Sir Mo was a famous academician for a very long time. However, he had never had a successor despite teaching many students in his life. In his words, there just wasn’t anyone who was qualified to be one. He wasn’t a rigid person. Quite the contrary, he had a very good understanding of the unwritten rules of the circle and had a lot of fun exploiting them when he first joined the academia. He never went beyond the boundary of fun, however. Ultimately, academics always came first, and everything else second to him. It was why a lot of people with powerful backgrounds had come to thrust their people under his wing later on. At first, Mo Heng reluctantly accepted these “offers” because he didn’t want to humiliate the other person. Over time though, he learned to ignore them completely. “You fuckers have a ton of money and power, don’t you? Then go stuff your goddamn “children” under any one of the millions and millions of famous scholars in Seven Lights or GAL instead! I ain’t your fucking babysister!” When Mo Heng first encountered Cillin in Seven Lights, he was in one of the most frustrating periods of his time; the start of the academic period. Every time it began, Mo Heng would change his number and his communicator before setting out to nowhere in particular all on his own. As a result, the people who were hoping to climb the social ladder couldn’t even find him, much less corner him and force him to accept their “children”. The cat-and-mouse chase usually stopped when the registration period ended. Mo Heng wasn’t the lofty and untouchable scholar the people imagined him to be. He was cunning, strict, and an academic gangster to his very bones. His son, Mo Qing wouldn’t have grown up to become an admiral otherwise. Those who knew him when he was younger would have a better insight into his true personality. Mo Heng had mellowed out a lot after teaching for decades and becoming the vice headmaster of Seven Lights University, but that was only when he was in public. In private, his crazy ideas had only gotten crazier over the years, and he even let his childish side out from time to time. The number of students Mo Heng personally taught didn’t exceed fifty. Everyone else was just a colleague who he happened to be working on the same project with. These fifty students were the only ones who were given a glimpse into Mo Heng’s true self and were granted the right to address him as their mentor, but they couldn’t even begin to measure up to Cillin’s weight in his heart. There were a lot of gifted students in the entire GAL, and every year a lot of them would enter Seven Lights via special enrollment. Although many of Mo Heng’s students were the “children” the bigwigs of GAL had forcefully thrust under his wing, the fact was they were very talented in their own right. Otherwise, Mo Heng would rather butt heads with the bigwigs than accept them. However, of all the people he had ever taught in the past decades or so, Cillin was the only one he truly thought of as his disciple. He hadn’t known the young man for long, but his temperament and his disposition was very much to his liking, not to mention that his talent was exceptional. It was why he had great hopes for Cillin—until he heard of the tragedy that befell him and felt like someone had put a knife into his ancient heart. Mo Heng thought specially of Cillin not only because he was extremely talented, but also because he often arrived at the same conclusion as him in regard to machinery. He also felt far less need to pretend than with any other student he raised. Therefore, Cillin was without a doubt the student who knew Mo Heng the best. At first, Cillin wasn’t sure that Mo Heng’s secret message was really meant for him. For one, some of Mo Heng’s students had to know of some of his coding habits. Two, he might not be the first or even the tenth person to have assembled that particular machine, even though it did make him feel more confident about his suspicions. Now though, Cillin was one hundred percent sure that the message was for him. It was because he was the only one who knew about this particular decoding image. He had communicated with Mo Heng via a secret code before his abrupt departure from GAL, and he knew that his mentor wasn’t teaching anyone at that particular time. Therefore, he had to be the only one who knew how to decode this decoding image correctly! Cillin dragged the “comments” on one part of the holoscreen to a different position. Then, he began decoding the final encryption. The image was a matrix decoding image, but it was no simple three dimensional matrix. It was something unique to the Mo Family. Mo Heng was close to finishing his research on this matrix before Cillin had left Seven Lights University, which was why he knew a little about it. The academician had boasted that he had invented a kind of mechanical insertion program that would optimize and protect certain types of programs in any machine. Once the testing was complete, he would write the thesis and submit it to “Code”, one of the two giant electronic publications of GAL. He had told him to keep it a secret until then. Mo Heng called his matrix the “Mo Matrix”. Anyone who fully solved a Mo Matrix would find the ancient alphabet “M” at the top of the matrix as designed by Mo Heng. Cillin had read the last issue of “Code” before GAL descended into chaos, but he didn’t find any mention of the Mo Matrix at the time. Either Mo Heng hadn’t finished his research, or he was forced to postpone it due to some other businesses. Cillin’s mind raced as he decoded the image swiftly with his fingers. What was a weapon image at the beginning gradually transformed into a star map at the end. Cillin did a quick check and discovered that it was pointing toward a certain planet at the center of Sector C. After he opened the star map, a short text appeared on the holoscreen. The text had a thirty-second timer, meaning that it would disappear irreversibly once thirty seconds was over. The text told Cillin about Sir Mo’s current situation. First things first, the good news: his mentor’s life wasn’t in danger, yet. For one, he was the father of Mo Qing, an admiral who commanded a not insignificant amount of troops. Two, Mo Heng himself possessed quite the influence in the academia, so not only would his kidnappers do