Chapter 35: The Dragons and Tigers of the Second Squad
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Li Lin had been sound asleep when the shrill ring of his phone tore through the quiet room. The sound didn’t just wake him—it sent a strange prickling alarm through his entire body, as if some hidden instinct deep inside him had suddenly awakened and started shouting warnings.
As a top agent of the Special Affairs Bureau, Li Lin knew better than to ignore such feelings. He snapped awake at once, leaping off his narrow, temporary bed with a single swift movement. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and darted toward the window that looked out onto the street below.
“This is Li Lin,” he said briskly the moment he answered the call. He settled himself at the window, raising a small device with layered, complex lenses to his eye so he could peer down at the street. “What’s happening?”
On the other end of the line, Song Cheng’s voice came through, sounding unusually stern. “Are you seeing anything out of the ordinary down there?” he asked.
Li Lin pressed one eye closer to the lens apparatus, at the same time glancing toward the open laptop beside him. The computer was busy monitoring data—lines of information scrolling by—while he tried to spot anything unusual on the street. “Everything’s normal,” he reported after a moment. “There was a tiny spike in energy around one in the morning, but it was just one of those periodic surges we usually get in the Borderland.”
“Xu Jiali has already left for your location,” Song Cheng said in a low voice. “Keep an eye on that street. If you see anything, report it right away. And listen, don’t you dare go out there alone until Xu Jiali arrives. Understood?”
Li Lin blinked, surprised by the sharp warning in Song Cheng’s tone. “Uh, right, got it!” he said quickly. Then he couldn’t help asking, “What exactly is going on?”
“The Borderland is experiencing large-scale space-time distortions and resets, happening every five to ten minutes,” Song Cheng said.
Li Lin gasped, but before he could say another word, Song Cheng hung up. The agent took a deep breath and looked out into the night. Then he turned his gaze to the oversized screen in the distant corner of the Command Center—an image he could still picture clearly in his mind, since he had been there just yesterday.
Back at the Command Center, the large chamber was brilliantly lit. Agents in crisp black uniforms hunched over their terminals, eyes locked on data displays. A great map of Boundary City stretched across a giant screen at the far end, accompanied by three-dimensional diagrams woven from glowing lines and dots. These flickered with massive streams of information and signals from remote monitors. Occasionally, someone stepped in from a side door, carrying new updates or sometimes worse news, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor.
Song Cheng stood there, arms folded. His eyes were fixed on that huge screen, thoughts churning behind his calm expression. Behind him, a woman in a neat black skirt suit lowered her voice, just enough so her words wouldn’t carry too far. “We’ve had a few small space-time anomalies over the past couple of days,” she said, “but nothing like this—nothing so large or frequent. The Borderland is odd in its own way, so we weren’t that worried at first. We’ve seen strange things happen here now and then.”
A man’s voice joined hers, sounding frustrated. “It must’ve been a test before something bigger,” he grumbled. “Now ‘they’ have started in earnest. Curse it, we got caught off guard.”
Before anyone could reply, a sudden call rang out from one of the nearby terminals: “Detected a rift forming! It’s pointing towards Charven-b, but we haven’t pinned down the exact coordinates yet. Trying to trace it now!”
Song Cheng’s brow tightened. He began silently counting in his head, waiting to see if this disturbance would vanish as quickly as the last ones.
Barely a dozen seconds passed before the next report came. “Rift closed! Trace failed! Space-time structure restored!” the technician announced.
This had been happening over and over again—every few minutes, the same pattern. The intervals weren’t exact, but about every ten minutes, a rift appeared, flickered, and then vanished without leaving a single clue.
What was the purpose? Who could possibly be behind something so strange? If someone meant harm, why not break something or cause damage?
Just as Song Cheng was thinking this, it started again. “Detected a rift forming! Pointing towards White Dragon-c, coordinates still unconfirmed. Attempting to trace…” Then moments later: “Rift closed! Trace failed…”
Song Cheng’s frown grew deeper. Before he could gather his thoughts, a low humming sound came from a nearby station, and a large screen flashed to life. On it appeared the image of a woman. She looked to be under thirty, with a kind of graceful aloofness. She wore a spotless white suit, and her hair—gray-white in color—was pulled back loosely. Her eyes, too, were a pale, almost colorless shade of gray. There was something about her that seemed drained of warmth, as if life’s colors had faded around her.
The moment Song Cheng saw this woman, he stood up straighter. A strained, respectful smile tugged at his lips. “Director,” he greeted her, “we’re still tracking—”
The Director didn’t let him finish. “What’s the current situation?” she asked, her voice calm and cool, as if nothing could possibly surprise her.
