Chapter 101 — Falling Flame and Oathlight
Aurora City Hall · Special Session
At 9:15 a.m., slanted morning light cut through the conference room windows, casting cold metallic reflections across the long table.
The air-conditioning hummed softly. The temperature had been deliberately lowered by two degrees—standard protocol whenever City Hall confronted a major crisis. Cool air kept minds sharp.
On the wall, the clock’s second hand advanced with mechanical precision.
Each tick sounded unnervingly loud in the silence.
Deputy Mayor Whitman, the standing executive, gently slid a report toward the center of the table. His knuckles tapped the paper once.
The secretaries recording in the back row instinctively straightened.
“Regarding the South District Spiritual Catastrophe,” his voice carried the rough texture of one long accustomed to hearings and funerals alike, “we must examine this incident from two perspectives.”
“First: the loss of two thousand and twenty-seven citizens is a wound borne by the entire city.”
“Second: the emergency response system ultimately succeeded in preventing further spread—demonstrating that our foundational defenses remain effective.”
Each sentence had been sanded smooth.
Mistakes dissolved into abstractions.
Responsibility thinned, diluted until it barely clung to anyone at all.
Emergency Deputy Mayor Coleman seamlessly followed the prepared cadence.
“Information transmission during the initial phase contained systemic ambiguity, which delayed escalation protocols,” he said evenly. “This was a structural limitation—not an individual failure.”
Across the table, Public Relations Director Harris adopted a solemn, professionally mournful expression.
“City Hall will initiate a comprehensive review,” she said after a calculated pause. “But at present—what citizens need most is healing, not reckoning.”
Beneath the table, the projector flickered to life in a muted blue glow. Leo reached for the control panel, ready to play the carefully edited reconstruction footage—
When suddenly—
The sound of military boots striking marble echoed from the corridor.
Measured. Precise. Unmistakable.
YiChen appeared in the doorway.
Dark-gray combat gear traced sharp, unforgiving lines along his frame. His posture was straight, his expression steel-cold beneath the pale light.
As he stepped inside—
Every movement in the room froze.
Conversation died mid-breath.
Even the air itself seemed to hesitate.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
He walked slowly toward the head of the table. Each step landed like a gavel strike.
The projector had not yet fully brightened—
—but his voice cut through the room first.
“A procedural issue?”
The temperature dropped another degree.
A retrieved access log landed on the table with a sharp crack. Paper scattered outward. Director Harris’s fingers twitched.
“06:07,” YiChen said calmly, as though reciting a verdict.
“The first emergency call from South District Building Seven connected.”
“07:15—Animal Control Bureau dispatched,”
his finger tapped the file once,
“—one vehicle. Two staff members.”
Coleman’s pen slipped from his hand and clattered against the floor.
“08:20—the incident was formally classified as a mutated rodent event.”
“09:37—”
YiChen’s palm struck the table edge. Knuckles blanched white.
“—the first armed police unit arrived.”
Silence pressed down like weight.
Then—he smiled.
It was faint.
Controlled.
Whitman’s coffee cup rippled in his hand.
“This was not a system malfunction,” YiChen said.
“This was—”
“Selective blindness.”
The words struck the table like a hammer.
Deputy Mayor of Public Security Reynolds finally spoke, his voice low and strained.
“Commander Caelestis, you need to understand—this wasn’t indifference. Reports from low-income districts are frequent. The system is fatigued. Resources must be prioritized—”
“They weren’t disturbances,” YiChen cut in.
“They were dying.”
“You assumed they were exaggerating,” he continued evenly.
“So you chose not to verify.”
The room went utterly still.
Emergency Bureau Director Matthews cleared his throat, forcing a conciliatory tone.
“Commander Caelestis, you are the core combat leader on the front lines. We understand your emotional state, but please believe—every department did what it could—”
“I don’t need you to understand my emotions.”
YiChen lowered his gaze to the statistical report. When he spoke again, his voice was almost quiet.
“Did any one of you sort the two thousand deaths by address?”
He looked up—directly at Mayor Carter.
“I warned this council that mutated rodents prioritize the elderly, the bedridden, and the immobile.”
“Do you know how the bedridden died?”
“Do you know what happened to the children?”
Silence cut through the room like a blade.
Mayor Carter finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
“…We will conduct a full investigation. Every responsible party—regardless of rank—will be held accountable.”
YiChen stared at him without blinking.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“You won’t.”
“You’ll issue an apology letter. Publish a responsibility notice. Reassign one or two department heads.”
“And then nothing will change.”
He turned away, voice steady and merciless.
“—Until next time.”
“Another two thousand dead.”
He flung the final page of data onto the table.
“But this time,” he said, without turning back,
“I remember your faces.”
“I suggest you remember this night as well.”
“And the smell of the bodies.”
The conference room remained utterly silent.
————
Final Notice · South District Rat-Tide Spiritual Catastrophe
That afternoon, Aurora City Hall released the Final Notice on the South District Rat-Tide Spiritual Catastrophe.
