Qingque—
—was caught in a dilemma.
In the end, she made a decision that defied ancestral wisdom.
After all, she only had suspicions, not hard evidence. To wrong her grandmaster without proof would be unjust!
Moreover, Qingque knew Anming's character—he would never willingly betray Fu Xuan. When people spoke of the Xianzhou's immortal romances, the first tale was always the tragic love between the Luofu's Master Diviner and the Sword Sovereign of Yuque.
The chasm between a long-life species and a short-life one was insurmountable. Time had torn them apart—no love, no matter how profound, could withstand its erosion.
The fact that Fu Xuan still lived only deepened the tragedy. After that day, it was said the Master Diviner never smiled again. Not even once.
At this thought, Qingque paused.
What if Grandmaster wasn't lying?
What if he had truly lost his memories, forgetting his past on the Xianzhou?
That would make the most sense. Otherwise, given how devoted Anming and Fu Xuan had been, he would've rushed back to the Luofu the moment he "revived"—not galivanted around as a Nameless.
Qingque was sharp. The more she considered it, the more plausible it seemed.
Unless…
Unless her grandmaster was a once-in-a-millennium cosmic scumbag—but that was plainly impossible.
She knew Anming better than that.
After eliminating all absurd possibilities, the remaining truth, no matter how unbelievable, had to be real.
Amnesia had happened. Anming wasn't lying.
And during that amnesia… he'd likely met someone else.
That explained his hesitation earlier.
Qingque's thoughts crystallized. Her gaze at Anming turned complicated.
Now, no matter what she did, she'd betray someone—either Fu Xuan or Anming.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't!
She grimaced.
Master Diviner, you've really thrown me into the deep end this time!
Even the legendary Sparrow God of workplace evasion found her brain short-circuiting. At times like this, she'd rather let mahjong tiles decide her fate!
"Grandmaster, you—" Qingque blinked rapidly, as if transmitting Morse code. In truth, she was just panicking.
"Good disciple," Anming patted her shoulder, "let's talk after we leave Qlipoth Fort."
His tone implied: Let's not leave Cocolia standing there like a lagging NPC. We're not space bandits.
As a seasoned office slacker, Qingque understood immediately.
Fine. Grandmaster gets face.
If she couldn't even do that for him, her years of strategic laziness would've been wasted.
"Ahem. Honorable Guardian," she sheathed her sword, plopping onto a nearby couch with practiced nonchalance, "please continue."
Anyone could see: this wasn't for Cocolia's sake.
She only obeyed Anming.
"March, I've realized something…" Stelle whispered, gripping her bat with renewed vigor. "We might've hit the jackpot with this crew."
Just imagine—shouting Anming's name in a fight, and even Aeons would pause to acknowledge her!
"Jackpot? More like winning the cosmic lottery," March puffed her cheeks, inexplicably sour. "Sword Sovereign Anming's a big deal on the Xianzhou."
She could already picture it: Anming firing a signal arrow, and thousands of Cloud Knights answering the call.
Meanwhile, Cocolia wore a strained smile—not out of magnanimity, but necessity.
Courage was the anthem of the strong.
Cowardice was the refuge of the weak.
It wasn't that she didn't want to kick Anming out.
She just couldn't.
The very intact yet very bisected window behind her was proof.
In simple terms: She stood no chance.
The entirety of Belobog probably couldn't scrounge up one person capable of facing Anming. Any attempt would devolve into:
"Wait, I have to fight him*? For real?"*
"Welcome, travelers from beyond the sky," Cocolia began, her headache worsening.
She'd known outsiders would be formidable—but this exceeded even her wildest estimates.
This boy could single-handedly decide Belobog's fate.
Perhaps I should've sent Bronya instead…
At least her daughter's eyes still held hope.
Stelle smirked at March and Anming. See? Even Belobog knows the Galaxy Batting Legend.
"Our mission is to traverse this planet and seal the Stellaron," she declared, unusually professional.
No "Bow before your Stellar Savior!" today—she had an image to uphold.
"The Nameless are just… helpful interstellar travelers," March added, hands on hips. "We lend a hand to Stellaron-plagued worlds!"
Cocolia's eye twitched.
"Helpful."
Sure.
That "help" had cost her a very expensive window.
"Should you locate the Stellaron, I'll provide any assistance," Cocolia said, shivering under Anming's deceptively kind smile.
"For tonight… let me arrange the finest accommodations."
"Hell ye—"
March yanked Stelle back, shooting Dan Heng a help-me look.
You're the only sane one here. Do the PR.
Dan Heng sighed. "The Astral Express appreciates your hospitality."
"Are we done?" Qingque sprang from the couch, sidling up to Anming with a gotcha glint. No escaping now, Grandmaster.
Anming's eye twitched.
"How about a spar?" he offered brightly. "Let's see how my disciple's swordsmanship has progressed."
Now it was Qingque's turn to sweat bullets.
She vividly recalled those days of being one-handed by him.
"Uh—how about dinner instead?" she laughed nervously. "My treat!"
"Count me in!" March wedged between them, shooting Anming a judgmental glare. "You're not actually making her pay, are you?"
"Dig into your royalties!"