Chapter 99#
Distant Star Reflection 07#
The snowman—a strange natural phenomenon, at least according to the knowledge library’s introduction. It had no physical form, no fixed shape, appeared without pattern, without cause. A low-probability event. Yet once appearing, anything the white shadow overlapped with necessarily vanished without trace.
Yu Feichen pondered for a while. So far, everything else in this world seemed reasonable. The snowman differed. Many worlds circulated eerie ghost stories—phantoms, shipwreck routes—half-truth, half-fiction. Yet the “snowman” had actually appeared before his eyes, nearly destroying the entire ship.
“When I encounter accidents, I don’t assume they’re coincidences,” Yu Feichen said. “First, I rule out whether someone caused harm.”
Tan Per said: “You seem habituated to suspecting others.”
Yu Feichen put away the terminal, meeting Tan Per’s gaze, saying: “If you believed everyone kind, you probably couldn’t become supreme deity either.”
“That was very long ago,” Tan Per’s gaze was mildly warm. “Now I fear no accident.”
Indeed, Yu Feichen nodded. He realized he enjoyed the deity’s haughty, dignified demeanor. Including in the interrogation room—the image of Tan Per coldly mocking the warden while strapped to the electric chair was quite nice.
He rose: “Do you want something to eat? Or to sleep a while?”
Tan Per was counting his inhibitor vials, attitude so natural as if inventorying possessions. Yu Feichen reached over, taking the low-temperature case: “I still need it.”
“What do you need it for,” Tan Per laughed slightly. The smile was genuinely gentle, yet Yu Feichen detected something subtle—faint mockery.
Yet Tan Per’s next words said: “You’re still a minor, duke.”
Yu Feichen: “…”
Recalling everything preceding, the secretary had indeed mentioned he hadn’t held his coming-of-age ceremony. He felt satisfied with this alpha body’s full development, overlooking that this place’s formal adulthood was age twenty.
Yu Feichen: “Soon.” He placed the low-temperature case on his own bedside, terminating the topic.
After a while, Tan Per said he wanted something to eat. Indeed, the previous triggered episode lasted long enough to exhaust even Yu Feichen. But the room held nothing. They’d need to visit other compartments.
Yu Feichen regarded this omega, feeling that despite temporary recovery, the most suitable arrangement was to keep him locked away like a songbird in a cage. He said: “I’ll get it. You stay here.”
Yet when he pulled the door open, Tan Per seemed to have activated automatic-follow mode.
Following worked.
With a click, a silver handcuff clasped Tan Per’s right wrist.
Tan Per furrowed his brow: “Do you habitually carry such things?”
Yu Feichen naturally had no such inclination. “Took it from the interrogation room,” he said. “Hoping you’d develop some prisoner’s self-awareness, bishop.”
Tan Per’s brow slightly relaxed, accepting the handcuff on his right wrist. Yet Yu Feichen knew the person looked at him again, as if forming new understanding.
A strange feeling, he thought. By count, their acquaintance wasn’t brief, but truly beginning mutual understanding came only these days—after honestly exchanging identities.
Before this the deity observed him too, but that seemed only fleeting notice, clearly then he’d already decided he wouldn’t linger beside Yu Feichen.
He gripped the handcuff’s other end, leading Tan Per toward the ship’s dining room. The driver stood at the door.
“Good afternoon, Duke. Good afternoon, Bishop,” the driver greeted naturally.
The secretary didn’t appear, presumably slacking somewhere. Other people encountered them en route, whispering, yet none showed surprise at Duke Landon and Bishop Tan Per appearing together.
Yu Feichen placed a milk cup on the table: “Tan Per and Landon know each other well?”
Tan Per said: “Noble heirs reside in the capital when minors, nominally raised by the pope.”
“In fact?”
“In fact, Landon was raised by Tan Per more often.”
“Then he didn’t teach very well.”
“He was busy with rebellion, inevitably neglecting. He only managed to spare time for companionship.”
Yu Feichen suddenly seemed to recall something, regarding Tan Per thoughtfully.
Tan Per, watching his dark eyes, said: “But his memory feels extraordinarily distant to me now.”
Yu Feichen pushed the milk cup toward Tan Per. Tan Per accepted, sipping, then saying: “Yet my relationship with you perhaps resembles theirs.”
