TYMIMA Chapter 53

After all, the meal delivery job was easier than working in District One. When Zhan Pingchuan returned to the dormitory after a day of slacking off, he found Lance leaning against the bed reading a book.

 

Zhan Pingchuan walked to Lance’s side, crouched down, pushed the spine of the book with his finger, and quickly scanned the title—”Virtue is found in the mean.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan frowned: “…What is this?”

 

This awful title didn’t even inspire the desire to open the book. He still preferred immortal classics like “The Red-Haired Knight Who Kills in All Directions and His Dog.”

 

Lance placed a bookmark in the current page and looked up at Zhan Pingchuan, his eyes containing a hint of amusement: “This is a must-read book for college students recommended by Hong Suo Research Institute.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan: “Oh.”

 

The kind of book where even if the author got on his knees and begged, even paid him two thousand yuan, he wouldn’t glance at it.

 

Lance stroked the pages, explaining leisurely: “This book basically says that a person’s greatest virtue is ordinariness, the highest cultivation is mediocrity. Walking a path without edges or sharpness, not being confined by complex thoughts, becoming a cog that turns according to routine—this allows one to be indifferent to fame and fortune and enjoy a happy life.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan furrowed his brows, his expression complex, struggling to compliment: “Quite philosophical.”

 

The kind of mental junk food where he’d fall asleep after one page, too annoying to even use as a cover for instant noodles.

 

But if a top student could read it, there must be a reason.

 

The soft yellow bedside lamp reflected in Lance’s eyes, adding a serene warm glow to his amber pupils.

 

Lance continued: “After reading some examples from the book—the schizophrenia of overthinking, the early death from excessive criticism, the irredeemable fate of deep obsessions, the family breakdown of unorthodox behavior—this kind of peaceful life that avoids conflict with the world doesn’t seem entirely without merit.”

 

At least that’s what the Federation government hopes everyone thinks.

 

Zhan Pingchuan could only see Lance’s rosy lips opening and closing; as for the melodramatic examples in the book, they went in one ear and out the other.

 

“There’s definitely something to it.” After perfunctorily commenting, Zhan Pingchuan casually took the book from Lance’s hands, randomly placed it on the bedside table, then leaned down and pressed his lips against Lance’s.

 

After working all day, he could finally enjoy something good. Who wanted to hear about this spiritual stuff?

 

Lance, his lips being kissed for a while, looked serious and confused: “Classmate Zhan, shouldn’t we be wandering in the philosophical thoughts of non-contention with the world?”

 

Zhan Pingchuan gently bit the small, cute lip, swallowing Lance’s final syllable while murmuring: “We are wandering, but thought transmission through air is too slow. Lip and tongue contact better helps me embrace philosophy.”

 

Lance tilted his head to meet Zhan Pingchuan’s increasingly deep kiss, his arms involuntarily encircling his neck.

 

After a thorough exchange, Lance asked with moist eyes: “Now that thought transmission is faster, have you embraced philosophy?”

 

Zhan Pingchuan pressed Lance into his arms, his fingertips caressing Lance’s warm, soft lips, pushing his luck: “Little classmate Lance is so knowledgeable, let me taste a bit more.”

 

This tasting became passionate and lingering, difficult to restrain.

 

Lance panted lightly, raising an eyebrow to ask: “Have you tasted enough?”

 

Zhan Pingchuan smiled meaningfully: “It’s truly enlightening.”

 

Lance knew Zhan Pingchuan hadn’t listened to a word, his mind filled only with thoughts of making him moan with kisses. He curved his eyes: “I didn’t expect classmate Zhan to be such a lover of learning.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan was quite frank: “One takes on the color of one’s company. In the future, don’t forget to call me for such learning opportunities.”

 

Lance tucked himself into the blanket, licking his lower lip: “Then we’ll communicate more in the future. I’m a bit tired today.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan tucked even Lance’s fingertips under the blanket: “Sleep then, I’m tired today too.” But he still needed to find an opportunity to explore the ventilation ducts at night.

 

Lance gave a subtle reminder: “I might sleep straight through until tomorrow morning.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan immediately responded: “I’m so tired that even if you called me in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t wake up.”

 

Lance was reassured.

 

Zhan Pingchuan was also reassured.

 

They each returned to their rooms and soon turned off the lights.

 

At two fifty in the morning, Zhan Pingchuan turned off his vibrating alarm, threw back the covers, and sprang up.

 

First, he lifted the curtain and glanced at the winding path outside, confirming there were no pedestrians before carefully pushing open the window and silently jumping out.

