The violet glow of the particle sidearm intensified against Lucang’s spine, a faint hum rising from its emitter. He tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes held an unnerving, distant glint. “Such an astute observation, Khulan-jie. You wound my delicate sensibilities.” He affected a theatrical sigh. “But do you truly believe that mere corporate data could ever shackle the Sovereign of the Crimson Gate?” “No,” Khulan said, her voice devoid of inflection, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. The remaining guests were a huddled, whimpering mess, oblivious to the far more dangerous drama unfolding. “I believe the genetic lock on your heart will. And the detonation trigger for the neural bomb is currently linked to my palm-print. One wrong move, and the real heir’s heart becomes a rather unpleasant biohazard.” Lucang’s smile widened, a flicker of genuine interest in his gaze. “A heart-bomb? How… quaint. These technicians truly do love their little toys.” He chuckled, a soft, pleasant sound that belied the chilling implications. “Tell me, Khulan-jie, who exactly installed such a charming trinket? Was it the ‘corporate asset management’ department, or something a little more… creatively malicious?” “That’s not for you to know,” she said, the muzzle pressing harder, its hum sending a direct tremor against his vertebrae. “What I need to know is who pulled *your* soul into his shell. The data they’re harvesting from his ancient martial arts — it’s valuable. Too valuable to be corrupted by a… a primitive anachronism.” “Primitive?” Lucang’s voice dropped, a dangerous edge beneath the cheer. “You call the wisdom of ten thousand generations, the mastery of the very fabric of existence, ‘primitive’?” He shook his head, a feigned disappointment. “Such hubris. You clockwork creatures truly are blind to genuine power.” “Spare me the grandstanding,” Khulan snapped, her patience thinning. “Speak, or this body becomes a paste on the floor. Now. Who sent you?” He watched her, his bright eyes unwavering. The light glinting off a shard of mecha plating caught his attention, reflecting the vibrant neon outside. He made no move, no sound, simply held her gaze, a silent dare in his cheerful expression. Her finger tightened on the trigger. He felt the cold click of the firing pin engaging. A spark of violet light bloomed at the barrel's mouth. Lucang braced himself, not with fear, but with a peculiar thrill. This was a challenge he understood. Then, a blinding flash erupted not from the sidearm, but directly in Khulan’s visual field. A holographic overlay, vibrant and garish, exploded into existence. [ADVERTISEMENT: Craving a taste of the past? Try Astro-Noodles! 50% off for new subscribers! Experience the savory tang of real-meat substitute!] Khulan hissed, her perfect aim momentarily thrown as her cybernetic optics overloaded, the dazzling ad burning itself onto her retinal implants. The barrel wavered, the violet spark fading to an angry pulse. It was all the opening Lucang needed. His body blurred, a whisper of wind. The Ghost-Treading Lotus, a dance of impossible speed, carried him not away, but directly *into* Khulan. His hand, surprisingly gentle, closed around her wrist, twisting with the precision of a master craftsman disassembling a fragile gear. A soft *clink* echoed as the weapon fell from her numb fingers, landing with a muted thud on the scorched permacrete. He retrieved it, twirling the sleek weapon between his fingers like a child with a new toy. “Astro-Noodles, you say?” he mused, a wide, innocent smile plastered across his face. “Perhaps your culinary tastes are more refined than your combat instincts, Khulan-jie.” Khulan stumbled back, rubbing at her eyes, her usually composed features contorted in frustration. “You… how did you move like that? What was that… glitch?” “Ah, the blessings of your digital gods,” Lucang chirped, still twirling the pistol. “A perfectly timed distraction. Though I admit, my own Qi would have found a way regardless. Now, about that heart-bomb…” Before he could finish, the ambient lights in the devastated suite flickered, shifting from emergency red to a cold, clinical blue. A deep, resonant voice, synthesized and perfectly calm, echoed from hidden speakers. “*Unauthorized anomalies detected. Purging protocol initiated. All non-essential biological entities, evacuate immediately.*” From the walls, sleek panels slid open with a soft *whirr*, revealing arrays of crimson laser emitters. The Spire’s automated defense grid. Thin, burning lines of energy began to sweep the room, slicing through debris, vaporizing stray furniture, and sending terrified guests scrambling for the emergency exits. “How…?” Khulan began, but Lucang was already moving. He snatched a large, jagged piece of titanium plating from the mangled husk of a corporate mecha, its edges still smoking. With a grunt, he thrust it out in front of them, his internal Qi flowing like a torrent. A shimmering, invisible field blossomed around the metal, humming with raw power. The first laser beam struck the plate with a furious *CRACK*, not vaporizing it as it should have, but deflecting, ricocheting harmlessly off the Qi-shielded surface. Sparks showered them as more beams crisscrossed the room, a deadly dance of light, each one screaming a death sentence. “This way, Khulan-jie!” Lucang called out, his voice still brimming with an unnerving exuberance as he used the mecha plate as a crude, but effective, shield. He moved with impossible grace, dodging and weaving through the laser grid, dragging Khulan behind him. The air grew thick with ozone and the stench of burnt synthetics. They raced towards the far end of the suite, the automated beams relentlessly pursuing them. The exit they were aiming for, a reinforced blast door, began to slide shut, its metal groaning under the pressure of the lockdown. Lucang pushed Khulan forward, squeezing through the rapidly narrowing gap just as the door slammed shut with a deafening *CLANG*. They were trapped. The blast door behind them, the laser grid still active in the main suite, and ahead, a narrow observation platform that terminated abruptly at the enormous, shattered window through which the mechas had originally breached. One hundred stories above the synthetic fog, the wind howled through the gaping void, tearing at the edges of Lucang’s tattered engagement suit. He turned, his back to the precipice, a wide, utterly delighted grin stretching his lips. Khulan, panting, stared at the plummeting view, then back at him, pupils shrinking in dawning horror. “What are you doing? There’s nowhere to go!” Lucang merely laughed, a sound like wind chimes rattling in a graveyard. “Oh, but there is, Khulan-jie. Always.” Before she could react, he seized her by the waist, his grip surprisingly firm. He spun, his movements fluid and swift, and without a moment’s hesitation, with a cheerful whoop, Lucang hurled them both out of the gaping hole in the Spire of Exalted Commerce.

Glitch in the Adjutant