Time is indeed a mysterious thing.

It proves its existence through the changes in things around us, and although it’s just a constant parameter used to describe processes, people perceive its length differently depending on their state of mind.

For Ji Yushi, he had only slept a little, yet there were only 13 hours left, and he hadn’t fully decided what to do.

For Song Qinglan, however, every second felt like a day.

After Ji Yushi returned and Song Qinglan said those things, he hadn’t really slept much—maybe four or five hours at most. Song Qinglan didn’t have much to think about, and he had a vague sense of Ji Yushi’s feelings for him, so he knew Ji Yushi wouldn’t run away.

But for the first time, Song Qinglan realized just how impatient he was.

He had a whole lot more he wanted to say, but it all had to wait until Ji Yushi gave him an answer.

Song Qinglan wasn’t good at flirting, nor had he ever chased anyone. He simply did what he felt like doing and said what he wanted to say. After saying, “Time is passing so slowly,” he saw Ji Yushi pause for a second with the fork in his hand, and he knew not to push too hard.

The reminder was enough, so Song Qinglan didn’t speak to Ji Yushi through the private channel again—after all, there would be plenty of time for that later.

“At 9 p.m., each of you needs to make an individual video report,” Song Qinglan glanced at his watch and addressed the group at the table. “I’ve already covered most of what needed to be reported when I was in the Inspection Department. For this video report, just talk about your experiences over the past few days in detail. Whether a more detailed written report is needed will depend on the situation.”

Zhou Mingxuan asked curiously, “Is it really this easy this time? No need for a written report?”

“Seriously? Just verbal?”

“Is there really such a good thing?”

Everyone seemed a bit surprised.

In the bubble world, they had meticulously written dozens of pages for their written reports.

“On one hand, it’s because I fought for it,” Song Qinglan said nonchalantly, though in truth, it had taken quite a bit of effort to convince them. His reasoning had been solid—no one in the history of Sky Vault had ever completed so many high-intensity missions consecutively. Given the importance of both physical fitness and mental health, the higher-ups had agreed to let them submit video reports instead.

“On the other hand, the situation here is different from the bubble world.”

He shared what he had learned with the group, “The ‘Sky Vault of All Eras’ has officially integrated into our Sky Vault system and is now considering our system as a subsystem, with itself as the parent system.”

The group exchanged glances.

A certain unease began to rise within them—not exactly fear, but definitely discomfort.

Everyone knew that the “Sky Vault of All Eras” was a self-conscious entity born from the Sky Vault system. Humans often believe they are the creators, but when the things they create exceed their expectations and start to control them in return, they become fearful.

“After integrating into our system, it automatically logged all the missions we completed. It recorded every detail, from the time coordinates we visited to the objectives we achieved, so we don’t need to explain everything ourselves.” Song Qinglan said, “I’m sure you all saw the mission completion notifications when you returned.”

The group nodded.

Indeed, they had all seen it.

“So, can it control our system directly now?”

“That’s terrifying to think about—will we be managing the system, or will the system manage us?”

“Did no one ever realize it existed before?”

Song Qinglan leaned back in his chair, his long legs seeming out of place, and his expression grew more somber: “I’m not sure about the specifics. The higher-ups are overwhelmed with this incident, so they don’t have time to trouble us. They’ve just asked us to recount the mission from our perspective, and for now, the format is flexible. But as far as I can tell, it doesn’t seem to have any intention of overstepping its bounds to directly manage the system…”

“An intelligent system,” Ji Yushi suddenly said.

Everyone looked up at him.

Ji Yushi, who had just been trying to blend into the background, felt awkward with this sudden attention: “…”

He tried to ignore the strange new dynamic between him and the others as he continued eating his fruit, “With the Sky Vault gaining self-awareness, I think it’s not only trying to hijack us to complete the missions it has planned but also to use its data analysis from all eras to intervene in our current missions and judge whether our tasks should proceed.”

Zhou Mingxuan asked, “So, it’s trying to help stabilize time-space?”

“I guess so,” Ji Yushi replied. “We don’t know when it came into being. Maybe it witnessed various outcomes across different time-spaces in the distant future.”

In both the bubble world and this one, a significant number of people opposed time-space travel.

