Meta 07: I’m Starting Over

Karin was satisfied with this. The mental power test was conducted by the Federation’s Department of Psychic Research. As soon as Vera finished speaking, she rose, straightened her clothes slightly, and strode out.

But Sutherland smiled faintly and spoke up, “But before that, shouldn’t Admiral Rhine be taken into custody pending trial, according to Federation law, Marshal Vera?”

Vera’s face bore the authority of a man who had seen the world. “Article Nine of Federation Law states that those who have rendered extraordinary military service, in the absence of conclusive evidence, are granted ‘wartime immunity.’ Would you like me to recite the code for you?”

His tone was full of intimidation, his gaze sharp as an eagle’s, his tall figure exuding absolute dominance. For a moment, Sutherland actually felt a flicker of fear. Vera shot him a look, then turned and walked away.

Lin Zhu clicked her tongue twice—indeed, when it came to arguing, momentum was everything. If Vera had shown the slightest weakness, Rhine would have been taken away by now. But it was Sutherland who faltered, letting slip such a golden opportunity to stain Rhine’s spotless record.

Testing Chamber.

Lin Zhu was pushed into a semi-transparent pod that looked a lot like the cremation furnaces back home.

Several bands of ghostly blue light swept from head to toe over and over along the pod’s walls. She folded her hands over her abdomen. In her twenty-five years, she had never felt so at ease—she was sure she wasn’t a bug, after all.

Once the results were out, she would definitely leap in front of Karin and give her a villain’s triumphant “Jie jie jie.”

The livestream followed her in, the chat teasing her pose—“looks like a corpse on a forensic table,” “funeral home worker experiencing being dissected, talk about professional alignment,” “that light looks like a supermarket barcode scanner,” and, in true mischievous spirit, “Beep—no psychic power detected, please destroy on site,” “hahahahahaha.”

Lin Zhu was perfectly content. In three years on the job, she’d always been the one looking at the bodies. This was the first time she was the one lying down, being watched by so many people. After so many years of zen, being the center of attention didn’t feel so bad.

A mechanical voice echoed, “Psychic power test in progress… progress at 10%… 20%…” On the viewing platform, all the representatives fixed their eyes on the pod. Sutherland’s face, after staring for so long, was twisted with malice, and Karin was no better. Vera’s eyes narrowed slightly; Rhine remained as cold and indifferent as ever.

The scanning light inside the pod intensified. Lin Zhu’s eyes snapped open, her mind going blank for an instant.

The mechanical prompt was especially jarring in the silent testing chamber. Sixty percent, eighty percent… Sutherland and the others grew visibly tense, excitement flickering beneath the surface, especially Karin, who was utterly convinced Lin Zhu was a mutated insectoid. The corners of her mouth had already curled into a victorious smile.

The test finished. The instant the mechanical voice sounded, Sutherland stepped forward, craning his neck to stare at the screen not far from them, where the final result would appear. The outcome would determine the future of Vera’s favored admiral. Vera’s lips pressed together ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.

It was over?

Then why hadn’t anyone pulled her out? Lin Zhu shuffled backward out of the pod, grumbling under her breath—service like this, no wonder they’d get complaints and shut down.

She stumbled a bit as she emerged, steadied herself, and looked up to find a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her. “What are you looking at me for? Look at the result! Where do I see the result?”

Karin, gloating, pointed behind her.

Lin Zhu turned and saw a massive zero. She blinked. “What does that mean?”

Karin helpfully explained, “The Federation divides psychic power into seven levels, from S at the top to F at the bottom. Below F is no psychic power at all—a zero.” She crossed her legs elegantly. “The evidence is conclusive. You are a mutated insectoid, a spy sent through Admiral Rhine to infiltrate the Federation!”

Lin Zhu was a little dazed. “Hold on, don’t talk. Let me think.”

She thought it through, but was still confused. “I’m human. How could I test as zero? I’m just a bit zen, not stupid.” Thinking back, “My mind did go blank for a second just now. I must have been affected. I want to take the test again.”

The chat exploded: “Don’t test again, what if you get a negative number?” “What then?” “What then?” “Then…,” the echo going on and on…

Lin Zhu looked at Rhine. That guy was still as steady as an old dog, unmoving as a pine tree. Even Vera’s face showed subtle changes, but not him—not a flicker, not a twitch. Big brother, aren’t you the one being implicated, facing a death sentence for treason because of me???

Sutherland smirked, “Those with military merit may have wartime immunity, but the war is over now. The evidence that she’s an insectoid spy is conclusive. Marshal Vera, is there any need for a trial?”

Vera looked at him, his voice ringing with authority. “Mr. Sutherland, are you trying to place yourself above the law of the Interstellar Federation?”

Sutherland’s face froze.

Vera snorted coldly and turned his gaze away. “Since this woman is without psychic power, then according to the law…” He looked at Rhine. “Rhine, what do you say should be done?”

By law, she should be executed.

Everyone knew it, but Vera needed Rhine to say it himself, to give him a chance to publicly sever ties with that woman and plan for what came next.

Rhine looked at Lin Zhu, his expression unchanged.

This woman had opened the temple doors for him, given him the answer he most craved. The myriad emotions flickering across her face had brought him experiences he’d never known before. Her fearless public defense of him had awakened in him a strange, unfamiliar feeling deep in his chest…

Lin Zhu looked back at him. From what she knew of Rhine—clean, mechanical, without selfishness—and from what the viewers thought—disciplined by the Federation, motivated only by self-interest—she felt the odds of Rhine defending her were vanishingly small. No matter how pure (naïve) he was, he wouldn’t do anything now that would give Sutherland the upper hand, not when it would harm both Vera and himself.

