Chapter 26
Su Ci glanced at the AI brain placed on the corner of the coffee table.
Song Zehe?
The name felt unfamiliar, yet faintly familiar as if he had heard it somewhere before.
Just as Su Ci was about to answer the call, his gaze fell on the child sitting beside the coffee table, looking up at him with curious eyes. He paused.
“You keep studying,” he said softly, then turned and walked into the bedroom to answer the call in private.
A light screen unfolded in front of him, revealing a young man with short-cropped brown hair.
Seeing the familiar face, Su Ci suddenly remembered.
This was the young man who had sat beside him when he awakened on the spaceship. Before disembarking, the man had mentioned they could contact each other later.
So, his name was Song Zehe.
On the other end of the screen, Song Zehe looked worse for wear. His hair was wet, water dripping down the strands. Blood stained his face—whether his own or someone else’s wasn’t clear.
The background was noisy, and his breathing was uneven. He looked both exhausted and battered.
“Su Ci.”
As the call connected, Song Zehe greeted him first. Though his breath was ragged, his tone carried a surprising amount of energy.
Su Ci had little recollection of their earlier interactions but felt no aversion toward him.
Perhaps he could glean some useful information from this person. Nodding, Su Ci glanced at the blood on Song Zehe’s face and asked, “Are you okay?”
The young man on the other end responded, “That’s what I should be asking you!”
“I heard the broadcast—your base got hit by the blood rain too. You didn’t go outside, did you?”
Broadcast?
Su Ci recalled the weather report before the blood rain. It had indeed mentioned that apart from Base 24, two other bases would be affected.
Wasn’t this Song Zehe stationed at Base 26?
While Su Ci pondered, Song Zehe scrutinized him. Seeing Su Ci looking clean and unscathed, Song Zehe continued speaking.
“Seeing that you’re fine puts me at ease. I’m currently waiting in line at the medical unit for treatment.” He raised his bloody left hand. “Just a minor injury, nothing serious.”
Through the screen, Su Ci couldn’t accurately assess the severity of his injuries, so he simply nodded in acknowledgment.
“There are so many injured at our base this time! The medical unit is packed.” Song Zehe described, and though he didn’t show the scene, the background noise was filled with moans and cries.
“When my family told me the conditions on Prision Star were tough, I thought I was prepared for anything. But I didn’t expect it to be this dangerous!”
Lowering his voice, he asked, “Su Ci, did you see the monsters in the blood mist?”
Su Ci nodded.
Song Zehe’s expression turned apprehensive. “They’re terrifying!”
Even though the blood rain had ceased and the monsters were driven away, he couldn’t help trembling at the memory of facing those gigantic creatures.
As a new recruit, Song Zehe and his peers were still in their one-month training period. On the second day at the base, aside from routine drills, they had classes to attend. It was during their journey to the training site that the blood rain suddenly hit.
Worse yet, there were no buildings nearby to seek shelter.
Unlike Base 24, however, Base 26 housed a prison facility. The recruits were all physically capable and top graduates from military academies, with some possessing strong bloodlines capable of beast transformations.
Amid initial panic, their instructor managed to organize an effective counterattack against the monsters in the blood rain.
“This was my first time on the battlefield,” Song Zehe admitted, his face a mix of fear and exhilaration.
“Those monsters were terrifying, but fighting alongside my comrades was incredible!”
As a freshly graduated soldier, Song Zehe was full of youthful passion, naturally drawn to strength and power. Battle—especially the kind that straddled life and death—was a crucible for rapid growth.
Initially, he thought his assignment to Prison Star would involve mundane tasks like guarding prisoners, a far cry from the glory of the frontlines. Compared to his classmates sent to battlefields, he had felt his future prospects were limited.
But now, he realized just how dangerous Prison Star truly was!
“By the way, there must’ve been fighting at Base 24 too, right? How are things over there?” Song Zehe asked.
Before Su Ci could answer, another face squeezed into the frame on the light screen alongside Song Zehe’s.
“Xiao Song, who are you chatting with so enthusiastically? Don’t tell me you’re already hitting it off with some young lady at the base?”
The newcomer was a tall, broad-shouldered young man wearing a reddish-brown guard uniform. The top button of his uniform was undone, exposing a glimpse of a rugged chest with a scar running across it.
With an arm slung casually around Song Zehe’s shoulders, he forced his way into the view of the light screen, accompanied by jeering voices in the background.
However, since Song Zehe had enabled privacy mode, only Su Ci could see and hear him—he couldn’t hear Su Ci’s voice in return.
