Chapter 76

Chapter 76

Lu Yan ended up staying at Tang Xian’an’s place for several days straight.

Tang Xian’an had asked once if he wanted to go out, but Lu Yan, disliking the crowds, had refused.

What pleasantly surprised Lu Yan was that Tang Xian’an’s home, besides the pool, also boasted a private shooting range.

If the house hadn’t been purchased over a decade ago, the system would have genuinely suspected it was all part of his scheme.

The bow Lu Yan had spent tens of thousands on finally had a proper place to be used.

He nocked an arrow, drew, and released. His brow immediately furrowed. His accuracy was off.

He fired several more in quick succession.

Tang Xian’an watched from the side for a moment. "You used a competition compound bow before. This is a hunting bow. The technique is different."

He moved forward with a natural ease, leaning in close to adjust Lu Yan’s posture. Live long enough, and you could learn a bit of everything.

"Hunter bows use a smaller axle-to-axle length for portability. Higher draw weight. The string angle at full draw is more acute than your target bow."

He was very close.

Lu Yan caught the faint, clean scent of laundry detergent on him, warmed by the sun.

The system was furious. [He’s copping a feel, the dog!]

Lu Yan thought, Not really.

"Focus the force through your back muscles." Tang Xian’an’s gaze remained fixed ahead. He picked up another bow, drew it smoothly, and released.

The arrow flew straight and buried itself in the bullseye.

Any fleeting, ambiguous thoughts in Lu Yan’s mind evaporated, replaced by a prickly, competitive urge.

He spent the entire morning at the range, practicing until a layer of sweat coated his skin.

By the time he finished showering, Tang Xian’an was in the kitchen, slicing vegetables.

The Eighth Research Institute had delivered fresh ingredients today—Horned Pork. The pollutant was snow-white, with wings and horns, its contamination value ranging from 100 to 300. After processing, the meat’s value could be controlled under 50.

Horned Pigs were a new breed created by feeding ordinary white pigs plant-based pollutants. They were already farmed on a scale, though far more aggressive than regular swine.

The system chose that moment to clear its throat.

[Headquarters has long been considering how to maintain social order if the Pollution Disease erupts fully. "Well-fed, people know propriety; well-clothed, they understand honor." Securing stable food sources is part of the future deployment plan. Among other things, Headquarters has drafted several contingency plans for survivor bases.]

Lu Yan pondered for a moment. "I can’t picture a full-scale outbreak."

[Most pollutant evolution currently trends toward lethality, not transmissibility. You’ve already witnessed a localized outbreak in K City. A full-scale one would just mean the source changes from fish eggs to something else.]

Tang Xian’an wasn’t talkative. Neither was Lu Yan, especially after acquiring the "Delirium" talent.

Of course, the main reason today was that Tang Xian’an had shot ten arrows that morning, all hitting dead center.

Lu Yan had practiced all morning, and his accuracy still hovered between the 8 and 10 rings.

It didn’t put him in a chatty mood.

Lu Yan tied on an apron and glanced at Tang Xian’an. He’d assumed the other man couldn’t cook, but his knife skills were impeccable—the meat slices were thin as cicada wings, fat and lean perfectly marbled.

They were having hotpot for lunch.

Lu Yan picked up a kitchen knife. That strange competitive urge flared again.

He took a block of tofu from the fridge, his tone casual. "Let’s have Wensi Tofu today."

The system seemed to want to say something but stopped itself. [...]

For a while, the only sounds were the chopping of knives and the bubbling of water. The birds outside the window were livelier than the two people in the kitchen.

It had Xiao Tian anxiously patting his doggy legs, wishing Tang Xian’an, for all his years, wasn’t as dense as a block of wood.

Just as Lu Yan began slicing the tofu, his phone rang.

His contacts were few. A glance showed it was his university class monitor.

Lu Yan had attended university in City A.

His college entrance exam score had been exceptionally high. Policies forbade promoting top scorers, so his alma mater’s banner had read: "A person from Xidu Province who performed relatively well in science." 727 points—enough to choose any university and major in the country.

