Chapter 122
If there were two words to describe the expressions of the bundles at this moment, they would be confused and lost.
Ah Jiu loosened his grip on the doorframe. Only then did he notice that the iron frame had been deformed under his grasp. However, he didn’t have the time to worry about such trivialities. Instinctively, he turned to look at Ah Lü, as did the other bundles.
The first to arrive at Wen Xin’s home was Yuan Yanzhong, followed by Ah Lü.
The later arrivals had all seen these two in their disguised forms and assumed Wen Xin hadn’t seen through their identities. This assumption had led them to mimic the behavior.
But now, Ah Lü was just as confused as the others. The shock had even left its tongue flickering frozen in place.
A bright red forked tongue dangled awkwardly outside its mouth, while its wide, round snake eyes gave it a silly appearance.
Wen Xin knew?
He had known from the very beginning?
Being unmasked by a human was both embarrassing and deeply unsettling for the snake. Yet, in the whirl of its chaotic thoughts, the image of Wen Xin’s warm smile kept surfacing, replacing its shame with a deeper sense of bewilderment.
—If Wen Xin had known their identities from the start, why had he never shown fear?
It was true that the current Wen Xin could remain calm even in the face of utter chaos.
But back then, before facing any hardships, the young man was so timid that he would nervously fidget even when talking to strangers. How could someone like that have such courage?
Caught in a mental loop, Ah Lü leaped from Ah Jiu’s shoulder. Shrinking its body to the size of a worm, it slipped through the crack of the rear door in a matter of seconds.
The snake moved too quickly for the others to stop it.
Ah Lü’s ability to alter its size gave it an edge, unlike the other bundles, who could only fume helplessly outside.
Suddenly, a light bulb seemed to go off over Lan Tuan’s head. The little seal flapped its fins, gesturing toward Xiao Qi with urgency.
Understanding quickly, Xiao Qi realized that Lan Tuan wanted him to use his illusion ability to alter everyone’s perception, ensuring Wen Xin wouldn’t notice their presence.
Xiao Qi hesitated. “Wouldn’t that be… wrong?”
Lan Tuan shook its head. “I need to know what the prophecy says. It’s important.”
Rumors had long circulated about certain ancient and mysterious bloodlines among the aquatic tribes. Even back at Base One, Xiao Qi had heard whispers of the blue whale and its reputed ability to foresee the future.
After a moment’s hesitation, Xiao Qi relented and began casting the illusion.
The spell was silent.
Creak… click.
The back door swung open. The people in the meeting room, engrossed in the discussion, didn’t notice a thing.
The bundles tiptoed inside, with Ah Jiu bringing up the rear. He closed the door as quietly as possible, his movements so light they barely made a sound.
Click.
Even when they had escaped from Base One, they hadn’t been this nervous.
Ah Jiu pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs. When he turned around, he was met with Wen Xin’s deep and probing gaze.
…He nearly bolted out the door on the spot.
Fortunately, one of the subordinates noticed Wen Xin’s pause and asked curiously, “Sir? Is something wrong?”
Wen Xin stared at the seemingly empty back of the room, his expression puzzled. Had he felt a few pairs of eyes watching him?
“Everyone, hold on a moment.”
Out of caution, Wen Xin called a pause to the meeting. He walked to the back, opened the door, and glanced down the quiet hallway.
Aside from patrolling guards, there was no sign of any people or creatures.
Suppressing his suspicions, Wen Xin turned back to his subordinates, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. I must have been imagining things.”
He resumed his seat, unaware of the bundles huddled in a corner of the room, pressed tightly against the wall and holding their breath.
Ah Lü, who had found a good hiding spot earlier, seethed in frustration. Not only had the bundles barged in recklessly, but they had nearly exposed themselves, earning the snake’s gnashing displeasure.
Yet, Wen Xin’s steps faltered again. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room as if sensing something amiss.
Too sharp!
Ah Lü shivered, curling itself into a quiet, unobtrusive coil.
The meeting resumed.
Wen Xin gestured to the meeting recorder, then called on the loud-voiced precognition ability user who had made the earlier claims. “Recount the details of the vision you saw, step by step.”
The loud voice, noticeably subdued after Wen Xin’s earlier rebuttal, squirmed under the weight of the room’s suspicious stares. “If you truly… then maybe I—maybe I misinterpreted.”
“No, it’s also possible you didn’t misinterpret.”
The crowd exchanged confused glances.
Wen Xin provided an example. “I have a friend, Tang Qi, who used to dream of events that hadn’t yet occurred. Eventually, he noticed that many of the details matched reality, leading him to suspect he might have precognitive abilities.”
The loud-voiced individual blinked in surprise. “He’s a precognition ability user too?”
“It’s unconfirmed. And even so, many of the details he foresaw didn’t fully align with reality,” Wen Xin explained. “Excluding coincidence, I have two hypotheses.”
