Chapter Thirty-Three: Unintentional Words

The aftershocks of BXX's probing attack, like a thick, blood-smelling oil slick, shrouded the headquarters of the Xuyue Organization.

Despite Gongyang Yandaosi's astonishing efficiency in stabilizing internal defenses, Muye's intelligence network cutting into the dark underbelly of London like a scalpel to search for enemy traces, and Xiya's rapid response team being ready to fire like a taut bowstring, a silent, suffocating pressure still permeated every corner of this steel fortress.

In this highly tense atmosphere, Zhong Si felt like a spring being wound up tighter and tighter.

He was tasked with following Mu Ye closely, assisting in processing the flood of fragmented information, some true and some false. This was a golden opportunity to unleash his "Butterfly Sea" potential, but at this moment, every piece of intelligence that passed before him could foreshadow an even more intense attack, and the consequences of every tiny misjudgment were so heavy that he could hardly breathe.

Beneath his violet eyes lingered dark circles. Even in rare moments of respite, his fingers would unconsciously and nervously tap on the table or his thigh, trying to decipher a nonexistent code. His brain was unable to stop working, nor could it stop fear.

What he feared was not death itself, but the fear of loss—the loss of this "home" that had given him refuge, the loss of the cold yet ever-present barrier of Xiya, the unfathomable yet orderly authority of Xuyue, the silent protection of Gongyang, and even the harsh approval of Muye. This fear of loss terrified him far more than facing the muzzle of a gun.

He needed an anchor, a floating island that would allow him to briefly surface from this sea of ​​despair and anxiety and catch his breath. And that anchor could only be a wisp of driftwood.

At the end of that secluded corridor, usually filled with discarded file boxes and rarely visited by anyone, Zhong Si leaned against the cold, rough brick wall, slowly slid down to the ground, and buried his face deep in his knees. He was too tired, so tired that he could hardly maintain the strong exterior he usually tried to project in front of Qian Xu and Wu Yun.

A heavy sense of guilt also gnawed at him—he knew that Qianxu Wuyun might have ulterior motives, but this "knowing" did not stop him from getting closer to her; instead, it made him feel that he was also participating in a dangerous conspiracy.

"Zhong Si?" Qian Xu's gentle voice, filled with genuine concern, rang out above him. She crouched down, her bright yellow eyes brimming with concern in the dim light, and carefully reached out to touch his slightly trembling shoulder. "Your hands are so cold... What happened? Everyone seems so tense lately, even the atmosphere in the tavern is strange."

Zhong Si looked up, his eyes revealing undisguised exhaustion, anxiety, and a subtle, complex emotion stemming from his "knowing" of the situation. He grasped Qian Xu Wuyun's hand, the warm touch feeling like a lifeline.

He needed to confide in someone, to reassure himself that everything he cared about hadn't collapsed, even if the person he confided in was someone he subconsciously knew he shouldn't fully trust. This inner conflict exacerbated his suffering.

“It was BXX…” His voice was hoarse, filled with lingering fear. “They attacked our base at the docks, and people died… Siago… he’s furious and wants immediate revenge, but Miss Mu and Mr. Gongyang want to find the enemy first… Sister Xuyue ordered us to defend with all our might…” He stammered, gripping her hand tightly, as if only then could he find a sliver of security. “Everyone is working non-stop right now, the information overload is overwhelming, the pressure is immense… I… I’m so afraid that when the next attack comes, we won’t be prepared… afraid of losing more people…”

Qianxu Wuyun's heart clenched suddenly. Meng She's cold voice coiled around her heart like a venomous snake once more: "The organization's emergency response plan... the core contingency mode..."

Looking at Zhong Si, who seemed as vulnerable as a lost child, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that threatened to tear her apart.

She wanted to hug him, tell him the truth, and take him away from all this strife.

But she can't.

The snake's warning and her fear of Zhong Si's safety were like two locks, firmly locking her throat.

She suppressed the churning pain in her chest, trying to make her voice sound like it came from pure concern and a desire to share his burden. She gently squeezed his hand, guiding his question, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid...it will be alright. Your organization is so powerful, you must have a comprehensive plan for dealing with emergencies like this, right? Just like...just like how you dealt with other crises before? There's a complete process, isn't there? Knowing there's a backup plan always makes me feel more at ease..."

Her words carried an instinctive attempt to soothe anxiety with "certainty," yet they precisely struck at the psychological comfort that Zhong Si needed most at that moment—a confirmation of "order" and "safety."

