The next day, Wen Jinfeng left City G.
The convoy escorting his jeep moved steadily forward, disappearing into the barren horizon.
Wen Xin stood in place, watching the vehicles fade into the distance. After a long moment, he turned and said sincerely, “Thank you.”
Though the brothers had both agreed to stage a dramatic rift to thwart potential conspiracies, Wen Xin’s idea had only gone as far as a mock duel with guns. Wen Jinfeng, however, insisted on Xiao Hei’s lightning striking him for real.
With an ordinary human’s physical resilience, such a strike would leave Wen Jinfeng either dead or crippled—and he had intended for the latter.
He’d even prepared a backup plan. Before meeting Wen Xin, Wen Jinfeng had readied a high-voltage electric shock device in case Xiao Hei couldn’t control the intensity of the lightning. If needed, he would use it to simulate the injury himself.
The two had nearly gotten into another argument over this, but Xiao Hei intervened in time, promising he could create convincing superficial injuries without causing real harm.
Now that Wen Jinfeng was gone, Wen Xin smiled and exposed Xiao Hei’s lie. “There’s nothing more difficult than asking a Lion to scratch an Ant. Did you also infuse energy into my brother?”
By first infusing energy into his body and then striking with controlled lightning, Xiao Hei had essentially ensured that Wen Jinfeng was strong enough to receive his lightning strike.
Although Wen Jinfeng appeared severely injured now—unable to walk without a wheelchair—in a few days, once his body fully absorbed the energy, he’d likely recover with vitality to spare, more spirited than ever.
Xiao Hei glanced at Wen Xin, unsurprised that the youth had seen through his actions. “He’s your only family, after all,” he replied calmly.
Family. Wen Xin pondered the word. In a world torn apart, where so many were scattered or had lost loved ones, having family to rely on was an increasingly rare blessing.
Looking in the direction the convoy had vanished, Wen Xin’s gaze softened like ripples on a tranquil lake.
The night before, the brothers had spoken of the past. Hearing Wen Jinfeng recount their mother’s words—“Your little brother saved my life”—had brought Wen Xin to the verge of tears, his heart aching with bittersweet emotion.
For the first time, Wen Jinfeng didn’t hold back, sharing all he knew about their past.
Their parents had been classmates in the same field, eventually joining the same research project just before completing their doctorates. However, disputes over the project’s true purpose led them to quit and establish their own private pharmaceutical company.
The pharmaceutical industry was treacherous. Both their mother and Wen Jinfeng had been kidnapped at different times, with the culprits demanding the formula for a new anti-cancer compound they were developing. Their mother had suspected a traitor within the company.
During one such incident, she helped Wen Jinfeng escape while suffering a severe injury herself. On the way to the hospital, she learned she was pregnant—with Wen Xin.
Wen Xin and Xiao Hei sat together near a broken wall, the youth’s burdens spilling out after years of repression. Xiao Hei played the role of a silent listener, his quiet presence encouraging Wen Xin to open up.
“My brother said that back then, my mother was on the brink of death. The doctors had already issued a critical condition notice. But when she learned about my existence, she suddenly regained a fierce will to live.”
Wen Xin’s voice grew softer as he continued, his fingers digging into his palms, leaving deep red marks. “She was so strong, overcoming one life-threatening ordeal after another. But in the end, to give birth to me, she still…”
A broad hand reached out, covering Wen Xin’s trembling one.
Xiao Hei’s expression was serious. “Wen Xin, when you came to save me, did you think about the possibility of dying?”
Wen Xin hesitated. “That…”
“You must have,” Xiao Hei said, his tone gentler now. “If I had survived and you hadn’t, would you have regretted your decision to save me?”
Wen Xin understood the meaning behind Xiao Hei’s words. Lowering his head slightly, he kept his expression hidden.
After a long pause, he let out a soft laugh. “I’d only feel grateful—grateful that at least one of us could keep living.”
The previous night, Wen Xin had asked, “What kind of person was our mother?”
Wen Jinfeng had gazed deeply at his younger brother, his expression uncharacteristically tender. “You’re very much like her, Wen Xin.”
If Wen Xin was willing to feel gratitude for saving another, their mother wouldn’t have regretted giving birth to him.
At some point, Wen Xin’s rigid posture eased. He leaned back slightly against the wall, a small gesture of relaxation.
Xiao Hei’s words seemed to part the clouds, allowing Wen Xin to recall a memory buried deep in his mind.
“Xin,” he remembered reading as a child in a dictionary. Its meanings:
- Hardship; toil.
- Sorrow; pain.
The first time four-year-old Wen Xin looked up the word, he asked a servant about its meanings. After getting an answer, he hid under a desk in the study and sat there motionless for an entire afternoon.
Normally lively and talkative, Wen Xin had an energy that could overwhelm even the most patient old housekeeper. Yet that afternoon, his nimble young mind felt rusted, dulled.
He didn’t hear the servants searching for him, nor the housekeeper’s anxious calls. His chaotic thoughts revolved around a single idea:
So it really is my fault Mother died. That’s why Father and Brother hate me.
“For a long time,” Wen Xin admitted, “I thought the person who died should have been me, not her. It wasn’t until later, when I learned my mother’s name, that my perspective began to shift.”
He smiled faintly, though the emotion behind it seemed more like heartbreak. “Can you believe it? I was almost five and still didn’t know her name. I didn’t dare ask. None of the maids or the housekeeper dared to mention her either, afraid Father might hear and lose his temper.”
Sensing Wen Xin’s shaky breaths, Xiao Hei hesitated before asking, “So… what was her name?”
