Chapter 113
The tyrannosaurus, its mind a chaotic whirlwind, couldn’t fathom why such a faint, insignificant voice had drawn its attention.
The moment of hesitation lasted only an instant.
As the harsh hum of the aircraft’s engine reached its ears, unpleasant memories surfaced in its mind. Its gaze turned icy, and with a swipe of its massive claw, it tore through the night sky, striking viciously at the plane.
The attack seemed to freeze space itself. The speeding aircraft came to an abrupt halt as if someone had pressed pause, hovering unnaturally in mid-air.
The immense pressure from the raging storm created a violent turbulence. The plane’s creaking wings groaned under the strain, and its windows shattered. The aircraft looked as if it were moments away from tearing apart completely.
At that critical juncture, a green snake darted out from one of the broken windows.
Ah Lü coiled tightly around the tyrannosaurus’s claw, its body expanding as it constricted. In mere moments, under the roiling thunderstorm, a colossal serpent emerged, its sinewy form resembling a beast capable of eclipsing the heavens.
Yet Ah Lü was in poor condition. In its current state, the berserk Xiao Hei was a disaster not just for mutants but for all living things—a catastrophe beyond comprehension.
The tyrannosaurus snapped back to awareness, releasing an enraged roar that reverberated through the skies.
The oppressive aura of its fury crashed into Ah Lü like an unrelenting tidal wave, forcing the serpent’s blood to surge violently within its veins.
“Wen Xin, hurry! I can’t hold on much longer!” Ah Lü cried out.
Responding to the desperate plea, a slim figure forced open the damaged cabin door. Without any protective gear, Wen Xin leaped decisively from the aircraft into the storm.
Howling winds whipped past him as he descended. With a desperate lunge, he grabbed onto the tyrannosaurus’s wings, his body dangling precariously.
Compared to the towering bulk of the tyrannosaurus, Wen Xin was as insignificant as a grain of sand.
But just as his appearance had immediately drawn the tyrannosaurus’s attention, the black beast sensed his touch the instant he made contact. It froze momentarily before erupting into a frenzy of enraged roars.
Wen Xin clung tightly to the wing, fighting to keep himself from being flung off. The pressure around him sent his pulse skyrocketing to 220 beats per minute, nearing the absolute limit of human endurance.
“Xiao Hei, it’s okay! Don’t be scared—don’t be afraid!” he shouted.
Despite the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him, Wen Xin summoned a seemingly impossible strength. Gritting his teeth, he began climbing inch by inch up the wing. Stabilizing himself by clamping his legs around the soft, pliable limb, he retrieved a vial of suppressant.
The tyrannosaurus’s body was shielded by impenetrable scales, but its newly formed wings retained a tender, fleshy vulnerability. This was precisely why Wen Xin had chosen to land here.
As the needle plunged into the wing, the tyrannosaurus bucked violently. Its thrashing claw struck Ah Lü in the chest, sending a jolt of searing pain through the serpent. Blood welled up in Ah Lü’s throat, and it nearly coughed it out.
Wen Xin, perched precariously on the wing, was thrown into a dizzying, jarring motion that felt as though his brain had been scrambled.
Despite the turbulence, he managed to inject the syringe’s glowing blue liquid. Holding his breath, he watched and waited.
But the beast below remained as frenzied and uncontrollable as ever, showing no signs of calming down.
Had the suppressant failed?
Wen Xin’s heart sank like a stone.
But Wen Xin was not someone who gave up easily. He had never entertained the thought of abandoning Xiao Hei. Without hesitation, he pulled another suppressant from his pocket.
Two vials. Three. Four.
Any ordinary person might have wavered after injecting the third dose, retreating by the seventh.
Yet Wen Xin stood firm, like a boulder weathering a storm. His hands gripped the edge of the wing tightly, never faltering despite the relentless turbulence.
Ten vials. Eleven. Twelve.
The constant S-rank oppressive aura battered Wen Xin’s body, his eardrums ringing explosively. His consciousness wavered, teetering on the edge of collapse.
Lack of oxygen, poor blood circulation, the biting cold, rupturing capillaries…
Pushing through it all, Wen Xin forced himself to move like a wind-up doll, mechanically carrying out his task to avoid slipping into oblivion.
He believed he had reached a state of total focus, immune to distractions.
But after injecting the nineteenth dose, Wen Xin realized his hand, reaching into his pocket for the final vial, was trembling.
His bloodied fingers were slippery, failing twice to retrieve the last suppressant.
