Tonight, You’re Mine

That very night, Mo Bai was moved to a single room.

His dormmates, including Little Blue, assumed it was a reward for capturing the mutated insectoid that day. Only Mo Bai suspected it might have something to do with Wen Zhaoyan, because the man had asked him earlier why he was still in the dorms.

Mo Bai gritted his teeth. Thinking about Wen Zhaoyan’s ‘offense’ made his face burn with humiliation. No one had ever dared to do that to him before…

Fuming, Mo Bai went to the internal military communication platform and messaged Fang Wenbo, asking if he’d seen his discharge application.

To his surprise, Fang Wenbo called him directly.

“Why do you want to resign?” Fang Wenbo asked.
He’d initially been put off by what he saw as Mo Bai getting into the command center through connections. The young man looked too young to be capable of the work.

But Mo Bai had more than proven himself—first in the mission, and then by single-handedly capturing a live mutated insectoid in front of everyone. Fang Wenbo wasn’t sure about his command abilities yet, but his other skills were undeniably impressive. Fang Wenbo felt guilty for having underestimated him and now wanted him to stay.

Mo Bai told the truth: “I only came to see Little Blue off. The commander…” he paused, forcing Wen Zhaoyan’s name through gritted teeth, “…mistakenly thought I was enlisting.”

Fang Wenbo was even more reluctant to let him go. He figured the Crown Prince must have recognized his talent and deliberately kept him. His eyes darted as he said, “Why don’t you think it over? You’re outstanding. If you stay in the Rosseti Galaxy, you could reach my position in just a few years. The future is bright—we all think highly of you.”

Knowing Fang Wenbo wouldn’t approve it right away, Mo Bai had no choice but to agree to think about it.

After hanging up, Fang Wenbo immediately reported this to Wen Zhaoyan. When Wen Zhaoyan learned that Mo Bai had submitted a discharge application, his expression shifted. A wave of regret washed over him.

The little brat was so angry he wanted to leave?

Fang Wenbo said, “When Little Green first arrived, I doubted him because of his youth and his direct placement in the command center. Maybe he noticed and that’s why he wants to leave?”

Wen Zhaoyan said flatly, “It’s not your fault.”
It was his fault for making the little brat angry.

Fang Wenbo sighed. “You seem to know Little Green, Your Highness. Perhaps you could persuade him to stay.”

Wen Zhaoyan grunted coldly. The man who agreed so readily didn’t dare go himself.

He logged onto the interstellar net and pulled up Mo Bai’s social media page. It was pristine—he rarely posted personal updates. His last post was from the previous year, about Xixi.

Since Mo Bai posted so infrequently, and always about Xixi, the comments had reached several hundred million, all praising the legendary master-disciple pair. There were also fans begging him to post more.

Wen Zhaoyan stared at Mo Bai’s avatar for a long time, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, slowly, he opened their private message thread.

Their last exchange was from twelve years ago.
They hadn’t spoken since.
He’d always known he loved Mo Li, and that his feelings for little Mo Bai were only those of fondness for a child.

The Empire had few children, and most citizens doted on them. He was no exception.
So even after leaving, he’d sent gifts every year.
But he’d never received a reply.
So he’d just sent gifts on his birthday as a blessing.

Watching the little brat grow, his stunning features gradually overlapping with ‘Mo Li,’ Wen Zhaoyan could no longer deceive himself. All these years, he’d never forgotten that person.

[Wen Zhaoyan: I’m sorry.]
[Wen Zhaoyan: Please don’t be angry.]

After so many years, he typed with trepidation, knocking on the door he’d rehearsed in his mind countless times. When he saw he wasn’t blocked, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

[Wen Zhaoyan: Little brat, I apologize.]

But Mo Bai didn’t reply.
Wen Zhaoyan pressed his lips together, telling himself that the little brat was still settling into his new room and hadn’t seen the message.
But he waited until lights-out. Still no reply.

Wen Zhaoyan: “…”

He called Kai. “Go check on Mo Li—see if he likes his new room.”

