Chapter 243: The Last Ice Floe

The conference room was buried deep underground, its walls coated with sound- and energy-absorbing damping material. No windows, only a ring of cool LED lighting along the ceiling illuminating the entire space.

A faint hum lingered in the air—the newly developed high-precision energy suppression field, something Yang Yi never imagined would be applied to herself.

She sat at one end of the long table, facing Director Zhou.

The table’s surface gleamed like a mirror, reflecting two blurred, solemn faces, with an empty void between them as if spanning a chasm.

A cup of tea sat before Yang Yi, meant to soothe, but silent pressure fermented in the air.

Director Zhou’s under-eyes were dark with fatigue; he cleared his throat and forced out a formulaic tone of concern:

“Yang Yi, this place… is safe.” His gaze darted quickly to the room’s corners, then snapped back to her face, searching for any subtle emotional fluctuation—but met only a deep, still silence.

That silence weighed heavier on his heart.

“You know the situation outside,” he avoided specifics, his voice heavy. “The video… spread too fast, too wide. The tech department and several internationally trusted institutions have all run analyses.”

He spoke with the casual tone of a friend chatting, yet betrayed an unmistakable scrutiny: “The results… aren’t optimistic. Technically, there’s no trace of synthesis.”

“The top leadership… is under immense pressure. International voices are chaotic and harsh. Domestically… we need a clear explanation. To stabilize the situation, to give the ‘plan’ even a sliver of hope… we need to do something.”

Yang Yi understood the subtext behind Director Zhou’s words.

She remained silent.

She felt the suppression field’s intensity subtly adjusting with his words, sensed at least six S-class Awakeners outside the door, their heartbeats and energy signatures locked in high alert.

Without needing to think, she knew other S-class Awakeners guarded her at the central decision-making level.

Yet the last report submitted to her under the Mass Awakening Program listed only four S-class Awakeners activated.

Farther out, the newly developed dark matter energy suppressor operated at maximum power; high-output laser cannons were already positioned.

She had never been fully trusted.

Yang Yi smiled, inexplicably.

Director Zhou lifted his eyes, his gaze a mix of pleading and scrutiny: “We need you to provide some… more concrete evidence. Something tangible, verifiable. Proof that you truly activated that otherworldly altar back then, and used its own mechanism to eliminate the threat—as you originally reported. Not… the way it appeared in the video.”

“Any evidence will do… With this, we can counter the rumors, clear your name, and remove obstacles to preserving the plan.”

Evidence? Where could she find it?

Wade’s video was real.

The only way she’d closed the portal was by forcibly draining the life sources of those alien beings, boosting her own power.

To avoid a result like today, she concealed the truth upon returning, lying that she had activated the altar.

She could not prove it herself.

A long silence spread through the cold air.

The faint hope in Director Zhou’s eyes was replaced by disappointment and a cold “I knew it.” His hand beneath the table subtly shifted—barely a millimeter—toward some hidden control panel.

Just as the suffocating silence reached its peak, Yang Yi suddenly spoke, her voice soft yet crystal clear:

“I am not a demon god.”

Director Zhou jerked as if burned. Instantly, his face twisted into an expression of relief and understanding, hastily interjecting with a tone of paternal reproach:

“Of course you’re not! Xiao Yang, how could you possibly be? We… we never thought that!”

He spoke faster, as if desperate to banish a terrible thought: “Those are malicious lies, a conspiracy by Wade and those anti-human elements! We firmly believe in your stance, in your loyalty to humanity!”

His words were earnest, yet his eyes flickered involuntarily, avoiding Yang Yi’s gaze.

Yang Yi smiled again, unconsciously.

She understood the fear behind his frantic denial—they feared not that she “was” a demon god, but that she would admit she was one.

As long as she didn’t admit it, she still cared about human opinion, still followed human rules—still could be “calmed,” “controlled,” or “used.”

The most terrifying prospect was her tearing off this final mask—meaning she no longer cared at all.

So no matter what evidence pointed toward that terrifying possibility, they must—and could only—insist she “was not.”

This was not trust. It was fear.

Director Zhou seemed to realize his overreaction; he steadied himself, sat upright again, and resumed a coldly official demeanor. He averted his gaze, his voice losing its earlier forced warmth:

“We… believe in you. But the United Nations… procedurally, they require evidence. The pressure is too great—we can’t hold out much longer.”

He looked at Yang Yi one last time, his eyes complex: a trace of lingering pity, and a new, alien distance.

“They’ve arranged a hearing… live-streamed globally. In one day.” He paused. “This may be… your last chance. Prepare yourself.”

With that, he rose without delay, stepping hastily toward the door.

The door slid open silently; a stronger wave of suppression field energy surged in for an instant, then vanished completely as the alloy door sealed shut.

The room was left with only Yang Yi.

Cold light enveloped her; the invisible suppression field tightened like a tangible shackle.

Yang Yi sat motionless in her chair, as if frozen.

The last patch of ground beneath her feet had turned to ice, about to collapse.