She didn’t care whether the twelve people across from her understood or not. The moment her voice fell, she turned around, took long strides, skirted around the pit, and walked in the direction away from the twelve humanoid killing machines.
After about four or five steps, her pace gradually quickened until she broke into a full sprint.
Ye Lingxi ran fast, the hem of her robe fluttering in the wind like a startled rabbit, covering more than ten meters in the blink of an eye.
Of course, to Sentinels, such speed was nothing worth mentioning.
But at this moment, all twelve Sentinels stood frozen in place.
Shi Qi’s mouth formed an O shape, his bright eyes filled with astonishment. He turned his head to look at Lin Chuan: “The Guide… ran away?”
Lin Chuan said nothing. His light gray pupils reflected the figure growing increasingly smaller, and he rarely showed a hint of bewilderment.
Pei Jin instinctively took a step forward, then forcibly stopped himself, standing there at a loss: “Did we… scare the Guide?”
Ji Xiao rarely failed to pull Pei Jin back, because he too was stunned.
The other Sentinels exchanged glances, looking at each other, their expressions shifting from astonishment to confusion, then from confusion to helplessness.
Ran away?
The Guide ran away?
Why?
They hadn’t done anything offensive toward the Guide, had they?
A group of Sentinels who were decisive killers on the battlefield now stood as if struck by a freezing spell, collectively falling into silence.
Mingzhou stood in place, his pitch-black eyes tracking the running figure, his brow furrowing slightly.
He quickly replayed the scene just now in his mind.
They discovered the Guide, he pulled her up from the pit, his companions came over to pay their respects, he opened his Personal Terminal to try to translate her language, she said a long string of words, and then…
And then she ran.
Why?
He carefully recalled the last few sentences she had spoken.
He couldn’t understand them, but her tone was earnest, her expression solemn, and she had even clasped her fists toward them.
He had seen that gesture before—in archival footage of certain ancient civilizations in the Federation, a posture from a very old form of etiquette.
Mingzhou’s brow furrowed even deeper.
“Commander, the forest is just ahead. The ecology of the Desolate Planet is unknown. If the Guide keeps running around like this, she might be in danger.” Lin Chuan’s voice came from beside him.
Mingzhou’s gaze passed through the wild grass and landed on the figure growing ever more distant.
Then, he took a single step forward, and his figure vanished from where he stood.
…
Ye Lingxi ran fast.
It was a skill honed since childhood, following her master in the mountains—a stable stance, quick steps, able to outrun even the temple’s stray dogs when sprinting.
Now she was pouring out nearly the fastest speed of her entire life.
Eighty meters, fifty meters, thirty meters…
The forest ahead was getting closer.
If she could just charge in, give herself three minutes—no, one minute—she could set up a simple Mist-Tracing Array.
She didn’t know whether Daoist arts would work on these humanoid killing machines, but it was better than waiting for death.
Twenty meters, ten meters, five meters…
Just as she was about to dash into the forest, her vision suddenly blurred.
A tall figure appeared out of nowhere, standing directly in her path, blocking her way into the trees.
Ye Lingxi’s pupils sharply contracted. She slammed to a halt, nearly crashing straight into that figure’s chest.
Mingzhou stood before her, his towering form like a wall, the black tattoos on his face silhouetted against the light, looking all the more eerie in the dim glow.
This kind of uncanny movement—like teleportation—was exactly like the vampires in a TV drama she’d watched!
Ye Lingxi swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Brother, I just want to go in there to use the restroom. Really, nature calls, you understand. I’ll be quick—five minutes, no, three minutes and I’ll be out!”
Mingzhou looked at Ye Lingxi, listening to this language he couldn’t understand but which sounded pleasant to the ear, and his expression gradually softened.
“Guide, the ecology of the Desolate Planet is unknown. There may be highly dangerous species. Please don’t run off. If you need anything, you can tell us.”
Ye Lingxi smiled brightly at Mingzhou, looking as if she were listening very attentively.
But in truth, she hadn’t understood a single word.
Until Mingzhou’s voice trailed off, seemingly finishing his speech, she nodded cheerfully and followed up: “Brother, you know how it is—nature calls. This really can’t be held in. I’ll be quick. Just wait a moment, and I’ll come right out after I’m done.”
Mingzhou watched Ye Lingxi’s animated expression, his demeanor growing even softer. At this moment, he only felt that the Guide was truly full of vitality and especially adorable.
It seemed that even the language barrier couldn’t hinder their smooth communication at this moment.
A gentle smile reflected in his eyes as he said, “Guide, your language system isn’t among the languages archived in the Federation, so I can’t use the Personal Terminal for simultaneous translation.”
He had just attempted to parse the Guide’s language with his Personal Terminal.
Unfortunately, it had failed.
“But that’s fine. If you keep talking, my Personal Terminal will record everything. Its processing power isn’t as strong as the Central AI, but it can still parse language.
Once enough linguistic data is collected, it will be able to decode your language system, and then we can achieve real-time interpretation.”
Ye Lingxi blinked her eyes, maintaining a smile, her gaze focused intently on Mingzhou’s moving lips.
She had once done a brief study of psychology, and one phrase stood out clearly in her memory: when someone speaks a dialect you can’t understand, remember to keep smiling, occasionally hum in acknowledgment, and nod—that’s the best response.
She did exactly that.
“Okay.”
“Mhm…”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Her strategy was simple: she couldn’t understand a single sentence, but she responded to every single one.
Sure enough, as she offered her responses, she watched the tall man across from her gradually soften his expression.
Finally, his voice trailed off, and it was her turn to speak.
“Hehehe, then it’s settled. I’m just going to step into the woods to relieve myself, and I’ll be right back. I promise I won’t run away. Don’t worry, I’ll be the perfect little food reserve—you won’t have to worry about me at all!” Yeah, right! It’s not like he can understand me anyway.
With that, she smiled brightly at Mingzhou, taking small steps as she prepared to sidestep around him and continue toward the woods.
One step, two steps, three steps…
Just as she was about to slip past him, her wrist was suddenly seized by a hand as firm as iron pincers.
It didn’t hurt her, but no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t pull her wrist free.
It was Mingzhou who had grabbed her wrist…
…
30 minutes later.
On a small patch of open ground in front of where the spaceship had landed, Ye Lingxi sat listlessly on a flat stone.
Not far from her, Mingzhou led a circle of twelve Sentinels in discussion about their current situation.
Originally, after the twelve of them had landed on this Desolate Planet, they had planned to find a spot that looked decent, dig a hole, bury their Hibernation Pods, and go straight into deep sleep.
But now…
The situation was clearly different.
They had encountered a… lone Guide, seemingly abandoned, and of noble status.
Caring for and protecting a Guide was every Sentinel’s duty, a mission etched into their very genes.
For both public and personal reasons, they had to protect and look after this Guide, who appeared so frail and thin.