“What nonsense are you guys spouting?”
Song Zehe muttered in mild irritation, shaking his head as he begrudgingly disabled the privacy mode.
When the light screen revealed Su Ci’s face, the tall man’s eyes flashed with surprise and momentary awe. His expression quickly turned awkward.
“Haha, hello there! You’re from our base, right? You look kind of unfamiliar.”
He chuckled, scratching the back of his head, while the group of rowdy onlookers behind him quieted down upon realizing their mistake. Yet, out of boredom while waiting in line, most of them still perked their ears to eavesdrop.
“This is Su Ci from Base 24. I met him on the way to Prison Star,” Song Zehe explained, then added, “Su Ci, this is our squad leader, Chai Yue.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Chai Yue!”
Chai Yue greeted him with a hearty smile. But as he observed Su Ci more closely, his gaze shifted, and recognition dawned.
“Oh, you’re a caretaker at the Nurturing Center, aren’t you? That explains it…”
Su Ci’s gray-blue uniform was distinctive. On Prison Star, only one specific job role wore that color: caretakers from Base 24’s Nurturing Center.
Chai Yue released the arm he had slung around Song Zehe and straightened up, adopting a more serious demeanor.
“Su Ci, how’s the situation at Base 24? Are there many casualties? The blood rain this time was pretty nasty—things must’ve gotten bad over there, right?”
Prison Star was home to more than 30 bases, and Base 24 was particularly unique. Unlike most bases, it didn’t have a prison facility but housed two specialized institutions—the Nurturing Center and the Research Institute.
These two institutions were infamous for devouring funds like bottomless pits. Despite the hefty investments, they demanded constant upkeep, leaving Base 24 with little budget for other developments. Rumor had it that they hadn’t even recruited new soldiers this year.
For some time, Prison Star had been relatively stable. Although monsters still appeared during extreme weather events, the Operations Teams were generally able to handle them, eliminating the need for additional recruitment.
But now, the situation was different.
Even heavily fortified Base 26 had suffered casualties this time, so it was hard to imagine how the less-defended Base 24 was holding up.
Chai Yue suspected the situation at Base 24 must be dire. Though there had been no requests for reinforcements, that might be because Base 26 was also within the affected zone. Perhaps Base 24 had sought help from other bases instead.
Faced with his concerned inquiry, Su Ci thought for a moment and replied, “It’s fine, I guess.”
“Just as I thought…”
Chai Yue’s expression grew heavy as if he misunderstood. “Roughly how many lives were lost?”
Su Ci blinked. “I’m not sure.”
As far as he could tell, there hadn’t been any deaths. At least, he hadn’t sensed any deathly aura forming at Base 24.
“True.” Chai Yue gave Su Ci a once-over, his gaze briefly brushing over Su Ci’s fair, delicate face that exuded a fragile beauty. “You’re a caretaker. I shouldn’t be asking you these things.”
Then, with a solemn tone, he advised, “Take care of yourself. Stay at the Nurturing Center as much as you can. If you can’t pass your probation, so be it. Your life is more important.”
“Exactly, exactly!” Song Zehe chimed in, nodding in agreement. “I know you want to pass your probation and stay on Prison Star, but given the current state of things, if you get the chance to leave, you should seize it!”
He initiated this video call with Su Ci not only to confirm his safety but also to give him a friendly reminder.
As a soldier, risking one’s life to fight monsters and defend the base was a duty. However, Su Ci’s situation was different. He was just a caretaker—a fragile civilian with no means to protect himself. There was no reason for him to stay on such a perilous and harsh planet where his life was constantly at risk.
Hearing this, Su Ci’s gaze flickered.
Why did Song Zehe think he was desperate to stay on Prison Star? Did he say something during their journey here?
He couldn’t recall.
Although he was curious, a glance at Chai Yue and the noisy background made him realize this wasn’t the right time to ask.
He didn’t outright reject their goodwill and simply nodded. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Squad 3, Team 4, Song Zehe, please proceed to the medical bay for treatment.”
The electronic broadcast from the medical bay rang out, and Song Zehe’s communicator chimed with a beeping notification.
It was finally Song Zehe’s turn for treatment. Under the urging broadcast, he quickly said to Su Ci, “I’ll go take care of my injuries now. Let’s catch up later!”
With that, he ended the call.
Su Ci put away his communicator, suddenly losing the desire to go out.
He looked down at his hands.
This was his body; he was sure of it. But why couldn’t he remember anything beyond those occasional “common sense” flashes in his mind?
