Chapter 41

41

Lu Yan didn’t have the gift of approachability, but he was good-looking.

When someone whose beauty put a chasm between them and ordinary people spoke to you softly, even without that particular gift, the effect was much the same.

In university, Lu Yan had dissected many rabbits. He knew exactly how to calm a frightened little creature.

But since it wasn’t appropriate to pat a grown man on the head, Lu Yan settled for gently rubbing his back.

Tang Xian’an’s ragged breathing gradually evened out, the tension in his expression slowly melting away.

He retracted his claws but didn’t drop his guard. He retreated to the corner of the room, his thick, long dragon tail curling around himself in a protective circle. Even without his sight, the look he directed at Lu Yan was one of deep wariness.

In the monitoring room, the other staff members let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness. Tang truly has retained his human reason and consciousness.” Katherine wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a tissue. “Now I can leave the Institute with peace of mind.”

“The earlier incidents of aggression were likely just a stress response from post-operative rejection,” Professor Wu added. “Tang Xian’an’s aberration level is still very high. We can continue observation after the fusion is more complete.”

Among the group of featureless researchers, a professor named Gong Weibin stood out starkly because he possessed an actual human face.

It was an unsmiling face, severe and gloomy. His nails were bitten down to the quick, and his hands were peeling, perhaps from a vitamin deficiency or something else.

Gong Weibin spoke coldly. “Don’t celebrate too soon. With this kind of hybrid between human and pollutant, who knows what kind of monster it will ultimately become. Many experiments require time to prove their results.”

If Lu Yan had been there, he might have been shocked.

During his new employee orientation at headquarters, he’d vaguely heard that the current director of the First Research Institute was named Gong Weibin.

His words made Professor Katherine frown with discomfort. “We are not conducting an experiment. We are facilitators. Assisting combat-type Awakened to gain greater power.”

Gong Weibin smiled but didn’t reply, shifting instead to his own research topic. “My recent findings indicate that transplanting canine genes into synthetic humans instills a dog-like loyalty in the subjects…”

“I will never approve your research proposal,” Katherine said, her frown deepening.

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Professor Wu quickly interjected. “Alright, alright. The fact that Tang Xian’an doesn’t require euthanasia is a cause for celebration. Why so serious? Let’s not talk shop today. Where’s Director Qiao?”

“Not sure. Heard he had business and went out.”

*

The first wave of evolution seemed to be a selection by heaven itself. Among the highly educated, an unusually large number of Awakened had emerged.

Yu Hanxi, Qiao Yu’s longtime friend, was one of them. His talent was called Foresight.

Yu Hanxi was also a thorough workaholic. Having never married, even after losing the ability to father children, he had adopted a daughter from an orphanage two years ago, naming her Yu Zhizhi.

The little girl was born with intellectual disabilities, but she was utterly adorable.

Professor Yu treated her as his own. Fearing no one would care for her after his death, he had even set up a special trust fund.

Both men were busy, so they often communicated via messaging apps. Only this time, Yu Hanxi had been adamant that Qiao Yu come to his home.

So Qiao Yu went.

The moment he saw Yu Hanxi, Qiao Yu understood why his friend had insisted.

Yu Hanxi looked… terrifying.

The skin on his face was sloughing off, his hair was completely gone, his blood vessels were engorged, and fine crimson threads of blood constantly seeped from his capillaries. He looked like someone who had suffered severe radiation poisoning.

“What happened to you?!” Qiao Yu had seen his share of horrors, but witnessing this happen to a close friend made it hard to stay composed. “How did you get like this?”

Yu Hanxi gave a self-deprecating smile. “Talent overuse. As expected, I’ll be dead soon.”

“What did you do to overuse it so severely?”

Yu Hanxi coughed twice, spitting out fragments of spleen and lung tissue. “I didn’t do anything. I just had a dream.”