These words were like a key, inadvertently unlocking a door in Zhong Si's heart that contained highly sensitive information and should have been tightly locked. Under extreme anxiety, a complex and unspeakable emotional dependence on Qian Xu Wu Yun, and an urgent desire to prove that the organization was "prepared" to reassure herself—or perhaps more to reassure herself—Zhong Si's rigorously trained brain, exceptionally sensitive to information, subconsciously began to search for and "confirm" her seemingly reasonable question.

He needed to believe that the organization was foolproof, and he needed to voice this belief as if it would come true if he did.

“Yes…yes…” Zhong Si grasped at a straw, his speech quickening, as if reciting some kind of reassuring incantation, both to convince her and to convince himself, “Mr. Gongyang has already planned it…if the main exit is blocked, we have…”

There are three backup emergency evacuation routes, leading to the underground pipe network, an adjacent abandoned factory, and the riverbank respectively... The key is dynamically generated every twelve hours by half of the password held by Sister Xuyue and Mr. Gongyang respectively... In the event of a disruption, core members will...

Converging on three pre-selected locations: the abandoned church cemetery in the west of the city, the crane control room at Pier 3 in the port, and... and the safe house disguised as a laundry room in the north district, awaiting backup... communications will switch to a backup frequency band, using... using the 'Raven Feather' codebook for secondary encryption..."

He spoke haltingly, these fragmented pieces of information were things he overheard while studying with Mu Ye, things he glimpsed unintentionally while helping to organize the encryption scheme, and things his brain uncontrollably pieced together in a state of extreme tension and dependence.

He didn't intend to leak information; he wasn't even aware that he was. He was simply sharing a blueprint for "security" that he firmly believed in, using the organization's "strength" and "meticulousness" to combat his inner fears, and yearning for validation and comfort from the only person he could confide in.

This is a psychological defense mechanism used to gain a sense of control under immense pressure through a "talking plan".

But with each word he uttered, Qianxu Wuyun's face paled a little more. Her bright yellow eyes were filled with horror and pain.

She didn't want to hear it! This information was like a red-hot iron, burning her eardrums and branding itself into her memory. She wanted to scream at him to stop, to tell him these were potentially fatal secrets!

But she could only bite her lower lip hard until a faint taste of blood filled her mouth, forcing herself to show an expression that could barely be described as "relieved" or even "admiring," and nod slightly, as if she were pleased with the "meticulous plan" he had described.

"So...you were so well prepared..." She heard her own insincere voice tremble slightly. She reached out and gently stroked Zhong Si's hair, her movements soft, but her fingertips were as cold as iron. "This...this puts my mind at ease...You must also remember, in case...in case anything happens, you must follow the plan and protect yourself, understand?"

Her instructions were filled with genuine concern, but the object of that concern formed a cruel irony with the actions she was about to take.

Under her clumsy yet gentle reassurance, Zhong Si's tense nerves seemed to relax a little.

He leaned against her, murmuring, "Hmm... Qianxu, it's so good to have you here... Every time I talk to you, I feel... less scared, as if... even in the most difficult situation, there's always a way out."

These words were like a poisoned dagger, piercing Qianxu Wuyun's heart with pinpoint accuracy, causing her to almost curl up in pain. She hugged him tightly, burying her face in his thin shoulder, trying to hide the tears streaming down her face and the almost overflowing, desperate self-loathing in her eyes.

What am I doing? I am exploiting his fear and trust, handing the key that could destroy him and everything he cherishes to the devil!

The brief moment of reliance felt like a prolonged torture. After parting, Qianxu Wuyun returned to the cramped storage room, utterly dejected. She slumped to the floor, covering her mouth tightly with her hands, suppressing her heart-wrenching sobs.

A wave of overwhelming guilt washed over her like a black tide. She recalled every location, every keyword Zhong Si had mentioned—the three passages, the dynamic password, the three gathering points, the Raven Feather Code…

These fragments of information, like a shattered treasure map, spun and rearranged wildly in her mind, becoming clear and deadly.

She knew she had to get this information out. The Dream Serpent's patience was limited; any delay could provoke immediate retaliation against Zhong Si.

But every time she repeated these messages in her mind, it felt like she was reading a death sentence with her own soul. After extreme pain and struggle, with trembling hands, she recorded the information on a small, water-soluble, specially made piece of paper using the simplest symbols and abbreviations.