[Wen Xin.]
A voice, tender and filled with warmth, suddenly called to him. Wen Xin looked down in shock at the black beast below, responding with excitement. “Xiao Hei, is that you?”
[It’s me. The suppressant won’t work on me. You need to leave. Let Number Seven take you.]
It was as if a bucket of cold water had doused his rising hope and joy. Wen Xin’s heart sank as he demanded, “If we leave, what will happen to you?”
The tyrannosaurus fell silent for a moment.
[Do you remember… I once told you, my heart is located—]
Wen Xin cut him off abruptly, his voice sharp with anger and alarm. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t remember!”
[Then there’s nothing to worry about. First Base will subdue me.]
The words only fueled Wen Xin’s fury. “What do you mean, ‘nothing to worry about’? You’ve already turned into this—letting First Base handle you is the same as me watching you die! How is that any different?”
The tyrannosaurus let out a low growl, seemingly aware it couldn’t deceive the sharp-witted young man.
At some point, the raging winds had ceased. Trees and buildings lay flattened in swaths, and lava had receded back into the earth, leaving scorched red streaks across the landscape. Black smoke billowed upward and began to dissipate.
The suppressant wasn’t entirely useless. Perhaps a single dose was insufficient, but after nineteen injections, even a mind submerged in the depths of madness could be dragged back, albeit temporarily.
The tyrannosaurus regained a moment of clarity.
But overhead, the dense black clouds still churned, lightning darting within them like a predator preparing to pounce. The storm hadn’t ended; the danger was far from over.
The suppressants Wen Xin had injected into the tyrannosaurus were like a fragile leash around its neck—a tenuous restraint that could snap at any moment.
Neither outcome—Wen Xin dying to save it or the beast killing Wen Xin in a frenzy—was acceptable to the tyrannosaurus.
In a rare, soothing tone, it tried to persuade him.
[Wen Xin, have I ever told you? I don’t fear death.]
This wasn’t idle talk.
Once discarded as a stillborn and thrown into the incinerator, the tyrannosaurus had broken free of its shell through sheer willpower.
It had opened its eyes amidst searing pain, the air around it distorted by heat, the mucus on its eyelids scorched away. The first thing it saw was the charred remains of corpses inside the furnace.
It had encountered death before it even knew life.
And later, the research base’s “great expectations” for an A-rank mutant at birth were expressed through endless trials. Unlike others, who began with minor experiments, the tyrannosaurus endured extreme conditions from the outset.
[From birth to now, I’ve endured too much pain. My will to live was lost long ago. If it weren’t for meeting you, I might’ve found an active volcano to leap into, letting lava consume my body. Wen Xin, let me go. This would be a release for me.]
Hearing the tyrannosaurus express its longing for death, Wen Xin ground his teeth, spitting out his words with deliberate emphasis. “Don’t—give—me—that.”
So angry he swore, Wen Xin slapped the tyrannosaurus’s wing with force. “If you wanted to die so badly, why did you run in the alternate space? Your body was covered in sharp metal spikes, the suppressor less than twenty centimeters from your heart. You could’ve ended it then, but instead, you kept running—and you even brought me along! Is that how someone who wants to die acts?”
The tyrannosaurus had no response, falling into silence.
Wen Xin, provoked by its words, unexpectedly found himself regaining his composure. Lowering his voice, he said, “Xiao Hei, I’ve traveled far and wide for a month, worn out three pairs of shoes, and broken down seven vehicles. I didn’t come all this way to watch you die.”
The tyrannosaurus trembled at his words.
Wen Xin retrieved the final vial of suppressant.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the clear blue liquid inside, making it shimmer like the rolling waves of a sunlit ocean.
Holding the vial in one hand, Wen Xin gently stroked the punctured wing with the other. His tone was unwavering. “This is the last one. If it doesn’t work, I’ll figure something else out.”
[Wen Xin…]
“I’m here,” Wen Xin replied. “Xiao Hei, you said that without me, you would’ve sought death. But I’m still here.”
“And as long as I’m here, you have to live. Live, and live well.”
As he spoke, Wen Xin injected the final dose into the tyrannosaurus.
No one saw the fleeting brilliance in Wen Xin’s eyes—an otherworldly glow like a galaxy full of stars, radiating a vast and boundless power.
The instant the suppressant flowed into its bloodstream, the tyrannosaurus let out a resounding roar, one that shook the heavens.