Song Cheng took a steadying breath. “The rifts are still appearing and disappearing,” he began. “We can’t trace where they come from. But we can confirm one thing: they’re not hurting the Borderland at all. The space-time structure remains stable.”
“No damage?” the Director repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Exactly,” Song Cheng said. “Although we’ve labeled them as ‘space-time distortions,’ they’re not really tearing anything. Each time one appears, it’s as if it belongs there, like a doorway that was always meant to exist. And when it closes, it’s as if it was never there. No harm done—no collapse, no injuries. No one in the city has reported feeling anything.”
The Director said nothing for a long moment. Her silence felt heavy and thoughtful. Song Cheng waited, silent and patient.
Finally, she asked, “That ‘special location’ you’re monitoring—any changes there?”
Song Cheng shook his head, grimacing slightly. “No. Not at all. It’s the calmest spot in all of Boundary City. Strangely calm, like a black hole swallowing every ripple before it forms. Everyone knows something’s off about that place, yet we can’t point to anything truly unusual. I’ve sent our best diver from the Second Squad there. We also have two extra monitoring teams approaching that street from different angles.”
The Director’s gaze sharpened. “What do you think the people responsible for this are trying to achieve?” she asked.
Song Cheng hesitated. “It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “At first, I thought it might be an attack, but now… it’s more like they’re just opening and closing these rifts over and over. It’s been nearly the whole night, and no one’s been hurt. No property damage, no chaos. It’s as if they’re only… testing something.”
“Could it be a new ‘Obscure Angel’ phenomenon?” the Director asked quietly.
Song Cheng shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Obscure Angels always come with large-scale disruptions. They cause real, visible harm—none of which we’re seeing here. Besides, if an Obscure Angel had appeared, those fanatical Angel cultists would be causing a stir right now. We haven’t heard a peep from them.”
The Director nodded slightly. “As long as it’s not an Obscure Angel, that’s something,” she said.
Song Cheng let out a breath. “Yes, anything but that,” he agreed. But he still frowned as he thought aloud: “If this is the work of a person or a group, who on earth can do something like this? And what’s their goal?”
The Director’s eyes seemed to cloud slightly at his words. After a pause, she spoke softly, “The world is vast, Song. There are many groups and ancient beings we have yet to meet. Our universe is still young; its laws and principles are still taking shape. We must learn to adapt. Our work has never been about dealing with the ‘known.’”
Song Cheng nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said.
The Director’s pale eyes shifted slightly, as if she sensed a subtle change somewhere unseen. She spoke again, her voice quieter now, “It’s settling down.”
Song Cheng looked around. The screens and terminals had grown quiet. No new rift warnings. For the moment, at least, the strange phenomena had ceased.
…
Meanwhile, at Li Lin’s cramped rented apartment, a pattern of knocks sounded at the door. Li Lin didn’t just open it blindly. He felt out the aura beyond the door, trusting his well-honed instincts. Only then did he unlock it and stand aside.
A huge man stepped inside, nearly two meters tall and broad across the shoulders. He had to duck slightly as he entered, lugging behind him a massive black case that seemed right in tune with his towering build.
“Phew,” the big man grumbled, glancing around at the tiny space. “This place is so cramped. Smaller than the landing pod I was stuck in two days ago.”
Li Lin rolled his eyes. “Hey, at least it’s bigger than that rusted old truck you drove all the way from Headquarters,” he said dryly. “If you managed to drive that wreck here, you shouldn’t complain about my place.”
The big man chuckled, shoving the heavy case against the wall before slumping onto the living room couch with a happy sigh. “Well, it’s human living space at least,” he said, stretching out. “The couch beats the hard rocks and scorching sand on Ameyn-IX, that’s for sure.”
Li Lin watched him for a moment, still finding it hard to believe who this man was. This giant was Xu Jiali—the most experienced and skilled diver in the Special Affairs Bureau’s Second Mobilization Squad. Everyone said the Second Squad was full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers, and Xu Jiali certainly seemed like a tiger in human form.
Li Lin still remembered how, on his very first day, he had read the name “Xu Jiali” on a roster and asked who she was. Imagine his shock when a nearly two-meter-tall man had come striding up, clapping him on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him, and boomed, “I’m Xu Jiali!” The memory still made Li Lin’s stomach clench whenever he saw the fellow.
For his part, Xu Jiali was perfectly at ease. He’d lived with his name for thirty years, and he couldn’t have cared less if it surprised people. He belonged to the Second Squad, after all—a squad known for impossible talents and unexpected strengths.