The night was deep, stars glimmering faintly across the sky, their light softly spilling over the windows of the military dormitory.
Milton sat at his desk, silver-white hair slightly disheveled, his military jacket casually draped over the chair. He had just finished an impromptu high-level meeting and was preparing to rest when the comm terminal on the wall suddenly flashed blue.
His brow shifted slightly as he touched the connect button. The screen lit up, revealing a calm and profound face—the Imperial Marshal, Ackland Hubert.
Ackland, clad in black military uniform, radiated composed authority. His eyes bore the wisdom of countless trials. His voice was deep, carrying unquestionable authority, yet threaded with faint approval:
“Milton, your performance today was commendable. Firm in stance, yet measured, against the representatives of the Male Protection Association.”
Milton straightened, expression still composed, replying: “Thank you, Marshal.”
Ackland paused briefly, then with a teasing undertone:
“Speaking of that spiritual coordinator… your reliance on him seems to be growing. You once swore to find his flaws, yet now it seems… the roles have reversed.”
Milton remained calm, voice even: “I simply refuse to trust any insect lightly, especially outsiders.”
Ackland’s smile deepened, a hint of provocation in his gaze: “Yet the treatment you afford him… is already unlike that of ordinary outsiders.”
Milton’s brow lifted subtly: “He handles matters with calm judgment and is unafraid of authority. He is a companion worthy of trust.”
Ackland’s smile flickered briefly before vanishing, “You rarely protect new coordinators proactively, much less speak openly for them. But today—you nearly vouched for him with your own reputation.”
Milton was silent a moment, then replied evenly:
“I personally recommended him for the military. Targeting him would not only be unjust, but it would also cost us a… highly capable ally.”
Ackland nodded, eyes briefly thoughtful, murmuring: “I’ve reviewed his records too. His appearance does not seem coincidental.”
“He is a mystery,” Milton added softly.
Ackland’s smile was subtle, enigmatic: “Then continue observing. His methods, his self-preservation, and your attitude toward him… perhaps he is more than just an ally.”
Milton faltered slightly, offering no reply. Ackland did not press, only adding quietly: “I do not interfere in your private matters, but if so… be careful.”
“Why?” Milton asked softly.
Ackland’s gaze deepened, voice low and firm: “Because such an insect will not belong to just one.”
When the communication ended, Milton sat quietly under the dim light, fingers tapping lightly on the desk, eyes fixed on the darkened terminal.
Minutes later, he rose, changed into civilian clothes, placed two military meal boxes into an insulated container, and left the dormitory, heading in another direction.
Inside the dorm, Gu Qing had just finished brewing a pot of tea, preparing to meditate when the doorbell rang abruptly.
Opening the door, he saw a fully uniformed general in casual attire.
Milton Collins, clad in a deep-gray high collar, silver-white hair simply tied, eyes like a calm midnight lake, held two modest military meal boxes, expression as always calm, though slightly weary.
“The meeting ran late,” he said evenly. “Dinner is unfinished… I thought… we could share it.”
Gu Qing blinked, feigning the timid, startled rabbit:
“Oh my~ General, coming here so late—what a shock! My nerves are all frazzled under such military authority~”
The little spirit in his consciousness bounced excitedly, gossiping:
“Hey hey hey~ isn’t this a classic ‘invite to dine, sneak a moment alone’ move? The general actually asked for it!”
Gu Qing shot it a glance. The little spirit shrank back, muttering quietly: “I didn’t say anything~”
Milton’s eyes narrowed slightly, gaze lingering on Gu Qing for a moment, voice low:
“Next time, I’ll give you advance notice.”
Gu Qing raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a soft laugh: “Please, come in.”
Milton nodded slightly and stepped inside, his gaze quickly sweeping the sparse dorm. Aside from a desk, a bed, and a bookshelf, there was almost no decoration. The restraint and composure mirrored Gu Qing himself.
They sat, eating in quiet coordination, the only sound the soft clatter of utensils. Milton ate slowly, as if weighing each word, then finally set down his chopsticks, looking intently at Gu Qing.
“Thank you… for speaking up for me that day.”
Gu Qing’s voice was calm: “No need to dwell on it.”
“But not everyone could have done that.” Milton murmured, eyes tracing Gu Qing’s profile. “You knew their backgrounds, their influence, and that stepping forward would complicate matters. Yet you… took on all the responsibility.”
Gu Qing met his gaze, tone unperturbed:
“If I didn’t, all the filth would be poured onto you.”
“You could have stood aside,” Milton said, voice dry. “You’re male. They wouldn’t truly make things difficult. The nobles, the Male Protection Association, even the public opinion… none of that would touch you. But for me… they need only one excuse.”
“This is not for your sake.”
“For whose, then?”
“To prevent a hero from being humiliated.” Gu Qing’s tone remained even, unhurried. “You bleed on the battlefield, not for fame, not for power. Such an insect should not be mocked by those who have never set foot on the frontlines, who only practice intrigue.”
“The empire stands, the citizens are safe, thanks to you and countless warriors who guard it with flesh and blood.” His voice was calm, yet every word struck deep: respect due.
Milton lowered his eyes, knuckles tightening, chest rising and falling unevenly.
Deep in his consciousness, the little spirit whispered excitedly:
“Whoa, Master Sword is smooth-talking! ‘Prevent a hero from being humiliated’! Is this a love poem? A vow? The emotional line just exploded!”
Gu Qing did not respond, the little spirit shrank, muttering: “You’re clearly moved, yet you’re pretending…”
Milton spoke softly:
“You know… since becoming a general, no insect has ever spoken for me like this.”
“I am not speaking for you,” Gu Qing replied calmly. “I simply said what needed to be said.”
After a pause, he added quietly:
“You deserve protection.”
Milton’s pupils flickered, gaze fixed, throat moving slightly.
“You always… can speak the words that shake the heart, so calmly.” His tone was low, carrying an acknowledgment—admitting his own vulnerability, silently conceding to the stir within.
Gu Qing’s expression remained unchanged, brow lightly raised, tone calm yet sharp:
“You always… suppress all feelings?”
“Or… have long learned to bury them?”
His words struck like gentle ripples on the lake of Milton’s heart, stirring emotions he could no longer hide.
Milton lowered his eyes, recalling the Marshal’s words from earlier:
“Such an insect will not belong to just one.”
Indeed. Such an insect belonged to no one. He lowered his lashes self-mockingly, yet still wanted to move closer—just a little, if he could.
The little spirit hovered between them, shouting excitedly:
“Whoa, what’s with this scene?! Confession vibes are off the charts! The general was the most isolated at the hearing, you stepped up to protect him; the hot spring night you played your hand… and now attacking the emotional line again—are you trying to drive him crazy?!”
Gu Qing’s expression remained the same, brow unmoved: “Shut up.”
The little spirit spun twice midair, still persistent: “So at the end of this meal… is it going to be a ‘give yourself over’ scenario? I can even set off fireworks—”
“One more word, and I’ll put you in a teacup for the night,” Gu Qing said calmly.
The little spirit shrank instantly, muttering: “So cruel… you still won’t confess in this atmosphere?”
Milton lowered his head, fingers tightening, inhaled deeply, then spoke softly:
“…Thank you, Gu Qing.”
That night’s meal was simple. The two sat quietly, occasionally exchanging low words. For Milton, it was the first time in years—he could be truly himself, without armor, without the general’s mask.
He understood Gu Qing’s actions were not out of pity, nor obligation, but a choice.
A choice born of conviction, silently standing by his side.
Not fighting for someone else, but because—
—“No insect who should not be trampled should face the storm alone.”
That guardianship was stronger and more resolute than any words could convey.