Chapter 140

Zhao Jianguo's finger was still half an inch from the terminal screen, but the cursor moved on its own.

It didn't click down, but instead slid back a bit, as if someone had yanked it from behind. Immediately, the air at the edge of the wind column trembled slightly, and a shadow emerged—short hair, military green coat, missing a button on the cuff—it was Chen Jianguo.

He didn't speak, nor look at Zhao Jianguo, just raised his hand and lightly pressed on the terminal interface, his fingertip tracing the Y position and giving a gentle push. In that instant, the entire wind column seemed to have been hit by a pause button, and even the floating debris, light patterns, and the sparkling specks the Shuang Baotai were holding in their hands all froze.

Zhao Jianguo's throat tightened. "What are you doing? I was about to press it."

Chen Jianguo didn't answer, just shook his head at him, then slowly raised his other hand, pointing toward the depths of the wind eye. Where there had originally been a cascade of garbled code, a line of crooked characters now appeared: 【Cannot be confirmed before the stabilizer is activated】.

Before his voice even faded, Chen Jianguo's silhouette began to fade, like dry ink evaporating bit by bit. When the last outline vanished, orderly footsteps echoed from afar, stepping on the blue‑brick ground with the rhythm of a Mechanical Lesson pendulum—one after another, weighing down people's chests.

Zhao Jianguo whipped his head around—already a line of people stood at the courtyard gate.

Five people, in gray uniforms, black boots, square devices hanging on their chests, walked without a sound. The leader, short but ramrod straight, had a faint blue pattern behind his left ear that glowed coldly in the dim light. He recognized him at once—identical to the Special Forces Captain from the secret room.

"Well, this is a show." Zhao Jianguo pulled the Shuang Baotai behind him, leaned against the wall, terminal pressed to his chest, screen still flashing red at the edge, "Are you here to check household registrations or to seize the house? The siheyuan doesn't have your names written on it."

The man stopped, raised his hand and waved; the team members behind him instantly scattered, forming a semicircle around the wind column at the courtyard's center. The person in the middle held a silver‑gray box, opened its casing, and a ring of lights inside began to slowly rotate.

"The Spacetime Stabilizer has been activated." He reported softly.

The next second, blue light swept across the entire area.

The beam merely gave Zhao Jianguo a slight tremor when it passed him, but as soon as it hit the Shuang Baotai, the machine let out a sudden "hum," the light band sped up, and a voice blared: "High‑dimensional spacetime anchor detected—immediate protection advised, no movement allowed."

Zhao Jianguo raised an eyebrow. "What does 'no movement' mean? They're not flowerpots."

The Special Forces Captain stepped forward two paces, his voice low but each word landing like a weight: "Zhao Jianguo, holder of Level‑3 Permission, Civilization Witness System binding successful. We've received a warning—an anchor point shift is imminent here; please cooperate with evacuation."

"Evacuate?" Zhao Jianguo scoffed. "I just got the wind column under control, and you want me to send the kids outside? There isn't even a rain shelter out there."

"This isn't up for discussion." His tone unchanged. "You're an observer, but the two of them are living anchor points. If they lose control, not only will this courtyard collapse, the entire hutong's timeline will go out of sync."

Zhao Jianguo stared at him for three seconds, then suddenly laughed: "Tell me, who approved your stabilizer? Which year was it launched? Does it even have a serial number?"

He paused.

"You can't say it, can you?" Zhao Jianguo patted the terminal. "I know you're from the Management Bureau, but procedure can't be messed up. The responsibility letter I signed clearly states that on‑site highest Permission belongs to the observer. You just barged in without notice, without handover, not even an authorization code—what kind of operation is this? Overstepping, right?"

The air froze instantly.

The Special Forces Captain stood still, but his fingers twitched slightly. The blue light of the stabilizer behind him began to flicker, as if the signal were interfered with.

"You know exactly what's going on." He finally spoke. "The Historical Correction Force is stuck at the critical value; the wind column could restart at any moment. We must intervene."

"Intervention is possible." Zhao Jianguo lifted the terminal. "But we must follow procedure. I need to see your Permission certificate, have the audio logged, and confirm the stabilizer won't affect the kids. Otherwise—" he paused, eyes hardening—"I won't let anyone take them."

The two locked eyes, neither backing down.

One of the Shuang Baotai tugged at Zhao Jianguo's pant leg, the other reached out to touch the blue light—but as soon as his fingertips brushed the edge, his little face scrunched up, as if pricked by something, and he pulled back without even a whimper.

Zhao Jianguo's heart leapt; he quickly scooped the child up. "What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

The child shook his head, pointed to his own head, then gestured toward the wind column, moving his lips but making no sound.

Just then, the wind column above gave a slight shudder.

A ripple spread from the center, like wind ruffling the water's surface. Then a blurry silhouette emerged once more—still Chen Jianguo, but this time even fainter, almost transparent.

He didn't look at anyone, didn't move, just lifted his hand.

A slip of paper appeared out of thin air, drifting down slowly.

Zhao Jianguo reached out and caught it; it felt as light as a leaf. Unfolding it, he saw only three characters, the ink still wet: "Beware 1978."

He snapped his head up. "Chen Jianguo! You still have something to say—"

Before he could finish, the shadow dissolved completely, leaving no trace. The wind column remained suspended, motionless and silent, yet the sense of oppression grew heavier, as if it might explode any second.

The Special Forces Captain stared at the slip for two seconds, then said: "That's the final data remnant of Chen Jianguo. He should have been fully purged last month, but he's held on until now because the system is waiting for someone."

"Waiting for whom?" Zhao Jianguo asked.

"Waiting for you to make a choice." He pointed at the terminal. "If you press 'Y', the stabilizer won't activate, the wind column will keep expanding until it engulfs the entire time node. He blocked you to buy you time—until we arrive."

Zhao Jianguo lowered his gaze to the slip in his hand, his fingertips tingling. He knew Chen Jianguo hadn't gone far, but he never imagined the man had literally pinned his own data to the system's edge just for this moment.

"So you're not here to rescue the scene," he slowly lifted his head. "You're here to take over?"

"It's cooperation." The Special Forces Captain corrected. "We handle stabilizing the external structure; you keep internal Permission. But the precondition is— the Shuang Baotai must be protected by us."

"On what basis?" Zhao Jianguo's voice dropped. "They're the ones I picked up, I raised them, and now you want to take them away?"

"Because they're not ordinary children." He locked eyes with Zhao Jianguo. "They're natural anchor points, capable of drawing energy from spacetime rifts. If all goes well, they'll grow into two 'walking history stabilizers.' But that also makes them prime targets for the Historical Correction Force. You shouldn't let them near the wind column."

Zhao Jianguo fell silent for a few seconds, then chuckled: "So you knew all along? From the very start you knew they'd cause fluctuations?"

"Our odds of knowing exceed seventy percent."

"Then why not look for anchor points elsewhere? Why fixate on two kids?"

"Because other anchor points aren't stable." The Special Forces Captain said calmly. "They've been by your side since the moment you transmigrated—a variable. Their very existence is the system's validated outcome."

Zhao Jianguo clenched the slip of paper.

He knew what that meant—these two children might not have appeared in his life by chance at all.

Just like Chen Jianguo's warning, like that line of text that suddenly popped up, like the seemingly chaotic events behind it—someone had actually set the stage long ago.

He lowered his head to look at the Shuang Baotai in his arms—one asleep, cheek pressed against his arm; the other awake, eyes fixed on the stabilizer's blue light, gaze so clear it didn't belong to a child.

"I can cooperate." He finally said. "But there are three conditions."

The Special Forces Captain nodded. "Go ahead."

"First, the stabilizer's operation must be fully recorded on video; second, the kids may not leave my sight; third—" he lifted the terminal, aiming it at the device on the opponent's chest, "I need to link into your backend protocol to verify your identity. Miss one condition, and no one gets to move them today."

The other side didn't answer right away, instead glancing sideways at his subordinate.

A few seconds later, he raised his wrist, pressed a button. A blue beam shot from the pattern behind his ear, projecting into the air as a short string of code.

"Permission verification activated, call sign 'Guardian of the Bell', stationed at 1955, mission rank A."

Zhao Jianguo brought the terminal over; the interface flashed, and a confirmation line popped up.

He stared at it for two seconds, finger hovering over the confirm key.

The wind column hung still, the blue light drifting slowly, the Shuang Baotai's breath settling lightly on his shoulders.

His finger slowly pressed down.