At that moment, the lab’s automatic doors slid open soundlessly, and a graceful silhouette entered.

She wore an ink-toned variant qipao; the slit at the hem hinted at elegant lines. A sheer black shawl added a veil of mystery.

Her hair was lightly coiled and fixed with a delicate golden plum-blossom hairpin. The shoulder cutouts were adorned with tassels; gloves, bracelets, thigh rings, even the adornment at her waist—all echoed the plum motif. Every detail revealed distinct taste.

Her temperament was gentle and poised, like a lady stepping out from an ancient painting. Yet in those deep eyes flowed boundless curiosity and wisdom about the laws governing all things.

She was none other than the Genius Society’s Member #81—Ruan Mei—whom Lu Jingming had manifested here by the power of Reality.

“The Herta.”

Ruan Mei’s voice was soft as water. She walked lightly to the incubation pod, her gaze drawn at once to the brand at Shangguan Weier’s brow.

“So this is the lady who needs help? Mm… The makeup of this wound is very interesting.”

Her “interesting” was not the same as The Herta’s “kind of neat.”

In Ruan Mei’s eyes flashed the pure, fervent light of a researcher beholding a rare specimen—the instinctive desire to probe unknown life forms and abnormal states.

“Ruan Mei, you’re here.”

The Herta glanced sideways at her, speaking as casually as greeting a frequent collaborator.

“I’m leaving it to you. This kind of work that needs patience and delicate manipulation in the life domain suits you better. I’ve never had the patience for such embroidery-level finesse.”

She made no attempt to hide her disinterest in fields she found tedious, matter-of-factly handing the task to the expert.

Ruan Mei nodded slightly, long accustomed to The Herta’s directness.

She extended slender, gloved fingers. At her fingertips coiled nearly invisible filaments woven of pure life energy. They reached toward the pod wall—not touching directly—sensing in detail the destructive brand’s energy fluctuations and inner rules through the specialized material.

“It truly is a non-typical contamination.”

Ruan Mei closed her eyes, focusing for a moment, and spoke in a voice like savoring an intricately layered pastry.

“It’s not a crude smash-and-burn, but more of a… forced directional distortion—driving orderly life force and soul structure toward a pure anti-life configuration. The one who left this brand has a unique take on the concept of annihilation.”

“How could it not be unique?”

The Herta curled her lip.

“It was left by Phantylia herself. Among the Lord Ravager, aside from Nanook, there aren’t many in the cosmos who surpass her understanding of destruction.”

Ruan Mei opened her eyes and looked to The Herta, making a request consistent with her researcher’s nature.

“Before treatment, may I conduct a deeper analysis of this lady’s current state? I’m very interested in the interaction mechanisms between this foreign energy and local life forms.”

Even when faced with a patient, Ruan Mei’s genius instinct to explore the unknown took precedence—she wouldn’t pass up any chance to gain new knowledge.

“Do as you like.”

The Herta waved dismissively.

“She’s not that important to me, nor is she an irreplaceable core for Xiao Ming. But…”

Her tone shifted—still flat, but with a hint of reminder.

“Take it easy. Don’t actually erase her.”

That said, The Herta wasn’t truly worried.

She knew Ruan Mei’s capabilities. Unless done on purpose, with Ruan Mei’s attainment in the life domain, a research probe could never cause irreversible harm.

The Herta was, in essence, a typical hard mouth with a soft heart. She would never sit by and watch a life vanish in her lab due to nonessential research.

Ruan Mei smiled faintly and said no more.

Just as she understood The Herta, The Herta also trusted her sense of proportion.

Ruan Mei focused, her hands beginning to dance elegantly in the void, as if playing an invisible, priceless guqin.

Countless life-energy filaments finer than hair flowed from her fingertips like sentient serpents, passing through the pod wall and, with astounding precision, carefully peeling away and neutralizing the brand that clung like bone-deep gangrene.

The entire process unfolded like a consummate micro-scale work of art, imbued with an ineffable rhythm.

Rather than a medical rescue, it felt as though Ruan Mei was completing a life micro-sculpture—or deconstructing a complex life equation on existence and endings.

From time to time, Ruan Mei paused to murmur—analysis tinged with admiration for the unknown:

“The life forms of this world—especially these individuals called soul masters—exhibit a very unique and tight coupling between life energy and soul…”

“The soul power system… a path that digs inward into one’s bloodline potential? Different road, same destination as Pathstriders or technologically augmented subjects, but this route seems more… primeval. Quite unique.”

“Mm, the way this destructive brand entangles with the core of soul power—especially the so-called martial spirit origin… The conflict and adaptation here are worth a thorough record.”

These whispers fully displayed the traits of a Genius Society member.

No matter the strange environment or the unknown beyond common sense, she could quickly immerse, find inner regularities, and uncover depths worth exploring.

The treatment lasted a good while.

When Ruan Mei finally expelled the last stubborn trace of annihilation from the source of Shangguan Weier’s soul, she exhaled softly.

Because Lu Jingming had expended a large amount of Reality power manifesting Acheron, Ruan Mei’s power level upon summoning wasn’t at its peak. This delicate operation had consumed her considerable effort.

Now, the terrifying brand at Shangguan Weier’s brow was gone. Her face smoothed, breathing even—like she had just fallen into a deep sleep.

“It’s done.”

Ruan Mei withdrew the invisible life threads, her tone as gentle and calm as ever.

“Efficient.”

The Herta glanced at the life-monitoring instruments as all metrics returned to normal and gave her verdict.

“Looks like it was worth the breath I spent persuading Xiao Ming to summon you. Otherwise, given his… mm, subconscious wariness of you, you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to visit this interesting world.”