“The first hypothesis is that what you saw is the future, but it’s not the future of our timeline. In physics, there’s a concept called parallel universes, which includes all our people, objects, phenomena, and natural developments but diverges into a different future due to a single historical event.”
“In short, you’re seeing the future of another dimension.”
The room erupted into a flurry of noise. People exchanged uncertain glances, struggling to process the possibility.
Someone couldn’t help but ask, “What’s the second possibility?”
Wen Xin replied, “The second hypothesis is that there are no parallel universes. The future you saw is one we are destined to experience—but someone intervened and changed it.”
What?!
Compared to the first hypothesis, the second was far more unsettling.
Changing the future—was that even possible? If it were, how powerful would that person have to be?
“Why wouldn’t it be possible?” Wen Xin ruthlessly shattered their fragile sense of security. “The emergence of zombies and mutants, the sudden appearance of ability users, and countless extraordinary phenomena—this world is no longer the one we once knew. Even the most absurd possibilities could become reality!”
“We must consider every possibility as comprehensively as we can to avoid being caught off guard when unexpected events arise.”
Wen Xin’s voice carried a calm yet resolute strength that effectively soothed the nervous crowd.
The discussion turned to the two hypotheses, with people raising a myriad of questions and potential scenarios. As the noise began to subside, the precognitive ability user resumed speaking under Wen Xin’s direction, carefully recounting the vision he had seen.
“…I saw Dr. An Qi from Base One falling into a trap and being killed by a sea lion. You, as the primary liaison hosting Dr. An Qi, were unable to protect him and were subsequently accused of treason and colluding with the enemy. Though you were cleared due to insufficient evidence, it took over ten days for your release.”
The loud-voiced speaker, now more composed, recalled many overlooked details from his vision as he continued.
He described how the sea lion’s unexpected death caused a subtle yet profound shift in Wen Xin’s demeanor. Known for his pragmatic and unyielding style, Wen Xin became even more ruthless in his decision-making afterward.
Soon, rumors began to circulate among the mercenaries, suggesting that Dr. An Qi’s death had been faked. Allegedly, the doctor was still alive and well at Base One, with several witnesses claiming to have seen him.
Meeting Wen Xin’s calm and unwavering gaze, the speaker paused before adding, “As I mentioned earlier, you were visibly shaken by this event. Around this time, many ‘animals’ began approaching you.”
“Foxes, cats, birds, squirrels, and even a small red panda. They appeared before you in soft, innocent, and battered states. Seeing their severe injuries, you immediately felt… compassion and took them in to treat them. But little did you know, those wounds were self-inflicted to earn your sympathy.”
The sea lion, stunned to hear it would be the first to die, froze momentarily.
For some reason, listening to the rest of the description filled its heart with an inexplicable sense of sorrow, as if it were personally experiencing the scene. Its eyes welled up, nearly spilling over with tears.
The other bundles, however, gritted their teeth in outrage, desperate to refute: Impossible! If Wen Xin already knew about the mutants, why would we have any reason to deceive him?!
The fragments of the future were incomplete. The last scene the speaker described was of Wen Xin leading the survivors, scarred and battered by disaster, in an assault on Base One.
That battle seemed to be extraordinarily perilous, with numerous casualties. Faintly, the roar of a dinosaur and the thunderous rumble of explosions could be heard.
Wen Xin, after a grueling fight, finally found an opportunity to bring himself and the resurrected Dr. An Qi to a mutual demise.
“The cat transformed into a massive green python. The bird turned into a giant eagle. The fox’s fur became pink. The squirrel turned purple. The sea lion turned blue. As you fell, they all rushed toward you.”
The speaker’s voice turned somber. “Before you died, you uttered your final words.”
“You said, ‘So this is what you all really look like.’”
Ah Lü suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain in its mind.
In its daze, it seemed to see a frail yet upright figure swaying before collapsing into a pool of blood.
Those deep, solemn eyes—always carrying an air of contemplation—seemed unusually bright at the moment, as if a great weight had been lifted, accompanied by a faintly surprised smile.
“So this is what you all really look like.”
The youth extended a pale, bloodless hand, his fingertips as delicate and transparent as feathers, lightly touching Ah Lü’s forehead.
“What a handsome snake. Why were you so afraid to show me?”
Ah Lü felt as though it was enveloped by pure terror. It dared not move, dared not speak. The suffocating fear was like thorny vines lodged in its throat, and even the tip of its tail trembled in pain.
Its eyes were locked on Wen Xin’s steadily dimming, gray eyes, its mind a chaotic frenzy as it screamed inwardly: Don’t die! Don’t die! Don’t die!!
On the rooftop of the municipal building, Yuan Yanzhong suddenly opened its eyes.
The green snake, on the brink of a berserk fit induced by its imagination, felt as if it had been doused with a bucket of ice water. It let out a muffled groan, snapping back to reality.
As soon as it regained clarity, the little snake anxiously glanced around. It found the other bundles in equally poor condition.
They all seemed to have witnessed the same scene of Wen Xin’s death, their expressions grim and panicked as they looked toward the young man in front of them.