Yu Feichen suddenly recalled those younger days aboard the mothership, smiling slightly: “You certainly never taught me anything.”
Tan Per’s eyelashes slightly curved, not responding.
Yu Feichen rose, retrieving a cup of juice. Returning, the handcuff’s end lay quietly on the table unmoved, seemingly waiting for him to claim it. He recalled the earlier conversation, suddenly realizing he could now calmly remember past events.
Tan Per observed him correctly, but these days, he’d also gradually seen a more complete superior officer.
The following life was monotonous. General Ashley constantly hesitated whether to lock Tan Per away again. Father Hope came each morning asking if current navigation was proceeding normally. Yu Feichen housed Tan Per in his own room.
Even a supreme deity’s willpower couldn’t completely resist physiology’s instinctive compulsions. Tan Per required one inhibitor vial each night to sleep, yet once asleep, he’d lean against Yu Feichen’s side.
Yu Feichen told himself this was because Tan Per instinctively sensed the minor alpha posed lower danger, not for other reasons.
And his allowing Tan Per to rest his head on his chest was also because eternal sleep flower’s scent improved sleep.
Yet as the perceptible eternal sleep flower fragrance grew increasingly obvious, he gradually sensed unnamed trouble approaching. He also knew himself—preferring order over chaos, naturally inclined to avoid trouble.
On a deep night watching Tan Per’s sleeping face, feeling troubled, Father Hope sent word through the secretary: they’d found a transition coordinate point. Unknown destination, but there would certainly be an imperial spaceport nearby. They’d undergo maintenance there, then replan the route to the mining star.
The secretary said this while Yu Feichen had to cover Tan Per’s ears, pressing him to his chest. Tan Per now had only three days before his final deadline. Any disturbance could trigger complete stress response.
The secretary cautiously regarded them both, saying: “Duke, though destined without an omega, don’t make moves on another alpha. You were always afraid of the bishop before. Aren’t you now afraid of being—”
He made a “snap” gesture.
Yu Feichen: “You can go.”
At least Bai Song wouldn’t speak such nonsense. Though Yu Feichen always felt that child had vanished, probably deployed to the mining star, currently laboriously mining.
The secretary obediently left. Yu Feichen called him back, asking: “When is my birthday?”
The secretary provided a date. Yu Feichen fell silent.
In that silence, the ship completed transition. Beyond the viewport, vast starfield spread. When transition began, Yu Feichen noticed surrounding stars dimmed momentarily. Now exiting the transition subspace, he saw that same dimming scene again.
“Say it again,” Yu Feichen quietly spoke into Hope’s communication, “where are we?”
“Violet Aviation Port, just near the capital Moho. That one opposite the Iris Spaceport. I’ve already sent docking signal to the harbor,” Hope said.
Circling around, they’d inconveniently returned to the capital star.
Next: venture into the capital to wade through chaos, or continue toward the mining star completing the mission, awaiting the coming-of-age ceremony? After adulthood, he’d gain sovereignty over the entire Landon star system—territory and armies. He’d already planned introducing Tan Per’s universal language into his domain first, then spending time consolidating armies, finally considering directly eliminating the cathedral.
As Yu Feichen pondered, General Ashley’s communication came through.
“I received word from Moho, sent by your uncle,” the general’s tone was grave. “You must immediately return to Moho and see His Holiness the Pope!”
Yu Feichen: “What happened?”
“The capital’s in trouble,” the general spoke urgently. “His Imperial Majesty unexpectedly encountered a snowman. He’s evaporated.”
Yu Feichen: “…?”
“So, do you understand? I don’t care if you’re dead in your room doing whatever with Tan Per. Now, dress yourself and come out. Immediately.”
Yu Feichen glanced at Tan Per, asleep in his arms, sleeping deeply for once.
“His Majesty evaporated, but…” he hesitated slightly. “What does this have to do with me?”
This was still early morning before dawn. Funerals wouldn’t occur at this hour.
A table-slapping sound came through.
“You—you—” General Ashley breathed several times, saying: “He has no children, only two deceased sisters. I assume you haven’t forgotten your mother’s name.”
The general’s tone saturated with despair for the empire’s future: “…You are first in the succession.”
Yu Feichen: “.”