“I only have time to tell you… Qiao Yu.” Profound exhaustion was etched on Yu Hanxi’s face. “In the dream, I saw Zhizhi. Her whole body began to glow. I approached that light source and could feel my talent ceasing to function… No, not ceasing. It was like I’d returned to my pre-Cataclysm state.”

“I was amazed. I took Zhizhi to find you. On the way, we encountered the Wall of Resentment. But when the light from Zhizhi touched it, the wall turned back into an ordinary wall…”

“There were many other pollutants on the road. They all reverted to their pre-Cataclysm states. But… there were too many of them. They went mad, attacking Zhizhi incessantly. The light around her grew dimmer. And dimmer. I tried to protect her, but she still faded away in my arms. The world plunged into instant darkness, shrouded in pollution.”

Tears of blood streaked Yu Hanxi’s face, blurring his vision. “Then I woke up. Do you remember our earliest hypothesis?”

Qiao Yu’s heart shook. “…If there is pollution, then there must be purification.”

“Yes. My aberration level will soon exceed 100. But I don’t want to become one of those things. After you leave, I will end it myself.” Yu Hanxi’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. “I entrust Yu Zhizhi to you.”

“Alright.”

Qiao Yu’s voice was firm, but it carried an inexpressible sorrow.

Yu Hanxi turned and waved to the little girl silently watching everything from upstairs. “Zhizhi, come here. Daddy won’t be able to watch you grow up. Listen to Uncle Qiao Yu from now on.”

*

The First Research Institute gained another little resident. She wasn’t an Awakened undergoing modification, nor was she a researcher.

Rumor had it she was the only daughter of Director Qiao’s close friend. The friend had died suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage, leaving the daughter with no one to care for her, so Professor Qiao had brought her along.

The story didn’t quite hold up. Scientists at their level weren’t exactly short on money.

Besides, what could the cold machinery and instruments offer compared to the colorful world outside?

But Yu Zhizhi was exceptionally calm and quiet. She didn’t cry or make a fuss.

While Qiao Yu wrote his experimental reports, she would sit quietly nearby, drawing pictures or playing Tetris on a pixelated game console.

Yu Zhizhi’s drawings were simple childlike sketches, using bright, vivid colors. She seemed like a rather talented little girl.

Director Qiao’s word was law within his institute, and since Yu Zhizhi never caused trouble, everyone tacitly accepted her presence.

Some of the more maternally inclined researchers would even buy pretty dresses after work for Yu Zhizhi to wear.

……

……

What happened outside Sub-Level Ten had little to do with Lu Yan for the time being.

His job was to record Tang Xian’an’s daily physical condition and to feed him.

Although Awakened didn’t strictly need sleep or food, going without for too long caused problems—like the degeneration of digestive organs.

Fortunately, right next to Tang Xian’an’s bedroom was Lu Yan’s quarters and a kitchen.

Lu Yan liked to call his room the nanny’s suite. Perhaps due to space constraints deep underground, his living area was only about the size of a six-person dorm room. Next to the bedroom, however, was a game room that was surprisingly spacious.

To put it more bluntly, Lu Yan’s entire living space was smaller than the bathroom with a tub in Tang Xian’an’s bedroom. It seemed they hadn’t planned for anyone other than Tang Xian’an to live here long-term.

Since Lu Yan lived alone, it was just about tolerable.

At Lu Yan’s request, staff delivered fresh ingredients daily to the elevator entrance.

Every morning, Lu Yan would open four doors to go out, pick up the groceries, close four doors to come back. A round trip of less than five hundred meters took half an hour and sixteen identity verifications.

Cooking was one of his few hobbies.

Today’s lunch was tomato meatball soup and stir-fried pork with green peppers. The aroma of garlic and ginger sizzling in hot oil was tantalizing.

He plated the stir-fry and, out of the corner of his eye, saw someone peeking through the kitchen door crack. When he turned his head, the doorway was empty.

On this floor, aside from him and Tang Xian’an, there didn’t seem to be anyone else.