Confirmed fatalities: 2,027
Injured: 3,626
Registered missing persons: 358
This Spiritual Catastrophe was triggered by the compounded overlap of abnormal subterranean biological proliferation, toxin diffusion, and spiritual-field instability—an extremely rare convergence.
The expert task force remains engaged in determining its precise root cause.
The disaster was brought under control within seven hours, successfully sealing all primary contamination zones.
It must be specifically noted:
During this crisis, Supreme Commander YiChen Caelestis, acting without direct orders, independently descended into the core of the rat tide, personally eliminated the Rat King, and sealed the primary pollution source—thereby securing a critical evacuation window for subsequent operations.
Aurora City Hall hereby extends its highest respect for his courageous actions.
The complete list of victims will be permanently engraved this Friday at Memorial Light Plaza · Wall of Remembrance, where an official mourning ceremony will be held.
The entire South District remains under lockdown.
Estimated decontamination period: no less than twenty-one days.
We extend our deepest condolences to all who lost loved ones in this catastrophe.
Dawn will not forget any citizen who fell in the darkness.
—Issued with solemn respect by
Aurora City Hall
?
Two weeks passed.
YiChen moved as though he were a machine that never powered down, cycling relentlessly between four fronts:
disaster-zone quarantine and reconstruction,
municipal briefings and emergency sessions,
energy tower construction oversight,
and time spent with his family.
There was no pause.
No recovery phase.
Only continuous operation.
At the dinner table, he forced himself to stay present while ChengYu made his seventeenth request to go on missions.
“Brother! Look—my Taiwei Guiyuan Art, first layer!”
Silver-white Spirit Force flared cleanly in the teenager’s palm. He clenched his fist, unable to hide his excitement.
“You said you’d take me once I turned sixteen!”
YiChen’s chopsticks paused midair.
In his previous life, ChengYu had bonded with Silverwing at sixteen.
Without divine reinforcement, early contraction was impossible.
“When you turn sixteen, I’ll take you,” YiChen said softly, reaching out to ruffle his brother’s hair.
His fingers brushed—unintentionally—across the back of ChengYu’s neck.
The place where the Pact Mark would one day form.
Zhang Han’s chopsticks froze.
Her eldest son was already standing at the front lines of catastrophe. She did not know what he faced each day—City Hall bulletins alone were enough to make her heart race with dread.
Now her younger son was looking toward the same path.
She knew she could not stop him.
Mark wrapped an arm around his wife’s trembling shoulders.
“Boys have to spread their wings eventually.”
“But what YiChen has to face every day now…”
Her voice wavered as she looked at her husband.
“And ChengYu, in the future… too…”
Bitterness flooded YiChen’s chest.
His father’s earlier words—He’ll take good care of his brother—
returned like a dull blade, slowly twisting into his heart.
—I’m sorry, Dad.
Last time, I let him die right in front of me.
————
These past few days, Elena had noticed that the corners of her lips kept lifting on their own.
YiChen really was changing.
Though his return times were still irregular, whenever she threw herself into his arms now, those hands that once never knew where to go would stiffen for a heartbeat—before circling her waist with careful restraint.
When she took his hand, a hesitant squeeze would answer her grip.
Even when she leaned against him while reading, he would only flush faintly at the tips of his ears—no longer stepping away.
It made her heart quietly swell.
Yet there was one thing she simply couldn’t understand.
Why did every purification still seem to torment him?
She had improved at an astonishing pace.
Every day, she trained her spirit arts diligently at home—so much so that even Bernard the butler marveled at the growing purity of her Spirit Force.
And yet, whenever the rose-gold Spiritflame flowed into YiChen’s body, his muscles would tense completely. Fine beads of sweat would gather at his temples, his breathing tightening as if he were enduring some unbearable extremity of pain.
We need to talk properly…
She recalled her father’s words and clenched her small fists in quiet resolve.
Tonight, she would ask him clearly.
Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed from downstairs.
Elena’s eyes lit up. She hopped down from the bed, skirt fluttering as she moved.
“YiChen—”
Like a joyful skylark, she threw herself into his arms. Her nose brushed against the lingering scent of gunpowder on his combat uniform.
“You’re back~” she said, tilting her face up, her voice sweet with unmistakable relief.
YiChen stiffened for a heartbeat—then steadied her, one palm coming to rest at her lower back.
A gesture that once left him helpless.
Now, he managed it—awkward, restrained, but sincere.
“Mhm.” He hesitated, then asked softly, “Today… was it a good day?”
“Really good!”
She opened her palm as if presenting a treasure. With a soft whoom, rose-gold Spiritflame blossomed to life, bathing the entryway in warm amber light. At its core, a pearlescent sheen flowed gently, pure and steady.
YiChen stared at the flame.
Then his focus slipped.
For a fleeting instant, ChengYu’s expectant face surfaced within the fire.
His brother’s voice echoed clearly in his mind—
Brother, I’ll definitely become your strength.
“YiChen?”
The Spiritflame extinguished at once.
