Moth Chasing the Sun 22

The five of them made it back to the safehouse, Hei Ge handling the cleanup by wiping the surveillance footage. It was close, but they got away clean.

They'd only meant to scout ahead, but now that they'd tipped off the enemy, they had to scrap the follow-up.

Silver lining: the Church would have to abandon this safehouse and relocate. With their position blown, staying put wasn't an option.

But the downside was losing the Church's trail, which meant they could do nothing to stop their next move.

On the drive back, Lu Mingqiu decided to give an order.

They would launch a full-scale harassment campaign against the Church—not necessarily to take down their strongholds, but to keep them on their toes, wary of Resistance attacks. If needed, they could even blow up a church and pin it on Azbeto.

Given his current rep, he probably wouldn't mind a few more black marks.

"Return to your divisions and await orders from above," Lu Mingqiu said. "Tell everyone: safety first. Don't be reckless."

The others acknowledged and drove off without resting, heading straight out of Shangyuan City.

"What about us?" Yan Xianchuan asked, then headed to the bathroom to wash her hands again. She felt like something sticky had gotten on her when she'd thrown that car, and she didn't want to think about what it might have been.

When she came out, she'd already wiped her hands with wet wipes several times, but still felt unclean, so she went back and washed them twice more.

Lu Mingqiu settled onto the shabby sofa and pulled up the latest news on the floating screen.

The footage was thick with smoke and fire, split into countless small windows, each showing a city under attack, filled with gunfire and sacrifice.

Azbeto had deployed a legion, splitting them up to strike nearly half the cities at once. Residents fled in panic—the wealthy took airships, while the rest piled into cars, causing endless traffic jams on the highways.

Resistance hospitals were running at full capacity, beds long exhausted. Staff worked overtime daily with barely any rest to treat the wounded.

And the cities where the Mutation Serum had been deployed were in dire need of aid and supplies.

The serum's toxicity was devastating—once it took effect, people turned on each other, leading to countless deaths; one might say fewer than one in ten survived.

It was brutal.

Yan Xianchuan's question hung in the air, but Lu Mingqiu didn't answer right away.

What could they do?

What she wanted most was to kill Azbeto and end all this, but that was impossible. His army surrounded him; she couldn't get anywhere near.

Lu Mingqiu's eyes darkened, and she said in a low voice, "We're going to blow up the church."

At Yan Xianchuan's brightening eyes, she continued, "We'll start with the one in Nanjin City."

The church in Nanjin City housed the most beautiful statue of the Mother Goddess Italu—practically a landmark of the Holy Healing Church. Blowing it up would throw the Church into chaos and give them a sense of satisfaction.

Kill two birds with one stone.

"Awesome!" Yan Xianchuan clapped her hands.

Nanjin City brought back a lot of memories for her. Not much time had passed, but so much had happened in between.

It was the second city she'd come to after arriving in this world. Looking back at those scenes now gave her a strange, almost mystical feeling.

If someone had told her back then she'd fall for someone in the future, Yan Xianchuan would've thought they'd escaped from a mental hospital and forgotten to take their meds.

She never imagined she'd come to this.

Unbelievable.

Though it wasn't exactly a bad thing.

Lu Mingqiu wasn't using her own face, but under this unfamiliar visage, every blink and subtle expression carried her own essence.

The night was dark, lights flickering past the car window, casting shifting shadows across her face.

Yan Xianchuan, for some reason, suddenly remembered her first impression of Lu Mingqiu and burst out laughing.

Lu Mingqiu glanced over. "What's so funny?"

"I used to have a nickname for you," Yan Xianchuan said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "The Glass Princess."

Lu Mingqiu: "..."

Lu Mingqiu: "That's pretty accurate."

She didn't seem angry or surprised at all. Instead, she nodded. "After all, I'm a delicate omega."

Yan Xianchuan let out a "whoa." "How can you say that with a straight face?"

Lu Mingqiu gave a soft laugh, her eyes curving. "What? Did I say something wrong? I am an omega, that's true."

"But you're not delicate at all," Yan Xianchuan countered, twisting around to prop her elbows on the center console, cupping her chin in both hands.

"Are we heading home?"

"Not going back," Lu Mingqiu said with a shake of her head, turning the steering wheel toward Changle District, where the church was located.

"We'll rest here for now. Tomorrow, we'll scout the area. The base will send explosives."

"Fine," Yan Xianchuan said, never one to object.

This was clearly another Resistance safehouse. Hiding in plain sight, the area was densely populated, adjacent to a commercial district with heavy foot traffic and new faces coming and going daily. No one would pay attention to two strangers.