Large-scale opposition and protests wouldn’t only happen at the start of an event. Perhaps, as Ji Yushi suggested, humanity in the distant future finally caused catastrophic consequences by meddling with time-space. Whether it was PU-31, Chaos, or the bubble world, those were things that shouldn’t have happened.

However, the Sky Vault’s contributions to humanity were undeniable. It prevented wars, predicted natural disasters, and stopped potential terrorist attacks before they could happen, allowing this precarious timeline to continue indefinitely.

Therefore, the Sky Vault system was something humanity could never abandon. Someone would always find a suitable way to manage time-space travel.

Duan Wen recalled something and said, “I remember hearing about this topic when I first joined the Sky Vault. They said that when the Sky Vault system was officially developed, there were similar concerns, but those were the ideas of the more radical, fanatical scientists in the team, and none of them ended well.”

“Old Duan, do you have some secret history to share?” Zhou Mingxuan became interested.

Duan Wen had been in the Sky Vault the longest and knew a bit about these hidden topics, whether true or not: “I’m only telling you guys—if I said this outside, I’d have to write a self-criticism.” He lowered his voice, “They said that those people were studying time-space stabilization and continuity, and they were the first to propose an intelligent system. But something happened—they went mad, got sick, and some even committed suicide.”

Everyone looked shocked, and Song Qinglan remembered something: “I think Xie Si’an mentioned it once.”

In the space capsule, Xie Si’an had mentioned a Professor Sheng, who had made significant contributions to the Sky Vault but had tragically taken his own life at a young age.

Recalling this, Song Qinglan suddenly remembered something else: one of the people they had encountered in the Rubik’s Cube seemed to have the surname Sheng—

“So,” Ji Yushi interrupted his thoughts and brought the conversation back, “this so-called parent system might be a balancing mechanism that emerged at some point in the future.”

Humans had never stopped pondering the concept of time-space.

As Guardians, they did so even more.

Song Qinglan had been thinking about this issue since the moment they were hijacked. Seeing everyone’s grim expressions, he tapped the table and said, “Whether it’s to stabilize time-space or to control the Sky Vault, the World Time Management Alliance will find a suitable way to handle it. That’s not something we can control. What we need to do right now is finish our video reports, go home, rest, and put all of this behind us.”

Tang Le was the first to recover: “So we get another three-month vacation this time?!”

Li Chun exclaimed excitedly, “Right! We got three months off after the bubble world, so Minister Wang should be even more considerate than Minister Qi, right?”

Duan Wen said, “Not necessarily. We saved Minister Qi’s life—that’s different.”

Tang Qi threw cold water on the idea: “Wake up. The length of our vacation depends on the psychological evaluation report.”

The conversation quickly shifted.

They moved from discussing their vacation to talking about mission completion rewards and new rating rewards.

Ji Yushi slowed down his eating pace.

Maybe he was just too hungry because he had eaten most of the meal Song Qinglan had prepared for him.

Song Qinglan glanced at the tray, his lips curling into a slight smile.

He realized that what was left on the tray were all the things Ji Yushi didn’t like to eat.

“Let’s go.”

When Ji Yushi finished eating, Song Qinglan gave the command.

Everyone stood up.

They left the chairs in disarray, only to put them back in place before leaving.

A group of them, with Ji Yushi—who was rumored to have a bad relationship with them—among them, returned to the rest area, chatting and laughing.

At 9 p.m., everyone made their video reports in their respective training rooms. The content of these reports would be sent to the Inspection Department, to the higher-ups, and to the World Time Management Alliance Center.

Thanks to the 89 B-level missions he had previously completed, Ji Yushi was already accustomed to clearly and accurately explaining everything he had experienced during missions. It took him less than an hour to finish all the report content based on the facts.

When he stepped out of his private training room, all the doors to the other training rooms were still closed.

The empty training ground had a large mirror that reflected Ji Yushi, standing alone in the vast space.

At ten o’clock, Ji Yushi left the training ground, heading to the platform outside the corridor for some fresh air.

Song Qinglan’s voice hadn’t sounded in the private channel since then.

Only ten hours left.

Ji Yushi leaned his elbows on the railing, the night breeze ruffling his black hair. His pale skin seemed to glow in the night.