their best to keep him alive, they would even treat him like a, “pig in a pig farm. I’m so bored I need to tinker with some parts from time to time”, claimed Mo Heng in the text. Mo Heng didn’t ask Cillin to save him. Sector C was a military sector, so even during more peaceful times it would’ve been difficult for a hunter to slip in. He only asked Cillin to make his current situation and location known to a certain number of people so that his kidnappers would, hopefully, be pressured into releasing him. It was a good solution. With Mo Heng’s many years of influence, he could definitely bring together a number of non-military personnel and make some chaos if he wanted to. The fact that they all belonged to different Sectors also meant that any spark he started could cause huge waves across a wide space. There were certainly a lot of people who were just waiting for an opportunity to grab a piece of the pie so to speak. It wasn’t a perfect solution, however. The plan guaranteed revenge on the kidnappers, but not Mo Heng’s own safety. Moreover, the risks that something might happen to him only grew bigger as time passed. Cillin pondered on the feasibility of traveling to Sector C. Unfortunately, the military sector was very different from what it used to be, and one mistake was all it took to become the target of everyone. I need to ask for help. But from whom? Ci Jincheng was an option, but Cillin had dismissed it right away. Everyone was watching the Ci Family right now, and even the tiniest movement could cause a cascade of conspiracy theories. Knight wasn’t a good option either. Just like Ci Jincheng, he and his family were under heavy watch. A while later, Cillin wrote a code and transmitted it to his target. He should be strong enough to help me now… Meanwhile, at the planet pinpointed on the decoded star map. Patrol fleets and defense satellite arrays surrounded the planet. The buildings were mostly bases, and military protocols were obeyed everywhere. The same phenomenon could be seen on most parts of Sector C as well. There was a research base on the planet where transport ships occasionally flew in and out of its hanger. The transport ships were usually filled with all kinds of machines and instruments. The research base also had a huge manufacturing plant that was manned by a not insignificant amount of personnel. Most of the production lines were automated, however. Inside a huge workshop on the seventh floor of the base’s research department, Mo Heng was lying in a recliner with his eyes closed and his legs propped against the table. He was in his overalls, and he seemed to be thinking about something. However, only he knew the contents of his own thoughts. There was also a newly assembled component and a pile of unassembled parts on the table. The old Mo Heng wouldn’t have allowed the “litter” to tarnish his table and ruin his mood. His OCD would’ve forced him to move the parts elsewhere or assemble them to completion. Now though, not even his OCD could motivate him to move a muscle. Forget cleaning up, he didn’t even try to organize them into proper categories. Right now, he looked like he couldn’t muster the energy to do anything at all. Mo Heng was also thinner than Cillin remembered him, although the main reason he looked like this was more of an emotional issue than a nutritional one. To put it bluntly, he hadn’t been in a good mood since he was brought to this god forsaken place. Psst— The door opened, and a polite-looking, middle-aged man wearing overalls similar to Mo Heng’s entered the workshop. His hands inside his pockets, he walked until he was right next to the deputy headmaster. However, Mo Heng only frowned and looked even more impatient than he already was. “Mentor Mo,” the middle-aged man greeted in a soft voice. Instead of answering, Mo Heng turned his head away from him. “Mentor Mo, I know that you sent out a coded message. You took great pains to transmit the same message over countless channels to ensure that we won’t be able to intercept them all—not that you minded even if we were somehow successful—and we weren’t. We managed to intercept 99% of the messages you sent, but we expect some of them to go through anyway. Unfortunately for you, we know for certain that the messages we missed didn’t get out of Sector C. You probably don’t know this, but a defense information network has been established in Sector C. Dozens of technical academicians and engineering academicians from the former GAL institute were involved in its establishment. Therefore, there are very few messages that can get through this network unless they are part of the Eight Marshals.” Mo Heng finally opened his eyes, but his expression didn’t look too disappointed. To begin with, he was more pessimistic than optimistic that this particular effort of his was going to bear fruit. He wasn’t worried that these chuckleheads would be able to decode his message either. Long story short, they would never succeed. If there was one thing he had absolute confidence in, it was this. The middle-aged man shot Mo Heng another look before continuing, “I helped you to carry the message to the intended person though. You were trying to contact a certain student or students of yours, correct?” A short silence later, Mo Heng said, “Will you cut to the chase already?” The middle-aged man smiled, paying Mo Heng’s terrible attitude no mind. Still maintaining his previous speaking rate and tone, he continued, “The reason I applied to study under you when I first joined Seven Lights was because I know that you, unlike those academicians with undeserved reputation, are truly capable. In fact, you haven’t disappointed me. Up until this point, no one, not even I have been able to decode your message. Even if someone succeeded, I have a feeling that the message wouldn’t be accurate. Speaking of which, the final decoding image is the fruits of your latest research, am I right?” Mo Heng didn’t loosen up his frown. He had gone through a lot of trouble to secure the Mo Matrix because he knew all too well the lengths some bastards would go to steal another person’s research findings. It wasn’t just the Mo Matrix either, he had been practicing the utmost caution and security since the very first day he set foot in academia. It was why he was able to notice something