He chose Yan University’s Medical School, a seven-year combined bachelor’s and master’s program with a direct path to a Ph.D.

Throughout university, Lu Yan’s grades were consistently first in his major.

However, after completing his master’s, he returned to his hometown, K City, baffling his classmates and professors.

Some professors who knew he’d lost both parents contacted him privately, offering loans to help him continue his studies.

They didn’t realize Lu Yan had no particular obsession with academic credentials. He just wanted to get into the operating room sooner, to become a surgeon.

To cut people.

After graduation, he’d basically lost contact with his university classmates.

But out of respect for the class monitor, Lu Yan answered.

"Lu Yan!" The monitor’s voice was as robust as ever. "You left the group right after graduation, vanished. Lucky you never changed your number."

Lu Yan: "What is it?"

"Damn, so cold…" The monitor sounded a bit embarrassed. "Even though you rejected my confession back then, we were roommates for years. That counts for something, right?"

Lu Yan wanted to say he’d misunderstood. Countless people had confessed to him in university. He hadn’t given it a second thought.

He was just naturally unsocial.

The monitor laughed. "Mid-Autumn Festival is in a few days. Class reunion, coming? Professor Zhao will be there too."

The Professor Zhao he mentioned was one of the teachers who had offered to lend Lu Yan money.

Lu Yan thought for a moment. "I’ll go. Send me the address later. By the way, can I bring a plus-one?"

He was still under surveillance. He had to bring Tang Xian’an.

The monitor was shocked. "You… you got married? Such a big thing, why didn’t you post about it?"

He sounded like he was choking up.

"Not yet." Lu Yan glanced at the man beside him, lowering his voice. "Working on it."

Tang Xian’an’s knife slipped, nicking his hand.

His hand was fine. The knife now had a chip in its blade.

*

City A. Jinjian Mountain.

To evade the omnipresent contamination value monitoring, the City Lord had carved out a separate world in the suburbs.

[Talent 4 - World]**, a special-type talent. Authority over space.

Anyone approaching would find a transparent barrier enveloping an area, impossible to enter.

Occasionally, small animals bumped into the barrier before wandering off, confused.

It was, after all, a mountainous area, rarely visited by people.

A hundred meters away, the restless roar of a train entering the city could be heard.

Shen Qingyang’s tentacles gripped bamboo skewers, flipping the meat.

A sizzle. Oil bubbled on the surface, releasing a fragrant aroma.

The cooking ingredients were ordered from the slaughterhouse. Lu Zhi said it was a friends-and-family price, giving the Prophet a 30% discount plus two vouchers.

The meat pigs today were of excellent quality.

Shen Qingyang had plenty of tentacles. Over the past half-year, they’d grown from nine to thirteen.

Thus, he could grill, chop vegetables, and stir-fry simultaneously. He also handled washing and prepping—each tentacle had its own subsidiary brain, requiring no conscious control.

His human upper body sat quietly, working on advanced calculus problems. He had already self-studied up to integral calculus.

This summer homework booklet was snatched from a returning university student’s bag. It came with a complete set of textbooks.

Although Shen Qingyang hadn’t taken the college entrance exam, high school math no longer satisfied him.

The City Lord sighed from his recliner. "So convenient, having many hands."

The City Lord’s appearance was jarring.

If Lu Yan looked like a 3D model, the City Lord was one. The edges of his skin emitted a white light, reminiscent of a virtual intelligence core from a sci-fi movie.

City Lord. B-Class pollutant. Contamination value: 6,100.

Talent: World.

Affliction Direction: Virtualization, Pixelation.

Although his awakened talent ranking was high and he’d become a pollutant exceptionally early, the City Lord himself wasn’t particularly powerful.

Even as a human, he’d loved gaming.

After becoming a pollutant, he spent decades using his talent to construct a mobile underground dungeon for himself.

The City Lord usually hid in his dungeon, gaming happily. Most people couldn’t find him.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t hide from the Prophet’s foresight.