“Consultant Ji,” someone called from behind him.

Ji Yushi turned around, leaning against the railing.

The platform was poorly lit, and it was usually empty, so he squinted to confirm who it was.

A team of Guardians passed by in the corridor, about seven or eight of them, all dressed in black combat uniforms, looking like they had just returned from a mission. Lin Xinlan stopped and greeted his teammates before walking from the corridor to the platform.

It wasn’t unusual to run into Lin Xinlan at the Jiangcheng branch of the Sky Vault, especially since Teams Nine and Seven’s training grounds were on the same floor. Although both teams were often out on missions, they would still bump into each other frequently.

Ji Yushi just hadn’t expected to see him so soon.

Lin Xinlan approached: “I heard you guys were back right after my mission ended. I saw you from a distance and thought it was you—it really is you.”

Ji Yushi simply nodded at him.

He thought to himself that Jiangcheng really wasn’t a good place for him to stay—he couldn’t find anywhere to be alone.

The wind on the platform was strong, likely signaling an impending rain.

Lin Xinlan’s hair was also blown into disarray, making him look different from when they last met during the “Rubik’s Cube” mission. A year had passed, and he had changed his hairstyle, giving off a different vibe.

“It feels strange,” Lin Xinlan said with a smile in his peach blossom eyes, “For you, it’s like you just saw me yesterday, but for me, it’s been a year.”

Ji Yushi bluntly said, “Captain Lin, you lost the bet.”

During the “Rubik’s Cube” mission, Lin Xinlan had challenged Song Qinglan, saying they would compete to see who could complete the mission first, with the loser revealing a secret to Song Qinglan. A year ago, Lin Xinlan certainly didn’t think he would lose, but by now, he must have known the outcome and understood why Team Seven, including Song Qinglan, had treated him the way they did a year ago.

Keeping a secret was tough—he couldn’t tell Team Seven what would happen a year later, nor could he use any means to change this “history that would happen.” Except for the higher-ups in the Sky Vault, no one knew that Lin Xinlan had once completed a Rubik’s Cube mission with Team Seven from another time-space.

There were bloodstains on Lin Xinlan’s body, likely from the mission.

He laughed genuinely, not expecting Ji Yushi’s first words to be about this: “Thanks for the reminder, but I’ve already fulfilled my end of the bet, though the outcome wasn’t great.”

“Fulfilled the bet?” Ji Yushi thought for a moment and immediately understood what he meant. “I thought you said you’d never get involved with a straight guy.”

“Giving yourself a chance isn’t a bad thing. At least I tried.” Lin Xinlan shrugged. “Besides, Captain Song… isn’t as straight as I thought.”

Ji Yushi: “…How do you know?”

Lin Xinlan, thinking Ji Yushi didn’t believe him, leaned against the railing and explained slowly, “It’s just a feeling.”

Seeing Ji Yushi remain silent, Lin Xinlan continued, “You know, those rooms had a recording function. After we split up, I walked through a few rooms on my own and saw the traces left by you and Captain Song.”

He seemed to be lost in memories of a year ago as he slowly recounted, “You two were arguing, your tones were a bit heated. He was nervous, angry, but not because of your argument.”

Lin Xinlan was likely referring to the final stage of “splicing.”

Ji Yushi had witnessed Zoe’s death, and Song Qinglan had wanted to switch tracks with him, but he hadn’t listened. Instead, he climbed down the ladder, leaving Song Qinglan behind. At that time, Ji Yushi was desperate to escape the Rubik’s Cube, determined to return to that year as quickly as possible.

Lin Xinlan said, “I don’t know if fate was playing a joke on me, but I kept seeing traces of Song Qinglan. He was always looking for you.”

In every trace, whenever he encountered his teammates, Song Qinglan would instruct them: “If you find Ji Yushi, stay with him as much as possible, follow the same route, even if it slows you down.”

Zhou Mingxuan had asked, “What’s wrong?”

Song Qinglan replied, “He’s not in a good state.”

“Song Qinglan was worried,” Lin Xinlan seemed to sigh. “I’ve known him for a long time, and it was the first time I’d seen him put a mission second, all because a teammate wasn’t doing well. You don’t know how strict he can be with his teammates. I’ve never seen Song Qinglan look at anyone like that before, but I know what it looks like when someone has feelings for someone else.”

Ji Yushi hadn’t known any of this.

Or maybe he had, but he had never dated anyone or tried to turn a straight guy, so he thought it was just Song Qinglan’s reaction as a captain.

Lin Xinlan didn’t ask Ji Yushi how he felt about Song Qinglan, nor did he ask if the “straight guy” Ji Yushi had mentioned back then was Song Qinglan.

“Since Song Qinglan had the potential, and I had a year, I didn’t think it was unreasonable to give it a try. Love isn’t about fairness, after all,” Lin Xinlan said, pulling a dice from his pocket. “This is a dice he gave me when we were playing a game during our first training camp as recruits. We had a falling out later, and I wanted to return it to him by putting it on his desk, but I accidentally knocked over a water glass, which led to some nasty rumors. I wanted to explain, but I realized in the Rubik’s Cube that he had probably forgotten all about this.”

Ji Yushi looked at the dice.

He finally understood why Lin Xinlan had refused to use it to scout the path in the Rubik’s Cube.

Lin Xinlan put the dice back in his pocket: “But it still feels good to see that he’s also pining for someone.”

Ji Yushi: “?”

Lin Xinlan returned to his usual tone, “Before you came along, he had already pissed you off a lot, so I could tell you didn’t like him much, almost as if you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, right?”

Ji Yushi: “…Yes.”

“I knew it.” Lin Xinlan gave him a glance and then, with a playful twinkle in his peach blossom eyes, seemed to flirt, “Honestly, Consultant Ji, these straight guys won’t stay bent for long. Why not consider me? I can ‘switch’ for you.”

Ji Yushi instantly got goosebumps all over his arms. He didn’t accept the flirtation, instead, he asked with a deadpan expression, “Aren’t you going to throw away the dice?”

Lin Xinlan replied, “Why would I? I’ll keep it as a memento.”

Ji Yushi suggested, “If it bothers you, you should throw it away.”

Lin Xinlan thought about it and realized Ji Yushi had a point, so he took the dice out of his pocket again and hurled it far into the woods.

The dice drew a line in the night sky before disappearing completely.

After tossing the dice, Lin Xinlan seemed much lighter. He chatted with Ji Yushi for a bit longer, saying he had to change clothes, write his report, and then head home. Finally, he left.

Ji Yushi stayed on the platform for a while longer before returning to the training ground.

Most of the team had finished their video reports and asked him where he had gone. Ji Yushi said he had just taken a walk outside.

The psychological evaluations were scheduled for the next day. At this point, it felt like adjusting to a new time zone—everyone was well-rested but too awake to sleep, so Li Chun suggested playing a game to pass the time.

Song Qinglan, wearing a gray t-shirt, was the last to emerge from his private training room: “What game?”

Everyone eagerly suggested various games.

Song Qinglan, just like them, sat cross-legged next to Ji Yushi, resting his chin on his hand with interest as he listened.

Ji Yushi said, “Is there any dice game?”

Song Qinglan turned his head, his dark eyes gleaming under the bright lights of the training ground, and asked gently, “Is that what you want to play?”

Ji Yushi responded with a simple “Yes.”

Tang Le immediately chimed in, “Sure! We’ve got enough people! We can play Ludo, like the kind we used to play in the training camp. The props are right here!”

When it came to playing games, Tang Le and Li Chun were more enthusiastic than anyone. They quickly pulled out the game props from the storage cabinet and spread them out on the floor.

Song Qinglan casually tossed a dice in his hand and asked, “Let’s discuss the stakes—what’s the difference between winning and losing?”

The group got even more excited and came up with a bunch of mischievous ideas.

Song Qinglan felt warmth on the back of his hand.

He looked down to see Ji Yushi’s fingers resting on his hand, long and slender, with clean, beautiful nails.

When Ji Yushi noticed him looking, he withdrew his hand and said, “If I win, I want the dice.”

In the training camp, there was an unspoken rule that whoever won the game first could claim the privilege of rolling the dice for everyone, determining their fate.

Everyone assumed that’s what Ji Yushi meant.

Without a second thought, Song Qinglan agreed, “Deal.”