“Do you remember the black fissure we saw on the holographic projection of Golden Crow No. 2, located near the planet PU-31?” Ji Yushi asked.

The three of them sat in a circle on the floor of the space capsule.

The bearded man, not understanding their conversation, busied himself with sorting the newly scavenged materials. He was clearly accustomed to this kind of life.

Li Chun thought back and nodded. Although he had never fully understood why that fissure possessed such immense energy that PU-31 could continuously harness, he figured that the mysteries of time and the universe were beyond even the most brilliant scientists on Earth.

If something couldn’t be understood, there was no need to force it.

Song Qinglan picked up on Ji Yushi’s train of thought: “You mean the fissure that connects to a parallel universe?”

“Yes,” Ji Yushi confirmed. “We know that PU-31 is situated near that fissure and that all its energy comes from it. We also know that when PU-31’s energy transmitters are turned off, the planet will lose its kinetic balance and be swallowed by the out-of-control energy—what we call the ‘black wall.'”

Ji Yushi held the can of creamed beans, recalling the unpleasant taste and the ugly appearance of the plant on its label. Seeing the can had opened a pathway in his otherwise blocked thought process—one connection leading to many others.

Ji Yushi continued, “Before PU-31 was completely swallowed, some things were pulled into the fissure, like this can of creamed beans.”

Li Chun was shocked. “Consultant Ji, are you saying that where we are now is inside that fissure?”

“Yes,” Ji Yushi replied.

Li Chun exclaimed, “What the hell? How could that be?!”

Song Qinglan, his mind working quickly, voiced the thought Ji Yushi was about to express: “No wonder this mission mode is called Chaos.”

Chaos.

In Greek mythology, Chaos was the first god to emerge, often depicted as a vast, dark void. The word later came to signify a state of disorder and confusion—”chaos.”

Everything they had seen and experienced since accepting this mission and landing in this place matched the very definition of Chaos: the dark sky that seemed to envelope the world, the void surrounding the space capsule, the rainforest and city with their abnormal time flows, and the chaotic magnetic field all indicated that order and rules did not exist here.

“This could be a breakthrough point,” Song Qinglan said, his innate sense for danger making him narrow his eyes. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand—why did the ordinary mission I chose end up connected to our previous one?”

Before departing from the transit station, they had many missions to choose from.

The system had indicated: Complete a new mission to unlock more information about when you can return home.

Song Qinglan had made the decision, and considering everyone’s mental state, he had selected a simple, A-level mission.

Ji Yushi had also thought about this issue. After a moment’s contemplation, he asked, “Do you remember how the capsule fell after we left the transit station?”

Song Qinglan’s expression changed slightly.

Li Chun was confused. “I don’t really remember… I just recall getting into the capsule, and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

Ji Yushi asked, “And after we arrived at the transit station, apart from the first day, can you recall what we did in the following days?”

“Eat, sleep…” Li Chun answered reflexively, then suddenly looked surprised. “Wait, now that I think about it, I can’t remember anything else besides eating and sleeping!”

“I can’t remember either,” Ji Yushi said slowly. “If you guys can’t remember, it might be because of repetitive, uninteresting routines, which the brain naturally filters out. But I don’t forget things. After seeing the Cramond Beans, I started doubting our current situation and tried to recall what we did over the last few days. I realized I couldn’t remember how I ended up here after entering the capsule, nor what we did in the following days at the transit station. My memory tells me I rested, ate well, and slept enough, but when I try to recall what I ate or what I did before going to sleep, I find that I have no impression at all.”

Ji Yushi had no ability to forget.

This meant that even a simple meal—how long he took to eat, how he chewed, and what dishes he had—would be vividly recalled.

Li Chun added, “Exactly, that’s the same for me!”

“I’m the same as you,” Song Qinglan agreed, then looked at Ji Yushi. “Consultant Ji, I think whatever you’re about to say will turn our understanding upside down.”

Despite his words, Song Qinglan showed no signs of tension or anxiety. It seemed as though he was already prepared for whatever Ji Yushi was going to say, even finding it intriguing.

For some reason, Ji Yushi felt trusted.

At the same time, any initial unease he had felt was subtly balanced, as if no matter how strange the situation, the outcome would always be determined by their actions.

“Have you ever wondered why that transit station looked so much like the Third Command Center in our memories?” Ji Yushi asked. “According to the system, it represents Sky Vault across all eras, so why did it choose to model the station after our time period? And those supplies—if the transit station exists in some place in space-time, why did it happen to have everything we needed?”

