Chapter 103
The cool kiss landed in Wen Xin’s palm, yet it felt as though searing heat spread across his body, coursing through his veins and bones.
Earlier, when the nursery’s equipment exploded, glass shards had rained down on him, leaving jagged wounds across his skin.
Now, with that burst of warmth, the embedded fragments fell to the ground, and the gashes visibly knit themselves together.
In less than half a second, his smooth, unblemished skin was restored.
The pain was gone. There was no doubt—it was Xiao Hei’s doing.
Wen Xin glanced gratefully at the small, dark creature, only to notice the weight in his palm was steadily decreasing.
It wasn’t his imagination.
Xiao Hei’s body was becoming translucent, bit by bit, fading away.
Panic gripped Wen Xin. “Xiao Hei? Your body is disappearing. What’s happening?”
At his words, the little creature lifted its head. Its thin, slit-like eyes opened slightly, revealing brilliant golden irises.
With a calm and steady gaze, it assured Wen Xin that this sudden phenomenon was perfectly normal.
Unable to suppress its emotions, it lashed its slightly damp tail and coiled it tightly around Wen Xin’s wrist, half for attachment and half for reluctant farewell.
The cool, textured scales brushed against Wen Xin’s skin. The stark contrast of black against white lent an inexplicable poignancy to the scene.
The sensation of Xiao Hei’s tail tickling his wrist left Wen Xin tingling with a numb itch. He instinctively reached out to hook the slender tail with his finger.
The tail trembled briefly before cautiously wrapping around his fingertip, reluctant to part from the warmth it had found.
Moments later, the juvenile black creature dissolved into an ethereal spirit, floating upward toward the heavens until it was accepted by the void.
The surrounding people, objects, and scenery seemed to shatter like a mirror struck by a hammer. Cracks spread rapidly before the scene collapsed entirely.
The moon hung high in the night sky.
Once again, the massive dinosaur skeleton came into view, its surface bathed in moonlight and faintly shimmering with silvery threads.
One moment, Wen Xin had been laboring away in the research base; the next, he was dragged out of the alternate dimension, bewildered and disoriented.
The survivors nearby were equally dumbfounded, exchanging whispers about what was happening.
“What just happened—again?!”
“Did the dimension collapse? Why?!”
Amid the noisy discussion, a few sharp individuals noticed something amiss. Some had perception-based abilities, while others were simply more vigilant. Wen Xin was among the latter.
Normally, the air beneath the massive skeletons would be filled with the sounds of monstrous roars and the rustling of reptiles slithering across the ground. But now, there was nothing.
No chirping insects, no rolling stones, not even the whisper of the wind. The moonlit gorge was eerily still, like a land of the dead.
Yet, that silence was soon broken by a deafening noise.
Crack, crack…
The once-boisterous crowd fell silent in unison.
Nervously, they glanced around, trying to locate the source of the unsettling sound.
After a tense moment, someone finally realized the truth—the noise wasn’t coming from outside.
It was emanating from their minds.
A chilling stillness settled over the gorge.
Hearts pounded violently in chests, as instinctual fear swept over the survivors like a tidal wave. Slowly, stiffly, their heads turned toward the dinosaur skeleton behind them, terror etched into their expressions.
Crack…
The scene turned macabre.
With each cracking sound, a milky-white mist began to billow from the bleached bones. Beneath the fog, fresh flesh sprouted rapidly, covering the stark white skeleton in an instant.
If the skeleton had once been perceived as lifeless, now it exuded vitality, as though it could spring to life at any moment.
The crowd was paralyzed, speechless, as they bore witness to this otherworldly phenomenon.
At the same time, outside the black rift:
In just a few days, the once desolate outskirts of City G had been overtaken by a sea of campsites, large and small.
Flags of various colors flew atop watchtowers, fluttering in the wind. Organized military forces from all over the region formed neat, colorful lines connecting the camps.
Ever since the phrase “The answer to human evolution lies in City G” began circulating in the mercenary markets, it had taken less than half a day for military forces from the Eastern survivor bases to dispatch troops to investigate.
In less than three days, the outskirts were overrun with camps, leaving latecomer factions struggling to even find a foothold.
Unable to squeeze into the main area, some groups resorted to expanding outward. The bustling activity resembled the atmosphere of an Olympic event.
Perhaps it was the long wait, but some scavengers had even set up street stalls, their hawking calls rising and falling like waves. The lively scene stood in stark contrast to the tension that simmered beneath the surface.
