Chapter 55: Combing Feathers

Wen Yuzhi originally thought the files Xi Heyan sent were just the kind of basic mental-energy info you could find anywhere.

He hadn’t expected the packet to be far more complete than he imagined.

He skimmed the first part, and it wasn’t just a detailed breakdown of the mental-energy awakening process—there were also clear explanations of how mental energy changed from early development all the way through the later stages...

And it wasn’t only text, either. It came with a huge number of images, plus a pile of experimental data annotated along the margins, apparently included as reference.

Even though Wen Yuzhi didn’t really understand the mental-energy side of things, he could still make sense of what he was reading at a glance.

It described “mental energy” in an almost simplest-possible, most straightforward way.

The knowledge was also organized exceptionally well. You could tell whoever compiled it had put serious thought into it.

This wasn’t “some material” at all—this was basically everything related to mental energy, dug up, sorted, and summarized in depth.

For almost the entire day, Wen Yuzhi stayed absorbed in the materials Xi Heyan sent.

After finishing a portion, he had a fairly clear grasp of what people meant by “mental-energy structure.”

Across the galaxy, most races possessed mental energy. It was one direction evolution had taken for the universe’s many species.

Mental energy had a broad range of uses, and each race’s applications differed depending on their traits.

Humans could use mental energy to operate mechs. Merfolk could blend mental energy into their singing and turn it into a weapon.

As for the mental sea—it was a space opened up inside the brain domain, something like a territory of its own. It could store mental energy. The wider the mental sea, the stronger the mental energy.

On the flip side, once the mental sea was damaged, mental energy would inevitably be affected.

For a long time, research into mental energy never stopped across the races. But most of it focused on how to increase mental energy—how to expand the mental sea to its limit and make mental energy stronger.

Everyone desperately wanted to stimulate the body’s hidden potential, and they ran countless experiments and studies for that purpose.

It wasn’t until the races discovered that once mental-energy disorder reached a certain level, it could cause mental sea collapse, that they finally realized how severe mental energy turmoil truly was.

That was when everyone began taking mental-energy disorder seriously.

But even now, the problem still hadn’t been solved.

Mental-energy disorder was generally tied to the mental sea becoming unstable and chaotic. Intense stimulation—or injury—could both make the mental sea unstable.

As that chaotic mental energy continued to build up, it would eventually trigger loss of control and a full outbreak, until the mental sea could no longer endure it and shattered completely, collapsing.

That process could be slow... or it could happen in an instant.

Yet across the galaxy, treatment methods for the mental sea still mostly remained at the level of basic medication to suppress symptoms and psychological counseling.

Cases like Wen Yuzhi’s—where someone dared to enter another person’s mental sea directly to comb through it and soothe it—were extremely rare. Successful cases amounted to only one: him.

For most people, simply entering another person’s mental sea was already unbelievably difficult. No one wanted to fully open their mental sea to a stranger.

Even spouses and blood relatives found it hard. Everyone had private things, and very few people could expose all of those secrets to someone else.

Because the mental sea connected to memory.

A large part of why Wen Yuzhi could successfully enter Woke’s mental sea was the Saint Clan’s instinctive submissiveness toward royal blood.

Other races couldn’t replicate that.

So there still wasn’t any particularly good solution for mental-energy treatment in the galaxy. If it got severe, you could only wait to die.

Still, the materials also mentioned that mental-energy treatment seemed to have made a major breakthrough—but they didn’t explain what it was in detail.

At the bottom, only one sentence was marked:

Mental energy with higher affinity has a special effect on combing through and soothing the mental sea.

...Mental energy with higher affinity?

Wen Yuzhi wasn’t sure whether his affinity counted as “high,” but the Saint Clan here didn’t seem ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) to resist his mental energy.

Maybe he could observe it later, when he soothed other Saint Clan members?

He was thinking that when he finally came back to himself and realized the sky outside had already gone fully dark.

Only then did he notice he’d been staring at his light-brain for an entire day.

And because he’d been too focused, he’d left replying to messages sitting off to the side the whole time.

Thinking of that, he hurriedly sent Xi Heyan a thank-you.

[cat “thank you so much” sticker]

......

When Xi Heyan received the message, he was watching a segment on the news.

A pale-faced middle-aged man sat on a throne, accepting an interview broadcast to the public.

He had dazzling blond hair, gentle refined features, and looked only around forty.

After the camera swept past, he lifted his eyes toward it, expression composed.

Time seemed strangely kind to him. It hadn’t left even the slightest sign of age on his body. If anything, the passing years only deepened the aura of a mature man at the height of his charm.

And he was the current ruler of the empire—His Majesty Bernard Hoffmann.

