Top-Tier Omega: Chasing Alpha to the Crematorium – Chapter 87
by Little PandaI’ll Wait for You to Come Back
Inside the office of the Presidential Palace, Zhan Li stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the night sky of Capital Star.
His communicator suddenly rang.
Zhan Li glanced at it. The screen displayed an encrypted string of numbers—no caller ID, no origin marker—but a cold sneer slowly curled the corners of his lips.
He pressed the answer key.
“Mr. President,” Wu Lan’s voice came through the communicator, carrying a hint of a casual smile. “Long time no see.”
Zhan Li’s finger lightly tapped the desktop, his voice low and dangerous. “Wu Lan, you really are something.”
A soft chuckle sounded from the other end of the line. “I learned it all from you.”
Zhan Li’s eyes instantly went cold.
“Get straight to the point,” he interrupted bluntly. “What do you want?”
Wu Lan’s voice chilled as well. “Song Qingpei.”
Zhan Li narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Wu Lan said flatly. “I know she’s in your hands. Release her, and I’ll return your daughter to you.”
Zhan Li’s knuckles turned slightly white, but his voice remained steady. “Are you threatening me?”
“No,” Wu Lan laughed softly. “I’m negotiating a deal with you.”
A brief silence fell over the office. Zhan Li’s gaze drifted to the family portrait hanging on the wall—in the photo, Zhan Nansheng was still quite young, leaning beside him with a smile, her eyes as bright as stars.
“I want to verify Nansheng’s safety,” Zhan Li finally spoke.
The sound of rustling clothes came from the other side, followed by footsteps. After a moment, Zhan Nansheng’s voice came through, low and exhausted. “…Father.”
Zhan Li’s pupils contracted.
“Nansheng,” his voice softened for a rare, fleeting instant. “Do you regret it?”
Zhan Nansheng didn’t answer.
There was only the sound of heavy breathing through the communicator, as though she were desperately suppressing something.
“Remember, a daughter of the Zhan family,” Zhan Li’s voice regained its cold hardness, “cannot be so useless.”
Zhan Nansheng’s breath hitched.
“…Yes,” she finally whispered back, her voice carrying an imperceptible tremble.
The communicator returned to Wu Lan’s hand. “Well? Are you going to agree to this deal?”
Zhan Li’s eyes grew grim. “Fine. I agree.”
“Deal. Tomorrow at noon, Third Starport, Area B7.” Wu Lan hung up cleanly.
Silence descended upon the office once more.
Chen Duo, the Acting Director of the FBI standing off to the side, stepped forward cautiously. “Mr. President, are you truly agreeing to the exchange?”
Zhan Li turned around slowly. The brief warmth on his face had completely vanished, replaced by a bottomless, chilling malice.
“Chen Duo,” he said softly, “do you really think I’d let them off so easily?”
Chen Duo froze. “Then you’re…”
“Buying time.” Zhan Li walked over to the holographic star map, his finger tracing across a region of deep blue space. “The remnants of the Black Kite have been hiding in the shadows all this time. They’ve finally shown their heads.”
“Once they’ve all emerged, we’ll…” Zhan Li’s voice sounded as if it were dipped in venom, “catch them all in one fell swoop1.”
A wave of realization washed over Chen Duo, and he hurried to flatter him. “As expected, your foresight is impeccable, Mr. President! This way, not only will we rescue the Eldest Miss, but we’ll also completely eradicate the Black Kite!”
Zhan Li didn’t reply, his eyes dark and inscrutable.
Inside the ship’s confinement room, Zhan Nansheng curled up in the corner, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
The communication had ended, leaving only the faint hum of the ventilation system echoing in the cabin. The lingering warmth of the communicator still clung to her fingertips, and her father’s final words echoed in her ears—
“A daughter of the Zhan family cannot be so useless.”
She slowly closed her eyes, a hot, metallic taste of blood pressing down in her throat.
The sound of the hatch sliding open made her snap her head up.
Wu Lan stood at the threshold, silhouetted against the light, her expression unreadable.
“Satisfied?” Zhan Nansheng’s voice was hoarse. “I’ve finally been put to the absolute best use as your bargaining chip.”
Wu Lan didn’t answer. She simply walked inside and set a cup of water down in front of her.