Kai was baffled. “Why don’t you go yourself?”

Wen Zhaoyan said, “I have something to do.”

Kai said, “You can do it later.”

Wen Zhaoyan said, “I can’t.”

Kai said, “You can’t get your terminal to work? Your Highness, did you upset Mo Li? Why not go apologize in person?”

Wen Zhaoyan fell silent.

Kai said, “Oh, I get it. You apologized, but Mo Li didn’t respond?”

Wen Zhaoyan’s handsome face was cold. “Are you going or not?”
Why did this man always have so much to say?

Kai sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll go.”
Who asked His Highness to be so pitiful? After all these years, across such vast distances, he’d still fallen back into Mo Li’s trap.
Mo Li really was something else. But then again, who wouldn’t be drawn to someone so extraordinary?

Kai made his way to Mo Bai’s new quarters. The light was still on—Mo Bai wasn’t asleep yet.

The single room was spacious and spotless, decorated in a cold, minimalist style.
But on the sofa sat a bunch of pastel-colored monster plushies, completely out of place.

Mo Bai’s eye twitched. What was wrong with this person? Did he still think Mo Bai liked these things? Even as a child, he’d never cared for them.

When Kai arrived, Mo Bai had just finished arranging the plushies.

Kai said, “Mo… Little Green, I came to see if you’re settling in.”

Mo Bai didn’t call him out. “Why was I moved to a single room?”

Kai gave a vague answer. “It’s a perk for command personnel…”

Mo Bai snorted noncommittally.

Kai was exasperated. The Crown Prince had given up his own quarters to avoid special treatment and was now living on the warship. He wanted to tell Mo Li that to earn some goodwill for His Highness, but since he was still angry, it probably wouldn’t help. He decided to wait.

“If there’s anything you need, just let me know and I’ll relay it to logistics.”

Mo Bai said, “Got it.”

Kai didn’t know what else to say and left.

When he got back, he found Wen Zhaoyan waiting outside his door. “What did he say?” Wen Zhaoyan asked.

Kai said, “Not much. Just asked about the room change.”
“Nothing else?” Wen Zhaoyan pressed, like anything about him.
Kai said, “No.”
Wen Zhaoyan: “…”
Kai said, “But you could go ask him yourself.”
Wen Zhaoyan: “…”

The night was quiet.
After lights-out, the camp’s daytime urgency faded. Patrols and robots did their rounds, unaware that their commander was leading the way in breaking curfew.

The moment the door opened, Mo Bai knew someone had entered.
He instinctively tensed, but when he caught the familiar scent, he kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

The tall silhouette was hidden in the darkness. It stopped by the bed and just stood there.
Mo Bai could feel the man’s unwavering gaze, focused entirely on him. It made him itch with discomfort.

Just as he was debating whether to open his eyes and ask what the man wanted, Wen Zhaoyan crouched down and leaned closer.

The distance between them closed. Mo Bai could clearly feel the man’s breath on his face. The familiar scent of blood was still there—unpleasant, but recognizable.

A low voice broke the silence: “Little brat, I’m sorry.”

Mo Bai wanted to protest. He was grown up now—why did everyone—his parents, his uncle—still call him that? Even Wen Zhaoyan. Was it just habit from when he was small? Even if he was still young by their standards, they didn’t have to call him that.

Mo Bai didn’t answer, continuing to feign sleep.

Wen Zhaoyan said, “Don’t be mad at me.”

Mo Bai wanted to roll his eyes. Wen Zhaoyan really couldn’t talk—he had the same two lines: ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘don’t be mad.’ Couldn’t he come up with something else?

Then a warm hand settled on his head, breaking his train of thought.
The man’s palm was warm, a contrast to his cold demeanor, but familiar. As a child, he’d always rest that hand on Mo Bai’s head.

Mo Bai thought about just opening his eyes right then… but just as he was about to stir, Wen Zhaoyan withdrew his hand and slipped out as quietly as he’d come.

