Chapter 124
Wen Xin’s expression remained impassive, but the pressure in the room seemed to plummet. The tension hinted at an impending frost, sending a shiver through Ah Jiu, the canary. Startled, he quickly blurted out, “I promise I won’t lie! I’ll tell you everything!”
The interruption brought Wen Xin back to his senses.
Seeing the boy’s panicked demeanor, as if he had misunderstood something, Wen Xin pondered for a moment but decided not to clarify. Instead, he nodded casually. “Go ahead.”
Ah Jiu began recounting everything—his harrowing experiences at the base, the cruel experiments, his past circumstances, the moment he resolved to escape, and the dangers he faced along the way.
As he spoke, Ah Jiu wasn’t trying to elicit sympathy. Yet, under Wen Xin’s gentle gaze, which slowly filled with compassion, and with his head being softly patted, those old scars buried deep in his memory seemed to heal a little.
“Let me take a look,” Wen Xin suddenly said.
Take a look? At what?
Ah Jiu, caught up in his recounting, didn’t immediately grasp the request. It wasn’t until Wen Xin’s slender fingers touched his neck that the boy stiffened.
—He had just mentioned a life-threatening encounter from long ago: a mutated bat had grabbed him by the throat, its barbed claws piercing his windpipe. Blood had gushed out, nearly costing him his life.
Such incidents had happened often, becoming as mundane as drinking water. Yet for some reason, Ah Jiu had shared this one without hesitation.
Wen Xin carefully inspected the area, his expression unreadable.
Feeling awkward, Ah Jiu turned his head away, mumbling softly, “My healing ability is really strong. I’ve already recovered.”
Indeed, his skin was smooth and flawless, with no trace of the old wound. But when Wen Xin’s fingers brushed against the spot, Ah Jiu still shivered involuntarily.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Leaning closer, Wen Xin gently blew on the scarred area and covered it with his warm palm, rubbing it soothingly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Good boy.”
Ah Jiu stayed silent, so Wen Xin patiently repeated the action.
The warmth of Wen Xin’s broad hand felt like a solid fortress, shielding the boy from the lingering shadows of his past.
Lowering his gaze, Ah Jiu suddenly lunged forward, throwing himself into Wen Xin’s arms and hugging him tightly.
Though his face remained blank, there was a subtle, overwhelming sense of grievance in his demeanor. “Why didn’t you show up sooner?”
Wen Xin, indulgent as always when it came to his little ones, gently patted Ah Jiu’s back and murmured, “It’s my fault. I came too late.”
“…” Ah Jiu’s only response was to tighten his grip further.
However, the embrace didn’t last long before an irresistible force yanked Ah Jiu to the side.
Startled, the boy turned to see Ah Lü, the green serpent, slipping into the room unnoticed. It clamped onto his shirt with its fangs and glared daggers at Yuan Yanzhong, who stood in the doorway.
The serpent’s gaze was brimming with resentment, as if to accuse: When I tried to coil around Wen Xin, you exuded killing intent. But now these two hug like that, and you just stand there watching?
Yuan Yanzhong leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He ignored the serpent entirely, his piercing gaze fixed solely on Wen Xin, its meaning unreadable.
While Ah Jiu was confessing, Yuan Yanzhong had taken the opportunity to change into a lighter outfit. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his toned, muscular arms, emanating an unmistakable aura of dominance.
This was the Yuan Yanzhong the little ones were most familiar with—the tyrannical, unyielding dinosaur. He didn’t need to say a word. Simply standing there exuding icy indifference was enough to make one’s hair stand on end.
Wen Xin was no stranger to this side of Yuan Yanzhong, but it was rarely displayed in his presence. Combined with Wen Xin’s earlier suspicions, his thoughts muddled once again, short-circuiting like a waterlogged machine. Without realizing it, his gaze drifted over Xiao Hei’s sharp physique, tracing the hard lines from his broad shoulders to his hips.
There was no ulterior motive.
He just thought Xiao Hei’s build was, well, impressive. It wouldn’t hurt if he had a physique like that too.
“…”
Yuan Yanzhong instinctively straightened his posture. Noticing Wen Xin’s envious gaze lingering on his arms, he hesitated for a moment before tugging his sleeves up a bit higher.
But the next second, Wen Xin’s attention shifted elsewhere.
“…”
Suppressing his disappointment, Yuan Yanzhong silently rolled his sleeves back down.
The little ones couldn’t grasp the subtle, exclusive atmosphere shared between Wen Xin and Ah Jiu. They only knew that after the conversation ended, Wen Xin and the canary didn’t come out for quite some time.
After waiting and waiting, the group decided to take action. One by one, they slipped past Yuan Yanzhong at the doorway, each racing to dive into Wen Xin’s arms.
