Chapter 16: Who Are You?

“Too big a mistake!” said Director Zhou.

“Yes, using a beauty trap—this move is ruthless,” Feng Liancheng added.

“Now giving her a new handsome assistant—doesn’t that seem too obvious?”

“It won’t work. She’s been obsessed with this male idol for over four years—even before her awakening. No one else has this kind of power.”

“Sigh!” Director Zhou sighed. “I’ve made multiple mistakes with her already.”

“Director, she herself is a black swan event. Anyone facing her will make mistakes.”

“By the way, aren’t there two quite handsome young men in the Special Operations Team? Could we assign them as her teammates later? We can pick from lower-level Awakening Divisions based on what type she likes…”

Feng Liancheng opened his mouth but held back. “Director, you must trust Comrade Yang Yi’s loyalty to the motherland.”

“I do trust her—but the enemy is too cunning. We must do something, or we’ll seem too passive. This is our super strategic weapon! The higher-ups are extremely concerned.”

“I think what she needs most right now isn’t to be seen as a weapon, but equality and respect.”

Director Zhou paused, then patted Feng Liancheng’s shoulder. “You’re right.” He smiled. “Wasn’t it you who collected and organized Yang Yi’s original records?”

“Yes, Director.”

“Does Yang Yi know about this?”

Feng Liancheng immediately grimaced. “She just found out.”

“Little Feng, you’ve worked hard! If… just endure a little hardship!”

“Yang Yi probably… won’t take it out on me. Besides, this was all standard procedure… Director, you’ve got to speak up for me!”

“You’ve worked hard.”

“Director—”

————

On the flight back to Xia Country, Yang Yi stared at Feng Liancheng across from her.

In just over ten minutes, Feng Liancheng went from feigning calm, to sitting on pins and needles, to drenched in cold sweat.

Throughout this, Feng Liancheng repeatedly glanced desperately at Director Zhou—but the Director acted as if he saw nothing, alternately making phone calls, checking documents on his computer, frowning deeply or sinking into deep thought, always busy.

Feng Liancheng finally realized no one would help him.

“Comrade Yang Yi, if you have complaints, just say them outright. Don’t keep staring at me—I’m under immense pressure!”

Yang Yi’s face was expressionless.

Even if she exploded right now, Feng Liancheng wouldn’t be this tense—he feared the calm before the storm.

Feng Liancheng squirmed restlessly, as if a hedgehog sat beneath him.

Finally, Yang Yi spoke: “Why are you nervous? I’m just looking at you.”

At these words, Feng Liancheng felt even worse. He forced a bitter smile. “You probably don’t realize how tense your gaze is.”

“Isn’t me now the same as before? Why are you nervous now? Show me that ‘familiar’ attitude you had when we first met.”

“If I’d known your power from the start, I’d have worshipped you like the Queen Mother of Heaven.”

Yang Yi let out a sudden chuckle.

Feng Liancheng exhaled silently.

Director Zhou finally acted as if he’d just noticed the tension. “Misunderstandings between colleagues are normal—just clear them up! We all share the same goal. What conflict can’t be resolved? Tonight, I’ll treat everyone to dinner—to reward you all for your hard work—”

“Then I’ll definitely take you for a good meal,” Yang Yi smiled.

Director Zhou made a face of mock agony, prompting Yang Yi and Feng Liancheng to cheer and tease him.

Regarding the violation of her privacy, Yang Yi let it go lightly—but no one believed she truly didn’t care.

That night, Feng Liancheng indeed invited Chen Yushu, Wei Chang’an, and Li Chengxuan to “Yushanfang,” one of Jingcheng’s two finest restaurants. It was rumored that the owner, Wang Siyuan, was a descendant of imperial chefs from the previous dynasty. All private rooms were fully booked, but when he saw Yang Yi, Old Wang’s eyes widened instantly—he immediately cleared out a premium backup private room on the spot.

Old Wang of Yushanfang was overly enthusiastic: he offered to cover all meals for free, added over a dozen signature dishes, and kept lamenting the lack of time—he couldn’t prepare many dishes in advance, and begged Yang Yi to notify them days ahead next time so he could serve her a full Manchu-Han Imperial Feast.

In the end, Director Zhou insisted on paying, citing civil servants’ rules against free meals. Even with a discount, the bill still hurt. Old Wang had served dishes he rarely cooked.

At Old Wang’s strong request, Yang Yi took a photo with him, then departed as Old Wang bowed and escorted them out with relentless warmth.

On the way back, Yang Yi sighed. “If everyone treats me like this from now on, I might not be able to handle it.”

Director Zhou smiled but said nothing.

Wei Chang’an was blunt: “If you want people to stop being this enthusiastic, you’ll have to wear a mask when you go out.”

Li Chengxuan muttered enviously: “Not bad. From now on, you won’t even need cash—just facial recognition payment.”

