“Congratulations! You have completed the side mission [Overload]. Mission rating: None, mission points: None. You will now be redirected to the time coordinate: 15:30:00.”

“Please wait.”

“Connection successful.”

An hour after the jump began.

In Sky Vault’s Third Command Center, two silver-white capsule pods appeared on the teleportation platform.

The staff who had been closely monitoring the data changes quickly sprang into action to handle the post-jump procedures, while the inspectors moved forward to check the mental state of the travelers.

The capsule door opened, and Song Qinglan was the first to step out. Surrounded by staff, he handed over the bottle of nutrient liquid he was holding to the logistics team.

The door of the other capsule opened, and Ji Yushi also stepped out, immediately surrounded by inspectors and staff.

Minister Wang had returned to the command center and was looking at them through the glass window, along with the commander-in-chief.

When she saw Song Qinglan, Minister Wang’s expression turned complex, as if something had shocked her deeply, while the commander-in-chief continued to speak to her, trying to make her understand the overwhelming information.

Distant memories resurfaced.

The recalibrated time brought a sense of reality. Amidst the crowd, Song Qinglan quickly remembered the bold act he had committed before leaving—coming out in front of everyone.

Although it had been several days for him, for the people in the original timeline, it had only been an hour ago. This explosive news was still reverberating within the Third Command Center and had only just reached Minister Wang’s ears, not yet spreading throughout the entire Sky Vault system.

Song Qinglan was pressed down onto the steps by an inspector, one sleeve rolled up high as they took his blood pressure.

Noticing that Minister Wang was still looking at him, he raised his free hand and saluted her, then casually smirked.

The message was clear: Yes, it’s exactly as you thought—I’m not only gay, but I’ve also captured the one I initially looked down on, who turned out to be exceptionally outstanding and dazzling.

Poetic justice.

This roguish demeanor was reminiscent of the day Song Qinglan had emerged as the top cadet from the training camp, becoming the first new captain and earning his first medal.

“Consultant Ji—”

Someone gasped.

Song Qinglan’s expression changed immediately. He pushed away the inspector’s hand and strode through the crowd.

The people quickly made way for him.

Ji Yushi was sitting on the steps, leaning against the platform, his eyes lightly closed, hands resting on his legs, his black, smooth hair falling over his forehead. He looked completely relaxed. The inspector was checking his pulse and was about to open his eyelids.

“Don’t touch him,” Song Qinglan ordered.

The crowd was puzzled.

Song Qinglan crouched down, quietly observing Ji Yushi for a few seconds, then said, “Don’t disturb him.”

Having returned to 1439 to resolve his inner turmoil, accept the unacceptable truth, and experience death, then return to the Ouroboros mission in 1470, using all his strength to reunite with Song Qinglan in the mismatched loops, Ji Yushi was truly exhausted. This exhaustion wasn’t just mental; it was physical.

In all those years, he had never allowed himself to rest so indulgently. Yet, this time, just after stepping out of the capsule, he had unabashedly fallen asleep in front of everyone.

The crowd dispersed again as Minister Wang and the commander-in-chief walked up to the platform.

Minister Wang nervously asked, “What happened?”

Song Qinglan turned around, his dark eyes showing an unusual softness that Minister Wang had never seen before. “He’s asleep.”

“He still needs to wake up and report to the inspection department,” the commander-in-chief said. “Given Consultant Ji’s special circumstances and the exception made this time, you can rest as much as you want after the report.”

Song Qinglan understood the logic.

As a captain, he was used to delaying rest for three or four hours after each jump. He was accustomed to it.

But looking at Ji Yushi, he stood up and said, “You’re right, his situation is indeed special. After all he’s been through, even an iron man would be exhausted. I’ll go make the report first. When he wakes up, you can ask him anything you want.”

Song Qinglan and Ji Yushi both wore black combat suits, completely different from what they had worn before they left. Minister Wang had sensed something unusual, but after speaking with them, those feelings vanished, as if they had been dressed like this all along before they departed.

Without altering history, the changes in time had perfectly aligned everyone’s memories.

Except for the two who had experienced the new time anchor, no one remembered what had been different.

The commander-in-chief frowned, seemingly hesitant about this request.

Minister Wang made the decision: “Agreed.”

As a leader and a mother, Minister Wang showed remarkable decisiveness.

After she made her decision, no one else objected, including the commander-in-chief, who relaxed his frown and allowed Song Qinglan to pick Ji Yushi up in his arms and carry him to the rest area of Team Seven’s training ground.

Ji Yushi didn’t sleep for long—just from the afternoon until the evening.