A little blue seal, a purple squirrel, and a red panda.
In an instant, Wen Xin’s lap was completely occupied by fluffy bundles, washing away all the messy thoughts that had been clouding his mind.
“Who’s going first?”
“Me, or maybe it should be them.”
“Wen Xin, pat my head~”
As usual, one of them seemed oblivious to the situation. The red panda had no confessions to make; it simply burrowed into Wen Xin’s hand, demanding to be petted.
“The prophecies won’t come true,” said Lan Tuan, the little blue seal, solemnly. Resting its front flippers on Wen Xin’s shoulders, it lifted its head to nuzzle his chin affectionately. “I absolutely won’t let you die.”
Lan Tuan never lied.
Though it disguised itself as a blue cat, it had never deceived Wen Xin. From their first meeting in the depths of Mermaid Bay, it had revealed its true form.
A promise from Lan Tuan was one it would honor with its life.
Wen Xin felt as though a warm current coursed through his heart. He leaned forward, touching foreheads with Lan Tuan. “Neither will I.”
Ah Zi, the purple squirrel, looked a little guilty. But with the foundation laid by the others, its unease eased somewhat. What it needed to confess wasn’t too different from what Ah Jiu had already shared.
“I didn’t mean to,” Ah Zi suddenly said.
Wen Xin glanced down and saw the squirrel extending a paw to lightly touch his neck.
Animals naturally went for the vital areas of their prey. At the moment of attack, survival for the prey was never the intent.
When they first met, Ah Jiu had explained that he was attacked in the neck by a mutated bat. But later on, Wen Xin, who had rescued Ah Zi from a trash bin found that it wasn’t a mutated bat. The squirrel had tried to bite him as well.
However, Wen Xin dodged in time and overpowered the little squirrel as it was in a weekend state and lacked the strength to inflict harm, the incident had left a lasting impression on both of them. For Ah Zi, the memory of Wen Xin’s startled and shaken reaction often resurfaced, filling it with regret.
Ah Zi lightly brushed Wen Xin’s neck. Human throats were far more fragile than those of mutants. Then, from behind, it pulled out a scarf and carefully wrapped it around Wen Xin’s neck. Like a small adult, it straightened Wen Xin’s hair and adjusted his collar.
The scarf’s texture felt unique—soft with a silky smoothness and a faint, pleasant coolness.
Wen Xin couldn’t help running his fingers over it. “What’s this scarf made of? It doesn’t feel like ordinary wool.”
“It’s made from threads harvested from the Spider Queen and wool from an A-grade mutated sheep,” Ah Zi explained. “I processed them myself.”
The squirrel spoke with great earnestness. “This scarf is extremely tough. Bullets can’t pierce it, fire won’t burn it, and water won’t soak it. With this, no one will ever bite your neck again.”
Wen Xin was deeply touched.
Wrapping his arms around the three fluffy bundles, he pulled them all into a tight embrace.
Watching from the sidelines, Ah Lü, the green serpent, grew envious. Seeing that Yuan Yanzhong didn’t stop it, the serpent seized the opportunity. Shrinking its body as it slithered forward, it managed to squeeze into the crowded embrace, snuggling against Wen Xin amidst the tightly packed fur.
Hearing the commotion, Xiao Qi, the little fox, came running and refused to be left out. With a flying leap, it wedged itself into the fray. Wen Xin’s lap immediately became the battleground for a playful scuffle among the little ones. In the end, it was Yuan Yanzhong who stepped in to shoo them away.
Seeing their unruly behavior, Yuan Yanzhong’s brow furrowed so deeply it almost formed a knot.
No one dared challenge the temper of the tyrannosaurus. The little ones scattered at once.
Ah Lü retreated to the living room, where it relaxed and stretched its body for a rare moment of ease. In a good mood, it even let Xiao Qi climb onto its tail to play.
Ah Zi returned to the kitchen to prepare food, with Ah Jiu assisting. San San, the red panda, stood nearby, watching enviously as the aroma of cooking filled the air. The enticing smell soon had it drooling as it gnawed on its paw.
As usual, Lan Tuan went out to the balcony, leaping with a splash into the outdoor pool. Water droplets sparkled in the air, scattering under the sunlight.
Outside, the weather was perfect—bright and sunny. The surface of the water glimmered like the ocean, reflecting a brilliant sapphire hue.
Standing at the doorway, Wen Xin gazed at the lively scene of his noisy, bustling household. Unconsciously, his eyes softened.
Beside him, Yuan Yanzhong suddenly asked, “Thinking that it would be nice if time could stop at this moment?”
Wen Xin glanced at him but didn’t reply directly. His voice was calm and logical as ever. “But as long as the First Base hasn’t abandoned its experiments on evolution and Dr. An Qi’s influence hasn’t been eradicated, this peace won’t last.”
