Chapter 120

Chapter 120

Tang Xian’an was, without a doubt, a veteran wage slave of eighty-two years. His fingers flew across the keyboard, weaving a several-thousand-word mission report with practiced ease, no conscious thought required.

Lu Yan disliked sunlight, so even during the day, the curtains were drawn shut.

The glow from the computer screen cast sharp, flattering shadows across Tang Xian’an’s angular face.

Most of the time, Tang Xian’an was silent, like a dutiful working dog. Only occasionally would he lift his head to ask a question or two. “Should I include Talent 14?”

Lu Yan considered it. “Yes.”

“And how do you want me to explain the Holy One’s psychic attack?”

The reports Ning Huai had provided were written from his own perspective. How Lu Yan had dealt with the Holy One fell outside the scope of that documentation.

But the forum’s template explicitly requested mission operatives to detail their methods against the Holy One.

“Maybe it’s because I was attacked once before at the airport,” Lu Yan said. “Its psychic assaults just don’t work on me.”

Tang Xian’an narrowed his eyes slightly. “That won’t fly. During the first Divine Kingdom operation, the Research Institute tested it. Exposure to the Holy One’s psychic attacks doesn’t build resistance. It makes you more susceptible to mental contamination.”

“Then make something up,” Lu Yan replied.

By 11 AM, Tang Xian’an’s mission report was complete. Three thousand three hundred words, detailed yet concise, with solid supporting material.

The system sighed appreciatively. [Such a useful tool-dragon. I approve of this marriage.]

Lu Yan logged into his forum account, hesitating for a moment. “Headquarters has people with the ‘Truth-Seer’ talent, right? This won’t fail review, will it?”

“No,” Tang Xian’an answered. “As long as the broad strokes are correct, minor discrepancies in the details are permitted.”

Reassured, Lu Yan hit submit.

The next second, an audit notification popped up on Tang Xian’an’s internal account.

Yes, just like submitting an academic paper.

These mission reports were reviewed by specialized personnel, assigned randomly by the system, usually between three to ten reviewers. For particularly dubious reports, they’d even convene a dedicated seminar.

*

Headquarters.

The director of the Third Research Institute had retired honorably due to advanced age. Before a gathering of colleagues, Ji Wen was promoted to the directorship.

Just as he received the Archives key—symbol of knowledge and authority—from his predecessor, his phone rang.

Ji Wen checked it. A task review assignment.

He was a Seeker himself, possessing Talent 198: Truth-Seer, making him ideal for reviewing high-difficulty missions and preventing people from fabricating stories for contribution points.

Those around him asked curiously, “Director, what mission is it?”

Ji Wen pocketed his phone, picked up his teacup, and ambled off, shaking his head. “Level Two anonymity. None of your business.”

Back in his office, he booted up his computer and logged into the backend.

The moment he saw the mission report, the teacup in his hand clattered onto the keyboard.

[S-Class Mission - Divine Kingdom Operation]

Primary Operatives: Di Ting, Alpha, Fierce Tiger, White Wolf (Deceased)

Mission Report: [Attachment 1][Attachment 2]**

Although Headquarters had speculated due to the suddenly plummeting pollution readings over Changjia, seeing this report still sent a tremor through Ji Wen’s core.

This was the Divine Kingdom Operation, an ongoing mission for forty-five years. Back then, forced by circumstance, Headquarters had chosen to abandon Changjia, along with the lives of millions on the island. Ji Wen had voted in favor during that meeting.

The decision had been cruel yet unavoidable. Even now, in the depths of night, he’d dream of standing on a lone island, an endless sea of corpses in the water around him, shrouded by boundless fog.

Verifying the report’s authenticity was simple.

Ji Wen took a pen and wrote a line on paper: Is the Holy One dead?

Then, he forced himself into slumber.

The Truth-Seer talent came with sleepwalking.

In this state, Ji Wen had no memory, was nearly impossible to wake, and risked never waking again if he overused his ability. To prevent turning into a pollutant in his sleep, he always locked himself in the Institute’s reinforced room when using his talent.

He slept for four hours. Upon waking, another line of crooked, shaky script had appeared below his question.

[Dead.]

Ji Wen felt dampness at his temples. He touched it—his hand came away smeared with blood.

Yet, staring at the crimson stain, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Good. It’s true.

***

Despite submitting the report, Lu Yan didn’t immediately return to K City.

This base was nestled by a shallow sea with pristine coral reefs—perfect for a vacation. It’d be a waste not to take a swim.

[Before the Pollution Disease got bad, this was a top honeymoon spot. Decades without visitors, and the water’s even clearer now.]

The system wasn’t lying. Lu Yan saw numerous sea turtle eggs along the shore.

The vast beach, once bustling with crowds, held only him now.

Lu Yan changed into swim trunks and dove in. The pressure in the shallows was nothing to him; he didn’t even bother with a wetsuit.

The seabed was another world.

Clownfish darted through coral labyrinths. Unfamiliar fish with shimmering scales moved in glittering schools. A small octopus jetted past his vision.

“Why did Shen Qingyang tell me to go to Laleye?” Lu Yan asked suddenly.

[Through foresight, he saw certain things. Understood the choices fate had laid before him.] The system paused. [But even without him, you would have gone back eventually.]

Lu Yan had rarely dreamed since childhood, and when he did, it was always a nightmare. Most of the time, he couldn’t remember the content—a protective mechanism, perhaps. So the fragments he did recall upon waking were etched deep.

His last nightmare: in the deep sea, hearing countless voices calling him home.