The searing pain inside the tyrannosaurus, as if it were being burned from within, began to subside. Old injuries that had festered were forcefully healed, and the haunting vision of No. 2, along with the devilish murmurs of Dr. An Qi, vanished from its ears.
But just as relief settled over the beast, Wen Xin, perched atop its wing, swayed unsteadily.
Long days without proper rest, relentless battles, and the sheer strain of his taut nerves combined with an inexplicable exhaustion. The moment the tyrannosaurus let out its triumphant roar, Wen Xin’s guard dropped. His body gave way, and he slipped off the wing, plummeting downward.
“Wen Xin!” Ah Lü’s frantic voice rang out, filled with panic.
Before unconsciousness claimed him, Wen Xin felt a pair of strong, steady arms catch him against the biting wind.
The arms held him firmly, trembling slightly. The skin beneath his touch was smooth with scales, yet radiated a burning warmth. He thought he heard the figure murmuring softly but couldn’t make out the words before they stopped abruptly, as if suppressed.
Lowering his head, the tyrannosaurus’s golden eyes brimmed with tumultuous emotions, wild and unresolved. It cradled the young man tightly against its chest as if guarding a precious treasure.
Wen Xin had no idea how long he slept.
Perhaps he was too exhausted; his soul felt unbearably light, drifting through a series of faded, sepia-toned dreams.
In those dreams, he saw his father, long since passed.
From Wen Xin’s scant memories, his father had always been a busy man, his face perpetually stern and cold, rarely smiling or speaking warmly to him or his brother, Wen Jin Feng.
But in the dream, the stoic father changed. Seeing Wen Xin sobbing uncontrollably, his expression broke, and he clumsily climbed out of bed to scoop him up, attempting to soothe him in his unfamiliar way. “What’s wrong, Xin’er? Why are you crying like this?”
(T/N: “‘er” is added after names by parents to address their children or by older people – to address those who are younger)
Dream-Wen Xin couldn’t remember why he cried. He only knew he felt terribly wronged, unable to voice it, and his chest was so tight it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He could only wail as loudly as he could to vent the overwhelming emotion.
Even as he awoke, the echoes of his father’s awkward comfort lingered in his mind. “Xin’er, be good…”
Wen Xin opened his eyes.
Noise buzzed in his ears—the distinct, rhythmic sound of orderly footsteps. A well-trained combat unit was clearly stationed just outside.
Still groggy, Wen Xin shifted tentatively and became aware of something in his hand.
It felt like… another hand?
“You’re finally awake.”
A magnetic voice sounded beside him.
Wen Xin froze, turning his head to find himself face-to-face with an extraordinarily handsome man.
The man, lying beside him on the bed, gazed at him with luminous golden eyes, their brilliance so intense it felt as though they could sear him into memory.
The man let out a faint sigh of relief. “You’ve been asleep for almost two days.”
Wen Xin didn’t respond, staring at the man in disbelief. He suspected he hadn’t truly woken up yet and struggled to calm himself.
The man frowned slightly in confusion and reached out to touch Wen Xin’s forehead.
Unable to suppress his reaction, Wen Xin smacked the man’s hand away and shot up like a bolt of lightning.
In his haste, he failed to notice a small, furry green bundle curled near the foot of the bed. His foot caught on it, and he nearly toppled over.
Without hesitation, the man positioned himself beneath Wen Xin to break his fall.
Thud!
Outside, Wen Jin Feng, who had been discussing logistics with his adjutant, heard the noise and stormed into the room, his expression darkening.
“Wen Xin?”
The scene before him froze his urgency, transforming it into cold, detached indifference.
Wen Xin, now more alert, pushed himself up only to find the sensation under his hands… off.
He looked down and saw the man beneath him, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing chiseled, defined abs.
To his dismay, his hands were firmly pressed against those abs.
Flustered, Wen Xin pulled his hands back as if burned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to!”
“It’s fine.” The man reached for him, smiling faintly. “I’m not dead, Wen Xin. Look—my heart is still beating.”
The words struck Wen Xin like a lightning bolt, jolting his memory. The chaotic final moments before he lost consciousness rushed back, and his mind connected the dots. His hand instinctively moved to the man’s chest, over his heart.
Under his palm, he felt a strong, steady heartbeat. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. “That’s… great.”
“How are you feeling?” Xiao Hei asked, reaching out to check Wen Xin over. “You suddenly passed out earlier, and I was really worried.”
“…” Wen Jin Feng clenched his fists, his patience snapping as he roared, “Have you two groped each other enough? Get up, both of you!”