He carried the dishes to the dining table, thought for a moment, then went and knocked on the bedroom door. “Awake? Want to come out and eat?”

No response.

But when Lu Yan woke from his nap and went to load the dishwasher, he found the plates on the table empty.

Cooking for one or cooking for two didn’t seem to make much difference.

Lu Yan got used to plating meals separately and getting up to wash dishes after a nap.

On the fifth day, his invisible roommate finally emerged from the bedroom and silently sat down at the dining table.

Tang Xian’an’s physique hadn’t changed much, but the dragon wings and tail on his back couldn’t be retracted yet. They took up a lot of space, making him look particularly bulky.

Lu Yan had set out chopsticks for him, but his visibly mutated hands clearly couldn’t grip them properly.

Any food he picked up would fall back onto the table within three seconds.

But Tang Xian’an was stubborn. He seemed desperate to prove he could still be “human” in front of Lu Yan. Despite repeated, clumsy failures, he kept trying to use the chopsticks, frustration building until the whites of his eyes were webbed with angry red veins.

It looked both terrifying and pitiful.

Lu Yan set his own chopsticks down. After a moment of silence, he said, “Let me.”

Tang Xian’an went still in his chair.

His teeth were sharp, needle-like. With every spoonful Lu Yan brought to his lips, the man felt a fleeting, irrational fear of being bitten.

But Tang Xian’an remained docile throughout. So docile, in fact, that his dragon tail had unconsciously wound itself around Lu Yan’s waist.

……

……

Day ten of their cohabitation.

Lu Yan closed the heavy binder labeled “Modification Surgery Records,” switched off the light, and prepared for sleep.

He’d asked Professor Wu for as much research material as he could get. In the real world, these documents were top-secret. Not reading them here, in the dream, would be a waste.

Things seemed to be progressing well. Tang Xian’an’s aberration level was slowly dropping. The dragon wings on his back had stopped bleeding, though the daily shedding of scales remained.

Every morning when Lu Yan went to record his vitals, the bed was always strewn with blood and dark, discarded scales.

The new scales grew in sharper, harder. But if the old ones weren’t fully shed, they’d pile up, competing for nutrients until they turned diseased and white.

So, Lu Yan had another daily task: checking Tang Xian’an for any lingering old scales. If he found any, he had to remove them with a tool.

Lu Yan had had scales ripped out before. He knew the pain.

But there was no other way.

This was Tang Xian’an’s weakest time each day. He’d rest his head on Lu Yan’s shoulder, listless. When a stubborn scale was finally pried loose, a pained, stifled grunt would escape his nostrils.

Painkillers were nearly useless on him. All Lu Yan could do was squeeze the back of his neck in a futile attempt to soothe him—a difficult gesture, as the shedding process often left Tang Xian’an’s back a raw, bloody mess with no safe place to touch.

The most torturous part for both of them was the scales on the tail, especially near the base.

The skin there was far more sensitive. Removing scales from that area elicited much stronger reactions.

These included, but were not limited to, clawing the bedsheets, full-body tremors, and soft, broken whimpers.

Lu Yan wasn’t sure if he heard actual crying.

Yet, even then, Tang Xian’an would obediently lift his tail, making it easier for Lu Yan to inspect.

Lu Yan: “…”

After removing just a few scales, he had to put down the large surgical pliers. He went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and tried to steady his breathing.

“A person should not,” he said to his reflection, his face utterly blank, “be this… depraved.”

Still, overall, progress was steady.

……

……

Day thirty.

Tang Xian’an’s aberration level finally dropped below 90. His hands had reverted to a human form. He’d regained simple cognitive function and the ability to make sounds.

Tang Xian’an could finally talk. His three most frequent sentences were: “Lu Yan. Hungry.” “Lu Yan. Tired.” “Lu Yan. Hurts.”

According to what the System had said earlier, the key to breaking the dream was to wake its owner.

But after all this time, Lu Yan still had no idea how to make Tang Xian’an wake up.