Mo Bai sat up, staring at the direction he’d left, his expression conflicted and his ears burning.
He touched his head, unable to understand what was so interesting about it.

He lay in the dark for a long time, then slowly picked up his terminal and sent a single sticker in reply.

[Mo: [Will you dare do it again? JPG]]

Wen Zhaoyan replied almost instantly: [No.]

He’d known the little brat wasn’t asleep. Even if he had been, he’d have woken up when Wen Zhaoyan entered. Someone with those abilities couldn’t lack awareness. Of course, he’d left quickly to avoid upsetting him further. Luckily, the little brat didn’t seem as angry now.

[Mo: Mm.]
[Wen Zhaoyan: Does that mean you forgive me?]
[Mo: [I have no idea how to respond to that… JPG]]
[Wen Zhaoyan: Why?]
[Mo: Do you even understand how young people communicate?]
[Mo: If I were still mad, I wouldn’t respond. Replying means I’ve forgiven you. Why are you being so direct? [I still have my pride, you know? JPG]]

Wen Zhaoyan nearly broke out in a cold sweat again.
Was that how young people communicated? Responding meant forgiveness; silence or blocking meant war?
He quickly typed: [I’ll work on learning.]

He wasn’t that old, was he?

[Mo: Mm.]
Mo Bai replied with a single character.

After sending it, he realized—how had he forgiven him so easily?
He groaned into his pillow, rolling around in frustration before poking his head out to stare at the ceiling. “Being human is hard…”

The next morning, Kai noticed Wen Zhaoyan was in a good mood. Though he looked as stern as ever, Kai could tell he was pleased.

This showed in how he agreed to everything Kai said.
“General Zhou’s ship will arrive in half an hour.”
“Mm.”
“Should we activate the quarantine system now?”
“Sure.”
“Should we explain it to General Zhou in advance?”
“No.”
“Did you and Mo Li make up?”
“Mm. Hm?”

Kai said knowingly, “Ah, that explains it.”

Wen Zhaoyan didn’t bother correcting him. He said, “These mutated insectoids are smarter than we thought. What if General Zhou is infected too?”
Kai understood immediately. If they told General Zhou, and the insectoid inside him realized it had been discovered, it would be tipped off.

Kai arranged for the quarantine to begin as soon as the ship touched down.

Just then, a researcher reported something.
“Your Highness, one of the recruits infected yesterday—Duan Hui—hasn’t died! It’s incredible. His brain is completely hollowed out—eaten clean by the insectoid—but he’s still alive. His heart is still beating!”

The discovery shocked the researchers. They notified all the commanders, including Mo Bai.

In the lab, the other bodies infected by insectoids had been autopsied, with family consent, to study the effects. But when they went to dissect Duan Hui, they found he still had vital signs. He’d shown none yesterday, but today, he was alive again.

Mo Bai examined him personally, confirming that Duan Hui’s brain was indeed empty. He wasn’t breathing, but his heart kept beating.

Professor Ying Xiangrong said, “I suspect this is the result of gene fusion with the insectoids.”

“How so?”

Ying Xiangrong explained, “When an insectoid parasitizes a host, it uses its special biology to fuse with our genes. The larvae it produces are the evolved offspring of that fusion—they can shapeshift, likely due to Uruk genes. In Duan Hui’s case, the insectoid may not have fully completed the fusion, leaving behind some of its own genes, creating this state.”

“Could he wake up?”

Ying Xiangrong shook his head. “Probably not. He won’t last long—maybe a day or two before he dies completely.”

A commander asked, “But what if the insectoid genes are strong enough to revive him?”

Ying Xiangrong sighed. “That’s also possible.”

But Mo Bai knew Duan Hui wouldn’t last. Even he couldn’t tell why Duan Hui still had a heartbeat.

Ultimately, Wen Zhaoyan ordered Duan Hui to be placed in a medical pod with all medications maintained. Perhaps he was waiting for a miracle.

“Your Highness, General Zhou’s ship has landed.”