“Xin Nuannuan.” Wen Xin’s reply came almost too quickly, as though he’d been waiting to say it. His smile trembled as if he might cry at any moment. “Her name had the same ‘Xin’ as mine.”
The sun climbed higher, its golden rays illuminating the desolate land, crumbling walls, crooked trees, and resilient weeds. Everything seemed to glow under its touch.
A breeze stirred as Xiao Hei moved closer. He knelt in front of Wen Xin, placing his hands firmly on the youth’s quaking shoulders and pulling him into an embrace.
Wen Xin clung to Xiao Hei’s coat, his pale fingers gripping tightly. There was no sobbing, no choking sounds—just a silent, trembling release as he buried his face and breathed unevenly.
Wen Xin’s emotions came and went quickly.
Wiping his eyes with a thumb, he lifted his head, his expression composed save for a faint flush around his reddened eyes. His voice was hoarse but steady.
“All in all, Xiao Hei, thank you—truly.”
When it came to the past, Wen Jinfeng always seemed eager to change the subject—there were undoubtedly still things he wasn’t revealing.
And the energy Xiao Hei had infused into Wen Jinfeng? It was another form of insurance.
Watching Wen Xin’s gentle smile, Xiao Hei hesitated before asking, “Wen Xin, do you ever feel regret?”
“Regret?” Wen Xin echoed, tilting his head in confusion.
“When you entered my space,” Xiao Hei began, “I tried transferring energy to your body, but something went wrong during the process.” His voice carried both bewilderment and apology. “Your physical abilities didn’t improve, and you didn’t gain any extraordinary powers.”
“Oh, that.” Wen Xin was unexpectedly nonchalant, smiling as he replied, “It’s fine. I already knew.”
Xiao Hei blinked. “You knew?”
“Since the energy comes from you, it makes sense that those closest to you absorb more of it,” Wen Xin explained. “I’ve stayed by your side almost constantly since entering your space, but my body hasn’t changed. I had a hunch about it back then.”
Xiao Hei frowned, trying to find something comforting to say, but Wen Xin abruptly changed the subject. “Speaking of unresolved matters, there’s one big one left.”
“What is it?” Xiao Hei asked without hesitation.
“Giving you a proper name.”
Caught off guard, Xiao Hei raised an eyebrow. “A name? For me?”
“Yes. ‘No. 1’ sounds more like a designation than a name. And I can’t keep calling you Xiao Hei all the time in public. You need something more formal.”
Xiao Hei didn’t see an issue with being called Xiao Hei. To him, names were just labels.
As long as he remained an S-rank mutant, others would fear and respect him no matter what he was called—whether it was Tyrannosaurus, No. 1, or Xiao Hei.
But seeing Wen Xin so enthusiastic, Xiao Hei’s curiosity was piqued. “Did you give formal names to Ah Lü and the others too?”
Wen Xin coughed awkwardly. “…Not yet.”
He felt a bit embarrassed. With so many crises over the past few months, he hadn’t given it a second thought until Wen Jinfeng brought up Xiao Hei’s name.
Xiao Hei’s lips curled into a rare grin. “Then go ahead and name me first.”
“Me?” Wen Xin blinked, clearly surprised and a little flustered by the honor.
He sat in silence, deep in thought, before standing to pace back and forth.
Just as Ah Lü slithered over to find them, Wen Xin sighed in defeat and said solemnly, “I’ll need to consult a dictionary when we get back.”
Xiao Hei’s golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched him.
City G, now a barren wasteland scarred by war, was a place of endless challenges.
If it weren’t the birthplace of ability users, the region would have been universally dismissed. The chemicals and heavy metals from the bombardments had contaminated the soil and rivers, making agriculture nearly impossible.
Wen Xin had a mountain of responsibilities bearing down on him: investigating his parents’ past, dealing with the First Base, recruiting allies…
Land development was crucial to building his base of power. After all, once people came, he’d need to feed and house them. He couldn’t expect anyone to survive on air or sleep on the streets.
Unexpectedly, nine out of ten of the rescued ability users expressed a desire to stay and follow Wen Xin.
With the support of Ah Lü, Wen Xin wasn’t afraid of these ability users causing any trouble. He’d already handed over the control devices to these users.
Even so, their eagerness surprised him. “With your abilities, you’d be highly valued in any organization. Why stay in City G?”
The thorn ability user shook his head, his resolve clear. “I can tell you’re not the kind of person who likes to be subordinate to others. But you don’t seem to have anyone reliable by your side right now.”
He was just short of calling Wen Xin a one-man operation.
Ah Lü raised its head, sensing a slight insult to Wen Xin, and flicked its tongue in irritation.
Wen Xin, however, wasn’t angry. “You want to follow me?”
The thorn ability user, unaccustomed to self-promotion, flushed under Wen Xin’s gentle gaze and blurted out loudly, “Yes! My ability, Black Thorns, has a devouring property. I’m sure it can be of use to you.”
Hearing this, Wen Xin suddenly perked up. “Devouring? Could it absorb harmful substances in the soil?”
“Huh?” The thorn ability user blinked in confusion but eventually nodded hesitantly. “Maybe?”
Wen Xin’s excitement was palpable. He immediately pulled the ability user to conduct an experiment.
The results were a resounding success. The thorn ability could indeed devour pollutants in the soil, leaving it viable for planting. Wen Xin was overjoyed.
Seeing this, the other ability users quickly realized how they could contribute and eagerly showcased their construction-related skills.
With that, Wen Xin’s first major challenge was resolved.
Two weeks later, the foundations of City G’s redevelopment had begun to take shape, and Wen Xin decided to send reuniation letters to each of his “Children” in each region.