Life had settled into such a seamless, mundane rhythm that Lu Yan sometimes felt he’d melted into the dream itself. Only the sight of the featureless researchers coming and going reminded him this wasn’t real.

The research team stated that as the fusion stabilized further and his aberration level decreased, Tang Xian’an would gradually shed this “infantile” state.

Lu Yan believed it. Because a month later, Tang Xian’an finally learned to remove his own scales, no longer needing assistance.

The day Tang Xian’an pushed him out of the bedroom to handle it himself, Lu Yan felt an absurd pang of something like an empty-nester’s melancholy.

After discussion, the research team decided Tang Xian’an needed more external contact to regain his social faculties.

Thus, Lu Yan gained a new task, which he privately termed “walking the dog.” A leash was in his hand. The other end was attached to a high-voltage shock collar around Tang Xian’an’s neck.

Sub-Levels 8 and 9 housed other volunteers undergoing modification surgery. Levels 4 and 5 were living quarters and recreation areas for researchers. Level 1 was the shelter. Levels 2 and 3 were the experimental zones.

Every day, Lu Yan would walk Tang Xian’an around Sub-Levels 5 through 9 for two hours. It seemed to help. Tang Xian’an’s learning accelerated rapidly. Stuck on Level 10, he hadn’t mastered chopsticks in a month. Out here, he learned in two days.

Lu Yan still had no idea where the First Research Institute was actually located.

But this underground space seemed to be an inverted pyramid, growing narrower the deeper it went.

At first, everyone was tense. If Tang Xian’an suddenly went berserk, no one present could restrain him. Fortunately, though he looked ferocious, he listened to Lu Yan. Over time, the nervousness faded.

Professor Wu highly praised Lu Yan’s work, clapping him on the shoulder. “Xiao Lu, I knew Director Qiao hadn’t misjudged you. You’ve exceeded all expectations!”

Beside him stood a timid little girl.

To Lu Yan’s surprise, her face was also perfectly clear.

After being in the dream this long, Lu Yan had figured one thing out: anyone who retained their facial features in Tang Xian’an’s dream was likely a key figure.

Professor Wu introduced her as Director Qiao’s niece, Yu Zhizhi.

Lu Yan nodded. “Thank you.”

Tang Xian’an’s icy gaze fixed on the spot where Professor Wu’s hand had touched Lu Yan’s shoulder.

A chill ran down the old professor’s spine, and he quickly withdrew his hand. “Ahem! Well, Professor Qiao says they’ve finalized the design for Tang Xian’an’s ocular modification surgery. They’ve located a suitable pollution source. If the procedure succeeds, he’ll gain a pair of Golden Eyes that will never lose their sight…”

Yu Zhizhi didn’t speak. She glanced at Lu Yan and the man beside him, then looked down, scribbling on a piece of paper.

Lu Yan and Professor Wu had only run into each other in the break room. Their chat was brief.

Just as Lu Yan was about to leave, the little girl stepped forward and tugged on the hem of his shirt.

Yu Zhizhi stood on her tiptoes and handed him two drawings.

Professor Wu smiled. “Zhizhi loves to draw. These are for you.”

“Thank you, Zhizhi.” Lu Yan gave her a gentle smile. “They’re very good.”

He looked down at the two sheets of paper. The smile froze on his face.

The first drawing depicted a black dragon. Enormous, wreathed in flames. Despite the childish lines, the image radiated a palpable fury. Its golden eyes were slashed through with two thick, dark blue crayon marks, like tears.

The second drawing used blue waves to depict an ocean. A figure of indeterminate gender was deep underwater. Its lower body was a long, dark golden tail—less like a fish’s, more like a serpent’s or a dragon’s.

The tail occupied two-thirds of the page. Though no expression was drawn and the colors were bright, the overall feeling was profoundly dark.

Thin black lines coiled around the long tail, as if trying to drag it down into the abyss.