Top-Tier Omega: Chasing Alpha to the Crematorium – Chapter 84
by Little PandaThe Child Is Still Here
A blinding, harsh white light filled Song Qingpei’s vision.
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself bound to a metal chair, her wrists and ankles secured by custom shackles. The faint scent of disinfectant drifted through the air. The pristine white walls bore no markings whatsoever, save for a single cold, white light overhead that cast a dizzying glare.
“Awake?”
A deep, authoritative voice came from the shadows.
Song Qingpei squinted as a tall figure slowly stepped into the light—President Zhan Li was scrutinizing her with hawk-like eyes.
The violent tremors from the explosion had left her head groggy. It took her a long moment to realize her current situation—she had been ambushed by President Zhan Li’s forces and was now a prisoner.
She didn’t know if Ming Yu had heard her final words.
What did Zhan Li want with her?
Though anxiety churned within her, she refused to show a single trace of panic or cowardice in front of her enemy.
Song Qingpei adjusted her breathing and looked straight at Zhan Li. “Can the President just arrest anyone he pleases? Is this the law of the Federation?”
Zhan Li gave a soft chuckle. “Miss Song, there’s no need to put on an act.”
Hearing this, Song Qingpei knew her identity had been exposed. It made sense; otherwise, Zhan Li wouldn’t have had her captured so directly. It seemed he’d been driven to desperate measures1, no longer caring to keep up appearances.
“What do you want?” Song Qingpei asked coldly.
Zhan Li didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he sat down across from her, his fingers lightly tapping the metal tabletop. “We didn’t have to meet like this. After all, your mother and I were once the best of friends.”
Song Qingpei sneered. “So you repaid her with a meticulously planned murder?”
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet instantly.
Zhan Li’s gaze turned dangerous. “Young lady, accusations require evidence.”
“The evidence is on Planet Blue Tree,” Song Qingpei said, looking him dead in the eye. “You’ve never been afraid of the Black Kite. It’s what my mother left behind there that terrifies you, isn’t it?”
Zhan Li suddenly laughed, a chuckle that sent a shiver down Song Qingpei’s spine. “You’re very clever, but a clever person should know when to compromise.”
Song Qingpei remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his rhetoric.
She had already pieced together the broad strokes of her situation. Zhan Li had likely known her identity for a long time. He’d only tolerated her because her ultimate purpose was to retrieve the coordinates to Planet Blue Tree. Now that she had secured them, he’d moved instantly.
None of this could possibly be a coincidence.
Song Qingpei felt a shudder of dread at Zhan Li’s deep, calculating nature, silently resolving not to utter another word.
Seeing her silence, Zhan Li didn’t press. Instead, he walked over to the projector, gave a meaningful smile, and gestured for her to look.
The projection flickered to life, displaying a familiar scene—Song Song was at her kindergarten, clutching the plush bear Song Qingpei had given her. She looked utterly listless, lacking her usual cheer.
Song Qingpei’s breath hitched.
“What a lovely child,” Zhan Li’s voice was as cold and venomous as a viper’s. “Her kindergarten teacher mentioned that she misses her mama very much.”
Song Qingpei’s fingernails dug sharply into her palms as she forced herself to remain calm. With Ming Yu around, Zhan Li wouldn’t dare lay a finger on Song Song.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Are you trying to threaten me with my child?”
“I’m simply offering you a choice.” Zhan Li shut off the projection, turned to face her, and spoke in a persuasive tone. “Song Qingpei, as long as you agree to my demands, I can release your aunt, Song Zhuohua. I can even pretend none of this ever happened and guarantee that you and your child can safely leave the Federation.”
At the mention of her aunt, a flicker of emotion crossed Song Qingpei’s eyes.
“And your terms?”
“Hand over the coordinates to Planet Blue Tree, disband the Black Kite, and drop any investigation into your mother’s past forever.” Zhan Li leaned down, his shadow looming over Song Qingpei. “It’s a fair trade.”
Song Qingpei laughed, a sound that made Zhan Li’s brow furrow. “Fair? My mother gave her entire life to the Federation, and in the end, not even her body was left intact. And yet you speak to me of a fair trade?”
Zhan Li’s face darkened. “Letting your emotions rule you will only harm you and those you care about.”
“Your Excellency seems to have forgotten—” Song Qingpei said, lifting her head, a strange light gleaming in her eyes, “I’m a mother as well.”
The room plunged into an eerie silence.
Zhan Li’s pupils shrunk. He recognized that gaze. More than twenty years ago, during her final cabinet meeting, Rong Cen had looked at him with that exact same expression—as if she were staring at a piece of garbage.
“If that’s the case,” Zhan Li said, straightening up to adjust the lapels of his suit. “We have nothing left to discuss.”
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him with a dull thud.
