Chapter 670: Apology Compensation

The corridor lights cast a soft sheen on her ash‑white long hair.

She did not stop at any door, but went straight toward the partition between carriages.

Just before her body touched the metal door panel, it became semi‑transparent, as if digitized, turning her into countless fine Purple‑Black Light Dots that passed through this side of the panel and re‑condensed into shape on the other side.

The whole process was so quiet that not even a whisper of wind could be heard.

The Observation Carriage was even quieter than the corridor.

The lighting here was softer than in the corridor; warm‑toned light poured from the Light Band on the carriage ceiling, giving the dark floor a gentle, warm texture.

Beyond the arched windows on both sides lay the vast Star Sea, with countless specks of light scattered in the deep‑blue void.

Jizi was seated at the window side of the Observation Carriage.

She wore a dark casual outfit, not the navigator's uniform she usually wore.

Her red long hair fell over her shoulders, a few strands draped to her chest, and the tips glowed with a faint warm hue in the starlight outside the window.

One hand rested on the table, its fingertips unconsciously tapping the edge, while the other propped her chin; she faced sideways toward the window.

Her eyes gazed at the Star Sea beyond the window.

There was no focus in those eyes; she was not admiring any scenery, merely staring off in thought.

The starlight outside reflected in her pupils, flashing bright then dimming, yet her expression never changed—no upturn of the mouth, no furrowed brow; her face bore no emotion, only a melancholy that made the viewer feel uneasy.

Pam stood not far from Jizi.

The train conductor, who looked like a lop‑eared rabbit, wore a red uniform, with two long ears peeking from under the hat brim.

Its tiny paws tangled in front of it, loosening then clenching repeatedly.

Pam opened its mouth several times as if to say something, but each time it closed again; finally it could only stand there, staring longingly at Jizi's profile, its ears slightly drooping.

Heimu stood at the opposite end of the carriage, watching the scene.

She reached up and scratched the back of her head.

Honestly, it was a bit awkward.

After all, she had personally thrown San Yue Qi into Dongmu City.

Although Aha was said to be the mischievous one pulling strings behind the scenes, the executor and operator were both her.

Now San Yue Qi is trapped in the Mirror World and cannot return for a while.

And Jizi is here, not knowing where San Yue Qi has gone, when she might return, or even whether she is safe now.

Heimu lowered the hand that had scratched her head and shook her head.

This mess was indeed of her own making.

She stood at this end of the carriage, only a dozen or so steps away from Jizi and Pam.

Yet neither Jizi nor Pam glanced in her direction.

It wasn't that they were inattentive; Heimu's permission had reached a level where, although she stood and existed there, everyone who saw her would unconsciously overlook her presence.

It wasn't invisibility or disappearance, but a cognitive blind spot.

Heimu touched her chin.

Her finger brushed the chin twice lightly, and the light in her Purple‑Black eyes swirled.

She looked at Jizi's sorrowful expression, scheming in her mind.

Perhaps she should adjust Jizi's mood.

After all, that look was truly uncomfortable to behold.

It wasn't loud crying or a scene, but a sullen melancholy that made her not want to speak, as if an invisible layer wrapped around her.

The Star Sea outside was so bright, yet reflected in her eyes as if there were no light at all.

Heimu squinted and then stepped forward.

Her high heels on the Observation Carriage floor should have produced a crisp sound, but each of Heimu's steps was as quiet as walking on cotton.

She walked to Jizi's side and stopped less than two steps away.

Jizi still kept her original posture—propping her chin, gazing out the window, fingertips unconsciously tapping the table edge.

Her red long hair hung on her shoulders, a few strands slipping down from behind the ear to rest against her cheek.

The starlight outside fell on her profile, giving her skin a near‑transparent sheen.

Pam stood on the other side, ears drooping, tiny paws still twining in front of her, completely unaware that another person had entered the carriage.

Heimu stood beside Jizi, eyes lowered, watching her.

From this angle one could see the curve of Jizi's lashes and the faint weariness in the depths of her eyes.

It was not only physical fatigue but also the lingering lassitude that comes when one's heart is burdened.

Heimu raised her right hand, pressing the index and middle fingers together, and gave a light flick toward the back of Jizi's head.

It didn't touch.

It was merely a vague tap, with about a finger's width between the fingertip and the hair.

But at the instant the motion was completed, an extremely faint Purple‑Black light aura rippled from Heimu's fingertip like a water ripple, spreading silently, striking the back of Jizi's head and then merging into it.

The whole process was so quiet that not even a breath of wind was heard.

Jizi's fingertips kept tapping the table edge, then suddenly stopped.

She blinked, and the curve of her lashes slowed.

The elbow supporting her chin slipped on the tabletop; she quickly readjusted her support, yet her body still involuntarily swayed slightly.

A wave of drowsiness.

As if someone had suddenly draped a warm, soft blanket over her from behind.

Her eyes grew heavy, eyelids feeling like tiny lead weights, each blink becoming more laborious.

The Star Sea outside blurred in her pupils, the specks stretching into vague Light Bands.

Jizi lifted her other hand, massaged her temples, and then pressed the spot between her eyebrows.

Pam noticed.

The lop-eared rabbit's ears suddenly perked up, its little paws loosened in front, and it took a step forward.

"Jizi! What's wrong, Pa?"

Jizi waved her hand.

The gesture was limp, her wrist seemed weak, and her palm swayed twice in the air before drooping.

"It's nothing."

Her voice was much lighter than usual, as if she drifted off mid‑sentence, "Maybe I'm a bit sleepy."

Pam's ears perked up again, her little paws tucked behind her, and she puffed out her chest.

"Then Jizi, the passenger, should go rest right away! The Train Conductor is watching here, absolutely no problem, Pa!"

Jizi opened her mouth, wanting to refuse.

Her lips moved slightly, as if to say "No need" or "I'll wait here for San Yue Qi" or something.

But the drowsiness was so intense that her thoughts became fragmented, the sentence fell apart before she could finish it.

A physiological watery sheen rose in her eyes; she blinked hard, but her vision remained blurry.

In the end, she had no choice; she compromised, braced against the table and slowly stood up.