Everyone’s faces grew serious. The researchers prepared their tools, ready to screen General Zhou’s legion.

Wen Zhaoyan’s gaze swept the room and landed on Mo Bai beside the medical pod. He walked over and said, “You stay here. I’ll go and be back.”

Mo Bai said, “I’ll come with you.”

Wen Zhaoyan’s eyes showed clear disapproval.

Mo Bai said obediently, “I promise I won’t interfere.”

Wen Zhaoyan pressed his lips, still uneasy after yesterday’s close call. But he didn’t want to make the little brat angry. Finally, he compromised. “Stay close to me.”

Mo Bai nodded. “Mm.”

At the port, General Zhou’s Second Legion was already in quarantine, including Zhou and his adjutants. They didn’t know what was happening. When they saw the fully armed researchers, accompanied by mech soldiers, coming to screen them, they realized they were being isolated.

Zhou Yuexuan asked, “Your Highness, what’s this?”

Wen Zhaoyan said gravely, “Just a checkup. It’ll be quick.”

Zhou nodded, asking no more. He trusted Wen Zhaoyan had his reasons.

The screening was quick, since everyone had been checked just yesterday. One by one, they were cleared. The researchers’ faces lit up with relief.

After the last one, the lead researcher said, “Report, Commander. No one is infected.”

Kai breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I was terrified we’d find more.”

Zhou Yuexuan asked, “Infected? Your Highness, what’s going on?”

Wen Zhaoyan said succinctly, “Kai, send the report to General Zhou.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Wen Zhaoyan was about to lift the quarantine when a clear voice came from behind—Mo Bai.

“Commander, I request a re-screening.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Wen Zhaoyan asked, “Re-screening?”

Kai, trusting Mo Li’s judgment, felt uneasy. “Re-screen who? Everyone?”

Mo Bai’s gaze fixed on Zhou Yuexuan. “Him.”
Then he pointed to a mech soldier. “And him.”

Zhou Yuexuan and the soldier grew increasingly confused. Was something wrong with them?

Mo Bai looked at Wen Zhaoyan, who met his gaze. Wen Zhaoyan knew the little brat wouldn’t joke about this. After a moment, he said, “Test them again.”

The researchers repeated the tests. The results were normal.

“Little Green, are you mistaken? Or did you notice something?”

After yesterday’s capture, the researchers took his words seriously.

One of General Zhou’s adjutants, however, was visibly annoyed.
“Your Highness, we fought hard and returned, and you quarantine us without explanation. Could you at least tell us what’s going on? And who is this kid? What’s he trying to do? The researchers already cleared us, but he’s determined to accuse our general!”

Wen Zhaoyan’s face darkened. “Enough.”

The adjutant wasn’t satisfied. “Your Highness! We just want to look out for General Zhou. You don’t know how hard we worked, day and night, clearing those hidden insectoid nests. After it was done, General Zhou personally disposed of the corpses so the soldiers could rest. We care about him, and we hate to see him treated like this!”

Behind him, many soldiers looked resentful, glaring at Mo Bai.
He might be good-looking, but he was just a brat. What right did he have to accuse their general?

Mo Bai, however, was thoughtful. Ignoring their stares, he asked Zhou Yuexuan, “When you handled the insectoid corpses, did you touch their blood?”

The Second Legion soldiers grew angrier. Of course they’d touch blood! What kind of question was that?

Zhou Yuexuan, calm and composed, nodded. “Yes.”

Mo Bai turned to the other soldier. “You too?”

The soldier seemed dazed for a moment, then clarity returned. “Yes… I and a few others were cleaning the battlefield. Then General Zhou told us to rest while he finished. I only rested briefly before going back to help.”

Mo Bai had his answer. He said to Wen Zhaoyan, “Use a body scanner instead.”
The blood likely contained the evolved insectoids.

Wen Zhaoyan turned to Ying Xiangrong. “Professor Ying, please.”

Ying Xiangrong gave Mo Bai a long, thoughtful look before ordering the researchers to bring the equipment.