Zhan Nansheng didn’t even look at it, slapping it away with her hand.
The glass cup smashed against the floor, sending shards flying in all directions as the spilled water spread into a dark stain on the ground.
“Stop acting so hypocritical,” Zhan Nansheng sneered. “You’re trading me for your precious Song Qingpei tomorrow anyway, so why bother pretending?”
Wu Lan looked at her quietly, then suddenly crouched down to meet her gaze at eye level.
“Do you hate me?” she asked softly.
Zhan Nansheng’s pupils shrank slightly.
“Hate?” She suddenly laughed, her laughter laced with madness. “I want nothing more than to kill you with my own two hands!”
A flicker of complex emotion crossed Wu Lan’s eyes, but it vanished in an instant. She reached out, gently smoothing back Zhan Nansheng’s messy hair, her touch so tender it was almost cruel.
Zhan Nansheng violently slapped her hand away. “Fuck off!”
Wu Lan stood up, looking down at her. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, you’ll be free—”
“Free?” Zhan Nansheng interrupted mockingly. “Wu Lan, I swear, for the rest of my life, I’ll live…” Her voice suddenly choked up. “…only to kill you.”
Wu Lan didn’t deny it.
She turned to leave, but just as she was about to step out, she suddenly paused.
“Eldest Miss, I suggest you live under a different identity when you go back. After all…”
Zhan Nansheng snapped her head up. “What do you mean?”
Wu Lan stopped before the door, her face half-hidden in the shadows of the warning lights. “You…” She let out a soft laugh.
The moment the hatch sealed shut, Zhan Nansheng’s desperate, lung-tearing scream pierced through the metal plating: “Wu Lan, you—!”
“Fine, I’ll be waiting for you!”
Wu Lan smiled faintly and closed the door to the confinement room once more.
“This… is fine too,” she murmured to herself in the empty corridor. “Hate lasts longer than love…”
Time flew by, and soon it was time for the exchange.
Third Starport, Area B7 had once been a bustling cargo hub, but now nothing remained except a rusted metal skeleton and a shattered glass dome. Wu Lan had chosen this location not only because it was accessible from all directions, but also because the maze of intersecting pipelines could provide cover in case of unexpected complications.
“Slow down,” Wu Lan said, tugging slightly on the restraint strap around Zhan Nansheng’s wrist.
Zhan Nansheng sneered. “Are you nervous? Scared my father set an ambush?”
“He won’t,” Wu Lan replied, her voice terrifyingly calm. “No matter how cold-blooded Zhan Li is, he wouldn’t risk his own daughter’s life.”
Zhan Nansheng’s breath hitched imperceptibly.
Wu Lan knew her every reaction too well. That slight contraction of her pupils and the subconscious biting of her lower lip silently cried out the cruel truth: her father absolutely would.
“We’re here,” Wu Lan said, suddenly stopping and pulling Zhan Nansheng to the center of an abandoned cargo platform.
The view here was open, offering an unobstructed look in all directions.
She unfastened the restraint strap around Zhan Nansheng’s wrists but left the sophisticated electronic shackles in place. It looked like an ordinary bracelet, but it was actually capable of releasing a current strong enough to knock someone unconscious.
“Last chance,” Wu Lan suddenly whispered close to Zhan Nansheng’s ear. “Eldest Miss, is there anything else you want to say?”
Zhan Nansheng snapped her head around, her nose nearly bumping into Wu Lan’s face. They were so close that Wu Lan could clearly see the wet tear tracks still clinging to her eyelashes and smell the faint scent of blood on her.
“Yes,” Zhan Nansheng said, her voice raw. “Tell me one thing. Just one.” Her fingertips subconsciously clawed at the edge of her shackles. “That day on the ship… when you told me you loved me, was there even an instant where it was real?”
Wu Lan froze again.
She should have delivered the cruel answer she had planned, cutting off any lingering hope Zhan Nansheng had left.
But as she looked at Zhan Nansheng’s red-rimmed eyes, the lies she had rehearsed countless times suddenly lodged in her throat.
“I—”
“Wu Lan!” a sharp voice cut them off.
