55

"Marker A-3, thirty degrees right, distance five-four-zero, correction two mils."

"Crosswind two meters per second, correction three-quarters mil."

The spotter put down the anemometer and pressed his eyes back to the scope.

The entire sniper team had been lying in wait on the rooftop for nearly six hours, in temperatures of minus ten degrees Celsius. Their mission: seize this airport held by a fifty-two-man enemy squad, and eliminate a government official scheduled to transfer and evacuate from here.

Four hours after receiving intel, the team arrived at the objective at two in the morning. They set up three sniper positions outside the airport, then settled in for a silent wait.

Eight AM, overcast. Several armored vehicles drove into the airport and stopped by a side door. Four or five soldiers, armed to the teeth, came out and scanned the area warily.

The central armored car parked right up against the doorway, to let the official board quickly and safely. That meant the sniper's only shot was the narrow gap between the car's roof and the doorframe — and the window wouldn't last a second.

After confirming the wind one last time, the spotter glanced at the primary sniper beside him, who was exposed from head to toe only by his eyes. The man was motionless, glued to his scope, his eyelashes frosted with a pale white rime.

The spotter licked his dry lips, his voice raspy. "Data unchanged, no correction needed—"

Before he finished, the official ducked his head and flashed past, shielded by several soldiers. His face was visible in the gap for less than half a second. Just as the spotter thought he'd slip into the armored car, the roar of a high-precision sniper rifle split the air — bang!

A direct hit to the crown of the skull. A splash of crimson bloomed instantly in the scope, threads of blood mist drifting like smoke.

"Target eliminated."

The primary sniper's voice came over the comms, low, cold, steady.

The rest of the team in the sniper positions reacted fast, taking out the remaining soldiers in quick succession. As he kept squeezing the trigger, the primary sniper gave the order. "Squads One and Two, move into the airport. Visual targets cleared. Sniper team, fall back and follow."

The entire sniper team pulled back from the rooftop and entered the airport from different directions. Gunfire rose and fell in waves; the comms crackled with kill counts.

"Sector C clear."

"Thirty-seven."

"Sector D clear."

"Forty-five."

"Sector A clear."

"Fifty-one."

"Hostage in Sector B!"

Six muzzles swung to the same spot. A little girl, her mouth sealed with tape, was crying silently, her eyes and nose red. The soldier holding her had a pistol pressed to her temple. He knew there was no way out, but he was still screaming at them to drop their weapons.

The primary sniper was the first to lay his rifle on the ground. The others followed, one by one, crouching down. The man on the far right caught a subtle hand signal from the primary sniper when their eyes met. He snapped his muzzle up in a flash and fired a round into the soldier's neck.

Fifty-two. Clear.

In the spreading pool of blood, the girl tumbled from the soldier's grip, making a weird, faint scraping sound.

She lay face-down on the ground. Behind her, attached to her back, was a pulled safety pin.

Everyone reacted with trained precision, scattering backward to find cover. Only the primary sniper moved forward calmly. He grabbed the girl, scooped her into his arms, turned his back, and dropped his center of gravity. The silver White Lion patch on his sleeve flashed across his vision like a shooting star.

"Captain Gu—!"

Boom!

"Wen Ran!"

Wen Ran jolted awake to the sound of the explosion — and the shrill yowling of cats fighting somewhere downstairs. He gasped for air, his heart pounding like an unsettling alarm, rapid and violent.

He hadn't dreamed about that explosion in a long, long time. He thought he'd shaken off the aftershocks.

Weird. There hadn't been any major stress or bad things lately. He shouldn't be dreaming about this. His heart ached faintly; he felt strangely panicked. Wen Ran wiped the sweat from his forehead, got up, switched on the bedside lamp, took a few sips of water from the glass on the nightstand, then picked up his Mobile Phone to check the time. One AM.

There was a message on the screen from Joyce: "Hi, little tree, long time no see. How have you been? My wife and I are planning a trip to S City for a few days. We'd love to see you. Looking forward to your reply."

Wen Ran tapped into the chat window and replied: "Of course! You're welcome!"

He turned off the phone, fell back onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. White. Not like the seawater that autumn night — black, without a single glimmer of light.

He thought of the dream just now. That ragged, breathless cry of 'Wen Ran' in the blast.

Before leaving the Wen Family villa and getting into Chen Shuhui's car, Wen Ran had sat on the edge of the bed and sent a message to the number that had once leaked the bastard child recording to him: "I'm leaving too. Thank you."