He must have left this planet at some point—otherwise, how would he have ended up on the spaceship and obtained the identity of a caretaker?
Yet, as the spirit of this land, leaving the planet should have been impossible.
Slowly, Su Ci raised his head, seemingly gazing through the ceiling to the skies above, to the vastness beyond.
What was the world outside like?
Su Ci pondered for a moment before raising his hand. The brain sphere he had left on the coffee table in the living room vanished and reappeared in his palm.
“Good afternoon, Su Ci! I am your intelligent assistant, Xiao Qiu,” the round AI device chirped with a soft and endearing childlike voice as it floated up from his palm.
“How can I assist you today?”
“Open the interface,” Su Ci instructed.
“Sure thing!”
A light screen unfolded before him, displaying the brain sphere’s interface. Beyond the automatically synchronized contact list, it also had other functions.
With mild curiosity, Su Ci began exploring.
Although many applications were locked, facial recognition sufficed to unlock them. Even though Su Ci couldn’t remember the passwords, they posed no barrier to him.
The interface was tidy and minimalistic, featuring only three icons: a communication app, a notepad, and an app labeled “StarNet Community.”
Su Ci first opened the notepad and found a shopping list at the top.
[Shopping List]
- 2 Space Pouches
- 100 Boxes of Beef Cans
- 50 Boxes of Mixed Cans
- 100 Packs of Dried Berry Snacks
- 100 Bags of Chips
- 100 Seasoning Packs …
Looking at the list, Su Ci couldn’t help swallowing.
Everything was food! And in such quantities.
What’s more, there were two space pouches on the list. Intrigued, Su Ci rummaged through his space pouch and, sure enough, found a second one.
This second pouch was also jam-packed—mostly with food. Su Ci pulled out a bag of barbecue-flavored chips from it.
The chips, sealed in vacuum packaging, weighed about half a pound per bag—generous portions. When he opened it, the air filled the bag with a crisp puff, revealing perfectly intact chips inside.
Taking a piece to taste, Su Ci’s eyes lit up.
Though the chips weren’t as filling as beef cans, they were crisp, flavorful, and delicious. One bite led to another, and before he knew it, he’d devoured half the bag. Only then did he return to browsing the notepad.
After closing the shopping list, he found a record of asset sales:
[Asset Sale Record]
- Capital Star Property: 12 Million Universal Credits
- Hovercar: 100,000 Universal Credits
- Furniture Sets (2): 30,000 Universal Credits
…
Total: 12.93 Million Universal Credits
After reading this, Su Ci thought for a moment and returned to the shopping list, scrolling to the bottom to find the total expenditure—12.92 million Universal Credits.
Of this, the two space pouches accounted for a share of 12.5 million.
Though Su Ci had little concept of human currency, recalling how Shi Yijiang commented on his wealth upon seeing the pouch, it was clear that over 12 million Universal Credits was no small sum.
The remaining 400,000 credits were all spent on supplies.
Su Ci mulled over the information and opened the communication log to review past messages.
Aside from his conversation with Gu Qingchen, the last recorded exchange was from three months ago with someone named “Ye Shengliang.”
Ye Shengliang: “Su Ci, are you really going to Prison Star to be a caretaker?”
Su Ci: “Yes.”
Ye Shengliang: “I don’t get it. I’ve never seen you so interested in kids. Even if you like them, there are plenty of nurseries on Capital Star. Wouldn’t one of those suffice? The pay isn’t worse than what Prison Star offers.”
Su Ci: “I have to go.”
Ye Shengliang: “Fine. I’ll come see you off tomorrow.”
Su Ci: “Alright.”
The conversation ended there. Su Ci scrolled further up. The two didn’t chat often, but it seemed they were friends, possibly schoolmates.
How odd.
Su Ci muttered to himself. Could it be that during the memory loss he suffered, he had decided to play the role of a human? And this human world happened to be on another planet?
Just as he was about to delve further, a call request came in from 4586.
Answering it, the cheerful voice of the nanny robot rang out, “Su Su, it’s almost 3 PM! Time for your training!”
Alright.
Even though Su Ci could “see” every corner of the caretaker building whenever he wanted, his so-called “common sense” wasn’t all-encompassing. There were still plenty of things he needed to learn and understand.
Closing the interface of the AI brain sphere, he instructed A-Yan to stay in the dormitory and continue practicing the Heavenly Script while he headed to the first-floor lobby to meet with 4586 for the building tour.
