Cooperation

Chen Guan looked at this seemingly gentle girl, but in truth, he knew full well that Su Yuehe’s earlier words were just an excuse.

“You bypassed the Association to get the interrogation authority.”

“Yes.”

Su Yuehe answered crisply.

“My mother, as the Speaker, was able to approve these procedures—in fact, she already has. But if the man were in the hands of the Super Ability Association, even if I got the authorization, I couldn’t avoid one person.”

“An Changqing?”

No answer, but they both already knew.

Chen Guan crossed his arms.

He reevaluated the girl sitting across from him.

Gentleness and kindness had once been the labels stamped on her.

But now this girl-next-door was calmly and clearly planning to crack open the mind of a cultist.

She had paved the road all the way to the Parliament's underground prison, all in such a short time. Her meticulous thinking was astonishing.

“You told me all this. Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn around and sell you out to An Changqing?”

Chen Guan asked a very practical question. The whole reason Su Yuehe was going through all this trouble was to keep An Changqing from seeing her other side. Otherwise, why bother?

“You won’t.”

Su Yuehe’s answer was unequivocal, without any hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because you want to know the truth too.”

Chen Guan fell silent. Su Yuehe was right. He did want to know.

She observed his micro-expressions.

That faint, almost imperceptible curve of her lips appeared again.

She had gambled correctly. She hadn’t misjudged him.

“In the underground of the temple, when those black gases came near you, they stopped.”

Her voice was so soft only the two of them could hear it.

“Long Ao saw it, Changqing saw it, and I saw it too.”

“Changqing didn’t ask you publicly because he trusts you, but that doesn’t mean he has no doubts—whether it was in the Northern Border, or now, it’s the same.”

Chen Guan’s mind was racing. He wasn’t unaware of all this. It’s just that An Changqing never asked, and he never brought it up. The two of them had a tacit understanding.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you are connected to the Lord of Nothingness. I think you know better than I do that there is some kind of connection between you and that being.”

Su Yuehe laid her cards directly on the table.

“What that connection is, I don’t know. But the intel I dug out of Yue Teng’s mouth can help you find the answer.”

“I just need you to do it with me.”

“Interrogating Yue Teng, organizing the civilization archives, analyzing the Lord of Nothingness—the workload is too heavy. An Changqing’s character is too upright; he can’t accept bypassing procedures to use unofficial means. Long Ao is even worse; he’d probably beat Yue Teng into a pulp before he could utter a word.”

Obviously, these were all things Su Yuehe had considered.

Of course, the most important factor was Chen Guan’s mysterious background. No one else had the motive, but Chen Guan? He had more than enough.

“So you chose me?”

“You’re the most suitable.”

Su Yuehe didn’t mince words.

“You’re calm enough. You can keep secrets. And you have the most direct motive.”

Chen Guan looked down at the unproductive literature on the table. He had no reason to refuse. What he wanted to know wasn’t just the secret of the Lord of Nothingness, but also Su Yuehe’s own issues.

In the protagonist group, was Long Ao really the only one who was supposed to head in a completely opposite direction?

“Alright.”

Chen Guan nodded, accepting.

Su Yuehe’s eyes lit up. She quickly gathered her books, hugged them to her chest, and stood up.

“I’ll contact you with the specific arrangements. The interrogation is set for next week, as soon as my mother’s final procedure goes through.”

She took two steps, then stopped and turned back.

“Oh, by the way. What were you looking up in those books earlier? You seemed like you didn’t find the answer you wanted. I can send you some similar ones later.”

Chen Guan glanced at the spines of the books—titles like Abnormal Energy Pathology and Cases of Spiritual Damage—and smiled. “Just browsing.”

Su Yuehe scanned them for a couple of seconds and didn’t press further. Her figure quickly disappeared into the depths of the layered bookshelves.

Chen Guan stayed in his seat without moving. He watched as twilight completely swallowed the last glimmer of light.

…

A week passed quickly.

Classes continued as usual. Meals were eaten as usual. Monsters were hunted as usual. Long Ao still dozed off in class. An Changqing still sat upright. Su Yuehe still appeared frequently in the library. Everything seemed no different from normal.

Thursday afternoon, Chen Guan’s phone screen lit up.

A message. The sender: Su Yuehe.

The content was only six words: Tonight eight, West Gate.

Chen Guan glanced at it, pressed the screen off, and continued reading his book.

Long Ao leaned over to take a look.

“Who sent it?”

“Spam ad.”

“Oh.”

Long Ao didn’t ask further and slumped back onto his desk.

Seven-fifty in the evening. Chen Guan, carrying the black coffin on his back, walked out of the dormitory building and followed the campus path toward the West Gate.

Streetlights stretched his shadow long. The campus was not very crowded; occasionally, a few students returning from evening self-study brushed past him.

Outside the West Gate, a dark gray sedan was parked. The window was half rolled down, and Su Yuehe sat in the driver’s seat, flipping through a file.

Chen Guan opened the door and got in. The black coffin was laid horizontally across the space in the back—the car had been specially extended, obviously a preparation made in advance.

“All procedures completed?”

“The last signature was stamped yesterday.”

Su Yuehe closed the folder and handed it to him. On the cover was the red seal of the Human Parliament, and in the bottom right corner, a serial number.

Chen Guans flipped it open and scanned it. Inside was a special interrogation authorization. The authorizer read “Speaker Su Jin,” the subject was Yue Teng, and the interrogator field was blank.

“The interrogator slot isn’t filled.”

“If I fill it, it leaves a trail.”

Su Yuehe’s tone was matter-of-fact, with an unsettling proficiency.

Chen Guan remembered Long Ao from before. Are you people really the protagonist group?

“My mother knows what I’m doing, but she won’t ask for details. That’s our understanding.”

The car started. Listening to her tone, Chen Guan felt that family dynamics in this household were a bit strange.

Seems like it’s not only Long Ao’s family. Even these golden children have their own headaches.

Chen Guan closed the folder, placed it on his lap, and leaned back against the seat.

“Since your mother is the Speaker, she probably knows more about Yue Teng than we do.”

“She knows more than us. But she won’t tell me.”

Su Yuehe looked out at the flowing night scenery.

“The Speaker’s position means she can’t leak intelligence to anyone privately, not even her own daughter.”

“So you have to dig it out yourself.”

“Yes.”

The car drove out of the city and turned onto a road without streetlights, flanked by stretches of industrial area walls. Occasionally, a truck passed from the opposite direction, headlights glaring enough to sting the eyes.

About twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a gray building.

Its exterior was just a dilapidated logistics warehouse, the white paint peeling off the walls, a rusty lock hanging on the iron gate.