 

The surveillance layout he had memorized over these days proved very useful. Taking advantage of the quiet night, he carefully avoided the cameras, zigzagging until he finally reached the back wall of the Blue Pivot building.

 

Zhan Pingchuan suppressed his rapidly rising adrenaline, found the area near the bathroom from earlier that day, and located the air inlet corresponding to the ventilation outlet.

 

Zhan Pingchuan gripped the iron grate with both hands, flexed his forearms, and with a strong pull, suddenly tore off the rusty grate.

 

“Whew, how long has it been since this thing was checked?” Zhan Pingchuan muttered to himself.

 

From the other end of the communication, the calm, deep voice of the Ghost Eye Guild supervisor came through: “Young master, based on the internal details you provided, we’ve discovered that the Blue Pivot building’s design was inspired by a building in Borshino from two hundred years ago. That building was converted from an underground fortress, with the above-ground portion later becoming a cultural exhibition hall and the underground section a wartime shelter, now long abandoned.”

 

“In three days at the latest, our people will send you a scanned model of the original building’s underground layout. You’ll need to assess the differences between the Blue Pivot building and the original structure yourself to plan your infiltration route.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan crouched down, patting the rust off his hands: “Damn, so I should pray that the architect copied 100% of it?”

 

If the Blue Pivot building’s underground structure was identical to the original building, getting the original blueprints would be equivalent to having the Blue Pivot building’s construction plans.

 

With blueprints, he wouldn’t be running around like a headless fly.

 

Supervisor: “Mm, whatever else you need, the guild will try to provide.”

 

Zhan Pingchuan took a deep breath, bent down to enter the air inlet, and joked: “What I need most right now is heavy-duty laundry detergent. Otherwise, after crawling through a few more ventilation ducts, even an idiot will notice I’ve been somewhere I shouldn’t.”

 

The supervisor pondered, then seriously asked: “…Can’t you just say you’re a very dirty person?”

 

Zhan Pingchuan deadpanned: “…No.”

 

At two fifty-five in the morning, Lance sat up with clear eyes. He took his glasses from the bedside table and put them on.

 

Duma’s obedient, proper voice came through his earpiece right on time: “Lance, I stayed up waiting for you.”

 

“Very good.” Lance praised him as he buttoned up his outer garment with one hand and tucked the pen He Jing’en had given him into his chest pocket.

 

Mad Clown’s sarcastic comment also came through: “This little machine head didn’t dare drink his bedtime milk while waiting for you.”

 

“Once the mission is complete, I’ll buy more Lego for Duma, and Mad Clown will play with him,” Lance promised.

 

“Thank you, Lance,” Duma said politely.

 

Mad Clown gritted his teeth: “Why me! I propose giving children’s joys back to children—let Lily play with him.”

 

Lance: “Unfortunately, Lily is more mature than you.”

 

Mad Clown: “……”

 

Lance finished preparing and stopped joking with Mad Clown, his tone turning serious: “Duma.”

 

Duma: “Yes!”

 

Duma sat hugging his knees in front of the computer, closed his eyes, and his consciousness entered the network, swiftly reaching Blue Pivot’s central control center.

 

The on-duty inspection team member was dozing off in his chair. Recently, due to the threat from the Black Lantern Society, the tense atmosphere in the restricted area had been increasing daily. All districts had begun to strengthen security, and their Seventh District was no exception.

 

But the leadership was terrible, and the scheduling was completely unreasonable. He had already been assigned three night shifts in one week, and the high-intensity work left him physically and mentally exhausted, making his work increasingly perfunctory.

 

So he didn’t notice that all the display screens in the central control center had been replaced with looped recordings.

 

In the darkness, Lance accidentally knocked “Virtue is found in the mean” off the bedside table.

 

He tilted his head down to stare at it for a moment, then mercilessly kicked the book under the bed, his face showing disdain: “What rubbish.”

 

Lance opened the door and left the dormitory.

 

With Duma tampering with the surveillance in the background, he smoothly slipped into the side emergency stairwell of the Blue Pivot building.

 

Although most inspection team members had gone off duty by three in the morning, there might still be staff on duty in various districts. He no longer had to worry about surveillance cameras, but he absolutely couldn’t run into anyone.

 

He couldn’t easily use the elevator either; if someone took the elevator, he could easily be trapped inside.

 

The emergency stairwell was good—with the Blue Pivot building being so tall, people generally wouldn’t use it.

 

Lance pushed open the heavy iron door of the emergency stairwell, about to step in, when he suddenly heard a faint sound from the dimly lit corridor.

 

Lance’s nerves instantly tensed, his footsteps abruptly halting—

 

Someone was below!