*
Thanks to the collective efforts of the personnel at Base 24, by around 8 PM, the effects of the blood rain had largely subsided. Severely damaged buildings required further repairs, and some individuals who hadn’t been purified remained under quarantine for observation, but the immediate crisis had passed.
“Captain Yan!”
Guan Zhishu entered Yan Ping’s office, handing over a file. “This is Luo Shengfei’s injury report along with the site investigation data from the first-floor lobby of the Logistics Department. Please review it.”
Yan Ping took the file and casually began flipping through it.
Guan Zhishu continued, “According to feedback from Teams 2 and 3, during their engagement with the giant spider, they didn’t observe any signs of new abilities like mental manipulation, nor did they hear murmurs or laughter.”
This confirmed that the murmurs and laughter heard near the Logistics Department weren’t from the giant spider but from another monster altogether.
Yan Ping nodded as he reviewed the file, his expression gradually darkening.
Noticing this, Guan Zhishu couldn’t help but ask, “Captain Yan, did you find something?”
Yan Ping didn’t answer immediately but instead asked, “This morning, when you accompanied Luo and the others to the medical center, did anything unusual happen?”
Guan Zhishu thought for a moment before replying, “Sergeant Xia Jingming from the Research Institute mentioned that the new caretaker at the nursery had a suspicious wound on his hand. Before I left, I spoke to him about it.”
“Oh? Tell me more.”
Guan Zhishu recounted the events in detail, including Gu Qingchen’s explanation that Su Ci’s wound was too small for the device to detect, despite the high concentration of pollutants.
Yan Ping pondered. “He claimed it was caused by a spider thread?”
Guan Zhishu nodded. “Yes.”
Yan Ping continued, “And the wound was very small?”
“Correct, just a puncture on his fingertip.” Her tone turned hesitant as she elaborated, “Judging by the shape and size of the wound, it does seem like a puncture from spider silk. However…”
What kind of situation would result in the giant spider only piercing the caretaker’s fingertip without impaling his entire finger?
Yan Ping seemed to have reached a conclusion.
He handed the file to Guan Zhishu. “Based on our initial analysis, the giant spider abandoned its prey and fled because the operations team arrived in time. But…”
“If you were the spider and had already captured your prey, how would you escape as quickly as possible when forced to retreat?”
The question was straightforward. Guan Zhishu instinctively replied, “I’d sever the silk…”
She stopped abruptly.
When they arrived at the scene, Luo Shengfei’s body was completely free of spider silk, and no severed threads were found in the lobby of the Logistics Department.
“So, Su Ci must have hidden the spider silk,” Yan Ping speculated. “When he touched it, the thread reacted and caused the injury.”
This, then, was the likely truth.
The giant spider’s silk was incredibly tough and possessed a faint trace of vitality. Even when severed, it retained a degree of offensive capability, though this weakened significantly after being detached.
Of course, even if Su Ci had indeed hidden the silk, it might simply have been out of curiosity. While keeping pollutants privately was against base regulations, given the spider’s classification, the worst punishment he might face would be the deduction of his monthly points—not a severe penalty.
“Should we question him about it?” Guan Zhishu suggested. “Even though it’s only classified as a low-level pollutant, he’s stationed at the nursery. If it affects the cubs…”
She didn’t finish the thought, but Yan Ping understood. He, however, was considering the situation on a deeper level.
Pollutants originating from monsters weren’t things just anyone could casually handle.
Such substances generally carried high levels of contamination. Handling them directly without any precautionary measures could easily lead to mental pollution—mild cases might cause emotional instability, while severe cases could result in organ mutations or deformities.
Granted, the giant spider’s silk was classified as low-contamination. Members of the Operations Squad had sufficient resistance to fend off this level of erosion. But the question remained:
How had Su Ci, an ordinary person—by all appearances physically fragile, with a delicate frame and an unassuming demeanor—handled the silk without any signs of contamination?
Yan Ping thought back to Su Ci’s calm and composed bearing, utterly devoid of fear or negative emotions. His steadfast demeanor had left a lasting impression.
Could it be that this caretaker was extraordinarily gifted, naturally possessing an innate tolerance for contamination?
Yan Ping’s mind lingered on the memory of Su Ci’s serene yet resolute black eyes, eyes that carried an unyielding determination. He thought of the scene where Su Ci had placed the small cub’s hand in his own, exuding a calm strength that was impossible to ignore.
This caretaker… was he truly as delicate as he seemed?
It wasn’t about his temperament, Yan Ping realized—it was about his strength.
