Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Lu Yan had been about to say he had hands and didn't need Tang Xian'an to hold the umbrella for him. Besides, he rather liked the damp, cool feeling of a rainy day.

But a single sentence from the System changed his mind.

[Shen Qingyang is nearby.]

[Tsk, tsk. The kid likes you.]

Lu Yan knew that. He wasn't stupid.

The System calling Shen Qingyang a kid wasn't wrong. Shen Qingyang had started working right after finishing his nine years of compulsory education. His family was poor, he'd said, no money for further schooling. His birth parents were gone, and he'd been raised by alcoholic foster parents who beat him. Only his face was any good.

He was just twenty when Lu Yan met him. In the hospital ward with a broken leg. Orthopedic surgery was expensive. He had no social security, no medical insurance. Broke, he'd tried to sneak out in the dead of night. Lu Yan, finishing a surgery at three in the morning, caught him.

"Your bone isn't stable yet. You can't leave," Lu Yan had said.

Then he turned and paid the medical bill himself.

Because the first half of his life had been so bitterly hard, Shen Qingyang never really knew what a "bad day" was. No time for self-pity when there were bricks to haul. But after meeting Lu Yan, he learned.

It wasn't that Lu Yan was bad. It was that he was too good.

He pulled Shen Qingyang out of the muck, making those first twenty years seem unbearably bleak in comparison.

Shen Qingyang developed a sick, obsessive attachment to him.

From the moment he became a pollutant, Shen Qingyang knew he'd lost any right to stand by Lu Yan's side. Unless Lu Yan became a monster like him.

He was jealous. Shen Qingyang couldn't articulate why, just a deep, gnawing jealousy of anyone who could stand beside Lu Yan.

It made him feel like a pathetic, raging clown.

Lu Yan glanced back casually, his eyes sweeping the area. They weren't just visual organs; they were more like a camera, capturing and storing images in his mind with perfect clarity.

But there were too many people around. He couldn't pick out Shen Qingyang's face in the crowd.

[He has mimicry. You won't find him. The little octopus wasn't planning to join the team for blowing up the Research Institute, but now he's reconsidering.]

"Why?"

The System's tone held a hint of gleeful schadenfreude. [Because he thinks that for a big operation like blowing up a Research Institute, Tang Xian'an will definitely be there.]

*

The class reunion was held at a restaurant across from the university.

It felt less like a gathering of old friends and more like a miniature arena for social climbing.

After graduation, academic achievements faded into the background. What mattered now was your job, your salary.

Lu Yan had the looks and the top-tier grades. Though low-key, he was a walking beacon, impossible to ignore. Especially now, stepping out of a Bentley worth millions.

The moment he entered, the class monitor—a boisterous guy from the northeast—bounded over.

"Lu Yan! Long time no see, man! Missed you!"

He went in for a hug, but his arms froze mid-air. A sudden chill crept down his spine. He turned to see a cold-faced, imposing man standing beside Lu Yan and awkwardly lowered his arms.

Tang Xian'an had worn black contact lenses for the occasion.

"Ah, so this is the plus-one!" the monitor recovered, grinning, and extended a hand. "Hi, I was Lu Yan's roommate."

Tang Xian'an shook his hand politely. "Tang Xian'an."

"Our little Lu, keeping things quiet, huh?" The monitor chuckled, steering Lu Yan to a seat and pulling out another for Tang Xian'an. "So, which university did you graduate from? What do you do?"

The monitor had been student council back in the day, studied abroad for two years as a junior, and stayed on as a counselor. Outgoing, smooth.

He considered himself well-off, with good family connections. Seeing Tang Xian'an, he knew he was outmatched in looks, but a competitive spark remained.

Lu Yan did the math. Tang Xian'an had joined the Spark Project at eighteen, probably no time for a university degree. As for the Special Operations Department, it wasn't publicly known like other agencies. Most people had never heard of it. He prepared to deflect the question.

To his surprise, Tang Xian'an answered with straightforward calm. "National Defense University. Current rank, Major General."

The monitor was stunned into silence.