Chen Duo walked out from the other end of the corridor with a squad of fully armed agents. Song Qingpei was surrounded in the center, her face terrifyingly pale, though her eyes remained alert.
Wu Lan instantly switched back to her usual playfulness, pushing Zhan Nansheng half a step forward with her hand. “Right on time, Acting Director Chen.”
Chen Duo sneered, gesturing for his men to halt. “Cut the crap. I’ve brought the person. Hand over Lieutenant General Zhan immediately.”
With one final glance at Zhan Nansheng, Wu Lan waved the controller in her hand. “Simultaneous release, simultaneous unlock.”
Chen Duo didn’t waste any words, ordering his men to bring Song Qingpei forward.
Wu Lan exchanged a brief look with Song Qingpei, and finally, Wu Lan gave a slight nod. “On three.”
“One.”
Zhan Nansheng’s body tensed.
Wu Lan could feel her trembling through the thin fabric of her clothes, like a trapped bird.
“Two.”
Song Qingpei was pushed forward. Her footsteps were somewhat unsteady, but her gaze remained locked onto Wu Lan. Chen Duo’s men unlocked her handcuffs but still kept a wary perimeter around her.
“Three.”
The instant Wu Lan clicked the controller, Zhan Nansheng spun around. With a sharp click, the electronic shackles fell away. The distance between them vanished until they were close enough to share breath, a fire burning in Zhan Nansheng’s eyes that Wu Lan had never seen before.
“Wu Lan,” she said, her lips almost brushing Wu Lan’s. “One day, I’ll kill you with my own two hands.”
The words pierced straight through Wu Lan’s heart like a blade.
But she should have been happy. This was exactly the outcome she wanted—to make Zhan Nansheng hate her, to thoroughly sever the bonds they shouldn’t have had.
“I’ll be waiting,” Wu Lan said, curving her lips into the casual, indifferent smile Zhan Nansheng knew all too well.
The next moment, Zhan Nansheng strode toward Chen Duo’s squad, her back as straight as a pine tree, never looking back once. Wu Lan rushed to support Song Qingpei, checking her over for injuries.
“Can you walk?” Wu Lan murmured, wrapping an arm around Song Qingpei’s waist to support her.
Song Qingpei nodded, but she stumbled as she tried to take a step. “My left leg… they used a neural interferer on it.”
Wu Lan’s eyes flashed with venomous anger, but she quickly suppressed her emotions. Now was not the time to lose her temper; they had to get out of here as quickly as possible. Half-supporting and half-carrying Song Qingpei, she guided her toward the planned exit.
Rounding a corner, Wu Lan immediately picked up the pace. “Murong Ruixue is waiting for us in Corridor 3,” she whispered. “Can you hang in there?”
Song Qingpei grit her teeth and nodded. “Wu Lan… about Zhan Nansheng…”
“Don’t ask,” Wu Lan cut her off, a rare tension in her voice. “Let’s get out of here first.”
They hurried through a narrow maintenance corridor. Song Qingpei’s breathing grew heavier with every step, but she didn’t call for a halt once. Only when they spotted the metal door ahead labeled ‘3’ did Wu Lan let down her guard slightly.
The moment the door slid open, Murong Ruixue rushed forward to catch the swaying Song Qingpei. “Qingpei! Oh my god, what did they do to you?”
“I’m fine…” Song Qingpei smiled weakly.
Wu Lan locked the door behind them and quickly swept the temporary safehouse. Once she was certain there were no surveillance devices or trackers, she finally allowed herself to relax slightly, leaning against the wall to catch her breath.
“Wu Lan,” Song Qingpei spoke up, her voice regaining a bit of strength. “Thank you for coming to rescue me. But… wasn’t the price too high?”
Wu Lan knew what she was referring to. She rubbed her tired face. “It was worth it.”
Murong Ruixue, who was currently tending to Song Qingpei’s wounds, looked up at those words. “Teacher has already settled terms with Qin Mian. As long as we can secure Planet Blue Tree’s—”
“Ruixue,” Wu Lan gave her a warning look. “Let’s get out of here first before talking about that.”
The three of them quickly boarded the spaceship. Outside the viewport, the rusted metal frame of Third Starport, Area B7 slowly receded as Murong Ruixue switched the vessel to autopilot.