Elena rose onto her toes, peering up at his suddenly pale face, her brows knitting.
—Why was there sorrow in his eyes that refused to fade?
She didn’t ask aloud.
Instead, she pressed the question into the warmth of her fingers, gently squeezing the space between his thumb and forefinger.
“It’s nothing.”
He turned his face aside, his Adam’s apple shifting once.
Elena’s chest tightened.
He was still locking all his storms away between his bones.
So she only tightened her grip on his hand, her voice gentle—but unwavering.
“It’s time for purification.”
The hallway lights stretched their shadows long and close—
like two vines that had finally learned how to entwine.
_____
The room was so quiet that even breathing could be heard.
Elena knelt before YiChen, both hands cradling his palms.
Moonlight slipped through the sheer curtains—soft and pale, like scattered silver resting on the tips of her lashes, trembling faintly like distant stars.
“YiChen,” she said quietly, as if afraid of disturbing something fragile.
“Can I ask you something?”
“…Mm.”
His fingers tightened on reflex.
“Every time you’re purified…”
Her thumb brushed slowly over the calluses in his palm.
“You look like you’re in pain.”
She lifted her eyes to him.
“If I don’t say anything, you’ll just keep enduring it. Won’t you?”
Her fingers slid gently along the curve of his wrist.
“Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
YiChen’s breath caught.
It felt as though something had struck straight into his chest.
Elena leaned closer without warning, her nose almost brushing his.
“Tell me—”
“How can I make it easier for you?”
—
His Consciousness Sea erupted.
Thoughts shattered one after another, collapsing inward.
How could she ask something like that…
How can she be this gentle with me…
If I tell her, will she think I’m filthy…
If she leaves—what will I do…
Silver light from Shixi coiled around his trembling Spirit Meridians.
“Tell her.”
Shadowfang’s voice cut in—low, harsh, impatient.
“Pretend you’re dead one more time, and this sovereign will tear you apart first.”
The room sank into absolute silence.
Only their breathing moved—slowly intertwining in the air.
YiChen’s throat bobbed hard, as if he were forced to swallow a shard of burning iron.
“…It’s not your fault.”
His voice was so hoarse it barely sounded like his own.
“It’s me.
I can’t endure it.”
Elena tilted her head slightly, confusion softening her voice.
“Can’t endure what?”
Her gaze was too clear—
leaving him nowhere to hide.
YiChen turned his face away sharply. Veins stood out along his neck.
“When you touch me—”
A pause.
As if every remaining thread of reason were being crushed under unbearable weight.
“My mind is full of…”
The words broke off, swallowed by the air.
Elena leaned forward without thinking.
“Full of what?”
YiChen looked up suddenly.
His eyes were rimmed faintly red. His voice came apart as he spoke, barely holding together.
“I want to hold you.”
“I want to kiss you.”
“But I know I shouldn’t think like that.”
“You’re only trying to save me.”
For an instant, the air itself seemed to scorch.
Elena froze.
Fragments snapped together in her mind—
His rigid shoulders.
His uneven breathing.
The constant motion of his throat.
The heat burning at the tips of his ears…
So it wasn’t pain.
She swallowed.
—It was desire.
Heat rushed from her cheeks straight to the tips of her ears.
Flustered, she lowered her gaze.
“I—I’m sorry… I really didn’t notice…”
In that moment, YiChen’s world fell straight into an abyss.
She knew.
She knew the loss of control hidden behind every act of restraint.
—She would step back.
He clenched his fists, waiting for it.
And yet—
Elena lifted her hand and gently placed it over his heart.
—She didn’t leave.
That single fact emptied YiChen’s mind completely.
Warm Spiritflame flowed along his meridians like a spring stream, dissolving the black thorns buried deep within. He closed his eyes, fingers tightening, breath turning shallow and strained.
Her presence drew closer—soft, warm.
Then—
A kiss, impossibly light, touched his lips.
No depth.
No demand.
Just contact.
Time stalled.
YiChen’s pupils contracted sharply. His breath stopped outright.
Reason screamed: Pull away.
But his heart slammed violently against his ribs—
She isn’t disgusted.
She didn’t leave.
His hand lifted—
Then froze in midair.
As if it took every ounce of willpower not to cross the line.
YiChen staggered back, chest heaving.
“Don’t…”
His voice was hoarse, scorched raw.
“You don’t understand… if this continues, I’ll lose control completely.”
Elena didn’t step closer.
She only reached out and lightly caught the edge of his sleeve.
“I just…”
She looked up at him—gentle, unwavering.
“I don’t want you to endure this alone anymore.”
The words struck like a blunt axe, splitting the last barrier around YiChen’s heart.
At last, he reached out and drew her into his arms.
A restrained, exhausted kiss settled on the crown of her head.
“…Idiot.”
It wasn’t reproach.
It was tenderness—
spilling out after finally setting down a weight too heavy to bear.
Outside the window, fine snow fell without sound.
At the nape of his neck, the Pact Mark slowly lit with a faint, quiet line of gold—
As if answering an embrace that had come far too late.