“What? Director Liu, you’re saying I was the one who leaked the news?”
Wen Jinfeng maintained his usual composed and professional smile. When confronted with the accusation, his face immediately shifted into an expression of startled disbelief. “How could that be possible? I only just learned about this myself. If I hadn’t acted quickly, I would’ve had to clear out the area just to meet with you.”
Director Liu Hongchang of First Base stared grimly at the man in front of him. “The only person crazy enough to spread this news is you. I can’t think of anyone else!”
Wen Jinfeng furrowed his brow before letting out a heavy sigh. He turned to the crowd and adopted a helpless look as if silently lamenting his undeserved persecution. It was a wordless admission that he had no choice but to endure First Base’s dominance.
The leaders gathered for the discussion exchanged hesitant glances, their expressions odd as they turned to look at Liu Hongchang.
Facing Wen Jinfeng’s feigned innocence, Liu Hongchang was nearly apoplectic with rage.
A few days earlier, his subordinates had reported that the events in City G had been leaked. Alarmed, Liu Hongchang had dispatched investigators to gather information.
The evidence pointed to City A as the source of the rumors.
But the mastermind was far too cunning. The rumors circulating were deliberately vague, leaving no concrete evidence for Liu Hongchang to act upon. Enraged but powerless, he had summoned Wen Jinfeng for a direct confrontation.
Who was Wen Jinfeng? Before taking charge of City A, he had been a sharp-tongued businessman. After his appointment, he’d transformed into a shrewd politician who could out-argue anyone. As a research-focused introvert, Liu Hongchang was no match for him.
To make matters worse, Wen Jinfeng had intentionally drawn attention to their argument, ensuring that other faction leaders came to watch the spectacle.
Under so many watchful eyes, Liu Hongchang’s usual underhanded schemes were rendered useless. In the end, all he could do was glare furiously at Wen Jinfeng.
Wen Jinfeng smoothly changed the subject. “But let’s think about this, Director Liu—why would you want to suppress this news?”
Liu Hongchang’s expression darkened. “The information is unfounded—”
“Oh, so you’re saying the rumors are baseless?” Wen Jinfeng’s smile turned mocking. “But isn’t First Base focused on developing viral vaccines? When did you start specializing in debunking rumors? If I recall, First Base didn’t seem concerned about past rumors spreading like wildfire.”
The gathered leaders shifted their attention to Liu Hongchang, their gazes critical.
Liu Hongchang was momentarily speechless but quickly regained his composure. “We suspect the anomalies indicate the emergence of a powerful S-rank mutant. The influx of people has severely disrupted our research!”
Before he could finish, the instruments outside the camp began blaring alarms. The energy levels had once again reached a critical threshold!
Someone ahead shouted, “Someone’s coming out!!”
In an instant, the gathered crowd forgot their argument and rushed out to see what was happening.
Liu Hongchang clenched his jaw, his face tight with fury as he watched the stampede. He was so angry his teeth nearly cracked.
He had already detained the earlier group of ability users, but the spatial vortex remained connected to the black rift. He couldn’t stop the crowd from witnessing the new arrivals.
The secret was out. Once the new ability users demonstrated their powers, more survivors would flock to City G in droves.
This meant that First Base would no longer hold the exclusive key to humanity’s evolution. Anyone who joined this wave could claim a piece of the prize.
Damn it, what a mess!
Liu Hongchang cast a venomous glare at Wen Jinfeng, his eyes filled with a desire to tear him apart.
“City A has decided to completely sever ties with First Base, hasn’t it?”
Wen Jinfeng replied with righteous indignation, “Director Liu, what are you saying? Aren’t we all working together, united against this apocalyptic disaster?”
Liu Hongchang refused to engage further, rushing toward the black rift with his men.
But Wen Jinfeng, like a ghost, always managed to block his path.
The delay gave the crowd ahead time to erupt in awestruck cries.
“An ability! It’s real!”
“He just used an ability!”
Hearing this, Liu Hongchang instantly knew the worst had happened. He roared furiously, “Wen Jinfeng!”
Wen Jinfeng’s smile widened. “I’m here, Director Liu. Did you hear that? The black rift really can grant abilities. Isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Wonderful news?!”
The voice belonged to an elder leading a group of white-coated researchers escorted by soldiers from the rear of the camp.
The speaker was an old man with gray hair and a deeply lined face, his features resembling the wrinkled skin of an orange. Despite his aged appearance, his expression was warm and genial, and he exuded an aura of kindness.