Thankfully, Wen Xin was alive, standing before them, breathing steadily and unharmed.
Wen Xin’s methodical analysis continued from the front of the room: “The future you foresaw doesn’t align with current circumstances. However, certain elements have clear links.”
“For instance, why would I insist on opposing Base One? And why would so many people follow my lead and resolve to attack Base One?”
Base One was humanity’s strongest force against the zombie virus—their last hope for survival.
Even if people discovered that all the world’s evils originated from Base One, many would still choose to compromise, given the increasingly harsh conditions of survival. They would repeatedly tolerate its actions unless something catastrophic happened to make them risk everything—even the zombie virus—just to resist further.
Wen Xin stated, “Secondly, if so many S-class mutants are disguising themselves to get close to me, it means they are confident in one thing: that I, or the survivor army under my command, can eliminate Base One.”
The prophecy gave two key warnings. First, it suggested that Base One likely harbored unspeakable plans that could shake the world again.
Second, it pointed to a seemingly clear solution: mutants couldn’t deal with Base One alone, and humanity loathed Base One just as much. Neither could topple Base One on their own, but if they joined forces, they might have a chance to defeat their common enemy.
The price? Wen Xin would likely sacrifice his life in the process.
The meeting concluded with a heavy silence, as no one could offer a feasible solution.
To rally humanity against Base One while also allying with mutants? The very idea was laughable. Survivors who hated mutants and worshipped Base One would accuse them of madness.
Adding to the difficulty was that the precognition ability user couldn’t share the exact vision for everyone to see, leaving room for accusations of fabrication.
Thankfully, Wen Xin’s calm reasoning helped clarify the possible outcomes and chart a course of action.
“We’ll send more elite personnel to investigate any recent activities at Base One,” Wen Xin decided firmly.
His subordinates respectfully acknowledged the order.
As the meeting adjourned, Wen Xin glanced toward the back of the room, as if sensing something unusual.
The bundles had already left, ensuring he didn’t uncover their presence.
Shaking his head, Wen Xin thought perhaps he was just tired and needed some proper rest. He left the meeting room, his gaze wandering casually—only to freeze in place.
The once-straight iron doorframe was now twisted, with two clear fingerprints embedded in the metal.
Wen Xin placed his hand over the marks for comparison, his expression thoughtful. After a brief pause, he stepped outside and beckoned to the black beast perched on the municipal building.
“Ah Lü and the others were here, weren’t they?”
Yuan Yanzhong gracefully descended to his side, wrapping an arm around him from behind. With a muffled grunt, he affirmed Wen Xin’s suspicion.
“How much of that prophecy is true?”
“What’s wrong?” Wen Xin chuckled softly, patting the dinosaur-like creature on the head, seemingly unfazed by its awareness of the meeting’s content. “Didn’t you once say that prophecies aren’t reliable?”
“Remember Tang Qi? He once dreamed he’d die in an arena, yet not long ago, he sent me a letter saying he’s alive and well. He even mentioned having a sweet and beautiful girlfriend and invited me to his wedding.”
Yuan Yanzhong buried his face in Wen Xin’s shoulder, still sullen. Out of the blue, he asked, “What’s a girlfriend?”
“…” Wen Xin was taken aback by the question. A girlfriend wasn’t exactly an obscure term—how could Xiao Hei not know its meaning?
After some thought, he explained, “A girlfriend is someone who could become your wife in the future.”
“What’s a wife?” Yuan Yanzhong continued inquisitively.
Wen Xin initially wanted to say a wife is a spouse, a partner, but stopped himself, worried the beast would continue questioning what a spouse meant.
Instead, he simplified, “A wife is someone who enters a lifelong partnership with you, bound by love, and becomes your one and only.”
Yuan Yanzhong eagerly connected the dots. “So, I’m your wife?”
“…” Wen Xin turned his head in shock. “Why would you think that?”
Yuan Yanzhong pulled out the pistol Wen Xin had entrusted to him. “This is our contract.”
“I’ll stay by your side to supervise your character, and you need my strength. I’m the one most likely to spend my life with you.”
Listening to Yuan Yanzhong’s serious reasoning, Wen Xin found himself momentarily at a loss. “But there’s no love between us.”
Yuan Yanzhong raised an eyebrow, his gaze intense with curiosity. “What is love? Can you teach me?”
His burning eyes made Wen Xin feel like he was being scorched.
He pushed Yuan Yanzhong’s face away with one hand, his composure shaken. “I don’t know. Go look it up in a dictionary!”
When they returned home, Wen Xin couldn’t help but ponder how much of the meeting’s content the bundles had overheard.
Opening the door, he was met with an unexpected sight—a familiar face in the hallway.
“…Your Excellency, the Pope?”
The pink-clad youth standing in the corridor looked up at Wen Xin, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Wen Xin.”
He bit his lip, as though making a difficult decision, before softly but firmly correcting him:
“Don’t call me the Pope.”
“Call me Xiao Qi.”
