Chapter 164

164 / Extra: Time (Part 2)

Lu Yan turned, cradling Tang Xun’an in his arms, and walked back into the operating room.

His return drew surprised stares from the doctors present. Their shock deepened when they saw the face of the man he carried.

“That’s… Team Leader Tang?!” Researcher Jia blurted out, stunned. “How is he injured this badly?”

Since Lu Yan had started his hospital rotation, the Research Institute had quietly assigned a batch of elite researchers as his assistants—ostensibly to assist in surgery, but in reality, to learn from him. Researcher Jia, a candidate for the Third Research Institute, was among them. Lu Yan didn’t mind.

Tang Xun’an’s injuries came from a pollutant known as ‘Rotvine.’

Rotvine was a notoriously virulent pollution source in the early days. Wherever it spread, contaminated plants would sprout thorns, transmitting the Pollution Disease to anyone scratched by them.

Most infected by the disease became fertilizer, but a few became carriers of the vine’s seeds. They showed no symptoms, yet their bodies were packed with wheat-like seed pods that would explode in crowded areas, spreading Rotvine across the globe.

Headquarters had mobilized nearly its full force to eradicate the parent plant.

The other assistants’ gazes flickered between the two men with uneasy suspicion, half-convinced Tang Xun’an had been a victim of domestic violence. After all, aside from Lu Yan, who else could inflict such severe wounds on him now?

Lu Yan paused, then explained. “This is Tang Xun’an from the past.”

Researcher Jia’s expression cleared in understanding. “It’s the time ability?”

“Yes.”

A hint of softness touched Lu Yan’s eyes.

He used his blade to slit open Tang Xun’an’s clothing. The weapon was forged by Headquarters from bone once filed from Tang Xun’an himself—sharp enough to slice through iron.

The extent of the rot was severe. The flesh around the wounds had blackened, and the vine’s seed pods clung directly to exposed bone, looking from a distance like a cluster of tiny, blood-sucking ticks.

[Tsk tsk. No wonder he thought he’d die. With the technology back then, saving him would have been nearly impossible.]

Lu Yan removed his leather gloves. His skin was cold porcelain white, the knuckles devoid of any callus—like a meticulously crafted work of art. With his severe mysophobia, he normally avoided any physical contact with patients.

But for this state, it was more efficient than a scalpel.

Two of his fingers began to lengthen, swiftly transforming into deep crimson tentacles covered in translucent scales.

Though accustomed to all manner of pollution sources, the assisting doctors unanimously averted their gazes. Even with Lu Yan restraining his presence, looking too long could still turn their stomachs. Gazing upon the true form of a deity always demanded a price.

The scarlet tendrils acted like bone scrapers, peeling away the attached seed pods. They tasted like intensely sour blueberries. Since they weren’t palatable, Lu Yan discarded them all into the biohazard bin.

More seeds hid beneath unbroken skin and muscle. The tip of a tentacle gently pried apart the crimson muscle layer, delving inward.

The system suddenly spoke with grave respect. [This is what you call deep communication. A bit too literal, isn’t it?]

Lu Yan didn’t answer.

He cleared the attached pollutants before they could sprout. Yet, a significant portion of Tang Xun’an’s flesh had already been consumed as nutrients for the vine. When Lu Yan had carried him earlier, he’d noticed how impossibly light the man was.

The 103-year-old Tang Xun’an weighed over seven hundred pounds. But this one, despite his six-foot-two frame, probably didn’t even reach a hundred pounds.

Lu Yan considered for a moment, then raised his hand.

A hazy, white mist coalesced in his palm.

Elsewhere, the Pope, who had been sleeping, suddenly felt a part of himself diminish. He had a vague sense that Lu Yan had borrowed his Talent 12—Revival—again.

The mist sank into Tang Xun’an’s body.

The grievously wounded and broken form began to visibly heal. New flesh grew, brimming with vibrant vitality. Though not the first time he’d witnessed this, Researcher Jia felt, every time, that this was what a miracle must look like.

During the treatment, Lu Yan discovered something else.

Tang Xun’an’s talent was damaged.

His injuries had been too severe, bringing him to the brink of death. At the final moment, he had overdrawn his time ability to reach Lu Yan.

In other words, by exhausting it prematurely, this Tang Xun’an had lost his ability to traverse time.

The system began whispering suggestions. [Want to fix it? Strip the time talent from the big dog-dragon and give it to the little puppy-dragon. That would heal him.]

Logically, with the Pollution Disease now under control, Tang Xun’an’s time talent was somewhat redundant. Giving it to his past self might spare him some suffering.

But Lu Yan refused. “Don’t tamper with the timeline arbitrarily. The world as it is now is good. Moreover, doing that would be deeply unfair to the present Tang Xun’an.”

Tang Xun’an had endured immense hardship to become who he was. Sometimes, Lu Yan also found the brash, spirited puppy-dragon from their first meeting endearing.

But he loved the present Tang Xun’an. Any more, any less, and he wouldn’t be the same man.

The system sighed, feeling it was a shame.

*

Lu Yan usually returned home before 4 AM. Even on the rare occasion he was delayed, he would call Tang Xun’an.

But now it was 7 AM.

Dawn was breaking. A few streets over, Detective had already set up his breakfast stall. Still, there was no sign of Lu Yan.