“If you had power, you could too. Why be jealous?” Chen Yushu said coldly.

Yang Yi glanced at Chen Yushu in surprise—he, who always kept silent, had spoken up for her.

Feng Liancheng quickly defused the tension: “This rescue mission owed everything to Yang Yi. Without her, we might’ve been wiped out. Even if we paid for her meals forever, it’s still our duty—haha…”

Li Chengxuan looked embarrassed and turned his head away awkwardly.

Back in the dorm, after closing the door, Yang Yi’s forced smile slowly faded.

She was tired—exhausted from within. She slumped onto the sofa, lost in thought without realizing it.

The ceiling light was round, printed with tiny purple flowers—like those of the Huangjing shrub, which grew thickly around her secret base.

Every spring and summer, when it bloomed, purple blossoms covered the cliff edges. Its scent was strange—effective at repelling mosquitoes. Some called it fragrant; others, foul.

When Huangjing first bloomed, the scent was faint. Yang Yi could feign it was fragrant. But as more flowers opened, the odor grew stronger, clinging stubbornly to the salty sea breeze. When resting on her recliner in the secret base, the smell forced itself into her nostrils—she could no longer pretend to like it.

Next came the oleander. It had no scent, and its flowers were pretty—but it was poisonous. She had to watch out for falling blossoms poisoning her tea beneath the tree.

After that, things improved. Osmanthus bloomed in August, its fragrance bold and overwhelming. She often picked it to make desserts or tea. Sea buckthorn bore small orange-yellow berries in August—adorable and useful. Sometimes she gathered them to make jam.

She treated them as her friends.

Now, she had finally left them behind.

Her awareness blurred, then sank into a strange, hallucinatory dream.

She flew above an endless blue ocean, soaring endlessly—as if the blue had no horizon. Enormous, terrifying beasts lived here; creatures like giant crabs were among the least noticeable of the ocean’s monstrous species.

After flying for who knew how long, she reached land. Everything here shimmered with surreal hues, shrouded in mist. Vines writhed beneath her feet, reaching for her; dense, damp forests teemed with hidden predators and venomous insects, waiting to pounce.

Then she suddenly waved her hand—the mist vanished, revealing everything hidden behind it. All the creatures sensed something and fled instantly. Even the writhing vines beneath her feet froze, then lay soft and harmless on the ground.

Seeing this, her emotions showed no ripple—calm, as if all of it were ordinary.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. She stood in a world of fire and molten lava. Before her surged a river of molten rock; the air warped under searing heat.

She walked through this fiery realm, passed waterfalls of molten lava, and arrived before a roaring volcano.

Suddenly, a plume of black smoke erupted from the volcano. A deep voice boomed from within: “Why have you invaded the Flame Demon’s sacred ground? Do you wish to die?”

“Asathar, open your eyes and look—who am I?” She heard herself say.

Yang Yi jolted awake, her heart pounding violently in her chest, as if a giant hammer struck it. Cold sweat soaked her clothes; her shirt clung to her skin, her bra like a wet, icy rope binding her chest. She used her mental force to unclasp it, tossed it carelessly onto the sofa, then collapsed, staring blankly.

Why had she dreamed this?

Where was that world? Was it… the world of alien beings?

Did she truly know a fire demon named Asathar?

The “her” in the dream felt like her—but not quite. It was as if some foreign consciousness had taken over her body. That “her” knew everything about that world intimately—as if it were mundane, even dull.

Who am I?

Who—am I?

Outside, the night was thick. Only distant streetlights cast faint, flickering glows.

Strands of hair clung to her forehead, sticky and slimy, like leeches from a summer sewer burrowing into skin. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, then rose and stood before the mirror, staring at her haggard reflection.

The young girl in the mirror had a pale face, dry lips, and skin slightly darkened by Haibei City’s abundant sunlight. Her eyes were pure black—two bottomless black holes into which all light vanished, swallowed by endless swirling darkness.

She stared without blinking. Then she asked: “Who are you?”

The figure in the mirror opened its mouth, forming the same words: “Who are you?”

“I am Yang Yi,” she said.

The mirror figure mimicked her lips: “I am Yang Yi.”

The reflection was familiar—but the longer she stared, the stranger it seemed.

Yang Yi gave a helpless, bitter smile, turned on the tap to brush her teeth, then took a shower. When she lay on the bed, she was fully awake—and couldn’t sleep again.

She opened her phone and decided to scroll through a novel to pass this endless, wide-awake night.

Then she saw a new message. The sender’s nickname: “God.”

Her hand moved faster than her mind—she tapped open the message: “Have you seen my personal blog? Everyone’s jealous of me!”

Sent about three hours ago. With the time difference between Xia Country and Ark Country, it would be afternoon there now.

Yang Yi’s lips curled slightly. Her heavy mood lightened a little. She opened Chris’s personal blog—the comments had already reached over a hundred thousand. The comment section was nearly out of control.