When he woke up, he gave his report with a clear mind, but as soon as he got back into Song Qinglan’s car, he fell asleep again, slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

They planned to return to 1439. Initially, their superiors had intended to assign them a task immediately after fulfilling this wish. However, their report revealed that the “suicide” of Sheng Yun involved issues far too complex, requiring further study of many encrypted files. After preliminary discussions, their superiors decided to give them additional time to rest.

This meant that until this matter was fully resolved, they wouldn’t be given any new tasks.

It was going to be a long process.

Sky Vault Team Seven would finally get a real vacation.

On the way, Song Qinglan received a call from Ji Minyue: “Teacher Ji.”

“Captain Song?” Ji Minyue was surprised. “Where’s Ji Yushi?”

Song Qinglan took it for granted that he answered the call, his deep voice sounding intimate over the phone: “He’s still sleeping. I didn’t wake him.”

Ji Minyue: “…”

He kept forgetting that his brother now had someone looking after him.

The sports car drove along the road, the bustling city of Jiangcheng still alive with traffic late at night.

The night breeze blew warm air into the car, and to avoid making Ji Yushi uncomfortable, Song Qinglan left a small gap in the window, allowing the city’s noise to filter in.

Ji Yushi was asleep in the passenger seat, the seat reclined low.

Neon lights streamed through the window, painting his profile like a work of art.

“How are things?” Ji Minyue seemed unsure how to ask, afraid that the outcome was too overwhelming or that Ji Yushi couldn’t handle it. “What did you see when you went back to that year? Did you catch the culprit?”

The traffic light turned red.

Song Qinglan grasped Ji Yushi’s hand, gently stroking it, then replied, “He’s fine. When he wakes up, I’ll have him call you back… He might go home for a visit.”

The Ji family played a very close and important role in Ji Yushi’s life.

When Ji Yushi woke up, the first thing he would likely do was go back to the Ji family. He had the obligation and need to tell his family everything that had happened in 1439, the events that had troubled him for seventeen years.

When Song Qinglan said this, Ji Minyue knew that things were not as simple as they seemed.

Even though he desperately wanted to know the truth, hearing that Ji Yushi was okay put his mind at ease, and after giving a few brief instructions, he hung up the phone.

“Song Qinglan,” Ji Yushi had woken up, “was that my brother?”

He opened his beautiful eyes, nestled into the black seat, his skin pale, his whole demeanor lazy, unconsciously exuding a relaxed attitude.

Song Qinglan found it hard to take his eyes off him.

In the quiet car, surrounded by the bustling city, being with Ji Yushi gave him a sense of belonging.

Song Qinglan replied, “Yes, it was Teacher Ji. He wanted to check on you, and he was relieved when he heard you were with me.”

Ji Yushi remained in his sleeping position, unmoved: “Or maybe he was worried because I was with you?”

The light turned green.

Song Qinglan released Ji Yushi’s hand, placing it back on the steering wheel as he resumed driving: “Who says that? You seemed pretty relaxed, falling asleep so easily, not worried about me doing anything to you.”

“Would you?” Ji Yushi blinked, “You spied on me for so long and still didn’t make a move.”

He was referring to the things Song Qinglan had done after he left in 1439.

After returning to the Ouroboros mission, they had been constantly on the move, repeatedly meeting up before the paradox could occur, leaving no time to discuss those events.

All those circles, all those connections that had existed before they realized it, had given them a sense of destiny.

Ji Yushi said, “I mentioned before that the pervert staring at me in the bar was you, right?”

Song Qinglan’s long fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. From Ji Yushi’s angle, he could only see his tense jawline, and he heard him chuckle: “You remember that? I staked out there for days and only saw you once.”

Song Qinglan had followed Ji Yushi for a long time.

Back then, Ji Yushi was twenty years old, still in university, and often on his own.

Perhaps too comfortable with his sexual orientation, Ji Yushi had thought of going to a gay bar to see what people like him were up to due to his lack of a social circle.

That night was a themed masquerade party, and they were all wearing masks.

Ji Yushi sat alone in a corner, ordered a drink, rejected three men who tried to chat him up, and then left the bar empty-handed.

Song Qinglan had stood on the other side of the dance floor for a long time.

Through the crowd of dancing people, he had almost greedily watched Ji Yushi for forty minutes.

That was the longest he had seen Ji Yushi during those times, and who could have guessed that in Ji Yushi’s memory, he would be the “pervert”?

Ji Yushi’s throat tightened briefly, but he quickly pushed back the tears that welled up in his eyes: “I only went once. You must be an idiot.”

