Chapter 71

Chapter 71

The system was silent.

That silence confirmed one thing with absolute clarity: this was not reality.

No matter how real the person before him seemed.

What Lu Yan wasn't sure of was whether this "Tang Xian'an" was a pollutant or something else entirely.

This was where the 200 contribution points spent to integrate the detector into his phone proved their worth.

The screen displayed Tang Xian'an's readings: 93.3% corruption. Nearly identical to the real one.

Lu Yan's racing heart gradually slowed. "I've been a bit tired lately," he answered calmly, already typing a string of numbers into his phone's notepad.

"If you're tired, you should get some rest." Tang Xian'an's reply was gentle, accompanied by a soft smile.

Lu Yan tsked inwardly. Tang Xian'an was better looking as the aloof, stoic type. This smile didn't hold the same punch.

Of course, maybe it was because this counterfeit had the face but none of the presence.

"I'll take you to the Prevention and Treatment Center," Tang Xian'an offered.

Lu Yan seriously considered following him for a moment, weighing the variables. The potential for things to go wrong was too high. "No need, Tang Xian'an. We're not that close."

A look of profound hurt flashed across Tang Xian'an's face.

Lu Yan's heart was stone. Unmoved, he tapped his phone to hail a ride.

"Then let me at least see you to the car," Tang Xian'an insisted. "I won't be at ease otherwise."

Lu Yan held his tongue. He was a grown man, one punch away from cratering the pavement. Short of a high-level pollutant dropping from the sky, he wasn't exactly in daily danger.

He was about to learn the folly of speaking in absolutes.

A car pulled to the curb. Its driver had a brain for a head.

Literally. From the neck up, there was no face—just a glistening, crimson cerebral mass, its surface veined and pulsating with a palpable, terrifying aura.

The ambient pollution value around them instantly spiked to 6000.

His phone chimed: Driver has arrived. Please board promptly.

Lu Yan glanced at the license plate. Damn it, it matched. Could a walking brain even legally obtain a driver's license?

He immediately reported the driver for unsafe operation and canceled the ride.

He was a second too late.

The brain-driver swung the door open and stepped out.

Tang Xian'an's expression shifted. He moved in front of Lu Yan, raised the long blade named Yellow Dust, and struck without hesitation.

The brain was cleaved in two. It hit the asphalt with a wet splat, white matter and blood spraying across the road.

The severed pieces didn't die. They writhed, growing into smaller, independent brains.

These new brains sprouted leg-like appendages and skittered in all directions, hunting.

Some burrowed directly into the heads of nearby pedestrians, ejecting the original brains. The newly possessed victims' faces twisted into sickly grins.

Others grew gaping, bloody maws, tore open scalps, and sucked the marrow dry before moving on to the next victim.

The sight sent a needle-sharp pain lancing through Lu Yan's own temples.

Tang Xian'an's face turned grave. "This is a spreading pollution source. City A cannot fall. Lu Yan, I need to use Dragon's Breath. I require your blood."

Lu Yan took half a step back. "And if I refuse?"

Tang Xian'an stared at him, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I cannot gamble with the lives of an entire city."

The Tang Xian'an of this mental space possessed the same absolute, overwhelming power as the real one.

The false Tang Xian'an pulled him into an embrace as inescapable as a lion pinning a gazelle. Lu Yan's limbs flailed weakly, uselessly.

He felt sharp teeth pierce his neck.

Blood was siphoned from his body with terrifying speed. The chill of severe blood loss set in almost immediately.

His consciousness blurred.

In the reflection of a shop window, he saw Tang Xian'an's face.

Those golden eyes held no emotion, only a primitive, ravenous hunger.

"Tang... Xian'an..."

It was too convincing. Even knowing it was fake, for a fleeting moment, Lu Yan was lost in the illusion.

It felt real. The touch, the pain, the sight—indistinguishable from reality.

And because it felt real, the agony was real.

Instinct took over near the end. His body thrashed in a final, desperate struggle.

It was futile. The arms holding him were bands of iron.

Soon, Lu Yan stopped breathing.

……

……

"Sir? You don't look well. Do you need assistance?"

The flight attendant's voice was thick with concern.

Lu Yan's head snapped up. His hand flew to his neck.

The memory of being drained dry was seared into his mind, the phantom pain lingering even now.

He checked his phone: 11:00 PM, August 29th. The flight from City K to City A had just taken off.

He was back. Several hours earlier.

"Sir, you're sweating profusely. Are you unwell?" the attendant pressed.

Lu Yan stood. "It's nothing. Just a bad dream."

He made for the restroom. 'System?' he called silently in his mind.

Still no answer.

He opened his phone, scrolled to his memos. The string of numbers he'd recorded before dying last time was gone.