This was the third time the Prophet had foreseen him and dragged him out for manual labor.

The first time, he helped build the slaughterhouse. The second, he constructed Mermaid Island.

Shen Qingyang placed the grilled skewers on his plate.

The City Lord grinned. "Thanks, boss."

A moment later, a small bird woven from flames flew over, alighting on a tree branch. A phoenix rests on a parasol tree; the branch promptly turned charred black.

The flame, as if alive, hopped onto the grass, then wove itself into a human shape.

07 stepped from the fire. After retracting all flames, he looked no different from an ordinary person—even the burn scars on his face were gone.

Shen Qingyang shot him a glance. For some reason, from the first second he saw 07, he felt deeply uncomfortable.

Maybe because he was an aquatic creature, and 07’s talent was Purgatorial Fire.

So, on the skewer handed to 07, Shen Qingyang couldn’t resist squeezing a bit of pufferfish toxin from his tentacle. Probably not lethal. Might cause vomiting from food poisoning.

07 accepted it with a thanks but didn’t eat.

He knew what this meat was and couldn’t yet cross that mental hurdle.

The Prophet stood up. "Number 7."

07's expression was calm, but a thread of anger ran beneath his words. "When you escaped, you said you'd come back to save the others. You broke your promise."

The Prophet, Subject 18.

Before 07, he was the only pollutant to successfully escape the Research Institute.

That escape had been built on the efforts and sacrifices of countless other subjects.

Subject 02 had died during that very operation.

The Prophet pulled back his hood, his large red eyes filled with sorrow. "I never forgot our promise. But one person is far from enough to stand against the Institute. All these years, I've been following the visions, trying to forge the most powerful pollutant to rescue you all. I never forgot the hatred…"

"When I learned you'd left the Institute, I had someone contact you immediately."

This was, of course, a lie.

But if 07 wasn't placated, things could get messy.

07's scrutinizing gaze landed on Shen Qingyang. "Him?"

Shen Qingyang stopped turning the skewers, put away his pen, and the dozens of black tentacles writhed, the deep blue eyes upon them fixed unblinkingly on 07.

His talent included Mimicry, and Shen Qingyang had grown accustomed to using it constantly. Pollutants didn't need to worry about lesion progression anyway.

It made him appear much weaker than his actual readings suggested.

Shen Qingyang smiled. "Sometimes data is just garbage that interferes with judgment. Would you like to test that theory?"

The black tentacles swelled, the eyes upon them a form of psychic pollution in themselves.

Mutual dislike hung thick in the air.

The City Lord whispered, "Please don't fight. If the contamination value fluctuates too much, we'll be detected…"

His own contamination value wasn't high. If these two really went at it, they'd likely shatter the barrier.

The Prophet hurried to mediate. "Our goal remains rescuing the others from the First Research Institute. Pollutants across the world should unite! Down with humanity!"

Shen Qingyang shot 07 a glance and put his book away. "I'm not going."

His adherence to the Prophet's plans had always been half-hearted at best.

But ever since the Prophet proved incapable of solving advanced calculus, his refusals had become noticeably more frequent.

The Prophet felt wronged. He'd been out of college for nearly thirty years, after all.

"Xiao Shen," the Prophet pleaded, "destroying the First Research Institute is a crucial step in the plan. Don't give up halfway."

Only by blowing up the First Institute could they rescue Subjects 01 through 09, along with the other test subjects.

In the future, these would be the core forces in the fight against humanity!

The Prophet would never abandon them.

He didn't know the future he'd seen had undergone another, not insignificant, alteration.

He'd even planned how to protect Gong Weibin after the Institute was destroyed and the subjects freed, to stop the enraged others from killing him.

Shen Qingyang wasn't listening. He retracted his tentacles, pulled his hat down over his head, and said, "Do as you like. I'm going for a walk."

With his Mimicry talent, he wasn't worried about being discovered.

The Prophet initially meant to stop him, but the large vertical eye soon narrowed to a slit.