The camp residents hadn’t expected his arrival. They bowed their heads respectfully, greeting the elder with deference.
Even Liu Hongchang froze momentarily before hurrying forward in alarm. “Dr. An Qi, why have you come?”
“With such a major event unfolding, how could these old bones stay still? I had to come,” Dr. An Qi said with a heavy sigh, turning his gaze toward Wen Jinfeng, who had fallen silent. Smiling, he added, “The energy of young people is truly admirable. If your parents could see you now, they’d surely be proud.”
“…” Wen Jinfeng’s gaze sharpened. “I appreciate your concern, but my parents left your research team many years ago. The past is best left in the past—it doesn’t do to dwell on it.”
“Yes, time flies. They were younger and far more talented than I am, especially your mother. Yet here I am, alive, while they are gone. Life is truly cruel.”
For a moment, Wen Jinfeng’s fists clenched tightly.
He looked up and suddenly smiled, his tone laced with sharpness. “What a tragedy indeed. I’ve heard that you’ve endured years of illness and suffering. It must have been unbearably difficult to stay alive this long. Truly commendable.”
“You—!” Liu Hongchang and the other researchers glared at him, their faces flushed with anger.
The guards behind Wen Jinfeng weren’t to be outdone. With cold expressions, they raised their guns.
The atmosphere was tense, like a taut bowstring ready to snap. Wen Jinfeng and Dr. An Qi exchanged glances, and both broke into faint smiles.
But the chill in the air didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew even colder.
“Let’s leave it at that,” Dr. An Qi finally said, adopting a neutral expression. He turned and began to lead the others forward.
However, he stopped abruptly and glanced back, bringing up an old matter: “By the way, how is your younger brother’s health? That surgery back then gave us all quite a scare. No one expected the child to pull through, but he was surprisingly resilient.”
“My little brother is doing great. He’s full of energy, running, jumping, eating, drinking—only a step away from flying,” Wen Jinfeng replied with a bright smile. “Thanks for the care you showed my parents back then. When the time comes and you pass away, we’ll be sure to honor you by jumping over your funeral fire pit.”
In the one year since the apocalypse began, humanity hadn’t yet forgotten all its old customs.
It took the researchers present a moment to recall the difference between smashing a fire pit and jumping over one. When they did, their faces turned crimson with anger.
But Wen Jinfeng had already walked off with his group.
Liu Hongchang was livid, his face red with fury. “Dr. An Qi, this insolent brat, he’s simply—simply—”
“Wen Jinfeng is on the rise,” Dr. An Qi said coldly, his gaze fixed on Wen Jinfeng’s retreating back. “Not just anyone can manage to establish connections with both the Eastern and Western regions simultaneously.”
The old man seemed lost in thought for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. “Oh, my memory is failing me. Of course, he was able to make those connections because of that remarkable younger brother of his. Truly unexpected.”
Liu Hongchang was indignant. “And after saying such disrespectful things to you, are we just going to let him off?”
Dr. An Qi suddenly raised his tired eyelids and gave Liu Hongchang a sharp look. “Are you outraged solely on my behalf, or is it because he angered you? Or perhaps because his actions exposed your own incompetence?”
Liu Hongchang’s heart skipped a beat. Flustered, he quickly explained, “No, of course, I’m only angry for your sake.”
“Enough. Leave him be,” Dr. An Qi said dismissively, waving a hand as if Wen Jinfeng’s behavior wasn’t worth his concern. “Wen Jinfeng is just like his father. Sooner or later, he’ll come crawling back to me.”
Turning to the research team behind him, he instructed, “Start setting things up.”
Liu Hongchang’s eyes twitched as he caught sight of a white case in one researcher’s hands. His voice trembled as he asked, “You’ve brought all this… Does that mean it’s confirmed?”
“What else could cause such a commotion, if not that child?” Dr. An Qi’s expression softened as he gazed at the distant black rift. There was an almost doting quality to his tone. “Even if it isn’t, it doesn’t matter. I came here to take a look, and I might as well enjoy the scenery.”
“This world, as it stands now, is much more beautiful than it once was.”
Meanwhile, chaos reigned in the alternate dimension where the giant skeleton lay.
The growth of flesh over the bones had ceased, but its impact rippled through the crowd like a tidal wave, leaving everyone stunned.
Many who saw the fresh flesh covering the bleached bones immediately thought of a monstrous, terrifying creature about to awaken.