“I don’t really want to go,” Lu Yan murmured.

[Don’t run. That’s not like you. I understand the fear, but don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll be with you all the way.]

Water flowed through the gill slits near his ears, releasing a stream of tiny bubbles. Underwater, Lu Yan never breathed through his nose.

The water was soothing. He drifted, and sleep took him.

This time, he dreamed again.

Not good, not bad. He walked alone across the ocean floor. An abyss surrounded him, massive monsters lurking within, watching with predatory intent.

He moved forward, but there was no path ahead, no retreat behind.

The cylindrical pillar beneath his feet rose continuously, and the monsters knelt at its base, emitting a cacophony of chaotic, meaningless cries.

Lu Yan never saw the dream’s end.

He was kissed awake.

Kiss was too gentle a word. A barbed tongue pried his teeth apart, oxygen forced into his mouth in desperate, measured breaths.

Lu Yan’s eyelids were leaden, too heavy to lift.

His hand found the base of Tang Xian’an’s wings, covered in soft down. Reassured, he let the other man seal their lips together.

[Your mission passed review this afternoon,] the system said. [Headquarters couldn’t reach you. Checked your location and called Tang Xian’an instead, asked him to find you.]

[He searched forever. Finally found you lying on the seabed like a corpse—no breath, wouldn’t wake up. Scared him half to death.]

Tang Xian’an thought Lu Yan was drowning.

His own bone density made him sink like a stone; staying afloat required his wings to paddle like oars. Now, two heads broke the surface. Tang Xian’an held him tight, wings carrying them both into the sky.

Lu Yan opened his eyes, fingers brushing Tang Xian’an’s neck. “I’m fine.”

He pushed back his wet hair, tilting his head to reveal the gill slits. “I can breathe underwater. My mutation vector is aquatic. I don’t drown.”

The slits were usually hidden beneath his hair, inconspicuous.

Tang Xian’an stared, expression blank. “…I forgot.”

As a lanky child, a community center teacher had suggested swimming lessons. His first day in the water, he’d nearly drowned, rushed to the hospital for hours.

Since then, a primal fear of deep water had clung to him.

He’d overcome it, of course. Over the years, missions had demanded he dive.

But today, seeing Lu Yan motionless on the seabed, that ancient terror had surged back—water stealing breath, not just his own.

Lu Yan thought for a moment. “Just forgot? I thought you were taking advantage to kiss me.”

Tang Xian’an’s wings twitched violently. His gaze snapped to Lu Yan’s eyes.

Cradled in his arms, soaked through, Lu Yan’s usual sharp aloofness was softened. He looked like a stray cat caught in the rain, nowhere to hide.

But Lu Yan had nothing in common with a kitten. Even among felines, he’d be an apex predator—a lion or tiger, elegant and lethal.

Compelled, Tang Xian’an lowered his head. “Can I?”

Can I kiss you?

His own heartbeat hammered in his ears, but the reason felt different this time.

The system screamed in Lu Yan’s mind. [NO!!!]

“You shut up,” Lu Yan said.

Silence fell.

Lu Yan glanced down at himself. A single pair of swim trunks, cut above the knee. Skin pale enough to reflect the light. The defined lines of his torso tapered down, muscle flowing into a lean, elegant frame.

Honestly, if he weren't himself, he'd be having some improper thoughts too.

He was genuinely puzzled. "We're already like this... what more 'can I' is there?"

"Do all your Special Operations colleagues hold each other like this? Kiss? Share a bed?"

He didn't get to finish.

Tang Xian'an's mouth crashed into his again.

This kiss was different. Hungry. Desperate. With no solid ground beneath them, Tang Xian'an's wings folded around them, a cocoon of feathers and heat, as they tumbled onto the warm sand.

"Lu Yan. Lu Yan. Yan Yan." The name was a rough, nasal murmur against his skin, punctuated by frantic kisses along his jaw, his cheek. The long, scaled tail erupted from the base of Tang Xian'an's spine, curling and lashing in the air behind him. "Yan Yan... do you like me too?"

Lu Yan thought he'd been fairly obvious.

But the look on Tang Xian'an's face suggested otherwise.

He replayed their encounters. Aside from those few times his talent had spiraled out of control, Tang Xian'an had always been silent around him. Restrained.

His emotions were like the ocean's surface—calm, windless—while underneath, currents raged.

Tang Xian'an, like Lu Yan, didn't know how to love. But unlike Lu Yan, he knew who he loved. He just didn't know the steps. The method.

Fortunately, love was an instinct written into the genes.

That instinct screamed to possess, to claim. Another part begged for restraint, for control.

And that fragile balance had just shattered. Not from some grand declaration, but from Lu Yan's casual, almost offhanded question. A tiny, unconscious nudge.

Screw restraint.

He wanted to mark Lu Yan as his own. Completely.

Lu Yan had to admit, Tang Xian'an's technique had improved. It no longer felt like being mauled by an overeager dog. The heat of it was stirring a very physical response in him.

Tang Xian'an was asking if he liked him.

Lu Yan often didn't understand what 'like' was supposed to feel like.

He thought for a moment. Then, following something deeper than thought, he let out a soft, breathy sound from the back of his throat. "Mhm."

Tang Xian'an's hand clenched, muscles straining to contain the tremor of pure, undiluted joy that shot through him.

Fragments of possible futures flashed behind his eyes—visions that had once made him hesitate, made him hold back.

None of it mattered now.

Whatever jagged path lay ahead, they had this moment. Together.