In short, she was doomed.

The viewers agreed with her judgment, but the shippers were busy screenshotting the way Rhine looked at her, analyzing his micro-expressions, even concluding ambiguously, “She’s in his eyes.” Then the chat scrolled on:

[If she dies, he’ll die with her]

[Wow, my ship really is going to the afterlife together]

[Streamer, streamer, remember to stream for us from the other side]

[I want to see King Yama officiate your wedding]

At last, Rhine spoke, his voice cold and mechanical, devoid of emotion. “According to Federation Security Law, Article Seven, Section Three—any individual discovered in a military restricted zone, unable to prove Federation citizenship, and testing as having no psychic power, shall be deemed a ‘high-risk uncertain entity’ and subject to immediate execution.”

The barrage on the screen thickened instantly, a few with a bizarre style—probably newcomers:

[What a poser, what a show-off]

[You’re going to die anyway, streamer, spit in his face, let him keep acting cool]

[Why spit? Just start chanting the Rebirth Sutra, loop it, send him off first, streamer]

But strangely, Lin Zhu felt no heart-pounding shock at all. “Immediate execution”—to her, those words sounded no different from “time to eat” or “time to take a dump.” Maybe it was because ever since she’d arrived in this world, she’d been as prepared as anyone could be for death.

If not for Rhine, she’d have died in a bug’s mouth long ago, never seen the wonders of the stars. On that level, she felt she owed Rhine thanks. So she said, “Thank you, Rhine.”

Rhine’s face turned slightly, as if he didn’t understand those words.

Lin Zhu couldn’t help but mutter—could it be that “thank you,” like “idiot,” didn’t have a corresponding word in this interstellar world? This place was so linguistically barren. Forget it, she was about to die anyway. Next life, she’d teach them a whole string of curses.

She asked, “Where do I go to die?”

Her zen-like attitude, tinged with a touch of reckless absurdity, left Sutherland and Karin both stunned. Even Vera had never seen anyone so proactive about their own execution.

Sutherland pointed at the semi-transparent pod she’d just emerged from. “Get in.”

So the pod was good for more than just testing—it killed people too. Lin Zhu sighed, didn’t bother with pointless resistance, and lifted her leg to climb back in.

But just then…

The chat went wild.

Not the hundreds of thousands of viewers—

But someone had burst out from among them—her beloved roommate, the one who made the best red-braised pork!

Lin Zhu saw the barrage of red messages: “Xiao Linlin, Xiao Linlin, it’s me, it’s me, Duck Egg!” and her mind exploded. It had been less than two days, but it felt like two centuries.

Seeing an old friend again, her nose tingled, eyes shining with tears.

She jumped for joy. “Duck Egg, I see you, I see you!” Duck Egg, who spent every waking hour glued to short videos, had finally seen her.

Lin Zhu wept with joy, bouncing up and down.

Vera, Sutherland, and the rest all wore matching question marks on their faces. Emotional display had long gone out of fashion in the interstellar world, and here was this woman leaping and shouting at empty air.

Vera quietly asked Rhine, “What’s wrong with her?”

Her face was once again transformed by the shifting of her features, yet she remained herself—her mouth was still her mouth, her nose still her nose.

Rhine replied, “Marshal, I haven’t known her long. I don’t know what’s happening.” Yet, inside his body, which had operated for twenty-eight years like a programmed machine, there arose a sudden urge to move closer to another living being.

Don’t know?

What was there not to know? It was obviously a side effect of mutation. Sutherland’s voice turned cold and sharp. “Put her in the pod.”

Two officers grabbed Lin Zhu, one on each side, and shoved her toward the pod.

A powerful survival instinct surged up in Lin Zhu. “Idiots! Idiots with no flexibility!” She actually broke free of the officers’ grip. “If I were you, I’d keep me alive, study me, and use what you learn to wipe out the insectoid once and for all. Not throw away such a perfect weapon just because of some bullshit law about immediate execution.”

Rhine’s eyes flickered ever so slightly.

The insectoid had ravaged the stars for three centuries, leaving countless dead. His parents, Cohen’s parents, and the families of tens of thousands of soldiers had all been slaughtered by the insectoid. His single-minded war against them was driven by a desire to eradicate them completely.

This woman, Rhine was certain she was from Earth, definitely not an insectoid spy.

Because the temple’s restraints had no effect on her.

Because she possessed qualities utterly unlike the cold, mechanical feel of everyone else in the stars—something the insectoid, no matter how they mutated, could never conjure up from thin air.

The two officers seized Lin Zhu again. For someone deemed a high-risk entity with no psychic power, there was no reason to show mercy. They shoved her roughly toward the pod.

The scanning point lit up again, a blinding, pallid light.

Lin Zhu squeezed her eyes shut. As the pod closed, a sound like a washing machine spinning up filled her ears. She gasped desperately, then shouted, “Duck Egg, I’m rebooting! I might not come back as a human next time. Our code word is ‘red-braised pork’—if you meet someone who loves red-braised pork, that’s me, that’s me—”

Duck Egg frantically typed, crying, “red-braised pork…” The two of them were about to be separated by life and death…

Ding—

The whirring stopped abruptly.

Lin Zhu looked around warily, holding her breath. A moment later, she heard Rhine’s deep, unyielding voice: “Let her live. I’ll die in her place.”