But when they raised their weapons to attack, they discovered they couldn’t summon the courage. Any attempt to act was met with an overwhelming premonition of death.
Some who steeled their resolve and drew their guns fainted on the spot, their eyes rolling back as they foamed at the mouth. Their bodies were battered by an invisible force.
Faced with such a mysterious and oppressive phenomenon, part of the crowd fled in a panic, inadvertently stumbling into the vortexes leading to the outside world.
The disorder continued until a voice rang out in astonished delight: “What’s going on? My ability is getting stronger!”
Perhaps due to the successive upheavals and confusion, the survivors, instead of hiding their discovery, instinctively sought confirmation from others.
At the voice’s words, those who had awakened abilities paused, exchanging stunned glances before quietly concentrating on sensing their powers.
After a long silence, someone’s voice trembled with excitement: “It’s true! My ability is stronger too!”
The scene erupted like boiling oil poured into water.
The crowd quickly connected their sudden enhancements to the fleshy growth on the giant skeleton. Before they could fully process the implications, the scene shifted.
Wen Xin once again found himself in the research base, still wearing his white coat.
Before him stood Zhou Zhao, an all-too-familiar figure.
But unlike the confident and arrogant Zhou Zhao he had encountered before, this Zhou Zhao seemed to have been thoroughly humbled. His expression was filled with fear, his face as pale as paper, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.
Throwing himself at Wen Xin, Zhou Zhao clutched his hands tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. “I was wrong! I shouldn’t have stolen credit for your work! You’re the only one who can save me now—please, help me!”
What on earth was going on?
Wen Xin was still puzzling over Zhou Zhao’s plea when a surge of fragmented memories flooded his mind. A deafening buzzing filled his ears.
It took a while for him to sift through the chaos and piece together the scattered memories. When he finally did, his feelings were complicated.
Wen Xin realized he had entered yet another alternate dimension. Like the previous one, this world was constructed from Xiao Hei’s memories.
And it appeared that the two dimensions were connected, like episodes in a series.
In this dimension, the events picked up where the last left off. After Wen Xin successfully hatched Xiao Hei, an A-rank mutant, he became the center of attention among the assistant researchers and interns.
But the good times didn’t last. Before Wen Xin could enjoy recognition for his work, Zhou Zhao falsely accused him of misconduct and stole the credit.
An A-rank mutant was an invaluable treasure to the base, worth more than gold.
The researchers were ecstatic. Without consulting Wen Xin, they took Xiao Hei away for round-the-clock study, assigning a full team to monitor him at all times.
They removed Xiao Hei’s D55 designation and began referring to him affectionately as “No. 1,” a name befitting their one-of-a-kind miracle.
Not even Zhou Zhao, who carried the title of “Hatcher,” had been able to see Xiao Hei during this period. Remarkably, no one noticed the discrepancy.
It wasn’t until Xiao Hei’s first growth phase, when his power spiraled out of control, that things came to a head. Zhou Zhao was summoned to calm him, but the moment he appeared, Xiao Hei completely lost control and went berserk.
This incident aroused suspicion among the higher-ups.
Under relentless pressure from the base, Zhou Zhao hadn’t slept well for days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Xiao Hei’s blood-tinted golden eyes staring at him as if he were already dead.
He understood that if he couldn’t provide a reasonable explanation or successfully pacify No. 1, today would likely be the end of his life.
Desperate, Zhou Zhao tracked down Wen Xin, who had been demoted and reassigned, and begged him for help with tearful pleas.
At that moment, Wen Xin was studying his hands.
If you wanted to know whether someone had suffered, you could look at two things: their face and their hands.
The face reflected their inner disposition, while the hands—used for labor—carried the marks of hardship.
Judging by a few seconds of observation, Wen Xin’s hands showed no noticeable changes. It seemed that this body hadn’t endured much hardship after being reassigned.
But that didn’t matter.
Wen Xin couldn’t help but wonder who had concocted this melodramatic storyline. Could it have been Xiao Hei?
Meanwhile, Zhou Zhao’s throat was hoarse from crying out. Wen Xin finally snapped back to attention.
“You’re saying I’m the only one who can save you?” Wen Xin asked.
Zhou Zhao nodded frantically.
“Ah, I see.” Wen Xin looked thoughtful. “Since you’re being so sincere…”
Zhou Zhao’s eyes lit up with hope.
“I won’t save you.”
Zhou Zhao: “???”