That code had translated to a simple message: This is false. You are Lu Yan.

He looked at his reflection. Without him noticing, his irises had shifted to a pale, silvery white.

Sensing his distress, Wang Yu split a tiny fissure in his palm and gently licked his fingertip.

Lu Yan could feel it now—gaps in his memory.

His recall was usually impeccable, his mind an organized archive of filing cabinets.

Now, some of those drawers were empty.

And he didn't even know what he had forgotten.

They say a person is made of memories.

Memory grants the "self," what distinguishes one mind from another.

If all memories vanished, what remained? An empty shell? Would that shell still be him?

He didn't know, but he was certain it wouldn't be good.

He needed a way to remember.

If not with his mind, then with his body.

After a moment's thought, Lu Yan rolled up his sleeve. He drew the knife from his belt and carved a deep, deliberate line into his forearm.

To the creature within, he commanded, "Remember this for me."

Wang Yu wriggled, trying unsuccessfully to form the character for "okay," before settling for giving a forked-tongue thumbs-up.

……

……

This time, Lu Yan died in a plane crash.

He woke again. The clock had wound back further, to a few days prior. He was back in the City X Prevention and Treatment Center.

He'd fallen asleep in the treatment room while monitoring Zong Yan. He awoke with his head pillowed on the other man's leg. Zong Yan—or the entity piloting him—gazed down, crimson eyes unnervingly gentle.

"Have you been overworking, Doctor? Falling asleep on the job," 07 inquired.

Lu Yan looked down, his focus immediately going to his arm, hidden under his sleeve.

The mark was still there. One line.

He trusted himself.

Whether he remembered or not, every iteration of him would use this method to ensure the next "him" remembered.

A strange calm settled over him. He began to methodically search for a way to break the cycle.

Calm and sufficient information were the keys to finding hope within despair.

This time, Lu Yan died under the Pig-Head Butcher's cleaver.

……

……

The Divine Kingdom.

The largest brain shared its neural feed with the collective.

What it saw, the others saw.

The feed showed Lu Yan, now thrown back to his encounter with the frog-men in City K.

A particularly plump brain pulsed with admiration. "This one is remarkably tenacious."

A chorus of chittering agreement echoed through the psychic link.

"Indeed. Most lose consciousness completely after five or six deaths. This is the tenth cycle, and he's still fighting."

"Such a resilient consciousness! When he joins our family, he'll make a beautiful brain blossom!"

"Why let him join? Wouldn't he be better eaten?" a smaller brain ventured timidly.

Its suggestion found immediate and enthusiastic support.

"Exactly! We lost several devout believers just to set this trap. Trapped as we are here, every believer outside is a precious resource. Not to mention Brother Twenty-Three."

"Right! Brother Twenty-Three has been undercover for so long. He says the host he's possessing is always... engaging in lewd acts. It's draining him!"

In the Divine Kingdom, seniority was determined by mass. "Brother Twenty-Three," weighing in at 507 grams, held the 23rd position.

The largest brain accounted for nearly seventy percent of the colony's total mass. Its surface pulsed like a breathing lung. If its cortex could be wired, the bio-electricity generated by its thoughts could power a street's worth of lamps.

While the other brains buzzed with optimistic chatter, the largest one remained silent.

Through the efforts of its believers, it had successfully used hypnosis to guide Brother Twenty-Three into Lu Yan's mental space.

Consciousness space. The realm of a person's subconscious, hidden beneath the surface of their active mind.

According to the iceberg theory, the subconscious is the nine-tenths of the glacier buried beneath the waterline of conscious memory.

In the past, the brain colonies had dwelled here, dominated here. They knew exactly how to erode away that topmost tenth.

The subconscious is beyond conscious control, much like how a person cannot easily steer their own dreams.

This, of course, gave the Divine Kingdom room to operate. Here, it should have been the omnipotent sovereign.

Yet… Lu Yan’s consciousness space was not under its control.

Though the man’s memories were fading, and the doors to his subconscious were slowly creaking open, the Divine Kingdom understood it was merely an uninvited spectator, a trespassing passerby.

It could only observe passively. It could not orchestrate events like a god, as it had in the past.

Something far more terrifying occupied this place. The Divine Kingdom didn't know what it was. It could sense the thing was still asleep, but even the deep, resonant sound of its slumbering breath filled the colony with a primal urge to flee.

But it couldn't run. No one could leave until the consciousness space was fully conquered, or until Brother Twenty-Three was destroyed.

A sliver of genuine regret began to seep through its neural mass. So what if a few believers died? Not a real problem. So what if a few small brains were lost? As long as it had enough mass, death could never catch up.

It could only pray this was all a miscalculation.

After all, how could a mere human body possibly contain something so horrifying?