Chapter Three: Luna Palace Suzuna, Commence the Attack

If you could go back to the past?

Chen Ziang was silent for a moment, then said,
“Nothing would change.”
“People who obsess over returning to the past usually have deep regrets, something they desperately wish to undo.”

He paused for a moment. “I have nothing like that.”

Rina Tsukimiya looked at him quietly, thinking to herself that her senior was, indeed, as remarkable as ever.

Only this time, I…

“Senior.” Suddenly, Rina Tsukimiya spoke. “I heard from the section chief that after joining, new operators must be paired with veterans as apprentices for at least six months of internship before working independently. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Chen Ziang answered. “That’s the rule in our department.”

“I don’t have a mentor yet,” Rina said cautiously. “Could you be my partner, Senior?”

Chen Ziang looked at her in surprise.

Rina quickly employed her signature forty-five-degree upward pleading gaze, accentuating her delicate and charming features—a look that was particularly hard for men to resist.

“Well… That’s something the department arranges,” Chen Ziang shifted his gaze awkwardly. “It’s not up to us to decide.”

“I see.” Rina’s smile bloomed sweetly. “But if the department assigns us together, you wouldn’t refuse, would you, Senior?”

“Of course not.”

Chen Ziang nodded in agreement, only to spot a sly, triumphant glint flicker in Rina Tsukimiya’s radiant smile.

She turned away, idly playing with her phone, but in reality, she’d already drafted a message to the section chief.

Senior, this time…

…I will never let go again.

Chen Ziang gazed at the elevator, when suddenly his vision went black.

It wasn’t dizziness or blindness, but as if something unknown had taken over his sight: he found himself surrounded by an endless, undulating ocean, shimmering with a faint, ethereal lavender glow under starlit skies.

Those soft purple forms gradually came into focus—countless semi-transparent jellyfish, floating to the surface, gathering slowly into readable script:

[The Lord of the Deep Ocean greets you.]

[You may exchange 10 Embers for the Authority of 'Dreamwalking.']

The Authority of Dreamwalking?

Chen Ziang felt an instinctive, powerful unease—for countless cases from the past proved that dealings with beings from the Abyss rarely ended well.

But this time, he hadn’t sought out a deity; it was the deity who had drawn him into this illusion. What could he do?

Anxious and uneasy, after a moment’s silence, Chen Ziang began silently reciting an invocation in his mind:

“Dreams rise and fall like the tides, yet I beseech you to return to the realm of dreams, O Lord of the Deep Ocean.”

The sound of waves and tides instantly vanished, and he found himself standing on the empty third floor of a shopping mall, with only Rina Tsukimiya beside him, distracted by her phone.

Was it just a hallucination? Chen Ziang hesitated, but the memory of that ocean lingered in his mind. As soon as he recalled it, darkness returned to his sight—and in the next instant, he was back in the lavender sea.

Orchid-like, beautiful jellyfish once again rose from the depths, forming two lines of script—exactly as before.

He had accumulated Embers from before, and with the three he’d just taken from slaying the ghoul, he had exactly ten—enough for the exchange, as if the deity had been eyeing his wallet.

Yet, whatever the circumstances, he first needed more detailed intel on the “Lord of the Deep Ocean” before deciding his next move.

——————————

There’s an old saying in the Sixth Countermeasures Section: “When an anomaly is quelled, the work has only just begun.”

Final sweeps of the scene, crafting explanations for the public, and erasing the memories of those involved—each team in the department was busy to the point of exhaustion.

Even the frontline operatives who had resolved the anomaly personally had a mountain of work left to do.

Forms to fill, reports to write, meetings to attend, footage from body cameras to submit for review by the Oversight Division—along with a host of seemingly unnecessary, but procedurally mandated, bureaucratic chores.

Rina Tsukimiya trailed after Chen Ziang, running back and forth; though it was her first time, she was impeccably well-behaved throughout, never once complaining of hardship or exhaustion. Chen Ziang found himself looking at her with new respect.

To put it bluntly, good looks are both a blessing and a curse for a girl.

The blessing: special treatment from many around her. The curse: a tendency to become spoiled. Yet Rina Tsukimiya seemed immune to this flaw.

She was always quick to smile, sweet-tongued, and called everyone “Senior” in a lively, friendly way, making every bureaucratic step go smoothly.

Even the normally sternest inspector managed a rare smile for her, saying, “No need to be nervous—if you wore your body camera, there’s rarely a problem.” Damn it, that’s not what you said the last time you issued us a warning!

Once all the procedures were done, Chen Ziang received official notification that the case was closed.

The ghoulification anomaly was publicly declared as a “boiler explosion,” but intelligence reconstruction at the scene revealed the truth: the janitor, Tsuo Kawai, had obtained an idol of the “Lord of the Deep Ocean” from an antique shop on the third floor of Skysilver Galleria.

Tsuo Kawai, who had a record of theft, stole the idol during his cleaning rounds. Prolonged contact with the divine relic sharply increased his spiritual perception, triggering his transformation into a ghoul.

Now, his corpse had been force-cremated and returned to his family. The cause of death was officially “being at the center of the boiler explosion, so that not even bones remained,” though the true issue—the origin of that idol—was still unresolved.

The intelligence group was tracing the antique shop’s supply chain, while Chen Ziang finally extricated himself from the now-closed case and was given a day’s leave by the department.

Direct contact with a divine relic, even if outwardly harmless, could plant hidden hazards in one’s psyche. Thus, operatives who handled such critical cases were usually granted time off for psychological counseling.

No sooner had Chen Ziang wrapped up his work than the deputy section chief, Ken Saki, summoned him.

“You worked with Rina Tsukimiya last time, right?” Ken Saki asked with a cheerful smile. “What’s your assessment of her?”

“She’s not bad,” Chen Ziang replied cautiously. “Excellent marksmanship, good situational awareness, but her nerves are untested—she lost focus a few times.”

“She’s a rookie—lack of experience is inevitable.” Ken Saki nodded. “We’re planning to pair you with her as mentor and apprentice. Is that acceptable?”

Chen Ziang: ……………

He recalled Rina’s earlier words—“If the department assigns it, you wouldn’t refuse, right, Senior?”—and lowered his voice.
“Does this new recruit, Tsukimiya, have some powerful background?”

Ken Saki’s expression turned serious, and he too dropped his voice.
“You’ve guessed it, so I’ll tell you: her family seems to have ties to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs—essentially the “Diplomatic Corps”—was parallel in rank to the “Public Security Commission.”
The Public Security Bureau of the Far North City answered to the Takamagahara Star District Public Security Headquarters, and above that, the Takamagahara Star District Public Security Commission.
Everyone knew: while the diplomatic system didn’t control public security, the upper echelons’ networks were intertwined.
So naturally, Rina Tsukimiya enjoyed “special privileges” within the city’s bureau.

Seeing Chen Ziang’s silence, Ken Saki tried to reassure him.
“Don’t stress too much. Girls from political families like her probably watched some police drama and got inspired to join. When she gets bored, she’ll tell her family and transfer out. The department doesn’t expect you to invest much in training her—just let her do as she likes.”

Recalling Rina’s pinpoint marksmanship, Chen Ziang doubted she was just a “hot-blooded youth,” but as the deputy chief relayed the will of the higher-ups, he couldn’t object.

After leaving the meeting room, Chen Ziang was gathering his things when Rina appeared.

“Senior, the mentorship arrangement is official, right?”

“Yes,” Chen Ziang forced a smile. “I have a day off tomorrow. You should read the ‘Section Six Operators’ Code’ and get familiar with our operations.”

“Oh, what a coincidence!” Rina pressed her hands together, smiling brightly. “I’m off tomorrow, too.”

Of course, since she’d dealt with the divine descent anomaly alongside him, she’d get the same treatment.

“Well, since you’re off tomorrow…” Rina, with her true intent now revealed, continued, “Could I visit your place, Senior? I wanted to ask you some work-related questions.”

Chen Ziang was dumbfounded.

Coming to my place isn’t quite appropriate—we’re not that close. But if it’s for work, I can’t refuse, now that we’re officially mentor and apprentice.

The cleverness, of course, lay in combining the two: “I have work questions, but you happen to be home on leave, so I’ll visit you there…”—a flawless tactic.

He wasn’t naïve enough to believe she just wanted to talk about work by coming to his house, so he tried to decline politely:
“If you want to discuss work, we could meet at a nearby café…”

“Sure!” Rina clapped her hands. “I know a great café nearby—there’s a park and a cinema, too. Hey, maybe I’ll book us some tickets…”

That’s practically a date! Chen Ziang hastily reversed course:
“Let’s just meet at my place, then.”