Chapter 35: The Second Squad of Hidden Dragons
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
Li Lin was jolted awake by the shrill ringing of his phone. The blaring sound cut through the silence of his sleep, but it wasn’t just the noise that set him on edge—a sudden gut feeling warned him that something was very wrong.
He wasn’t an ordinary person. As an operative of the Special Affairs Bureau, Li Lin’s instincts were sharp, and his training had taught him to trust them. He snapped into action, instantly awake and alert. Throwing off the covers, he jumped out of bed, his eyes immediately scanning the dim room. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and hurried to the window, peering down at the street below.
“This is Li Lin,” he answered crisply, settling himself by the window and pointing a strange lens-like device at the empty street. “What’s happening?”
On the other end, Song Cheng’s voice was unusually grave. “Do you see anything unusual?”
Li Lin adjusted the lens, watching the shifting shadows and lights reflecting through it. His eyes flicked to his laptop, monitoring a stream of live data. Scrolling quickly through the recent logs, he responded, “Nothing significant. Surveillance data is normal. There was a minor energy fluctuation at around one a.m.—just the typical ‘surge’ we see from the Boundary Zone.”
“Xu Jiali is on her way to you now,” Song Cheng’s tone was tight. “Keep an eye on your surroundings, but under no circumstances are you to leave. Report to me if anything happens, but do not move until Xu Jiali gets there. Understood?”
“Wait, what?” Li Lin was momentarily taken aback, but quickly composed himself. “Understood,” he said, nodding. Then he couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly is going on?”
Song Cheng paused, then spoke with grim clarity. “There are massive temporal and spatial disruptions happening at the Boundary Zone. Dislocations and resets—every five to ten minutes. We don’t know why.”
Before Li Lin could react, the call ended abruptly. He stared at his phone, baffled. Something about this felt beyond the ordinary, even for them. He took a deep breath, looking out at the quiet street. The feeling of unease didn’t leave him. It only grew.
Meanwhile, far away, Song Cheng leaned back in his seat, glancing up at the enormous digital screen before him. The entire command hall was brightly lit, filled with staff from the Special Affairs Bureau, all in dark uniforms, working intensely at their stations. They tracked every fluctuation, analyzed every shift, and tried to make sense of it all.
The main screen displayed a map of Boundary City—a flat, glowing representation of its winding streets and structures. Above it, a complex three-dimensional diagram hovered, with swirling lines and symbols indicating the flow of temporal energy. Data streamed in continuously, and the tension in the hall was palpable.
“There’ve been minor disruptions in the past few days,” a young woman in a black suit said, her voice low as she stood behind Song Cheng. “But nothing this major or this frequent. The Boundary Zone has always been unstable, but not like this…”
Another voice joined in, “Feels like they’re testing us, right? Like a warm-up before something bigger.” He shook his head. “Damn. We should’ve been more careful.”
Before they could say more, a voice called out from one of the stations, “We’ve detected a new rift! Location—Chawen-b! Coordinates aren’t clear yet. Trying to trace the source!”
Song Cheng frowned deeply, staying silent as he counted the seconds in his head.
Then, the follow-up report came: “Rift closed! Trace failed! Spatial structure restored!”
These reports had been coming in all night, each event lasting just a few seconds before disappearing. It seemed almost calculated, but for what purpose? Who had the ability to tamper with space-time like this?
Another alert: “Rift detected! Pointing to Bailong-c! Attempting trace…”
“Rift closed. Trace failed.”
Song Cheng sighed, his frown deepening. As he was lost in thought, a low hum made him turn. A nearby screen flickered to life, showing the image of a woman. She looked to be under thirty, her expression cold, her eyes an unsettling pale gray. Her ash-gray hair was pulled back, and she wore a crisp white suit that gave her an air of unapproachable authority.
Song Cheng straightened, his demeanor instantly changing to one of respect. “Director,” he greeted her, his voice stiff but respectful. “We’re still working on the—”
“What’s the status?” she cut him off, her tone calm but icy.
Song Cheng nodded. “Rifts are still forming and closing continuously. We can’t trace them back to their source, but we have confirmed that the integrity of the Boundary Zone itself hasn’t been compromised. There’s no lasting damage.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “No damage?”