Knowing Song Qingpei wouldn’t bend easily, Zhan Li didn’t linger. He departed straight for the Presidential Palace.
He knew that once she caught wind of this, Ming Yu would waste no time coming to find him.
The moment Zhan Li stepped back into the Presidential Palace, his secretary informed him that Admiral Ming was waiting in the reception room.
“Admiral Ming, sorry to keep you waiting.”
Zhan Li’s voice came from behind. Ming Yu turned and offered a crisp, standard military salute. “Your Excellency.”
“Sit,” Zhan Li said, gesturing for her to take a seat.
Ming Yu suppressed her mounting fury and cut straight to the chase. “I believe you know exactly why I’m here. It’s for Song Qingpei.”
Zhan Li paused, then smiled. “Admiral Ming, since when do you speak on behalf of traitors?”
“Treason?” Ming Yu sneered, pulling a document from her briefcase. “These are communication records intercepted by the Military Intelligence Department twenty-five years ago. They prove that President Rong’s mech explosion back then was no accident.” She slid the folder across the desk. “What’s even more interesting is that you personally halted the entire investigation while serving as the Security Director.”
Zhan Li’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. “Fabricating evidence is a serious crime, Admiral Ming.”
“Just like assassinating a President?” Ming Yu locked eyes with him. “With the election looming, Marshal Qin Mian has already secured thirty-eight percent of the support. If these files are leaked, how do you think the remaining sixty-two percent of the public will choose?”
The air in the office seemed to freeze.
Zhan Li said slowly, “Are you threatening me?”
“And what if I am?” Ming Yu replied coldly.
Zhan Li laughed. “Ming Yu, you’re far more driven by emotion than I gave you credit for.” He stepped closer, looking down at her with a heavy, looming gaze. “To risk the entire future of the Ming family for a woman who walked out on you—is it really worth it?”
Ming Yu stood up, meeting Zhan Li’s gaze on equal footing. “You’re wrong. I stand here precisely because Song Qingpei never compromises her principles for anyone.” Pride flared in her eyes. “If she bowed her head to you today, she wouldn’t have captured my heart.”
To a political machine like Zhan Li, such words were naturally incomprehensible.
Attempting to frame the situation in terms of sheer leverage, he put on a hypocritical smile. “Ming Yu, Song Qingpei is your wife after all; I can understand your concern. But she’s been secretly contacting the Black Kite for unknown purposes. The Bureau of Investigation has every right to detain and investigate her.”
Hearing this sanctimonious drivel, Ming Yu nearly laughed aloud.
Since things had reached this point, there was no longer any need to play nice. She said flatly, “Mr. President, you already know Qingpei’s identity, so there’s no need to keep up this charade. I’ll remind you that the joint statement between the Song and Ming families has already been drafted. If Song Qingpei suffers any ‘accident,’ it’ll be released to the major media outlets immediately.”
Hearing this, Zhan Li’s face darkened completely.
This was the most critical phase of the election. The combined power of the Song and Ming families was a force to be reckoned with, and with Qin Mian eyeing his presidential seat like a hawk, he was trapped in a pincer movement.
Seeing his face flicker with hesitation while he stalled on giving a clear answer, Ming Yu pressed further. “You have no right to detain Song Qingpei. Release her immediately.”
After a long silence, Zhan Li looked at Ming Yu and finally relented. “You can see her, but releasing her is out of the question.”
Knowing Zhan Li wouldn’t let her go easily, Ming Yu chose a temporary compromise just so she could see Song Qingpei first.
“Fine. I want to see her now.”
Zhan Li immediately ordered the arrangements, feigning a tone of well-meaning advice. “Ming Yu, you really should convince her. As long as she hands over what I want, I can overlook everything, and your family can be reunited.”
Ming Yu answered only with a cold snort before turning and walking away.
Once the heavy doors closed, the facets of his glass caught the dark, vicious glint in his eyes.
When Ming Yu stepped into the cramped interrogation room, Song Qingpei was resting with her eyes closed, looking as if she had fallen asleep. The thin prison garb made her appear even more slender, and her wrists still bore the dark bruises left behind by the electromagnetic shackles.
“Qingpei.”
The voice sent a jolt through Song Qingpei.
She slowly turned around, unable to believe her own eyes. Ming Yu was standing right at the doorway, looking as if she had traversed countless dreams to finally stand before her.
“You…” The word caught in Song Qingpei’s throat.
She wanted to ask how Song Song was doing, and even more, she wanted to ask why Ming Yu had taken such a risk to see her. Yet, the thousands of words she held back ultimately dissolved into a single, trembling phrase: “You shouldn’t have come.”
Ming Yu shook her head, gesturing for the guards to step outside.
Once only the two of them remained in the room, she took two quick steps forward before forcing herself to halt.
