# 33
Chapter 33 – Engraving the Stone
“Oh.” Lin Qiye’s expression was calm.
Wen Qimo looked at him in surprise. “Oh? That’s it?”
“What else should there be?”
“Don’t you feel even a flicker of excitement, blood burning?”
“A flicker, yes—only a flicker.” Lin Qiye answered flatly. “I’m not interested in promotions.”
Wen Qimo gave him an odd look. “I forgot you’re the heretic who’ll quit Night Watch in ten years.”
Lin Qiye neither confirmed nor denied. “So, those four special teams are the ceiling of Great Xia’s combat power?”
“Of course not. They might be the team ceiling within Night Watch, but not the ceiling of the whole country.”
“There’s another organization like Night Watch?”
“No. Great Xia has only Night Watch, but above it stand five Human Apex.”
“Human Apex?”
“Exactly what it sounds like—the pinnacle a human can reach. Close to the ancient gods of myth, so they’re also called demigods.”
“Mortal bodies that rival gods?”
“I know you’re quoting a movie, but yes.” Wen Qimo gazed at the night sky, eyes full of reverence.
“Those five are humanity’s pillars, the only hope we can still see in this endless fog.”
“Who are they?”
“No idea. They’re too far above us; few have seen their faces or know their names. But there are some fun rumors.”
“Like?”
“They’re called: One Sword, One Rider, One Venerable, One Void, One Master.”
“Sword, Rider, Venerable, Void, Master… that’s not even useful.”
“Rumor says our supreme commander is the ‘Venerable,’ but no one’s seen him fight in ages.”
“One more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Has humanity… ever killed a god?” Lin Qiye pointed skyward. “Not some weird mythical creature, but a real, ancient deity.”
Wen Qimo was silent, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.
In this fog we’re blindfolded lambs. We don’t know what’s happening or when the end will come.
If we actually killed a god, the others would panic and probably wipe us out first. Things would get even worse.”
Lin Qiye nodded. “Got it.”
“Anything else?”
After a pause: “Do temp members get welfare pay?”
“…Yes.”
“Then I’m good.”
“So of everything you asked, only the last mattered?”
“Obviously.” Lin Qiye shrugged. “Special teams, Human Apex—too far away. I like solid ground.”
“Fine…” Wen Qimo turned. “Sleepy?”
“Nope.”
“Then I’ll show you somewhere.”
“This late… is it decent?”
“…Decent.” Wen Qimo’s mouth twitched.
“Okay.” Lin Qiye added, “Remember, I’m underage.”
Wen Qimo: …
…
A few minutes later the car stopped in a deserted wilderness.
Lin Qiye climbed out, looked around, and eyed Wen Qimo warily.
“Why here?”
Wen Qimo rolled his eyes and pointed at a graveyard nearby. “There.”
Lin Qiye followed his finger and fell silent.
He could already guess the reason.
They walked the narrow path and reached the cemetery.
It wasn’t large—much smaller than the city’s public graveyard—but the headstones were finer and spaced with precision, neat and orderly.
“This is…”
“The Night Watch graveyard for Cangnan City.” Wen Qimo spoke quietly. “Since 1936, when the Special Biological Response Team became Night Watch and adopted the one-city-one-team system, this place was set aside for those who fall in Cangnan.
Of course, it’s only the default. When you join you can choose burial here, cremation, or being sent home.
Back then Zhao Kongcheng chose this place. Said he had too much blood on him—afraid he’d scare the ancestors if he went home.”
Wen Qimo’s mouth curved in a smile, as if seeing Zhao Kongcheng crack that joke again.
Lin Qiye gazed at the rows of stones, frowning. “So many…”
At least sixty or seventy, most of them new.
“Eighty-five years since 1936,” Wen Qimo sighed. “At first casualties were light—only a few mythical creatures a year, and weak ones.
But they appear faster and stronger now. Half these graves are from the last twenty years.
Before Captain Chen Muye came, we lost two a year. After he arrived, the death rate dropped sharply.”
Lin Qiye pictured the silent man in black and felt respect.
“But Zhao Kongcheng died only tonight. His stone’s already done?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Then why—”
Wen Qimo lifted a finger. “Look.”
In the darkness a faint light glimmered.
Under it, Hongying sat beside an empty plot, eyes red, cradling a blank stele, chiseling letter by letter with a burin.
Tears slid down her cheeks onto the stone; she wiped them away hurriedly.
There was none of her usual spark left.
“Didn’t she say she was going to practice shooting?” Lin Qiye stared.
“She lied.” Wen Qimo shook his head. “An unwritten rule: a teammate carves the stone. It should’ve been me.
But I knew she wanted to do it most. They were close—really close.
So I pretended not to notice her lousy lie and let her sneak off to carve.”
They stood in silence, watching Hongying under the hazy moon.
In the dead cemetery, only the soft scrape of her chisel wept.
“Should we say hi?” Lin Qiye asked after a while.
“She’d only get embarrassed—thin-skinned.”
“But lurking here feels like peeping perverts,” Lin Qiye muttered uncomfortably.
Wen Qimo glanced at him, amused.
“You think we’re the only peeping perverts around?”