Song Qinglan recalled the bottle of red wine.

He remembered that he had thought of wanting a bottle of wine, and when he opened the storage compartment, there it was.

It was indeed too coincidental.

As he listened to these analyses, Li Chun felt a chill run down his spine, and then, Ji Yushi’s next words made his hair stand on end.

“I believe there was never a transit station at all,” Ji Yushi said calmly. “The so-called transit station was merely a memory implanted in our minds when we were extremely exhausted. After going through several cycles, our bodies had reached their limits, so this ‘self-aware Sky Vault’ created a false memory of a transit station to give us a break. As a system, it couldn’t fabricate several days of memories in detail, so apart from the first day when we let our guard down and rested, we can’t remember anything else that happened in the following days.”

Song Qinglan responded, “So it’s not that the mission I chose was connected to the previous one, but that we were already inside this mission.”

Every time Ji Yushi analyzed something and Song Qinglan immediately followed his line of thought, Li Chun felt a bit foolish, often questioning his own intelligence.

But Li Chun was used to being a curious and inquisitive person, so he raised his hand: “Uh, Consultant Ji, I have a question.”

Ji Yushi’s handsome face showed no impatience. “Go ahead.”

Li Chun, touched by the understanding, quickly asked, “If there was no transit station, then how did we get here?”

As he asked, Li Chun shivered, recalling the terrifying memories of PU-31—being bitten by zombies, devoured by monsters, it was like a montage of his worst possible deaths. He nervously continued, “Could it be that we’re stuck in some kind of loop again?”

“No, we’ve already completed the Ouroboros mission,” Ji Yushi explained. “A reasonable explanation for how we got here is this: After we completed the mission and merged with our other selves, time reset to when we first embarked on the A-level mission, and as the black wall fully consumed PU-31, we were transported into this fissure.”

Li Chun began to understand.

If it were him, he’d never be able to piece together such a complex chain of events.

“In order to destroy the out-of-control PU-31, Sky Vault created a time anchor. After we completed the mission, it returned us to the moment when our capsule malfunctioned, and then transported us into this fissure as the black wall consumed PU-31. Everything happened simultaneously and also ended simultaneously. This time-space hijacking is far more intricate than we imagined,” Song Qinglan said, gripping his gun, The Gods Slayer, as his expression grew colder. “So, when exactly will this end? Or was it never meant to end?”

Li Chun urgently asked, “So, Wen-ge, Old Zhou, Tang Le, and the others are still in the capsules?”

Song Qinglan replied, “Yes. If this transfer follows the order of our capsules, then the next one to arrive could be Zhou Mingxuan.”

The bearded man had finished organizing and was now sitting on the sofa, gulping down a can of beer.

Song Qinglan glanced at him and then remarked, “If this place is a fissure in a parallel universe, then the bearded man might not even be from our Earth.”

That would explain his incomprehensible language and writing.

Ji Yushi found the drawing by the bearded man and pointed to the symbols on the uniform. “I have a hunch about this as well. I think the bearded man is from a place designated as PU-18. They might have been pulled in while on a mission.”

In this universe, as Earth declined, many colonies similar to PU-31 emerged. Based on the numbering, there were at least 31 such places.

Song Qinglan put away his gun.

The real challenge was not the complexity of the puzzle, but having no leads to follow.

After some simple analysis and a few discoveries, Song Qinglan appeared to be at ease, as if nothing could really break his composure.

“Chaos… a fissure in a parallel universe…” Song Qinglan mused, his thick eyebrows knitting together slightly. “If we don’t close this fissure, more people from different times and parallel universes could get pulled in.”

Simultaneously, Ji Yushi and Song Qinglan both thought of the three bodies they had found in the rainforest.

Because of this fissure, the predecessors of Sky Vault Team 12 had been sucked in during their time travel and had ultimately perished here.

If this fissure could be seen as a temporal anomaly, then the objective of their mission, “Time Restorers,” became clear.

The two exchanged a glance, realizing they had both reached the same conclusion.

Their mutual understanding was remarkable; it felt as though when they worked together, any challenge could be tackled with half the effort.

Song Qinglan looked into Ji Yushi’s calm, black-and-white eyes and felt an unusual warmth stirring within him.

A warm current flowed through his heart, just like the time he had fed Ji Yushi medicine at the Golden Crow No. 2 base.

An indescribable feeling.

Despite sitting together, Li Chun suddenly felt out of place: “…”

He couldn’t help but feel like he was the third wheel.