He figured the number was probably long since scrapped. He hadn't really expected a reply. He just wanted to thank the other person before everything ended — thank him for helping tear open that crack labeled 'bastard child.'

When they reached the Wharf, before he'd even gotten out of the car, Wen Ran received a reply. Short: "Survive. I'll help you."

Then he turned his head and saw the two speedboats and the three Alpha. He understood how clever the other person was. He'd known earlier, more clearly than Wen Ran himself, that 'Wen Ran' would not be allowed to live.

A vessel embedded in a vast conspiracy since eleven years ago, a witness to or keeper of countless dirty secrets, yet one that had developed a mind of its own — the simplest method was to smash it. Gu Chongze had decided his fate the moment he ordered Chen Shuhui to adopt this Beta.

Fortunately, Wen Ran had always defined himself as 'a complete and utter sacrificial lamb.' So the impending death didn't seem so terrifying. He just stepped onto the speedboat.

But that last one percent of will to live was finally awakened by a phone call. Rescue boats and helicopters, powerful as they were, couldn't cross the vast distance to reach him and return safely before the crimson countdown hit zero.

Seemed like certain death. Since he was going to die anyway, why not give it a shot — Wen Ran had never gambled in his life. His first bet was this huge. His fate had always been controlled by others: his identity, his secondary gender, his death. Why couldn't he decide for himself, just once?

So within ten seconds of hanging up, he stuffed his Mobile Phone into a waterproof bag, pulled on the uninflated compressed life vest, yanked open the small emergency door on the left side of the cockpit, and leapt into the sea without hesitation. He kicked his legs, sinking as deep as he could, trying to escape the blast shockwave.

In less than twenty seconds, Wen Ran looked up and saw a blurred burst of flame erupt on the surface. Right after came a massive underwater force, like an enormous fist. Wen Ran felt like a tiny shrimp, instantly thrown dozens of meters away. He couldn't feel any pain, forgot to breathe, and passed out immediately in the seawater darker than night.

He came to ten hours later. Dawn was just breaking. Wen Ran stared dazedly at the sky, slowly coming back to himself. The valve on his life vest had somehow opened; the self-inflating foam inside had puffed up, buoying him face-up on the sea.

Seemed he'd survived.

But he had no strength at all. Wen Ran lay motionless on his back, drifting with the waves like a fallen leaf.

Eventually he washed up on a private island. The owners were Joyce and his wife. They'd been about to take their yacht out for some pre-sunrise fishing, only to fish up an injured omega who'd drifted in from afar, right at their doorstep.

Joyce spotted Wen Ran first and screamed in alarm. His wife, Zhu Nu, calmly waded into the water, carefully dragged him ashore, removed his life vest and jacket, felt his chest, and told him, "Your ribs are broken."

Wen Ran spat out a mouthful of salty seawater. His lips were bloodless and white. He answered in a faint whisper, "It's fine. Doesn't hurt much."

The couple immediately took their yacht and delivered Wen Ran to a small Hospital in the nearest Little Town. While he was being examined, Zhu Nu asked if he wanted to contact his family. Wen Ran was barely conscious. He thought for a long time before saying, "I don't have a family."

Then he struggled to recite a string of numbers. "If it's possible," he pleaded, "please contact him for me."

After getting the words out with difficulty, Wen Ran couldn't hold on any longer. He sank into a deep, heavy coma.

It felt like a long, chaotic, painful dream. Finally catching a thread of light, Wen Ran opened his eyes to a white wall.

"You're awake."

He hadn't heard that voice in a long time. Wen Ran's eyes shifted slowly toward Fang Yisen. The nasal cannula was uncomfortable, but he managed a small smile.

"Two broken ribs, lung damage, lots of other wounds." Fang Yisen gave him the rundown. "You were out for seven days total."

"Thank you." Wen Ran's voice was a thread of air.

Fang Yisen asked, "Should I tell him?"

Wen Ran turned his head slightly toward the window. White curtains half-drawn. Must be afternoon. The sunlight was good, filtering in quietly. It was a somewhat shabby Hospital room, but everything seemed brand new.

They were in the Capital City now, with new lives and new goals. Things Wen Ran had once envied. Maybe, he thought, he could have them too.

He'd gambled and won, cheated death. This new life was something he'd fought for himself. No longer a chess piece, a bargaining chip, a tool. No longer anyone's shackle or burden, weighed down with guilt. He'd done everything he could.

Wen Ran let out a breath and shook his head gently. "Not yet."

Ding — his Mobile Phone chimed again, cutting off his thoughts.

