked at it for a moment, then tucked it away again.
Finally, she pulled out a cloth wallet that had been washed white with age.
It was very old, the corners worn to frayed edges.
She opened the wallet and pulled a photograph from the inner pocket.
It was a group photo.
The background was a slightly dilapidated Taoist temple, with grey tiles and blue bricks.
In the photo, an elderly man with graying hair wore a grey Taoist robe, smiling so wide his face was a web of wrinkles.
Beside him stood a young girl with a ponytail, wearing a school uniform, flashing a peace sign, grinning without a care in the world.
Ye Lingxi looked at the photograph, and the tears fell again.
“I come from a star called Earth. He was my master.”
Her voice choked with sobs. “I grew up in the temple, following my master since I was little. He never married, never had children—I was his only disciple.
He said that when he grew old and died, I was to give him a proper funeral, burn paper offerings for him, and visit his grave on holidays…”
She looked up at Mingzhou, her eyes red as a rabbit’s.
“Can I still go back?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I just tripped. I just fell from the graveyard. How did I… how did I…”
She couldn’t finish.
Tears covered her face.
Mingzhou looked at her, at the photograph, at the old man smiling with a face full of wrinkles, and the carefree young girl.
His heart felt as if something had seized it tightly.
It hurt.
He didn’t know why it hurt, but he knew he didn’t want her to cry.
Didn’t want her to be sad.
“Ye Lingxi.” He called her name. “I will find a way to send you back.”
Ye Lingxi stared at him, dazed.
“I don’t know where Earth is,” Mingzhou said. “But the Federation has star charts, a star-domain database, and countless shipping lanes. As long as it exists, we will find it.”
He paused, and in those pitch-black eyes, her face was reflected.
“Until then, we will protect you.”
…
Ye Lingxi cried herself out.
After her tears dried, drowsiness surged over her like waves, one after another, weighing her eyelids down heavier and heavier.
She leaned against the rock, her head bobbing lower and lower, until finally she couldn’t hold on any longer and slumped to one side.
Mingzhou caught her with quick reflexes, his movements gentle.
He looked down at the face still streaked with tears, her lashes damp, her brow slightly furrowed—she wasn’t sleeping peacefully.
He walked slowly to the bedding, carefully set her down, letting the girl rest her head on the soft cushion.
Lin Chuan handed over a temperature-regulating blanket.
Mingzhou took it, unfolded it, and gently draped it over her.
The twelve Sentinels formed a circle, holding their breath, watching the small figure curled up beneath the blanket.
No one spoke.
Only the night wind, softly sweeping across the wasteland.
…
The next morning.
The blood moon had already sunk, and that strange sun rose from the other end of the horizon, dyeing the wasteland in a dazzling gold.
Ye Lingxi had not yet woken.
She slept deeply, curled up in the blanket, only half her face visible, her lashes occasionally trembling slightly.
And a few dozen meters away from her, a battle had just ended.
Twelve Sentinels had been fighting over who would get to bleed for Lady Lingxi’s meal today.
Unsurprisingly, Mingzhou overpowered the other eleven and emerged the victor.
He drew the dagger from his waist, about to slice open his wrist to draw blood.
But at that moment, a voice spoke up.
“Commander, you already drew blood yesterday. By the principle of fairness, it should be someone else’s turn today.” Lin Chuan stood to the side and spoke.
Mingzhou stood across from him, a few blades of grass stuck to his Combat Suit. “We agreed in advance—whoever wins today, their blood feeds Lady Lingxi.”
Those words left Lin Chuan speechless.
That was indeed how the Sentinel world worked—whoever was stronger, whoever’s fists were harder, their words carried the weight of reason.
Just as Mingzhou was about to slice open his wrist again, a flash of inspiration struck Shi Qi, and he spoke rapidly: “Commander, the blood you drew yesterday—Lady Lingxi didn’t drink it!
What does that mean? It means Lady Lingxi doesn’t like the taste of your blood!”
Mingzhou fell silent for a moment.
Lin Chuan nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
Pei Jin nodded along beside him. “Right, the Guide definitely doesn’t like the taste of the Commander’s blood.”
Ji Xiao added quietly, “So today we need someone else to try drawing blood…”
All eleven Sentinels were in surprisingly unanimous agreement.
Mingzhou was excluded from today’s blood donation list.
And so, a new battle for the spot began.
The eleven Sentinels clashed in a melee, moving so fast the naked eye couldn’t track them—only the dull thuds of fists and feet connecting, and the occasional muffled grunt, could be heard.
Three minutes later, the battle ended.
Shi Qi stood in the center of the field, silver hair dotted with a few blades of grass, his Combat Suit covered in dirt, but a victor’s smile on his face.
“I won!”
He strode quickly to the ship, pulled a clean metal container from the supply crate.
A flash of the dagger, and a cut opened across his wrist.
Crimson blood welled up and flowed into the container.
Sentinel recovery was formidable—a wound and blood loss of this degree posed no threat to them at all.
Now, Shi Qi watched the blood slowly fill the container, his smile growing brighter and brighter.
“Lady Lingxi’s breakfast.” He held the container with delight, walked over to sit cross-legged beside Ye Lingxi, picked up a large leaf, and shielded the sunlight falling on her face.
Then, he waited quietly for her to wake.