Impossible, he thought. Tang Xian'an didn't look a day over thirty. A Major General?

But the man's presence was overwhelming, unmistakably extraordinary, carrying a soldier's lethal aura. The monitor didn't dare challenge him.

He subtly pulled out his phone and texted his grandfather, a retired army officer.

The reply came instantly: "Where did you hear that name?"

After a brief explanation, his grandfather sent back two words: "Treat him right."

That sealed it. The monitor was thoroughly cowed.

He raised his glass, all smiles. "Brother Tang, just call me Xiao Wang."

Channeling his complex feelings into action, the monitor began challenging Tang Xian'an to drink.

Lu Yan didn't drink. He disliked the feeling of a numbed, sluggish mind.

Tang Xian'an wasn't much of a drinker either, but he didn't refuse. He knew his limits and wouldn't let himself get truly drunk.

"Our Yan Yan is the finest, most pristine cabbage in the whole garden," the monitor slurred later, eyes growing red. "...You... you treat him wrong, I don't care who you are. I'll fight you."

Tang Xian'an couldn't help a low, dry chuckle—the sound of an old, powerful man amused by a puppy's bark.

The System's voice grew misty. [That's what I wanted to say too.]

Lu Yan: "..."

Lu Yan disliked socializing. He'd mainly come to see his mentor.

The monitor said Professor Zhao was stuck in traffic.

His attention drifted to the conversation at the next table.

"Hey, heard about this? Changming University's med school lost another cadaver donor."

"Cadaver donor" was the respectful term for body donors. Changming University was an ordinary undergraduate school near Yan University with a medical department.

Back around 2050, some backward regions still had the vile custom of "ghost marriages." Young women's bodies were occasionally stolen and sold. But entering the 22nd century, with improved security, such incidents had become rare.

"Reported to the police?"

"Yeah. No footage on the cameras. Guards kept watch all night, didn't see anyone come near..." One person lowered his voice. "My high school classmate studies medicine at Changming. She says lately, a lot of the donors there... have bite marks on them. Some are half-eaten. Ugh. During lab sessions, they lift the shroud and it's just... blood. They call the hospitals that sent them, and the hospitals say the bodies were fine when delivered."

"Could it be... ghosts?" Someone shuddered, rubbing the goosebumps on their arm.

The group were all highly educated, many staunch atheists. "Probably just rumors spreading!"

Lu Yan had little interest in the food. Since becoming a Chosen, his desire to eat had diminished.

He held his teacup, thinking it might not be ghosts, but it could very well be a pollutant.

Out of caution, he took out his phone and sent a brief report to the Pollution Control Center. Hopefully, headquarters would send someone to investigate.

Pollution control was part of the Special Operations Department's duties.

Half an hour after the feast began, Professor Zhao, now in his sixties, finally arrived.

The moment Professor Zhao Ke entered, students rose from their seats, greeting him with cries of "Teacher!"

He had taught for decades, a compassionate healer with students everywhere, deeply beloved.

"Sorry, everyone. Had a minor surgery today, ran a bit late." Zhao Ke smiled warmly.

But a few years had taken their toll. The once-vigorous professor now showed signs of age.

The monitor whispered to Lu Yan, "His wife passed not long ago... It hit him hard. He retired right after. This reunion is partly to help him get his mind off things."

Tang Xian'an was pleasantly buzzed but far from drunk. The instant Zhao Ke walked in, his eyes narrowed slightly.

He leaned close to Lu Yan, his voice a low murmur near his ear. "Smell it?"

Lu Yan sniffed. The faint, sharp scent of formaldehyde—unpleasant, but familiar to him.

But he knew that wasn't what Tang Xian'an meant.

[Your teacher has been in contact with a pollutant. Left a trace.]

Lu Yan couldn't expose the System, so he played dumb. "Smell what?"

Tang Xian'an stared at Lu Yan's earlobe, fighting a sudden, irrational urge to bite it. The distraction, fueled by alcohol, made him hesitate a beat too long.

Proof that drink indeed clouded judgment.

"Pollutant," Tang Xian'an said slowly. "The scent of a pollutant."