There were surveillance cameras everywhere; Zhan Li’s lackeys were likely monitoring their every movement. Yet the moment she laid eyes on Song Qingpei’s gaunt figure, all the restraint and rationality she had rehearsed countless times in her mind instantly crumbled.
“Qingpei, I missed you so much.” Ming Yu’s voice trembled slightly.
“I missed you too… so much.”
Song Qingpei gazed deeply at her, their eyes locking with nothing but tender affection.
Her face was so pale it was almost translucent, with deep, dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes, yet her gaze remained as bright as the stars. When her eyes fell upon Ming Yu’s swelling abdomen, her pupils contracted sharply, and her lips began to tremble uncontrollably.
“The baby…” She could barely make a sound, her lips merely shaping the words.
The child that was supposed to have been aborted… how could…
At this moment, Song Qingpei almost believed she was dreaming, terrified that this beautiful dream would shatter in the next instant.
Then, she watched as Ming Yu’s fingertips gently rested upon her own abdomen in a silent response. “Three months,” she whispered. “Very healthy.”
In an instant, Song Qingpei’s tears spilled over.
Their baby was still here; Ming Yu had kept her. Even though they had parted on such terrible, bitter terms back then, she had still preserved the pregnancy—and had even chosen to let her go. Song Qingpei’s heart swelled with a chaotic tangle of emotions.
She thought, Ming Yu must truly love her beyond measure.
With great effort, Song Qingpei lifted her hands, still weighted down by the electronic shackles. She paused mid-air, hesitating as if she wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. Seeing her hesitation, Ming Yu stepped forward on her own initiative, taking those cold hands and pressing them gently against her stomach.
The sensation beneath her palms sent a tremor through Song Qingpei’s entire body.
She could feel the pulse of life—a stubborn little thing, seemingly declaring its presence to the mother it had never met. Song Qingpei bowed her head, resting her forehead against Ming Yu’s shoulder and nuzzling her neck, as if using this small gesture to substitute for a proper, tight embrace.
She was so incredibly happy, filled with a joy she had never known before.
Ming Yu’s voice drifted down, filled with gentle teasing. “Just as rowdy as Song Song. She keeps kicking me in the middle of the night.”
Song Qingpei couldn’t help but chuckle, her nose still red as she lifted her face.
She gazed greedily at Ming Yu’s face, wanting to make up for every second they’d missed over the past three months.
Ming Yu had filled out slightly since they last met, but the weariness etched into her features was impossible to hide.
“I’m sorry,” Song Qingpei whispered, her thumb brushing lightly over the shadows under Ming Yu’s eyes. “I left you all alone…”
Ming Yu shook her head, holding her wrist.
This simple movement made them both freeze. Set against Ming Yu’s fair fingers, the dark bruises on Song Qingpei’s wrist stood out in sharp, painful contrast. Ming Yu’s gaze sharpened instantly, yet the pad of her thumb traced the angry marks with absolute gentleness, as if terrified of causing her any pain.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Song Qingpei said, trying to draw her hand back. “It only looks scary.”
Ming Yu didn’t let go.
Her gaze swept over Song Qingpei, lingering on her messy hair, the collarbones peeking out from the loose prison uniform, and the matching bruises on her ankles.
Every detail was like a knife carving at her heart.
“Ming Yu,” Song Qingpei whispered, leaning close to her ear. “There are many things I can’t tell you in detail right now. Remember, the Blue Tree coordinates are in the Nebula-7 System, on the satellite of the fourth planet.” She pressed her forehead against Ming Yu’s. “If I can’t get out, you must—”
Before she could finish, Ming Yu suddenly captured her lips, sealing her unfinished words between their lips.
The kiss carried salty tears and a longing suppressed for far too long, so fierce it could hardly be called gentle.
Song Qingpei tasted the metallic tang of blood, unsure of whose lip had split, but she didn’t care. She only wanted to sear this sensation into her very marrow, enough to carry her through countless lonely nights.
When they finally parted, Ming Yu stared intently at Song Qingpei, her gaze so burning hot it felt as though it would scorch her. “There are no ‘ifs,'” she said, her voice low and raspy, yet unyielding. “I’ll bring you home, and we’ll welcome our child’s birth together.”
At the mention of their child, Song Qingpei’s eyes grew warm, and she nodded firmly. “Alright.”
The two of them wanted to say more, but the sudden sound of approaching footsteps outside cut them short.
Ming Yu stood up, restoring her cool, composed mask the very instant the guard pushed the door open. Only the flush at the tips of her ears betrayed the intimacy they had just shared.
“Time is up, Admiral,” the guard reminded from the doorway.
Ming Yu gave Song Qingpei one last deep, lingering look, fighting back her reluctance as she turned to leave.
Song Qingpei watched Ming Yu’s figure vanish at the end of the corridor, her palms still seeming to retain the warmth of the unborn child.
0 Comments