The scanner was carefully brought in. When it passed over Zhou Yuexuan, his body appeared normal.

The adjutant seized the chance to sneer. “Disappointed, brat? Our general is fine. Stop wasting our time!”

“No,” Ying Xiangrong said suddenly, his expression grave. “There’s something.”

He pointed to the brain scan. “Look there.”

On Zhou Yuexuan’s brain, a tiny, wriggling shape was visible, slowly chewing a small hole. It was so small it was almost unnoticeable.

Everyone’s faces went pale.

Zhou Yuexuan remained the calmest. “What is it?”

Wen Zhaoyan said, “An evolved mutated insectoid.”

Kai was stunned. “Old Zhou, you didn’t feel anything?!”

Zhou Yuexuan shook his head. “No.”

Their faces darkened further. No wonder the infected had no idea—they didn’t even feel it.

The scanner was turned on the other soldier Mo Bai had pointed out.
This time, everyone’s faces went white. Like Zhou, his brain had a larger hole—but the earlier tests had shown nothing. And he’d felt nothing.

The soldier’s composure cracked. “There’s an insectoid in my brain? Really? Why didn’t I feel it?”

His panic spread to the researchers. If they hadn’t listened to Little Green and had lifted the quarantine, those insectoids would have finished eating Zhou and the soldier and then silently infected others.
How many would have fallen? If this continued, would they eventually lay eggs inside their hosts? Just thinking about it was terrifying.

Ying Xiangrong explained, “The insectoids are using their biology to fuse with your genes. It seems they first inject their own genes into you, so you feel nothing…”

The difference in the rate of consumption was clear: Zhou’s stronger physique and mental energy gave him more resistance, slowing the insectoid down. The other soldier, weaker, had been eaten more.

What mattered more to Ying Xiangrong was this—he asked Mo Bai, “How did you notice?”
Even the scanners had missed it. How had this young man detected it?

Mo Bai pointed to the soldier. “His eyes occasionally go blank, as if disconnected from his brain. Even though it quickly returns to normal, I felt something was off.”
He’d also used his divine power to investigate and found traces of the insectoid.

Ying Xiangrong said, “Just that?”

Mo Bai said, “Just that. You know, the command major requires extremely close observation.”

Ying Xiangrong said, “And General Zhou?”

Mo Bai hesitated, then said, “Intuition.”

Ying Xiangrong said, “Intuition?”

Mo Bai couldn’t say he’d used his divine power to scan everyone and sensed the insectoid on Zhou. He said vaguely, “I’ve always had strong instincts—you know, those with strong mental energy sometimes get warnings of danger.”

Ying Xiangrong asked, “How high is your mental energy?”

Mo Bai said without hesitation, “2S.”
In reality, he’d broken the testing machine at the military academy because it couldn’t handle his energy. The dean had given him a meaningful look and never made him test again—protecting him from the attention that came with such power.

Ying Xiangrong nodded. “Not bad. We owe this to you.”
Mo Bai said, “You’re too kind.”

Though Mo Bai had only pointed out Zhou and the soldier, the researchers, fearing more hidden cases, used the scanner to recheck everyone carefully.
The adjutant who’d been so vocal earlier was now silent, cooperating fully.
Fortunately, no more cases were found.

“So what now? We can’t just watch the insectoids eat General Zhou’s brain. How do we remove them? What if…” Fang Wenbo hesitated. “What if, during the extraction, they transform…”

That was the worst-case scenario. If they transformed, Zhou’s head would explode.
Could they get the insectoids to leave voluntarily? Unlikely.
Were they just supposed to wait for Zhou and the soldier to die?

The military leadership held an emergency meeting. Time was short—the longer they waited, the more brain tissue was lost, and the greater the damage.

The decision was surgery.
The current assumption was that the insectoids, in the middle of gene fusion, were unaware they’d been discovered. To avoid alarming them, they couldn’t use electric shocks or anything that might startle them. They had to silently open the skulls and extract them while they were still fusing.

But the risk was enormous. Any disturbance could cause them to transform and burst the brain.