Then, the human face on his back curled into a mocking smile.

"Go on, then. Don't be late."

Shen Qingyang didn't go far before turning back.

He held out his hand, his tone unyielding. "Teacher, give me some money."

He could skip meals, but he needed fare for the subway. He couldn't very well sprint down the street on a bunch of octopus legs.

The Prophet: "…"

What pollutant still used currency these days?

The Prophet emptied his pockets and finally produced a crumpled 20-yuan note, handing it to Shen Qingyang.

*

The form Shen Qingyang mimicked was that of a high school student.

Not handsome, not ugly, wearing glasses—the kind of utterly ordinary, easily overlooked person you see everywhere.

He blended seamlessly into the subway station, the Prophet's 20-yuan living allowance in his pocket.

City A was far more bustling than K City. This station, near the train terminal, was terrifyingly crowded. The sky was overcast, a light drizzle falling.

Shen Qingyang stood before the subway map, thinking for a long time about where to go.

His gaze was drawn to the coordinates for Yan University on the map.

Dr. Lu had studied there once.

And Shen Qingyang vaguely remembered this university was open to visitors.

He spent 8 yuan and rode the subway for nearly 90 minutes before finally reaching the gates of Yan University.

There was actually a map seller at the university entrance. After a moment's thought, he spent 2 yuan on one.

The remaining 10 yuan would be just enough for a meat-stuffed baked pancake at the university canteen.

Shen Qingyang's plan was sound. Unfortunately, the country-bumpkin octopus was stopped at the gate.

The security guard said he didn't have a reservation.

Shen Qingyang froze.

The confusion on his face was so palpable the guard added, "Student, you can make a real-name reservation on WeChat. It's quick. There are still slots for today. You're a senior in high school, right? Study hard."

A real-name ID was required to reserve a campus visit.

He wasn't even human anymore. He certainly didn't have an ID card.

More importantly, he was on the Special Operations Department's most-wanted list.

Shen Qingyang understood better than anyone that he'd likely never have the chance to attend university, even if he could score 700 on the entrance exam. He just hadn't thought getting a single look inside would be this difficult.

He looked at the university's gleaming golden gates and smiled. "Thank you, uncle. I didn't bring my phone. I'll come another day."

Rain pattered on his hat. The air was damp and clinging. Shen Qingyang liked it.

He turned to explore the nearby area. Just then, a car pulled up and parked across the street.

Shen Qingyang wasn't particularly interested in cars, but this black sedan looked expensive, making him glance over despite himself.

The rear door opened, and Lu Yan stepped out.

Even from a distance, and though his appearance had changed somewhat from half a year ago, Shen Qingyang knew instantly it was him.

He didn't know why Lu Yan was in City A, but a sudden, fierce joy surged in Shen Qingyang's chest.

His gaze locked onto Lu Yan's figure with a near-greedy intensity, yet he didn't dare take a single step forward.

Lu Yan wasn't alone. A second person soon emerged from the car.

Tang Xian'an opened an umbrella and held it over Lu Yan's head.

The map fell from Shen Qingyang's hand.

It was as if an invisible fist had suddenly clenched around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Lu Yan had a cleanliness obsession. His home was always stocked with disinfectant. He'd rather walk than take crowded public transit. He never went to wet markets, ordering groceries online for delivery instead.

In other words, unless he was working, Dr. Lu did not like people getting too close.

But he was letting that man get close.

Shen Qingyang recognized him too. The Prophet had briefed him on entities—both human and pollutant—best not provoked.

Tang Xian'an had been highlighted.

"The only person alive who might still have the ability to kill you," the Prophet had said.

"Team One Leader of the Special Operations Department. Head of City A's Pollution Disease Control Center. Codename: 'Tyrant'. Talents: Time, Dragon Bone, Bloodlust Gene."

Shen Qingyang's hand trembled slightly as he crouched to pick up the fallen map.

A puddle had formed at his feet.

The water's surface reflected his image—a twisted, ugly face.

He was jealous.

Jealous enough to kill.