With the Pollution Disease under control, Detective had fully abandoned his undercover work around Zhou Qiming. He’d taken over his father’s egg pancake stall. Thanks to patronage from his former Special Operations colleagues, business was booming—he was on the verge of opening a chain.

Tang Xun’an thought for a moment, changed his clothes, and decided to buy two egg pancakes before heading to the hospital to pick Lu Yan up.

Just as he was about to leave, a sound came from the doorway.

Lu Yan had finally returned. And he wasn’t alone—he carried someone in his arms.

The figure looked familiar.

For an instant, Tang Xun’an felt a powerful sense of repulsion. It wasn’t born of disgust, but rather a glitch in the disordered flow of time, causing a faint spatial distortion.

It didn’t require much thought. “Is that me?” Tang Xun’an asked.

Lu Yan nodded. “Twenty-nine years old.”

Tang Xun’an was silent for a beat. “Twenty-nine… That was during the cleanup operation in City B. The liaison reported I’d briefly lost vital signs. About three minutes. After that, I lost part of my talent.”

His past self’s period of consciousness here had lasted mere seconds—just long enough to see Lu Yan before falling into a coma.

“I thought it was a dream.”

So he had come to the future.

Even the present, immensely powerful Tang Xun’an could feel the temporal strain. For his past self, the sense of dissonance would be even stronger.

Lu Yan stroked the puppy-dragon’s forehead and laid him on the sofa. “Send him back.”

The Tang Xun’an reborn from the Black Dragon’s body possessed a complete time ability once more. Borrowing time directly from him would cost Lu Yan significantly, and Tang Xun’an would inevitably demand an explanation later. So, while he could use Deprivation on him, it wasn’t necessary.

“Alright,” Tang Xun’an agreed readily.

He took his own past hand.

The puppy-dragon’s body began to grow transparent. He frowned, as if in pain. Lu Yan reached out and smoothed the crease between his brows, his expression uncharacteristically gentle.

The man in his arms seemed to sense something. His golden eyes fluttered open, a film of moisture glazing them.

“Doctor Lu…?”

The system asked, [Just sending him back like this? Not showing the puppy-dragon a bit of the future first?]

In a way, it reflected Lu Yan’s own thoughts. Seeing a severely injured Tang Xun’an always stirred a particular kind of tenderness in him.

Lu Yan thought about it. “No.”

This situation was akin to a single-child family suddenly having a second. The bowl of water could never be balanced perfectly. The present Tang Xun’an would feel the sting.

Perhaps sensing his imminent disappearance, the puppy-dragon grew apprehensive, yet a surge of courage rose within him. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to Lu Yan’s cheek.

In the next second, his form faded rapidly, as if skipping straight to the final frame.

Only Lu Yan and Tang Xun’an remained in the living room.

Lu Yan looked up, meeting Tang Xun’an’s gaze. The other man’s lips were pressed into a thin line, a wealth of unspoken words in his eyes.

[Pathetic, getting jealous of yourself,] the system sneered.

Lu Yan stood, but before he could speak, an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

Tang Xun’an buried his face in the crook of Lu Yan’s neck, inhaling softly. “Why didn’t you dodge?”

If Lu Yan had wanted to, he could have easily avoided that kiss.

Tang Xun’an’s voice held little inflection, but it carried a note of unmistakable grievance.

Lu Yan said nothing.

“Do you… feel sorry for him?” Tang Xun’an asked then.

Lu Yan didn’t deny it. “A little.”

The arm around his waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

Tang Xun’an pressed his lips to Lu Yan’s cheek, as if trying to overwrite the mark left by his earlier self.

Many people thought Lu Yan was cold, emotionless, and by extension, incapable of deep feeling.

Only Tang Xun’an had experienced the depth of Lu Yan’s partiality.

Yet, sometimes, he couldn’t help but want a little more.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, Tang Xun’an would recall the memories from the Black Dragon.

He understood—that was also his past self.

In that past, he too had met Lu Yan.

The Black Dragon had also given everything for Lu Yan, yet received not a shred of response in return.

Because they belonged to opposing factions. Lu Yan was the godson of the Deep Sea Society, a church that did not oppose marriage—for marriage was an exchange of interests—but forbade romantic love, for emotion was a burden to the divine.

They could not, and should not, have had a future.

The Black Dragon had met the right person at the wrong time.

So Tang Xian’an understood: Lu Yan’s favor was a rare and special fortune.

It was just that the affection Lu Yan gave was too restrained, too subtle. Even if a fraction of it were directed toward his past self, Tang Xian’an couldn’t help the jealousy that stirred.

Lu Yan let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. “Tang Xian’an.”

“Hm?”

“Have I ever told you I like you?”

Tang Xian’an froze.

A premonition of what Lu Yan was about to say hit him, and his hands actually began to tremble with a sudden, overwhelming surge of feeling.

Lu Yan said, “I love you.”

He had learned knowledge in school, learned to interact with people in society, and through observation, learned to simulate emotions.

When to laugh, when to be angry, when to cry.

But Lu Yan could not learn how to love.

For a long stretch of his growth, he hadn’t known what the feeling called “love” even was.

Fortunately, love doesn’t need to be learned. Love is instinct, rising from the depths of the heart.

And that instinct had tethered a god to the mortal world.

(Side Story 1 - End)