“Jump coordinates locked.” Murong Ruixue looked up from the console, her finger tracing a blue trajectory on the holographic star map. “At this speed, we’ll reach the outer orbit of Planet Blue Tree in thirty hours.”
Song Qingpei leaned against the cabin wall to rest. Three months of imprisonment had left her muscle memory somewhat sluggish, but thinking of the upcoming mission, she forced herself to focus.
“Qingpei,” Wu Lan suddenly said, her voice unusually soft. “We’ll be stopping at C-719 Transit Station for two hours.”
Song Qingpei frowned. “That’s too risky. Zhan Li’s men might—”
“Ming Yu is waiting for you there,” Wu Lan interrupted, her lips curving into an understanding smile. “And she has Song Song with her.”
Song Qingpei’s breath caught from sheer excitement.
Seeing her reaction, Murong Ruixue chimed in at the right moment. “Don’t worry, C-719 Starport is well within the Ming family’s sphere of influence. It’s very safe.”
“Thank you,” she finally managed to say, though the slight tremble in her voice betrayed so much more.
Two hours later, the ship touched down at C-719 Starport.
Wu Lan patted Song Qingpei on the shoulder. “Go on. I’ll check the route.”
The hydraulic hiss of the hatch opening rang out, and Song Qingpei’s heart rate spiked.
Ming Yu was the first to appear on the boarding ramp. She wore her military jacket, her belly visibly rounded now. Her dark hair had grown a bit longer since their last meeting, tied loosely behind her head.
Her eyes lit up the instant she saw Song Qingpei.
Then, a tiny figure burst out from behind Ming Yu.
“Mama!”
Song Song shot down the ramp like a little cannonball, her dress fluttering in the wind. Her hair was tied into two little pigtails that bounced up and down as she ran, tear tracks still visible on her face.
Song Qingpei’s knees went soft, and she practically dropped to her knees to catch her daughter as she flew into her arms.
The moment Song Song’s warm, soft little body crashed into her embrace, three months of bottled-up longing burst forth like a broken dam. She squeezed her daughter tightly, burying her face in that familiar, milky scent, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
“Mama… Mama…” Song Song sobbed, completely out of breath as her tiny hands gripped Song Qingpei’s collar in a death grip. “I missed you so much… every single day… Mommy said you’d come back, but it took so, so long…”
Song Qingpei couldn’t find her voice. She could only press kiss after kiss onto her daughter’s hair, forehead, and cheeks, her salty tears slipping into the corners of her mouth. She felt Ming Yu’s hand settle gently on her shoulder—warm, steady, and strong.
“She talked about you every single day,” Ming Yu’s voice came from above her, carrying a suppressed tremor. “When she heard she’d get to see you last night, she was so excited she couldn’t sleep a wink.”
Song Qingpei looked up, meeting Ming Yu’s tear-filled eyes. The swell of Ming Yu’s belly warmed her heart; that was their baby, still growing safely inside her.
“Ming Yu…” she called out softly, her voice cracking.
Ming Yu crouched down, wrapping both mother and daughter in her embrace.
Their body heat mingled together. Song Qingpei closed her eyes, carving this exact moment deep into her memory.
“Let’s go inside to talk,” Ming Yu suggested gently after a long while. “The wind is strong out here.”
Inside the lounge, Song Song clung to Song Qingpei like a little koala, refusing to let go for even a second out of fear that her mother would vanish the moment she did. Song Qingpei cradled her patiently, her fingers gently combing through her tangled hair.
“Mama, look!” Song Song suddenly pulled a crumpled paper star2 from her pocket. “I made this at school! My teacher said we can make a wish on them, and I wished every day for Mama to come back quickly!”
Song Qingpei’s throat tightened. “You’re so good, baby… isn’t Mama back now?”
“But you have to leave again, don’t you?” Song Song suddenly asked, her large eyes filled with a sharp perception that didn’t match her age. “Mommy said you have very important work to do…”
Song Qingpei looked to Ming Yu for help. The latter handed her a cup of hot tea and gave a gentle nod.
“Yes, Mama has to leave for a little while longer.” Song Qingpei chose to be honest, wrapping her daughter’s tiny hands in her palm. “But I promise you, I’ll be back very soon this time. And…” She gently stroked Ming Yu’s belly. “When Meimei is born, I’ll definitely be by your side.”