 

At the same time, Zhan Pingchuan held his breath in the ventilation duct, keenly looking up.

 

Even through the thick concrete floor, he heard the sound of a door opening. Someone had come directly above him, then stopped.

 

Had he been discovered?

 

Could it be an inspection team member on duty?

 

He had chosen a secluded enough place to infiltrate. At this hour, whoever came here certainly wasn’t a diligent, modest cleaning lady.

 

Zhan Pingchuan remained motionless, silently waiting for the reaction from above, thinking, he’d better take me for a rat running through the sewer.

 

Lance narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the gray-white concrete floor.

 

Was it someone from the first basement level? No, the sound seemed very close, as if right against the floor.

 

Who could it be? At this hour, it couldn’t be outsourced workers checking the ducts.

 

Lance thought, he’d better think I’m just a slacking smoker on duty.

 

Mad Clown urged through the earpiece: “Young master, hurry up, delay breeds change!”

 

Lance’s eyelids finally trembled, and he withdrew his killing intent.

 

Whoever was below, they certainly weren’t up to legitimate business and probably wouldn’t have the courage to report anything to Blue Pivot.

 

Lance closed the iron door behind him, took one last look at the concrete floor, then shifted his gaze and quickly went upstairs.

 

Zhan Pingchuan heard the footsteps growing fainter and remained vigilantly in place for a while before confirming the crisis had passed.

 

He breathed a slight sigh of relief, guessing the other person had probably taken him for a rat.

 

Lance moved nimbly, taking two or three steps at a time. He reached the seventh floor at an extremely fast pace, his breathing not the least bit disturbed.

 

The corridor was silent, lit only by harsh emergency lights. The large office across the atrium was completely empty, though several computer screens hadn’t been turned off.

 

Lance walked straight toward Oliver’s confinement room.

 

At night, the confinement room always became cold and pitch black, with only the stars outside the ventilation opening and the sparse emergency lights.

 

Eighteen years of imprisonment had almost made Oliver forget that he too had once been afraid of the dark and ghosts, too scared to sleep alone.

 

So when he heard the gradually approaching footsteps in the corridor, he belatedly realized that he would actually gain some sense of security from this.

 

Oliver pressed his cheek more tightly against the cold wall, his emerald eyes staring unblinkingly outside.

 

A figure stopped outside the barrier and slowly crouched down.

 

It was a young and exquisite face, every stroke seemingly carefully outlined by the Creator. He just stood there quietly, and the shadows seemed to carefully avoid his contours, making those shrewd, cunning eyes shine brilliantly in the darkness.

 

Oliver recognized him—this was one of the new students who had caught the hint he gave in the virtual realm.

 

Very clever, and very young.

 

“Thank… you.” Perhaps because his throat was dry, Oliver’s voice suddenly became very hoarse.

 

“What?” Lance asked.

 

Oliver urgently covered his emaciated neck, coughing heavily, trying to make his expression clearer: “…Birthday, remembered.”

 

He hadn’t spoken for so long that in his urgency, even his word order was somewhat confused.

 

But Lance still understood.

 

“It wasn’t me who remembered, it was Lauen who remembered. That red bean cake was also something he asked me to give you.”

 

Oliver moved his lips, his gaze somewhat melancholy: “Mr. Lauen…”

 

His birthday coincided with Sui Sui’s death anniversary. He hadn’t celebrated his birthday for many years, much less received birthday wishes.

 

So when Lance suddenly said those words to him today, he was stunned for a long time before remembering what it felt like to be wished a happy birthday.

 

He should be grateful.

 

Whether it was the Black Lantern Society or Mr. Lauen, they had all allowed him to feel a moment of dignity before his death.

 

At least in their eyes, he wasn’t a lowly plaything, but an individual with independent personality.

 

Oliver smiled gently. He deliberately raised his weak fingers and, in front of Lance, straightened every button on his prison uniform and smoothed the wrinkles on his sleeves and collar.

 

Even in rags, even trapped in prison, he could finally leave with dignity.

 

His expression was serene, his gaze almost devout as he looked at Lance: “Please… kill me.”

 

In this moment, Lance even felt that telling Oliver he would take him away would be cruel.

 

He was too eager to leave; there seemed to be nothing left in this world that could keep him.

 

In his earpiece, Mad Clown chattered: “No, no, you can’t die!”

 

Duma asked seriously: “Can you play Lego with me before you die?”

 

Lance turned off the sound from his earpiece and chuckled softly: “I thought you would ask me about Uriel.”

 

But Oliver said very calmly: “He’s dead, isn’t he.”

