Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Genetic Tremor

In that moment, Song Yu's heart was racing.

Her mind exploded with a loud bang, like a cub caught by the nape—her skin instantly broke out in a thin layer of cold sweat.

She had never had such a strong reaction to anyone before.

But at the time, she didn’t know yet—this was what they called a "genetic tremor."

It was an extremely rare physiological response. It only occurred when two people with a genetic compatibility above 90% saw each other.

They would breathe rapidly, their pupils would dilate, and they would sweat profusely.

They would flush, their hearts would beat faster; blood would rush to the brain, which would send out dangerous and tense signals. And all of it, simply because—

They had found that person.

A soulmate. A destined one.

Song Yu knew nothing about this.

She merely thought she had been discovered.

That man on the second floor—his gaze was far too unfamiliar, too fierce, and too aggressive.

But then she quickly dismissed that thought.

She was certain she was well hidden. This was a spot she had carefully examined during location scouting—a complete blind zone in the theater’s sightlines. There was no way he could have seen her.

Her heartbeat gradually returned to normal.

In the heavy silence filled with suspicion and uncertainty, Song Yu heard the faint sound of banging on the theater doors and loud shouting from outside. She realized that rescuers had arrived.

A few seconds later, the heavy theater doors crashed down.

A group of people appeared at the far end of the venue. They were fully armed, carrying military-grade laser rifles, even wearing gas masks—like heavenly warriors descending to earth. Cold-colored neon tubes reflected off their protective gear, casting shimmering chills. Backlit, they radiated an indescribable aura of intimidation.

"Don't panic," the man at the front said in a deep voice. "You're safe now. We've come to rescue you."

That sentence was like a stabilizing anchor. Audience members closest to the front hesitantly looked up. Seeing the gear and formation, they instantly relaxed and slowly stood up.

The rescue proceeded in an orderly fashion. Soon, medical pods were brought in to carry out the injured. The team was well-trained—efficient, silent, and agile.

Song Yu adjusted the camera, intending to capture this moment as well.

But suddenly, perhaps due to professional instinct, she sensed a subtle discord.

Because of her work, she'd dealt with interstellar police a few times. She knew how they operated: the Empire was a massive machine, slowly collapsing from within; government officials, paid by the state, were its rusted gears.

Those people always acted with a certain carelessness and condescension. They never spoke properly—every word came out like a reprimand.

There was no way they could be… this meticulous and cautious.Trying too hard to act like good guys only made them seem less like good guys.

Song Yu instinctively felt a twinge of suspicion.

Maybe tonight’s attack wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

She quickly shut off the device, took out the camera’s storage chip, and hid it on her body.

After hesitating for a second, she inserted a new backup chip.

There was no way she could carry the camera out. It was too big, too conspicuous—she would definitely get stopped and questioned.

Song Yu bent down, kept her head low, and quietly slipped back into the crowd.

In the theater’s outer lobby, Song Yu found Ji Wen.

Ji Wen was clearly scared stiff and was on the phone again. When she saw Song Yu approaching, she grabbed her hand like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline—her palm was hot and sweaty.

“I’m booking the earliest spaceship home tonight,” Ji Wen said. “Dad, you were right—Star S is really too dangerous. Just a simple work trip and this kind of thing happens…”

She turned to Song Yu and asked, “Professor Chen, what about you? Want to come with me?”

Song Yu thought about the hefty rescheduling fee, which the company might not reimburse, and hesitated.

But Ji Wen kept earnestly persuading her: “S Planet has been pushing for independence these past few years—public safety is terrible. And my dad just said they’re electing a new governor next year—it’s going to be even more chaotic…”

Song Yu was still thinking about the footage she just filmed, so she reluctantly agreed.

Ji Wen beamed with joy and turned back to continue speaking with her parents. The lobby was already packed with evacuated audience members. Faces filled with panic were distorted under the red and blue lights. The noise was deafening—utter chaos. The two of them were swept apart in the crowd like they were caught in a rushing current.

Just as Song Yu was about to get closer again, her smartphone vibrated in her pocket.

It was a video call from Li Cong, the company’s CEO.

She had come to S Planet in a rush and hadn’t brought her smart glasses, so it wasn’t convenient to take a video call in public. Song Yu quickly gestured at Ji Wen and slipped into a nearby stairwell.

Li Cong’s projection appeared in midair.

“Xiao Chen, I saw the news. What’s your situation over there?”

In truth, Li Cong wasn’t much older than Song Yu. But he liked to act more mature than he was, which is why he called her “Xiao Chen.”

Song Yu said, “Ji Wen and I are both fine. We’re heading back tonight.”

But hearing that, Li Cong didn’t seem particularly relieved. Instead, he looked a bit hesitant: “That fast? Actually, I was going to say—since you were both at the scene, why not make a short video real quick? It’ll definitely hit the trending list.”

Song Yu’s face darkened.