Facing the interview, he answered without hurry. His words were elegant, his logic clear, nothing like the rumors that claimed he was so sick he could barely get up.

To suit the anniversary atmosphere, he’d even worn a crimson robe. The deep color made the ruler—who carried authority without needing anger—seem all the more imposing.

Whether it was intentional or not, his outfit was grand, but his accessories were notably plain: a crescent-moon brooch pinned at his chest.

The camera didn’t linger long, but it was enough for people to notice it.

And it really was unusual.

Anyone who paid attention to the royal family knew that crescent-moon brooch had belonged to the late empress.

Bernard wore it on his person, and he even let it be seen on camera during an anniversary interview. What he meant to convey was practically written in bright letters.

Sure enough, at the end of the interview, the reporter asked, “May I ask—are you wearing that brooch to commemorate the empress?”

Bernard fell silent for a moment. Then he lowered his voice and said, “Yes. During the time I’ve been ill, I often dream of her. I’m always wracked with guilt that I didn’t discover in time that her mental sea had developed a problem...”

Before he could finish, Xi Heyan’s face chilled. Expressionless, he shut the interview off.

He opened his light-brain and placed a call.

“How’s Bernard’s condition on your end? How far along are you?”

“Relax. His mental sea is absolutely beyond saving. He’s a lot more anxious than we are—he’s been looking for every possible way to treat it behind the scenes.”

Xi Heyan didn’t show even a hint of joy. His expression stayed calm.

Before ending the call, he suddenly asked, “Who’s running Polaris Life Research Institute now?”

“Kegso’s student. A guy named Dan. That one’s a lunatic—don’t go provoking him. He’s got some kind of scheme going on in the shadows, and those rebel organizations all have ties to him.”

Xi Heyan had only asked casually. Listening to the other side’s earnest warning, he replied that he wouldn’t—and hung up.

After switching away from the call screen, he finally saw Wen Yuzhi’s message.

A cute cat, head tilted, looked like it was earnestly expressing thanks.

Xi Heyan couldn’t put a name to what he felt—but seeing it, the irritation weighing on him because of certain people and certain things eased a little.

[No need to thank me. I hope it helps.]

Wen Yuzhi saw the reply and couldn’t help marveling.

[This is way too complete. Did you organize all of this yourself?]

He remembered Xi Heyan was a military academy student.

Was all of this something they taught at school?

He asked that question.

[The academy does have classes on this, but what I sent you isn’t from there. My aunt organized it. She used to do research related to mental energy. These are personal notes she left behind.]

An aunt?

Wen Yuzhi was surprised. He hadn’t expected that besides a father in the military, Xi Heyan also had an aunt who did research.

[If you send me these materials, won’t your aunt mind?]

Ordinary references would be one thing, but Wen Yuzhi had noticed there was a lot of experimental data in there—things like that usually weren’t casually made public.

[She won’t mind. She always hoped her research could help more people.]

As Xi Heyan typed those words, a woman’s voice surfaced in his mind—bright with excitement:

“Xi Heyan, my research is finally making progress. I want to build an institute, so more people can join in and help complete this project together.”

“I even picked the name. Polaris. What do you think?”

..........

The two of them chatted, and Wen Yuzhi clearly lost track of time.

“Your Highness, it’s time to sleep,” Mond reminded him.

Wen Yuzhi checked the time. It really was late.

After reading all day, he was genuinely sleepy.

He yawned, and the small wings drooped too, listless.

The next moment, he felt himself being picked up.

A familiar embrace. A familiar scent.

Before his mind could even react, his body had already wrapped its arms around the other person automatically.

He looked up.

As expected, it was Mansendis.

The silver-haired sovereign rubbed his hair. Ever since Wen Yuzhi had become smaller, he’d noticed Mansendis seemed to like patting the top of his head.

Wen Yuzhi lifted a hand and touched his own head too.

Nothing special...

If anything, compared to him, Mansendis’s long silver hair looked even nicer to touch—sleek and smooth, like satin.

Wen Yuzhi only dared to look. He didn’t dare reach out and actually touch it.

Mansendis didn’t know what was going through the little cub’s head. He set Wen Yuzhi on the vanity and stared at the spread of bottles and jars lined up in front of him.

What were all these?

He picked up a pink jar.

Mond, following behind, said, “That’s for the little highness to use on the body after bathing.”

Mansendis picked up a blue jar.

“That’s for the little highness’s face.”

“And these two essential oils—one is for the little highness’s hair, and one is for wing care. You absolutely can’t mix them up.”

“......”

Mansendis, who had never used any of these things, fell into rare confusion.

Mond spoke as if it were beyond dispute. “A cub’s body care is very important. The little highness’s skin is delicate. These baby creams are necessary.”