 

When he was in unbearable pain, unable to endure the torture, he had resented his brother, resented why he didn’t return with the truth, why he didn’t come to save him.

 

But when he calmed down, he knew clearly that his brother wouldn’t abandon him.

 

His brother wouldn’t allow him to be trampled and tortured by Si Hongche for fourteen years.

 

Then there was only one possibility—his brother was already dead, and they would never see each other again in this life.

 

Lance remained silent.

 

Even though he had already guessed, realizing the answer in Lance’s silence, Oliver’s gaze still dimmed.

 

Many things had been decided eighteen years ago, and his lingering survival all these years was nothing but self-deception with vain fantasies.

 

Lance pressed: “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

 

Oliver shook his head. He looked gently at the stubborn, tenacious, and vengeful youth before him, as if seeing through time’s confinement to his former self.

 

His tone was full of apology, yet without regret: “It has… no meaning for me anymore.”

 

His brother was dead, and he was about to die too. Eighteen years had passed, and pain and despair were deeply branded in his flesh and blood, too deeply rooted to change. Even if he knew the truth, who would care, and to whom would he tell it?

 

He was a person forgotten by the times; he had no connection to this world anymore.

 

Lance’s gaze was piercing as he countered: “Why is it meaningless? You think no one will care about the truth anymore, you think Uriel is dead and you can no longer comfort anyone, you think justice delayed eighteen years is already too late, you think even if the truth comes to light, you alone cannot shake unfathomable powers.”

 

He knew his words were too harsh. He knew that a disgraced, humble, imperfect victim, no matter how hysterically they screamed or laid bare their agony, would only receive criticism and pointing fingers.

 

Just like Oliver, just like Deng Zhi’s mother.

 

Lance’s words were sharp, but Oliver still smiled faintly, his gaze calm and tolerant.

 

“After I… die, I’ll see… brother.”

 

“But Uriel’s soul has also been completely torn apart,” Lance said with pity.

 

Oliver was momentarily stunned, then his gaze trembled violently. He fell into a confused bewilderment.

 

He had always known this was a huge conspiracy, but… how should he persist until the truth came to light?

 

He was too tired, too hurt. He wanted to sleep forever, to hide, to be free.

 

He was no longer the spirited person he once was. Even his self-respect had to be picked up piece by piece and carefully assembled in front of others—his expression, his clothing, his words—pretending they had never been broken.

 

The only meaning of his existence now was to become nutrients for plants, to completely dedicate himself. At least they would embrace and accept him.

 

When a high-level ability user died, another high-level ability user would be born. The cycle of life continued endlessly; he didn’t regret it.

 

Lance sighed and took out the old-fashioned fountain pen from his chest. Under the emergency lighting, the pen’s shell emitted a deep blue luster.

 

He looked at the pen, his fingertips gently caressing it.

 

“Even if no one cares about the truth, someone cares about you. You desperately want to die, but someone humbly longs for you to live. Whether it’s Lauen who wanted to bring you luck with red bean cake, or…”

 

Lance paused, carefully observing Oliver’s emotional changes.

 

To successfully take this person away, he had to ignite his will to live. Lance didn’t have much time and could only take relatively radical measures, but he still carefully controlled the degree to prevent backfiring and extinguishing Oliver’s last spark of life.

 

Fortunately, Oliver’s eyes showed confusion.

 

“There’s a cunning old man who, knowing the Black Lantern Society opposes Blue Pivot, voluntarily helped us dispose of Boras’s body. To make me feel compassion for you, he risked stealing historical materials from Star University’s archives. Knowing you were under Si Hongche’s restriction and couldn’t escape, he drew a vial of his own purifying blood for me. Oh, his office is full of plants, and in the center is a small olive tree. He has a treasured file folder containing notes from his most beloved student from over ten years ago.”

 

Lance smiled slightly at Oliver: “I was always curious why he gave me a fountain pen instead of directly giving me a blood collection tube, until—”

 

Lance’s fingers slowly turned, pointing the silver-white pen clip on the cap toward Oliver.

 

On that feather-shaped clip, elegant handwriting was engraved—

 

Happy birthday Oliver.

 

That was the birthday gift He Jing’en hadn’t been able to give eighteen years ago.

 

Tears slid down Oliver’s emaciated cheeks, wetting his smoothed collar and straightened buttons. Like a fledgling seeking light, he stumbled forward on his knees, his fingers gripping the dense barrier with force.

 

He looked at that pen, at those words, his throat producing broken, agonized wails.

 

“Teacher… Teacher!”

 

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 (advanced chapters available on kofi)