Song Song’s face scrunched up as she seriously weighed the reliability of this promise. In the end, she stuck out her pinky finger. “Pinky swear!”
Song Qingpei smiled, hooking her finger around the tiny one. “Pinky swear.”
Ming Yu chose this moment to bring out a pastry box. “Song Song, do you want to try some freshly baked star-shaped cookies?”
The little girl’s attention was instantly captured, and she cheered as she reached for a cookie.
Ming Yu seized the opportunity to lean in close to Song Qingpei’s ear. “Wu Lan told me. You’re going to Planet Blue Tree.” Her breath brushed against Song Qingpei’s ear. “Is it dangerous?”
Song Qingpei took her hand, feeling the familiar warmth and the thin calluses on her palm. “I’ll be careful.” She paused, her voice dropping even lower. “Ming Yu, if…”
“There are no ‘ifs’,” Ming Yu interrupted firmly, tightening her grip on her hand. “Qingpei, listen to me. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to face, remember this—” She pressed Song Qingpei’s hand against her own chest. “I’ll always be your strongest backing. The power of the Ming and Song families will always stand behind you.”
Song Qingpei’s eyes burned. She couldn’t help but lean forward, resting her forehead against Ming Yu’s shoulder as she hugged her tightly. Ming Yu’s hand gently stroked her back. Neither spoke another word, yet it felt as if everything had been said.
“Mama!” Song Song’s voice shattered the silence. She ran over, holding up a star-shaped cookie. “This one is for you! The biggest one!”
Song Qingpei quickly took the cookie and took a bite, the sweet flavor melting on her tongue. “It’s delicious. Thank you, sweetie.”
For the next two hours, Song Qingpei listened with undivided attention as Song Song babbled about every little thing that had happened over the past few months—her new friends at kindergarten, the songs she had learned, her pet goldfish, and how she spoke to Ming Yu’s belly every day. “That way, Meimei will recognize my voice when she’s born!”
Song Qingpei memorized every single word. When Wu Lan lightly knocked on the door to signal it was time to leave, her heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a ruthless, invisible vice.
“Leaving already?” Ming Yu asked quietly, but Song Qingpei could see the flash of pain in her eyes.
Song Song seemed to sense what was happening, suddenly throwing herself into Song Qingpei’s arms. “Mama, don’t go!” she wailed, her little hands desperately clutching Song Qingpei’s collar. “You promised… you promised you’d come back…”
Song Qingpei felt as if a knife were twisting in her heart. She could only kiss her daughter’s hair over and over again. “Mama will be back very soon, I promise… it won’t be long this time…” Her voice cracked, nearly unable to continue.
Ming Yu gently pulled Song Song back, coaxing her in a soft voice. “Sweetie, remember what we talked about? Mama has to go fight the bad guys, just like a superhero…”
“But I don’t want Mama to be a superhero anymore…” Song Song sobbed. Yet, displaying a maturity far beyond her years, she slowly let go. “Then… then Mama has to come back soon!”
Song Qingpei nodded solemnly. “Okay, Mama will definitely come back soon.”
The final farewell was brief and swift; Song Qingpei knew the longer they dragged it out, the harder it would be to tear herself away. She gave her daughter a deep hug, then left a brief, salty kiss on Ming Yu’s lips.
“Wait for me to come back,” she whispered.
Ming Yu nodded, her gaze resolute. “The children and I will be waiting for you.”
Song Qingpei forced herself not to look back. Only at the exact moment the hatch sealed shut did she steal one last glance through the viewport. Song Song stood in the distance, waving her tiny hand, while Ming Yu’s lips clearly formed the words:
I love you.
Footnotes
- Yī wǎng dǎ jìn (一网打尽) is a Chinese idiom literally meaning 'to catch everything in a single net,' used here to describe capturing or wiping out an entire group at once.
- Zhǐ xīngxing (纸星星) refers to lucky paper stars, a popular East Asian craft where long, thin strips of colored paper are folded into small, three-dimensional stars. They are often kept in glass jars as a symbol of love, wishes, or good fortune.
0 Comments