Chapter 353: Do You Still Celebrate March 8th? Aren

Mo Yu and Xiao Bao's combined "Probability Lag" was like pressing pause on the raging battlefield of Guixu. The energy storm crept slowly, the Lizardmen moved like puppets, and even their chaotic wills became stuttering and fragmented.

Xia Wan seized this fleeting moment, transforming into a pale golden streak, surging against the sluggish tide of energy, stabbing straight toward the dark, shattered entrance of Guixu!

The Mother Ship "Hope" and the Blades squad could only watch helplessly as her figure vanished into that bizarre, warped space; then, the entrance's scene rippled violently like a stone dropped in water, before being swallowed once more by thick darkness and chaotic energy, severing all connection between inside and outside.

"Maintain maximum alertness! Be ready to extract her at any moment!" The captain suppressed his worry and gave a low order. The Mother Ship adjusted its posture, its cannons still aimed at the enemies held in lag, prepared for a counterattack the moment the probability effect faded.

Mo Yu, meanwhile, turned away his gaze, yawned, seemingly unconcerned about what came next. He drifted back to his recliner and idly pulled another can of drink from a nearby mini-fridge (he had no idea when this thing had appeared on the bridge).

At that moment, a hesitant female voice came through the bridge's internal comm channel—it was a young female officer in charge of communications and intelligence analysis, surnamed Chen.

"Mo… Mr. Mo Yu?" Chen's voice carried curiosity and an almost imperceptible hint of gossip, "Just now… you called Xia Wan Miss 'Chosen One'?"

Mo Yu raised an eyebrow and lazily replied to the air—or rather, the comm unit: "What? Problem?"

"No, no problem!" Chen quickly denied it, but curiosity clearly overpowered her nervousness, "It's just… this title feels unusual. Xia Wan Miss is indeed incredibly powerful and carries a vital mission… but hearing this title on a day like today, it just feels… somehow fitting?"

"Today?" Mo Yu paused, glanced at the universal cosmic time displayed on the main bridge screen (alongside the Earth traditional calendar), rubbed his chin, "Oh, you mean that 'March 8th' holiday?"

He snorted, his tone dripping with his usual cynicism: "What does a holiday that gives ordinary women half a day off and a carnation have to do with our Little Guardians?"

He took a sip of his drink and continued: "She guards the stars and seas, the Civilization Spark. She needs battle blades that can cleave starships and souls that resist spiritual corruption—not some hothouse flower who clocks out after half a day."

Chen seemed choked by his words, fell silent for several seconds, then muttered softly: "But… Miss Xia Wan, no matter how strong she is, she's still a woman… and she's only nineteen…"

Though her voice was quiet, in the silent bridge, it reached Mo Yu's ears clearly.

Mo Yu froze. His cynical expression softened slightly. He set down the drink can, his gaze seeming to pierce through the bridge's viewport, toward the dark entrance where Xia Wan had vanished—still locked in "Probability Lag."

He fell silent for a moment. Just as Chen feared she'd said something wrong and grew uneasy, Mo Yu suddenly spoke—his tone no longer flippant, but carrying an indescribable… complexity.

"Female… nineteen…"

He repeated those two words, as if savoring them.

Then, he let out a soft sigh, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper—yet clear enough for everyone on the channel to hear:

"You're right."

"She is a woman. And she is only nineteen."

"By the standards of most civilizations, that age is barely adulthood—still basking in youthful innocence and beauty, dreaming of love and the future."

His voice deepened slightly, carrying a hint of… pity, almost imperceptible.

"But she had no choice."

"Yun Ge chose her. Bloodline chose her. Crisis chose her. Old Qin… chose her too."

"She walked a path destined to have nothing to do with ordinariness or fragility."

"She had to grow strong. She had to be calm. She had to shoulder burdens far beyond her years."

"She has no time to care about what color lipstick she likes, no energy to look forward to a romantic date, and perhaps… never even the chance to experience the small, real joys and troubles of an ordinary girl."

Mo Yu paused, his tone turning strange again—half self-mockery, half resignation:

"So you ask me if she still celebrates 'March 8th'?"

"Celebrate what?"

"Every day she lives is Guardian's Day. Every day she lives is Day of Civilization's Continuation."

His final words, though quiet, fell like a heavy stone into each person's heart.

"You still celebrate March 8th? Aren't you just…"

He didn't finish. But everyone understood the unspoken words.

Aren't you just… the Chosen One who guards everything, yet can never guard her own ordinary life?

The bridge fell silent.

Everyone fell into stillness. Chen covered her mouth, her eyes shimmering with guilt and emotion.

They had grown accustomed to Xia Wan's strength, her calm, her authority and reliability as the Tiankong Guardian—yet almost forgotten that beneath that radiant aura, she was merely a nineteen-year-old girl.

The life she should have had was forcibly twisted, shoved onto this path of thorns and starfire.

Mo Yu said nothing more. He picked up his drink again, leaned back in his recliner, and closed his eyes—as if that speech had drained all his seriousness.

But the atmosphere in the bridge had grown heavy.

For the first time, they truly understood: what Xia Wan bore was more than power and duty—it was the sacrificed, ordinary girlhood she could never reclaim.

And now, alone inside Guixu, Xia Wan knew nothing of this.

She faced a more bizarre and unpredictable… internal challenge.