was amiss and delete all the relevant data before he was whisked away to this place. You think you can steal my research findings? Eat shit! “You were trying to inform your students about something, so I did you a favor and transmitted it to all of them besides those who have died of unfortunate accidents. They should all have received the message by now... including your proudest disciple.” Mo Heng’s expression turned ever so subtly as the middle-aged man pulled out an egg-sized device while watching him. After drawing a certain shape with his finger, a hologram video appeared above the device. “Speaking of your proudest disciple, I have something that I would like to show you.” The video played. A person covered from head to toe in metal armor could be seen running across the surface of a transport ship. He was fast, agile, and steady. He didn’t appear to be bogged down or delayed by his space armor at all. However, what really got Mo Heng’s adrenaline running was the scene of Cillin assembling his cannon in an instant. The clash between the storm of lightning and the maw, and the contrast between the clashing titans and the tiny human painted a most stunning and exciting image as well. The middle-aged man closed the video before continuing, “I know you’ve been keeping in touch with him. It was rumored that he has gone missing for almost three years, but you probably knew where he was all this time, didn’t you? That weapon he used was the result of your latest research, right? The reason he vanished for three years was because he was helping you to complete it, right?” Mo Heng closed his eyes again and stayed silent. He focused on cooling his emotions and not looking at a certain irritating twat. However, Mo Heng’s reaction was confirmation in the eyes of the middle-eyed man. In his opinion, it wasn’t unthinkable that the old man would create a weapon since he used to be a participant in Project “Dream Tapir” before. He was a bit eccentric in the sense that he rarely shared his research findings with anyone—not even his own son—and that he tested and improved them extensively before going public, but the point was that the work was usually done by himself or with the cooperation of his students. In this case, Cillin was definitely the latter. He had leaked the message to all of Mo Heng’s existing students and was collecting their final findings right now. The only one he had no idea about was Cillin, but that affirmed his belief that that the message was meant for Cillin, and that the content of the message had something to do with his latest research even more. “I find it hard to understand why you would surrender your research findings to your disciple and not your son, the person who actually needs it right now. Is your son that much less important to you than your disciple, mentor Mo? I supposed that your reputation isn’t undeserved after all.” “Are you done with drivel yet, young Soren Anbixin? If you are, then get lost. I’m having my afternoon nap, and there’s nothing more I detest than having my nap disturbed.” The middle-aged man smiled. “Of course. Please enjoy your rest.” He left. Not only did the unpleasant conversation seem to affect the middle-aged man in the slightest, his footsteps were so measured and evenly-spaced that it was almost like the footsteps of a robot. After Anbixin was gone, Mo Heng opened his eyes, sat up, and stared at the parts of the table for a moment. Then, he began assembling them into some sort of machine component. His kidnappers knew that he got restless if he was away from a machine for too long, so they gave him some parts and other relevant items to tinker with. Who knows, maybe the academic gangster might surprise them and assemble something amazing. Unfortunately for them, that hope hadn’t bore fruit so far. Everything he assembled so far was a common machine that could be found in most places. Mo Heng’s son, Mo Qing was well aware that his father was imprisoned, but as of now he had no way of rescuing him at all. He also chose to join forces with the Ci Family instead of submitting to his kidnapper’s threats and joining them because he knew his father too well. Mo Heng would literally disown him and tell him to fuck off forever if he tried. Mo Heng was very happy that his son had made the right choice. Although he had grown thinner due to his imprisonment, mentally speaking he was still in a good place. He even found the energy to hum a tune for himself while assembling a machine. A short while later, another person entered the workshop. It was an old man who looked to be the same age as Mo Heng and wearing the same overalls as him. “Yo, you’re looking better than the last time I saw you, Gangster Mo! Have you finally accepted your predicament?” “Like hell I am!” Mo Heng replied without stopping. Compared to how he usually worked though, it was like watching a child taking their time spelling a word or playing with their building blocks. Everyone who knew Mo Heng knew that he loathed being disturbed when he was seriously at work, so talking close to him was a big no-no. How to tell he was seriously at work? It was easy. For starters, the old man wouldn’t be humming a tune or assembling the parts at a snail’s pace. Mo Heng tossed the parts to the side. Then, he lay down in his recliner and plopped his feet on the table once more. “Old Man Sayd, you’re in engineering, right? Can you tell me what people like us dream of?” “Do you want the fantasy version or the realistic version? Well, whatever. The fantasy version is the Golden Point. The realistic version is fame and power, of course. Everyone knows that the Golden Point is impossible to achieve, and even those people who are said to be closest to that point are really just overblown plebs.” “I agree with your latter point, but not your former. I think it’s possible to get infinitely close to the Golden Point.” “Sure, whatever you say. You may be able to trick a greenhorn or fool an outsider with your spittle, but in the end it doesn’t change the fact that it’s just an excuse to prettify our craft and the industry. Also, look at yourself, man. Golden Point? I bet you can’t even reach the Silver Point right now!” Sayd snorted in disdain. “Tsk, they really beat the spirit out of you, didn’t they? Well, unlike you, I’m a man with a disciple!”