The process of writing is like carving one's own tombstone.

The moment she completed the action, she felt as if all her strength had been drained, and she collapsed to the ground, her eyes vacant as she stared at the cobweb-covered ceiling, as if she could see through it the mocking and cruel smile of fate.

The next day, she was like a puppet being manipulated, completing the delivery of the message. The moment that light yet incredibly heavy note slipped into the narrow crevice of the dead mailbox, she felt as if a part of her soul shattered completely, sinking into an endless abyss of darkness.

She betrayed more than just intelligence; she betrayed Zhong Si's most vulnerable trust, revealed to her in his fear; the budding romance between them, which began as a lie but gradually blossomed into something real; and the only glimmer of light she herself glimpsed in endless darkness. These unintentional words, like the flapping of a butterfly's wings, were destined to unleash a devastating storm.

And the eye of the storm was the boy who had placed his final trust in her.

That same evening, the sky was overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low, as if they might crush the weary city at any moment. West Asia had just completed a highly tense border patrol mission.

BXX's shadow, like a tangible poisonous fog, corroded every corner of the organization and his nerves.

The potential consequences of Zhong Si's unintentional revelation of information were like a cold needle, constantly pricking his taut nerves. Guilt towards Xu Yue, worry about the organization's safety, and fear of losing control of himself—all these emotions churned and fermented in his chest, almost bursting him apart.

He didn't immediately return to the suffocating pressure cooker of the manor. As if by some strange twist of fate, his steps deviated from his usual route, passing through several increasingly secluded alleys piled with garbage, and he stopped outside an old bookstore with a narrow storefront, its signboard faded and almost blending into the wall.

Here again, at the "Horn of Oblivion," a place where the universe temporarily resides.

The bookstore window was covered in a thick layer of dust, and inside were piles of yellowed and curled books, resembling a pile of silent skeletons in the dim light. In contrast to the dilapidated surroundings, a faint, warm yellow glow, weak yet persistent, peeked through the crack in the door.

Sia stood in the shadow of the clutter across the street, leaning against the cold, damp brick wall, breathing heavily. He didn't know why he had come here.

Was he seeking solace? No, he didn't need it, nor did he deserve it. Was he confessing? To whom? To this girl of unknown origin? He felt enveloped by a sticky weariness and an unvented restlessness, like an insect trapped in a spider's web.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, returning to the darkness where he should belong, the creaking wooden door was gently pushed open.

Zhou stood at the door, still wearing that simple, faded cotton dress, with a slightly oversized old wool cardigan over it.

Her hair, a blend of hazy blue and sunset hues, was casually draped over her shoulders, seemingly bathed in a soft halo of light from inside the doorway. She held an empty milk bottle in her hand, as if she were about to come out.

Her gaze fell precisely on the shadows where Sia hid, as if she had known he was there all along. There was no surprise, no fear, only a deep, calm that seemed capable of containing all sorrow.

“You look like a wolf that has been lingering near a trap for too long,” Zhou’s voice was soft, like the night breeze rustling through the pages of a book. “Would you like to come in and sit down? It’s cold outside.”

Xiya's body stiffened for a moment.

He wanted to refuse, to scare her away with his usual fierceness.

But when he met her eyes, which were usually clear but now seemed to reflect all the chaotic colors of his heart, the harsh words he was about to utter caught in his throat. That gaze was without judgment, without demanding, only a pure...seeing.

He walked almost numbly, following some kind of instinct, through the narrow street and into the small bookstore.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the cold and noise of the outside world. A warm scent, a mixture of old paper, dried wood, and faint herbs, wafted in and instantly enveloped him.

The bookstore was more crowded inside than outside, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with all kinds of books, leaving only narrow aisles.

An old kerosene lamp sits in the corner of the counter, serving as the main light source in the room. The flickering flame casts warm, swaying shadows all around.

Time seems to flow slower here.

Zhou placed the milk bottle by the door without asking any questions, and simply gestured for Xiya to sit down in a sturdy-looking old armchair by the fireplace.

There was no fire in the fireplace, but neatly stacked firewood lay beside it. She pulled up a cushion and sat in the shadow of the bookshelf a little further away, casually picking up a thick book and placing it on her lap, but without opening it. She simply watched him quietly, as if waiting.

When Xi Ya's taut back touched the soft, though slightly sagging, chair back, it relaxed almost imperceptibly by a millimeter. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the silent books, which, like countless silent eyes, had witnessed countless stories but never uttered a sound.

This absolute silence was a stark contrast to his daily world, filled with gunfire, alarms, commands, and conspiracies.

A long silence lingered in the air, but it wasn't awkward; rather, it felt like a gentle buffer.

“…Lately, things haven’t been peaceful.” Sia finally spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood. He didn’t look at Zhou, his gaze fixed on the worn lines on the floor. “There are many things…it feels…about to get out of control.”

He didn't mention BXX, the organization's crisis, or the mistakes Zhong Si might have made. He simply described a state of being, a feeling that was suffocating him.

Zhou listened quietly without interrupting. Her very presence was like a sound-absorbing sponge, absorbing all the unspeakable weight of his emotions beyond words.

“I…” Sia continued with difficulty, her fingers unconsciously picking at a small crack on the leather armrest, “I want to protect… my home. But sometimes… I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I’m afraid… afraid that because of my mistakes, I will lose something else.”

He thought of Yanni, that old wound that had never truly healed, now throbbing again under the immense pressure. A fierce battle raged within him between a protective instinct and a sense of powerlessness, threatening to tear him apart.

He finally raised his head and looked at Zhou in the shadows. His red eyes no longer held their usual violence or coldness, but were filled with a rare, almost fragile, confusion and exhaustion. "I just... feel very tired."

These words were as soft as a sigh, yet they exhausted all his strength. He had never shown such vulnerability to anyone, including Xu Yue.

Zhou met his gaze silently. Her eyes, in the dim light, shone with an almost silvery-gray luster, deep and serene. After a long while, she spoke softly, her voice like a feather brushing against the heart: "When a shadow chases after something for too long, it forgets that it is the light itself. You already carry too much, Xiya."

She didn't use the code name "whale shark," but called him by his name. This realization sent a slight shiver down Xiya's spine.

“Protecting those you want to protect is not wrong,” she continued, her voice steady and firm. “But true strength sometimes lies not in how many threats you destroy, but in… in the eye of the storm, for yourself and for those you care about, guarding that small, inviolable patch of tranquility.”

Her words offered no concrete solutions, but they were like a gentle hand, softly brushing away some of the dust that had accumulated in his heart.

She didn't ask for details or judge right or wrong; she simply acknowledged his struggle and gave him a completely different perspective.

Sia stared at her, a strange calming effect on the surging anger and anxiety in his chest. In this secluded, bookish little space, with the quiet companionship of this mysterious girl, he seemed to have temporarily escaped from that world filled with killing, betrayal, and immense pressure.

He stopped speaking, simply leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes, letting the warm, tranquil atmosphere of the bookstore envelop him. The kerosene lamp occasionally crackled softly, and the faint tolling of a bell drifted from afar. This was the first time in a long time that he had experienced a moment of true peace.

After an unknown amount of time, Xiya suddenly woke up, realizing that he had unknowingly taken a short nap.

He immediately sat up straight, regaining his usual alertness, but the heaviness between his brows seemed to have dissipated somewhat.

Zhou remained seated in the same spot, the book on his lap still unopened, as if it were always guarding his peaceful sleep.

"I should go." Xiya stood up, her voice still low, but less hoarse than before.

Zhou nodded, without trying to stop him.

Reaching the door, Sia placed his hand on the doorknob, paused for a moment, and without turning around, whispered, "...Thank you."

Zhou's lips seemed to curve into a tiny, slight smile as he whispered, "Goodnight, Xiya."

Xiya did not respond, but pushed open the door and stepped into the increasingly deep night. The cold wind blew on his face again, but this time, he felt a faint, indescribable warmth and strength within him.

This brief period of seclusion became a subtle yet crucial turning point in his relationship with this mysterious girl. His future remained uncertain and fraught with danger, but at least for this moment, he no longer felt like he was walking alone in the darkness, burdened by his own circumstances.

Behind him, out of sight, the door of the old bookstore closed gently, locking that moment of tranquility back into the warm, dim light.

Zhou walked to the window and watched Xiya's tall figure disappear into the alley. A complex and indescribable emotion flashed in her eyes, including concern, pity, and perhaps... a deeper sense of destiny that even she herself could not fully understand.

The storm is still gathering, and the fates of the two souls who briefly met in the eye of the storm have been irreversibly altered because of this conversation.