Wen Ran picked it up. A message from a classmate: "Asleep? Haha, it's past one, you're definitely asleep. I got it all figured out. Since it's just for learning purposes, we just review some standard enrollment materials, then write up an application ourselves and send it over. If you're sure you want to sign up, let me know."

He stared at the chat window for a few seconds, then replied: "I'm signing up."

Beep, beep... The monitor's numbers kept changing. After several theater commanders left the room, a nurse came over with a phone, leaned down by the bed, and said, "Major Gu, there's a call from your family. Will you take it?"

His breathing under the oxygen mask sounded slow and heavy. Gu Yunchi half-opened his eyes and gave a slight nod.

"Yunchi." It had been nearly half a month before Gu Peiwen finally got word that Gu Yunchi had woken up. His throat was hoarse. "How are you? Feeling any better?"

"It's been arranged." Gu Yunchi said slowly. "Euthanasia tomorrow."

The nurse's wrist twitched. She suppressed the urge to explain to Gu Peiwen, holding her breath as she watched Gu Yunchi's calm face.

Silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Gu Peiwen made a sound. "Don't scare your grandpa like that, Yunchi..."

Gu Yunchi closed his eyes. "Injuries happen. I'm fine. You take care of yourself too."

"Alright. Rest well. I'll call again when you're a bit better."

"Mm."

"Oho, Major Gu's getting euthanized? For real?"

The nurse stood up with the phone and nodded. "Major Cheng."

"Yeah." Cheng Duó responded, then hobbled closer on crutches. "The commanders were just happy you woke up, and now you want to break their hearts again? Old Man Pei's hair went white from worry this time. Show some consideration for your elders."

Gu Yunchi lifted an eyelid to look at him. "Didn't you get amputated?"

"Sorry to disappoint. Both legs intact, just fractures. I'll be ditching the crutches soon." Cheng Duó sat down in a chair and leaned his crutches aside. "Actually, I'm starting to think White Lion's feng shui is cursed. Last month our 5th Squad had an incident, now it's your 7th Squad's turn. Though, mainly it's you, the captain, who got hit hardest. The others are pretty much fine, the little girl's okay too. Relax and recover."

"The feng shui is cursed." Gu Yunchi said. "Suggest you apply for a transfer."

"How'd you know?" Cheng Duó waved a stack of papers in his hand. "Can you believe it? Me, Cheng Duó, captain of White Lion 5th Squad, is being sent down to the R City Air Force Base to chaperone a bunch of elementary school kids on a spring outing."

"Then you can add 'childcare' to your Military Headquarters service record."

"You're barely breathing, but your mouth's still this sharp?" Cheng Duó leaned back in the chair, flipping through the documents. "I'm not fully recovered yet. Command's sending me to the Air Force Base to recuperate for a while. They've got a joint study program with a few aeronautical engineering universities — a bunch of juniors are coming. The Air Force has been short on engineering tech talent lately. I guess Military Headquarters wants to use this chance to scout some from non-military academies."

This guy talked too much. Gu Yunchi frowned, annoyed by the noise. "Not interested in your Air Force business."

"That's harsh. Stirring up inter-service rivalry, are we? Next time I see your buddy Lu Heyang, I'm definitely giving him an earful about you."

He said that, but Cheng Duó finally shut up and quietly read the papers. The room was silent except for the hum of machines and the rustle of pages. Gu Yunchi stared at the ceiling, quickly finding a tiny black speck in the expanse of white and locking onto it.

A sniper's habit. Even during rest, you had to find a focal point in your field of vision to lock onto, not let your gaze drift unfocused.

Suddenly, Cheng Duó's eyes lit up. "Hey, this student looks good. Won a few decent awards."

"Aircraft Manufacturing Engineering major, Li Shu." He eagerly flipped open the application form, took one look, and his face scrunched up. "My god, do all engineering majors write like this? Looks like a pile of straw. Look at this, look. Who can read this?"

Gu Yunchi dropped his gaze from the ceiling. If his hands weren't immobilized, he'd have pressed the call button to have this guy thrown out.

"Look, I've never seen handwriting this ugly. They say the writing reflects the person — what must this kid look like?"

The ward's light was warm and yellow. Under Cheng Duó's urging, Gu Yunchi cast an impatient glance at the paper.

"It's hideous, right? But I get the feeling he's a genius. You know how geniuses are, they're all a bit different..."

Cheng Duó chattered on for a while before suddenly realizing Gu Yunchi seemed off.

He looked at Gu Yunchi, puzzled. The other man was staring fixedly at the page of chicken-scratch application in his hand. And the monitor began beeping a heart rate anomaly alarm.