What a responsible boss: they had just escaped with their lives, and he wasn’t the least bit concerned about his employees’ safety—just thinking about squeezing out every last bit of value.

Not to mention, they were supposed to be a film company. When had they stooped to fighting tabloids for headlines?

Li Cong saw her expression and immediately understood what she was thinking.

He snorted. “What? You don’t want to? You think shooting a short video is beneath you? Still dreaming of making a feature film?”

He mentioned “feature film.”There was a current trend in film—shorter runtimes, faster pacing, and increasingly light, brainless content.

Typical theatrical releases lasted thirty to forty minutes, and at most, never exceeded an hour.

But Song Yu’s film from two years ago had insisted on running a full one hundred and twenty minutes.

Li Cong had always believed that was the reason for her failure.

So as he spoke, he lifted his teacup and gulped the tea noisily, making disgusting swallowing sounds.

Smacking his lips, he continued:

“Two years ago, you were just too arrogant and full of yourself. You didn’t listen to my advice and insisted on filming that way. And what happened? A box office disaster. Do you remember how many eyes were watching? How many people mocked you? I was the only one who still dared to hire you.”

“Don’t blame me for always bringing up your failures. I’m saying this for your own good. Think about it—what other boss would speak so frankly to their employees? You’re already twenty-six, not some little girl. It’s time to learn how to be flexible. Look at A Chun, she’s two years younger than you and already settled down. And you? You might not ever find someone with such a high compatibility match…”

Enough.

It was getting more and more absurd.

Song Yu thought, she had just come back from the brink of death, stared life and death in the face—so why was she standing in this dark, empty stairwell, getting scolded like this?

So she replied coldly on purpose, “Sorry, I can’t shoot anything right now. Things were too chaotic earlier—I left the camera at the scene.”

Immediately, Li Cong’s expression changed: “What? You lost the camera? Why not just lose your life too?”

Ah.

The fox’s tail had finally shown.

All that pretend concern for his employees—what a joke. In his heart, all their lives combined weren’t worth more than that secondhand camera, probably pulled out from some moldy old warehouse.

That sentence finally hit Song Yu’s bottom line.

She gave a cold laugh and was just about to fire back at him—

But at that moment, she heard a soft cough.

—There was actually a second person here.

The window was wide open, cold wind pouring in, carrying a faint herbal tobacco scent.

The draft made Song Yu’s head ache and her stomach churn, but her mind remained sharp: there was no way she was going to put on a show here with Li Cong for some random person’s entertainment.

So she said to Li Cong, “I’ll call you back later.”

And without caring about his yelling on the other end, she hung up decisively.

Much, much later, when Song Yu looked back on this night, she couldn’t help but ask herself:

Was this the moment when her life was rewritten?

Or… had it begun even earlier?

But at the time, caught in the tide, she had no idea what lay ahead.

She just stood at the foot of the stairs and coldly asked:

“Who’s there?”Song Yu waited for a moment. No one replied.

So she turned to the empty staircase. “Then I’m coming up myself.”

The cough had actually been barely audible. Someone else probably wouldn’t have even noticed it, or would’ve just thought the wind had hit the window.

But—

As mentioned, it was a professional instinct. Song Yu had always had sharp ears and eyes. Not only did she recognize it as a cough, she also pinpointed its exact location.

The next second, a cigarette butt was flung to the ground at her feet in a provocative manner.

“Don’t come any closer,” the person said.

Song Yu instinctively looked up. She still couldn’t see him. He was hidden extremely well, tucked perfectly into the blind spot of the staircase—completely out of her line of sight.

But the voice made her pause.

His voice was very low.

Deep and hoarse, like the ashes left after a cigarette burns out—searing its way into her heart.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” that deep voice continued. “Your voice is really nice. Say a few more words.”

Song Yu: “?”

She never imagined that she’d suddenly get flirted with by a stranger she couldn’t even see—especially in a situation like this.

Strangely, her heart started racing again.

Thump thump thump, thump thump thump.

That deliberately lowered voice seemed to echo in her ears, magnified to no end.

Playful and seductive, like drifting smoke rings hovering in the air, landing ring after ring on her face—relentless, entangling her.

Who could possibly match such a voice?

Inexplicably, the image that surfaced in Song Yu’s mind was of that faintly visible, strikingly handsome face behind the curtain on the second floor.

But she quickly dismissed the thought. Impossible.

He’d killed someone—how could he have the leisure to hide out here smoking?

Of course, the person talking to her now must be someone of wealth or power too.

His tone was so arrogant, carrying the natural authority of someone used to commanding others. He probably wasn’t often refused.

But that made her all the more inclined to defy him.

Song Yu said, “Lunatic.”

She turned to leave, hand already on the doorknob.

But then she heard him lazily say again:

“If I were you, I’d resign immediately.

“Oh—and go smash that worthless piece of junk machine while you’re at it.”