An unfamiliar neighborhood, but familiar homeless people. Still, due to the war, the streets felt tense—almost everyone had a gun tucked into their waistband.

Nanjin City was in the south, far from the combat zones, but there was still a sense of impending storm.

Especially among the idlers—bounty hunters, gang members, and the like—they were noticeably more on edge.

After all, everyone could see Azbeto's movements, and the first people he killed were exactly these sorts.

****

Marishan City.

After seizing the Federation government building, Azbeto had been resting there, not going anywhere else.

The television played the news 24/7. A well-groomed anchor first described the current situation in the disaster-stricken cities, saying that Federation relief teams had arrived the second day and set up aid stations.

The screen showed a public square with rows of identical tents, and large pots cooking food, steam rising—simple home-style dishes, but right now, they represented hope.

The people there were ordinary citizens who had inhaled the serum but showed no adverse reactions; the ones who went mad were all sent to hospitals for observation.

After covering the disaster zones, the host continued, "Recently, three small financial conglomerates have been attacked, with all members killed, no survivors."

"According to investigators, this appears to be a premeditated murder, committed by an organized group. The perpetrators showed no mercy, killing every living soul in the homes. The motive is still unclear."

The anchor's expression was grave. "The crime rate is continuously rising. We urge all citizens to be vigilant about personal safety, avoid going out if possible, keep an eye on the news, and stay informed."

What followed was the usual official rhetoric—the Federation would never abandon its people, it would do everything to protect everyone, and so on.

Azbeto made no move to change the channel. It seemed he was treating the news as background noise, not even glancing at the screen, just listening.

He was focused on the war.

In addition to Marishan, the invading legion had successfully taken two more cities. The ones not taken weren't necessarily safe either.

The legion sent to wage war was split into two groups—one for frontal assault, the other for covert infiltration, tasked with wiping out the gangs.

More precisely, the frontal assault was a decoy; the real main force was the group killing in the shadows.

Azbeto had just finished reading a report when his communicator suddenly buzzed.

Few people could contact him directly. He glanced over and saw the name—someone from the Church.

He answered, and with a flash of light, a faint hologram appeared before him.

It was a man in a scarlet robe, his short hair neatly combed, a mask covering his face, leaving only his dark, unreadable eyes visible.

"Good afternoon, General Bolov."

His voice was as calm and composed as his appearance.

"Something?" Azbeto asked, not moving from his chair.

"Yes," the bishop said. "I'm afraid we can no longer provide assistance with the Mutation Serum."

"The Resistance has been conducting extensive harassment attacks, severely disrupting the Church's operations."

"As compensation for our cooperation, we're willing to offer an additional one hundred thousand control chips. What do you think, General?"

Azbeto paused for a moment before answering, "Fine. We'll do the handover the same way as before."

"May the Mother Goddess bless you," the bishop said, touching his brow in a brief salute.

He ended the call, removed his robe, and picked up a suit jacket from the back of a chair. Pushing open the dark red wooden door, he left the study and walked through the pavilions and corridors.

Along the way, servants he encountered stopped and bowed their heads, addressing him as "Young Master."

He arrived at another door and knocked three times. After a moment, a voice from inside said, "Come in."

He entered, and said respectfully, "Father, Azbeto has agreed to our terms."

The man seated in the chair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, replied unhurriedly, "Good."

He picked up a teacup from the table and sipped slowly. Then he added, "Do you know why I didn't want to continue the cooperation?"

The son thought for a moment and replied, "Appropriate suffering keeps people servile; excessive suffering stirs the will to resist."

"You're very clever," the man called Father said, setting down the cup, his tone gentle. "The new world Azbeto speaks of is just a childish fantasy—like a tree without roots, it can't survive. Fish won't thrive in water that's too clear; he doesn't understand that."

"Besides, if this new world ever came to be, it would be his word alone. Everything we've worked for would be in vain—we'd be making clothes for someone else to wear."

"What we want is submission, dependency. With the war, the number of believers has doubled in an instant. You need to carefully manage the relief and aid efforts. Don't be stingy with the money."

"Understood, Father," the standing man answered, bowing his head.

"Find a way to inform the Resistance of Azbeto's exact coordinates," the father said, adjusting his glasses, calm and measured. "His usefulness has run its course."

"Yes." The young man bowed, and seeing there were no further instructions, left the room and returned to his own study, where he dispatched the order.

Compared to the Church, the Resistance was most eager to deal with Azbeto. By handing him over, they could shift the Church's attention, redirect the fire, and let the two enemies tear each other apart—ideally, wearing each other down until both were defeated. Though that last part was unlikely.