“He’s wary of me, yet seems to trust you more. That is rather troubling.”

Ruan Mei knit her lovely brows slightly, tapping her lower lip with her index finger—mildly perplexed.

Compared to The Herta—eccentric but relatively predictable—Ruan Mei knew her own thinking and research interests could be more unsettling. Not being fully trusted was within expectations.

But Lu Jingming was different. He was wrapped in far too many unknowns that Ruan Mei longed to study. She was seriously considering how to build a more harmonious and in-depth rapport with this young summoner.

“Don’t worry.”

The Herta busied herself with another instrument, unconcerned.

“Since he ultimately agreed to summon you, that already represents an initial trust. Aren’t you quite adept at interacting with people under that gentle, harmless veneer? Besides, from what I’ve observed, your intellectual, mysterious type is highly likely on his preference list.”

She knew Lu Jingming’s personality and tastes like the back of her hand.

Ruan Mei’s frown slowly eased.

Indeed, she was good at communication—she just disliked the meaningless kind.

But if the other party was Lu Jingming, she was willing to invest the patience and finesse.

For now, though, something else drew her interest more.

“The Herta.”

Ruan Mei looked to the lab’s central giant data screen, eyes alight with the glow of inquiry.

“May I access more data on this world—especially detailed research on martial spirits, soul rings, and soul beasts, these unique life forms—with my current permissions?”

For a genius devoted to the origins, evolution, and mysteries of life, the Douluo world—with its unusual power system and biosphere—was a newly discovered secret realm overflowing with treasures.

In her original world, she had researched most life in the cosmos, which led her to set her sights on Aeons.

But this other world’s life was entirely unknown to her—fascinating enough to warrant serious attention, even if it didn’t eclipse her desire regarding Aeons.

Especially Lu Jingming himself—more enticing than an Aeon—for the power to render the unreal real was far too special.

By manifesting her here, Lu Jingming had effectively opened a door to an unprecedented field of research.

The Herta lifted a brow, unsurprised that Ruan Mei slipped into work mode so quickly.

“I’ve given you advanced access to the databanks. Browse at will. Only one requirement.”

She pointed around the immaculate lab.

“Don’t leave this place looking like it was looted by an anti-matter legion.”

With that, she ignored Ruan Mei and immersed herself in another project—as if everything just now was a minor interlude.

Ruan Mei walked to the giant display, tapped lightly, and pulled up the massive corpus Haiyuan City had collected on Douluo lifeforms.

She devoured it eagerly, a satisfied, expectant smile rising at the corner of her lips.

To her, this unexpected journey to another world had unveiled its most captivating prelude—the opening to a marvelous research feast had just begun.

The Sun–Moon Empire’s manifesto pinning the blood-debt of Mingdu’s annihilation onto Shrek Academy and the three empires was like tossing a spark into boiling oil—it instantly ignited long-accumulated contradictions and fear across the continent.

The smell of war—like suffocating iron and rust—filled every inch of air.

Within the three kingdoms of the original Douluo side, a stifling mood of anxiety and powerlessness spread from top to bottom.

The top brass of the Star Luo Empire, Heavenly Soul Empire, and Dou Ling Empire had considered a preemptive strike—hit while New Mingdu wasn’t steady and before internal consolidation.

But that seductive thought was quickly crushed by harsh reality.

First, they were on the back foot morally.

The Sun–Moon Empire had successfully cast itself as a tragic victim. If the three attacked first, they’d be branded the aggressors—inciting the already united and enraged Sun–Moon populace, and falling into a disastrous position in public opinion.

Second—and more crucial—was military fear.

The Sun–Moon Empire’s vast soul engineer corps remained intact, and its border defenses were still ironclad.

More terrifying was the presence of those two Lord Ravager and the remnants of the anti-matter legions—like a sword of Damocles hanging overhead.

If they attacked rashly and got bogged down or suffered a counterstrike by top-end enemies, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Thus, the three empires adopted the most conservative—and most helpless—strategy: full mobilization and passive defense.

Their rulers issued top-level mobilization orders. Along the borders, fortress after fortress was reinforced, soul tool barriers were activated, and endless grain, arms, and rare metals streamed to the front.

Young soul masters were conscripted and put through harsh training. The air reeked of sweat, steel, and unease.

In the cities, war dominated every teahouse and tavern conversation. Prices wobbled—especially strategic materials, which soared. Panic about the coming storm quietly spread among the common folk.

All they could do was fortify the border lines as best they could—and wait, hearts clenched, for the storm to roll in from the Sun–Moon Empire.

In sharp contrast to the three empires’ tense confusion was the Sun–Moon Empire’s near-fanatical yet orderly war prep.

The new emperor, Xu Tiannan, used an iron hand and the banner of avenging the empire to swiftly calm any internal unrest triggered by Mingdu’s fall and the succession.

The war machine roared to life with unprecedented efficiency.

Refitted New Mingdu, as the new political and military center, worked day and night.

Vast resources were funneled to the military. Soul tool factories blazed with lights through the night, assembly lines churning out the newest fixed-mounted soul cannon shells and personal soul tools.

Spurred by fervent propaganda of revenge, youths enlisted en masse. New recruit camps overflowed. The espionage networks embedded in the three empires fully activated, sending back constant reports on troop deployments and logistics.

Xu Tiannan and his aides clearly understood that sharpening the blade doesn’t delay the chopping of wood.

They weren’t eager to march east immediately. Instead, they used this precious time to digest internal issues, consolidate power, and channel the grief and rage from Mingdu’s destruction into purer war potential.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep