Chapter 242: The Incongruity

At night, the neon lights tint the sky a deep violet.

In a revolving restaurant atop the Cloudtop Tower, soothing jazz flows like water.

Jiang Yuan sits upright, making the chair behind him feel somewhat superfluous.

He feels completely uneasy.

The casual suit he's wearing was dragged out of him by Mo Shu, and the collar constantly feels tight, more uncomfortable than even the highest‑spec combat armor.

"Hey, woodhead."

Across the table, Mo Shu taps the plate lightly with her fork, producing a crisp sound.

"Relax, Jiang the Great Hero. There are no Spider Humanoids here, nor any Demon Eye Chen Shao; you don't have to be ready to draw cards and slice the enemy into eight pieces."

She is wearing a shoulder‑bare red gown today, her chestnut short hair neatly styled, revealing her fair neck.

Under the lights, her doe‑like eyes sparkle, and shallow dimples at the corners of her mouth brim with smiles.

Jiang Yuan feels his cheeks warming slightly.

On the battlefield, he can calmly command the Shadow Ghost legion to tear monsters apart, but here, after Mo Shu looks at him like that, he doesn't even know how to hold a fork and knife.

"I... I didn't."

He holds it in for a while, spits out that sentence, then buries his head and starts wrestling with the steak on his plate.

"Pfft."

Mo Shu laughs at his demeanor, propping her chin up, watching Jiang Yuan with amused interest.

"Honestly, Jiang Yuan, sometimes I really wonder if you have two personalities. One is the decisive 'Shadow Lord' on the battlefield, the other is clumsy in everyday life... hmm, let's just call you Jiang Woodhead."

"......"

Jiang Yuan has no rebuttal.

He lifts his glass, takes a sip of lemon water, trying to mask his embarrassment.

The restaurant rotates slowly, and the city nightscape outside the window resembles a flowing star‑river tableau.

The atmosphere is pleasant, almost unreal.

Mo Shu also quiets down, staring dreamily out the window.

"How wonderful, to be alive."

She suddenly sighs a line, her voice very soft.

"When I was in Chicago, I truly thought I was going to meet my end there. Ghostly things were everywhere, and the bullets in my gun always seemed insufficient."

She turns back, looks at Jiang Yuan, her eyes carrying a hint of gratitude for having survived the ordeal.

"Back then you were like a war god, daring to charge out alone as bait—so cool!"

Jiang Yuan's hand, cutting the steak, freezes mid‑air.

Chicago.

That memory feels as if scorched by a hot iron, every detail terrifyingly clear.

He remembers Mo Shu, to save him, breaking her ankle, and her protective suit being sliced by sharp Reinforced Steel Bar during the tumble.

At the time he saw it clearly: a seven‑ or eight‑centimeter‑long tear, exposing the combat armor inside.

"Your protective suit was torn then; later... what did the examination show? All right?"

Jiang Yuan asks concernedly.

Mo Shu blinks, her expression odd, as if listening to a completely unrelated story.

"Protective suit torn? No, it wasn't."

She twirls a small piece of beef with her fork, puts it in her mouth, speaking in a casual tone.

"I remember clearly; my protective suit was fine, not a single issue. You, on the other hand, ended up in such a mess."

Jiang Yuan's brows knit.

No?

How could there be none?

That scene in his mind is like high‑definition video, the torn edge fibers curling clearly visible.

"Think again?"

Jiang Yuan puts down his fork and knife, leans forward slightly, his expression turning serious, "After your ankle was injured, we were surrounded by monsters, and you, to save me, had your protective suit sliced..."

"Stop, stop, stop!"

Mo Shu laughs, cutting him off, "Jiang the Great Hero, did you get it wrong?"

She picks up a napkin, wipes her mouth corner, teasing, "I don't recall my protective suit being torn, okay?"

Jiang Yuan looks at her.

Mo Shu's expression is natural, her eyes clear, without any trace of deceit.

She doesn't seem to be hiding anything; she truly believes the matter is exactly as she says.

An indescribable weirdness slowly rises in Jiang Yuan's heart.

Did I remember wrong?

Impossible.

Regarding life‑or‑death combat details, he possesses an almost obsessive memory.

He recalls that day's humidity, the lingering burnt smell in the air, the mud splatter on Mo Shu's face.

"Maybe... I mixed up the memory, huh."

Jiang Yuan ultimately chooses to back down; he doesn't want to ruin this rare atmosphere.

But the seed of doubt in his heart has already been planted.

During the rest of the dinner, he becomes somewhat absent‑minded.

He indirectly asked about several details of the Chicago operation, such as the model of the armored vehicle they rode in, and the specific coordinates where Wang Dui had ordered the breakout.

Mo Shu answered fluently, even remembering the catchphrase of the NAU liaison officer, Mi Lei, from back then, crystal clear.

The more she remembered, the more Jiang Yuan felt something was off.

Too perfect.

No ambiguity or deviation.

This isn't normal.

After dinner, the two walked side by side along the riverwalk.

The river breeze lifted Mo Shu's skirt as she smiled and told Jiang Yuan she'd see him tomorrow, then turned and quickly vanished into the night.

Jiang Yuan stood where he was, watching her back, and felt increasingly uneasy.

He didn't go home but went straight to the Investigation Bureau headquarters.

Even late at night, the headquarters remained brightly lit.

Jiang Yuan found Wang Zhangzhi in the tactical preparation room.

Captain Wang was maintaining his peculiar pistol, his movements steady and meticulous.

"Captain Wang."

Jiang Yuan got straight to the point.

Wang Zhangzhi lifted his head, his deep eyes glancing at him: "So late, what's up?"

"Regarding the Chicago operation, I want to confirm something with you."

Jiang Yuan stepped up to him, lowering his voice.

"Was Mo Shu's protective suit damaged during the battle back then?"

Wang Zhangzhi stopped wiping the gun barrel.

He lifted his eyes, scrutinizing Jiang Yuan with a gaze full of confusion.

"Protective suit damaged?"

He replied in a flat tone, yet with an undeniable certainty.

"That didn't happen."

"Her protective suit was intact, as clearly stated in the mission report. Why are you asking this?"

Even Captain Wang said that?

If it were just Mo Shu misremembering, it could still be a memory distortion caused by traumatic stress.

But who is Captain Wang?

He is the commander of the entire operation, steady as a mountain, with keen observation—he could not possibly misremember such a vital detail.

Then...

Could the mistake be mine?

Is it my memory that's gone wrong?

Jiang Yuan stood there, his limbs cold.

He clearly remembered the tear, remembered Mo Shu's resolute gaze at the time, and remembered her heart-rending scream as he rushed out.

Those images, those sounds, felt as real as if they had happened just yesterday.

But now, the two most important witnesses both tell him that it was all fake.

Was it a hallucination?

Or a side effect of the Shadow Ghost Power, starting to warp my cognition?

Or perhaps...