“An idiot,” Song Qinglan chuckled, glancing back at him with a meaningful look. “Got caught by your dad as soon as I got back.”

This was also a topic they hadn’t discussed yet.

Ji Yushi was awake, and the road home was still long, so Song Qinglan candidly recounted everything that had happened after Sheng Yun appeared.

He explained the prototype of the “Sky Vault in all ages,” then mentioned Sheng Yun’s words that Ji Yushi’s death wasn’t the final outcome. Ji Yushi sat up, adjusted his seat, drank some water to clear his head, and thought for a moment: “Could it be that the time hijacking… wasn’t what we originally thought?”

First, Sky Vault Team Seven was hijacked.

Then, to rewrite Ji Yushi’s fate, they returned to the moment of the original hijacking.

Which came first and which came after?

Song Qinglan had also pondered this question, and Ji Yushi’s reaction was as expected. He said to Ji Yushi, “One circle within another, a perfect coincidence.”

“No.” Ji Yushi shook his head, “This isn’t a coincidence, nor is it something that happened naturally.”

Song Qinglan asked, “What do you mean?”

“We assumed that under the manipulation of the mother system, all of this was non-linear, without cause and effect, and that events could be seen as happening at the same time.” Ji Yushi explained, “But have you ever considered that it might actually be manipulating us to complete this cause and effect? It needs a starting point and a closed loop; otherwise, it would be difficult for it to be self-consistent.”

Following his logic, Song Qinglan gently furrowed his brow: “Are you saying that your death in 1439 was likely part of the originally planned events?”

“Yes, because my death gave him the motivation to deeply research the time anchor,” Ji Yushi said. “If I’m right, that might be why we survived the super S-class mission. Without the time anchor, a few of us wouldn’t have been able to execute a mission like Ouroboros.”

Song Qinglan’s brow furrowed tightly: “So Sheng Yun knew all along…”

His tone grew colder, the anger evident.

Ji Yushi grasped his arm and slowly said, “I can understand why he did it.”

Another red light.

Song Qinglan lightly tapped the brakes and switched to autopilot mode.

He turned around, cupping Ji Yushi’s face, almost in anguish: “He’s your father! His most basic responsibility as a father is to take care of you, to protect you as you grow up, not to make sacrifices for the greater good or the world! You’re not his pawn! That’s not greatness, it’s madness!”

Ji Yushi replied, “If it were me, I might have done the same.”

Song Qinglan’s eyes burned with even more anger as he gritted his teeth: “I wouldn’t—”

“Ever since humans touched the secret of time, they’ve been deeply entangled, unable to extricate themselves.” Ji Yushi said, “In a broader sense, he’s also a pawn. Every choice and action he took was predestined.”

Scientists are all mad.

Those who try to control time are mad, and those who try to correct it are also mad.

Ji Yushi always had the clearest mind. He nuzzled his face against Song Qinglan’s hand: “Look at it from another perspective—he’s the one who rewrote everything.”

That’s why he set up a bigger time anchor.

It was a fortunate misfortune, the greatest effort a powerless father could make for his child.

Song Qinglan lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Ji Yushi’s.

At that moment, he hated Sheng Yun and hated Ji Yushi’s calmness. He would rather see Ji Yushi cry or be sad than hear such rational analysis.

But it was precisely this calmness that had made him fall hopelessly in love with Ji Yushi—this was the true Ji Yushi.

Song Qinglan was at a loss for words.

Ji Yushi said, “Look at it another way.”

Song Qinglan snorted.

Ji Yushi continued, “Think about it—if it weren’t for all this, how would I have gotten the cat?”

Song Qinglan: “…”

And three love rivals at that.

Ji Yushi kissed the tip of his nose and solemnly said, “Song Qinglan, thank you for bringing the cat to my seventeen-year-old self.”

He reached out and wrapped his arms around Song Qinglan’s neck, asking in a cool voice, “After seeing the seventeen-year-old me, what do you think?”

This almost counted as a form of flirting.

Or perhaps, seduction.

Song Qinglan knew Ji Yushi was trying to change the subject, but at that moment, he went along with it, his Adam’s apple bobbing: “What do I think?”

Meeting him in the rain, not getting a clear look was one thing.

The more he tried to hold back, the more the seventeen-year-old Ji Yushi called out to him, making it the hardest test of his life.

He said, annoyed, “I was going out of my mind.”

The car had plenty of space.

But at this distance, their lips were already almost touching.

They could feel each other’s warm breath.

Just as they were about to close the gap, Ji Yushi pulled back and asked seriously, “So, Captain Song, who puts my brother at ease—where are you taking me now?”