Mo Bai would have to assist.

Mo Bai said, “Me?”

Wen Zhaoyan said gravely, “You’re the only one who’s captured an insectoid with your bare hands. They all agree you’re the safest choice.”

In truth, Wen Zhaoyan didn’t want him to take the risk. But he couldn’t abandon Zhou and the soldier. “I’ll be with you,” he said. He’d watch over the little brat and keep him safe.

Mo Bai said, “I’m fine.”

The surgery had to begin immediately.
The soldier was terrified but signed the consent form. If it failed, it was his own fault; without it, he’d die anyway.

Zhou Yuexuan remained calm throughout. Even knowing there was a parasitic insectoid in his brain, he was only mildly startled before regaining his composure.
He even reassured the doctors: “Don’t be nervous. If I die, so be it. Better one death than letting that insectoid escape.”

The doctors, hearts heavy, said, “General Zhou, we’ll do our best.”

Zhou nodded, then turned to Mo Bai with a warm smile. He was handsome and steady, the kind of person who inspired trust—it was no wonder his soldiers were so loyal.

He said, “You’re Little Green, right? Thank you.”
Without this young man, he might have died in the dark or become a monster. His gratitude was genuine.

Mo Bai shook his head. “It was my duty.”

Kai, worried for his friend, couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He pulled out his incense burner and candles and urged Zhou to join him.

“Brother, pray with me! Pray this surgery goes well!”

Zhou Yuexuan said, “Kai, I don’t believe in gods.”

Kai insisted, “Just do it! It’ll make me feel better. I’ve never had a mission go wrong when I pray before leaving! Why won’t you just do it?”

Mo Bai suddenly said, “I think Kai’s right. You should pray too.”
Gods worked through causality. If he interfered too much without a request, he’d attract more karmic ties.
But a wish changed everything.
He was the Wish-Granting God. His power came from the faith generated when people made wishes. If Zhou wished for it, he could freely grant it without alarming anyone.

Zhou looked at him, surprised. “You believe in that too?”

Mo Bai said, “I do.”
He paused, then added lightly, “The Wish-Granting God is very effective.”
He tried to sound casual, but his voice carried a hint of pride. He really was effective! Sometimes, even he was scared of it.

He didn’t notice how much he looked like a proud little peacock, trying to appear composed while his eyes sparkled like stars.

Zhou Yuexuan smiled at the sight. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Kai had tried for years to get Zhou to pray, and he’d always refused. Now Mo Li had convinced him with a single sentence? Something felt off, but Kai couldn’t quite place it.

Zhou called over the terrified soldier to join them in praying to the Wish-Granting God.

The doctors didn’t rush them. They knew this could be their last day.

Zhou, who had never burned incense before, asked Mo Bai, “Is this enough? Are three sticks enough?”

Mo Bai said, “Yes. But you can burn more if you want—the Wish-Granting God doesn’t mind.”

Zhou smiled again. “You sound like you know him well.”

Mo Bai said without a hint of guilt, “I’m his biggest fan.”

Zhou said thoughtfully, “I see. If I make it, I’ll learn more about him.”

Mo Bai said confidently, “If you pray, you’ll definitely make it.”

Zhou chuckled. “Then you can teach me how to pray—how to hold the incense, what posture to use.”

Mo Bai was always patient with a potential believer. He corrected Zhou’s posture and showed him how to bow and insert the incense.

Kai, who had been sidelined the whole time, suddenly realized something.
Was Old Zhou always this quick to smile? Or this talkative?
And the way he looked at Little Green… no, the way he looked at Mo Li—was that… tenderness?

Wait! Old Zhou, wake up! Mo Li is our future Crown Princess! If His Highness finds out…

Just as he thought that, Wen Zhaoyan walked in wearing sterile scrubs. The moment he entered the outer room, he saw his little brat and Zhou Yuexuan standing close together, their hands nearly touching.

Wen Zhaoyan: “???”
Wen Zhaoyan: “What are you two doing?!”