After speaking, Mond even shot Mansendis a disapproving look, as if quietly condemning the silver-haired sovereign for raising a child too roughly.

Wen Yuzhi was already used to it. When he’d been little, Madam Jilanya used to apply all kinds of things too, saying they protected the skin.

So in the room, the only one who looked out of place was Mansendis.

After all, in his memory, no Saint Clan member needed any of this.

But looking at the snow-white, soft little cub in front of him, Mansendis had to admit Mond did have a point.

This child wasn’t like them. He really did need more careful care.

Once he accepted that, Mansendis finally found the body wash and shampoo among the bottles and jars. Holding them, he carried the cub into the shower area.

A small tub was already filled with water. Several inflatable little ducks floated on the surface—bath toys Mond had specially found for the cub.

Wen Yuzhi didn’t really feel like he needed them, but Mond had insisted again and again. In the end, the ducks stayed.

And now they’d become regular “NPCs” that showed up every day when he bathed.

Mansendis was seeing them for the first time. During this stretch, Mond had been the one taking care of Wen Yuzhi.

Watching the ducks drift lazily across the water, Mansendis lowered his head and looked at the cub in his arms.

“Do you need my help?”

Wen Yuzhi shook his head.

He was saying he could do it himself—no help needed.

Mansendis chose to respect his wishes. When they were young, they didn’t need anyone’s help or care either.

Besides, the bathroom had an intelligent system that could detect danger.

He had nothing to worry about.

After the silver-haired sovereign left, Wen Yuzhi climbed into the hot water.

He didn’t know whether Mond and the others had bathed him during the days he’d been unconscious, but thinking that he’d probably gone three days without bathing, he quickly squeezed out a generous amount of body wash and worked up foam all over himself.

From head to toe, even the little wings on his back were washed thoroughly.

After washing, he soaked with the little ducks for a while longer. It wasn’t until he started getting drowsy that he finally climbed out.

His wings were soaked through, heavy as they hung behind him—there was no way he could fly. He could only drag a towel and shuffle slowly out.

Mond was already waiting outside.

With practiced movements, Mond placed the cub into a drying box, where warm air gradually dried the water from his hair and wings.

By the time Mansendis took Wen Yuzhi back from Mond again, the cub in his arms was already warm and sweet-smelling.

Those little wings—already soft to begin with—turned fluffy after being dried.

They nestled intimately against Mansendis’s back, as if the cub were hugging him with tiny wings.

Mansendis’s heart softened at the sensation.

He reached out and touched the little wings.

Wen Yuzhi felt ticklish. Wings weren’t like hair—wings were clearly more sensitive.

And with that one touch, the wings’ fluffy, pretty feathers got mussed up.

Seeing the mess of feathers, Wen Yuzhi felt uncomfortable and wanted to smooth them back into place.

But the spot Mansendis had touched was near the wing root. Wen Yuzhi couldn’t reach around to that area. He tried several times and still couldn’t find it.

In the end, he could only tug on Mansendis’s wrist.

“Papa...”

Wen Yuzhi could pronounce a few complete words now, but when he tried to say “Dad,” his tone was still a little blurry, turning it into “Papa.”

He was asking Mansendis to help comb his feathers back into place.

Even though the one who’d messed them up was the silver-haired sovereign right in front of him, the good-tempered cub didn’t get angry at all.

That made Mansendis feel a little guilty. He hadn’t expected to mess up the feathers on the little wings.

Mond clearly knew Mansendis didn’t have much experience raising a child. Watching from the side, Mond quickly went to fetch a small comb.

“Use a lighter hand. Just comb through the tangled spot.”

Following the instruction, Mansendis carefully took the small comb and began to gently comb through the downy feathers on the cub’s wings, little by little.

His entire wrist was taut, the pressure kept incredibly, incredibly light.

Wen Yuzhi felt so comfortable.

Curled against Mansendis’s chest, he couldn’t help it—his wings trembled slightly, and his brows and eyes relaxed before he even noticed.

So comfortable.

The feeling of feathers being combed out.

Under that soft, careful pressure, he quickly started to get sleepy. But somewhere deep down, he still didn’t want Mansendis to leave, so even though his eyes were so tired he could barely keep them open, he kept them half-shut, refusing to fully close them.

Both hands clutched tightly at Mansendis’s clothes.

Mansendis looked down at the cub in his arms—those eyes blinking up at him, again and again—and it felt like a lump of cotton had been stuffed into his chest, filling it up.

He spoke in a low voice, like a promise, like a guarantee.

“I won’t go.”

Hearing that, the drowsy cub’s lashes fell softly, and he finally let his eyes close.

Very soon, the sound of steady breathing came.

Wen Yuzhi had fallen asleep.