“Not so far,” Song Cheng confirmed. “We’re classifying these events as temporal and spatial dislocations, but honestly, they only superficially resemble the usual phenomena. When the rifts form, it feels like… like they belong there. As if they’ve always existed. And when they vanish, it’s like they were never there at all. No shockwaves, no damage—and, as of now, no casualties.”
The Director remained silent for a long moment, her pale eyes staring past the screen. Song Cheng waited, feeling the weight of her gaze even through the digital connection.
“The special location you’ve had under surveillance,” she spoke suddenly, “any changes?”
“None,” Song Cheng replied with a sigh. “It’s the calmest spot in all of Boundary City—almost like a void. We all know something’s happening there, but there’s no visible trace. I’ve deployed the best agent from the Second Squad and positioned extra teams to watch the area from different directions.”
The Director was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What do you think their goal is?”
Song Cheng hesitated. “At first, I thought it was an attack,” he said slowly. “But now… it feels like they’re just testing something. Opening and closing rifts all night—yet no one seems to be harmed.”
“Could it be another ‘Dark Angel’ phenomenon?”
Song Cheng shook his head. “No. Dark Angel events are chaotic—they always involve uncontrollable rifts and damage to the real world. This… this is too precise. And besides, we’ve had no reports of angel cultists. If there were a new Dark Angel, those zealots would be causing trouble.”
The Director nodded slightly. “As long as it’s not a Dark Angel, we can manage.”
“Yes, Director. But… if this is being done by a person, then who could possibly have the power to pull this off?” Song Cheng muttered to himself, his thoughts turning inward. “What are they trying to accomplish…?”
The Director’s expression softened, her voice taking on a different tone. “This world is full of mysteries, Song. There are ancient beings and entities we haven’t yet encountered. The universe is still young, and the rules that govern it are not yet set in stone. Remember, our job isn’t to handle what we know—it’s to face the unknown.”
Song Cheng met her gaze and nodded solemnly. “I understand.”
The Director’s eyes seemed to grow distant for a moment. Then, as if sensing something, she turned slightly, her gaze locking on something beyond the screen. “It’s calming down,” she said softly.
Song Cheng looked around the command hall. No more alerts were coming in.
…
A specific series of knocks echoed at the door. Li Lin, standing by the entrance, paused, letting his senses confirm the familiar presence on the other side. Once he was sure, he stepped aside and opened the door.
A hulking figure, nearly two meters tall, had to duck slightly to fit through the doorframe, hauling behind him a massive black case that suited his enormous build.
“You really live in a cramped space, you know that?” the big man grumbled, his gaze flickering towards Li Lin, who remained by the door. “It’s even smaller than that landing pod I was stuck in two days ago.”
Li Lin rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s still bigger than that old rust bucket of yours. And you drove it all the way from the Bureau, so spare me the complaints about my place.”
The big man chuckled, dragging his heavy case to the side of the room before plopping himself onto the living room sofa. He let out a long, content sigh.
“Alright, alright. At least it’s a place fit for humans,” he said, giving the sofa a firm pat. “This thing is leagues better than the hard rocks and blistering sands back on Aimeen IX.”
Li Lin watched, a mixture of resignation and amusement playing on his face.
This was Xu Jiali, the most accomplished deep diver of the Second Action Squad within the Special Affairs Bureau. He was infamous among his peers for his incredible stamina and unflappable demeanor—and for his surprising name.
Li Lin still found it awkward dealing with him, and it had nothing to do with Xu Jiali’s skills. The discomfort came from the memory of his first day at the Bureau. He’d been looking through the team roster when he stumbled upon the name “Xu Jiali,” and, assuming it was a female member, had gone around asking for “her.” It was during orientation when a giant—standing close to 1.98 meters tall—had approached him, clapped his shoulder hard enough to nearly dislocate it, and introduced himself in a voice so thunderous it nearly shook the room.
“Xu Jiali, reporting!”
Li Lin’s ears had rung for hours afterwards. Even now, he’d flinch a little whenever Xu Jiali greeted him. Not that Xu Jiali had any clue about that. He’d lived with his name for over thirty years and was entirely used to it.
The saying went that the Second Squad of the Special Affairs Bureau was full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.