Yuan Yanzhong looked into Wen Xin’s resolute eyes. After a pause, he shifted his gaze and asked, “What’s your next step?”
“The shots I fired into An Qi’s body should have seriously injured him, even if they didn’t kill him. According to recent reports from our scouts, he’s been staying at a private nursing facility, with no unusual activity so far.”
“I’ve ordered continuous surveillance and monitoring of the First Base’s other leaders,” Wen Xin said coldly. “Unfortunately, they’ve hidden An Qi too well. No one knows which facility he’s recovering in.”
At the mention of An Qi, even Yuan Yanzhong’s expression darkened.
“In the meantime,” Wen Xin continued, “we must gather as much support as possible from other human factions.”
“From a mutant’s perspective, humanity may seem weak. But since the prophecy mentions humans, uniting the survivors must be a critical step in defeating the First Base.”
Yuan Yanzhong posed a question. “Do you trust what that person said?”
Wen Xin admitted directly, “I do.”
Yuan Yanzhong appeared contemplative.
“But not entirely,” Wen Xin added.
Surprised, Yuan Yanzhong asked, “You suspect they lied?”
“The seer’s words aren’t necessarily false, nor do they have a reason to deceive me. But there’s a discrepancy between reality and the prophecy. Many details need careful consideration. Even a cunning hare has three burrows,” Wen Xin said, his tone measured and thoughtful.
The living room was filled with laughter.
Ah Lü, the green serpent, was unusually tolerant, allowing Xiao Qi, the little fox, to prance around on its head. Emboldened by Ah Lü’s lack of reaction, Xiao Qi grew even more mischievous, using the serpent’s body as a slide, gliding from its head down to the tip of its tail with peals of delighted laughter.
Watching the scene, Wen Xin couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll make a trip to the Idealism Sect soon to help Xiao Qi step down from the position of Pope,” he said.
“You’re going to take over the Idealism Sect?” Yuan Yanzhong asked. “And bring them to City G?”
Wen Xin shook his head. “Of course not. The two locations are too far apart. Moving so many followers would be dangerous. I plan to establish a few small transportation outposts along the way.”
Yuan Yanzhong could somewhat grasp Wen Xin’s intent.
The distance didn’t matter much. As long as the routes blocked by zombies, monsters, and wreckage were cleared and trade was facilitated, the two locations could form a close connection.
Much like the courier roads built on a massive scale during the Warring States period.
“Wen Xin!” Ah Zi called from the kitchen. “Help! How much salt do I add to the dish? Should I just toss the meat in and stir-fry it?”
Ah Zi never imagined that while it could knead missiles with its bare hands and knit scarves with its eyes closed, it would struggle so much with cooking.
Wen Xin chuckled, taking off his jacket. In his slim-fit white shirt, with sleeves rolled up, he walked into the kitchen. “I’m coming.”
Meanwhile, Yuan Yanzhong entered the living room and picked up the playful Xiao Qi, who was driving Ah Lü to the brink of madness.
As if sensing something, Wen Xin tried to suppress his possessiveness, but his feet seemed to act on their own, carrying him toward the kitchen.
Yuan Yanzhong’s gaze followed Wen Xin’s lean figure. The kitchen tools and ingredients, which had given the purple squirrel and canary such headaches, turned docile in Wen Xin’s hands.
A faint smile adorned Wen Xin’s refined face, glowing under the warm light. The sight left Yuan Yanzhong momentarily spellbound.
“Commander, an anonymous letter just arrived,” reported the soldier.
Wen Jinfeng didn’t even look up, his cold gaze sharp as a blade. “An anonymous letter? How did it end up in your hands?”
“It was handed over by the communications station…” Li Yongming trailed off, suddenly realizing the implications, and fell silent.
“So, I was out of commission for just half a month, and someone in City A has already lost patience? Stretching their hand into the communications department, how laughable.” Wen Jinfeng sneered. “Give me the letter. Let’s see what these people went to such lengths to tell me.”
Li Yongming quickly handed the letter over with reverence.
Before opening it, Wen Jinfeng’s expression was still relatively calm.
But after reading the first line, his face darkened immediately.
Silence, cold and oppressive, enveloped the room in an instant. Alarmed by Wen Jinfeng’s terrifying expression, Li Yongming stiffened.
Before he could speak, Wen Jinfeng placed the letter down and spat a single command like a hammer striking stone: “Investigate.”
“Security units, patrol squads, city defense systems, communications personnel—check all their recent social relations, where they’ve been, everything. If any anomalies are found—bring them to interrogation. Confirmed traitors are to be executed on the spot!”
Li Yongming was shaken by the deadly intent in Wen Jinfeng’s tone but managed a hurried response. As he turned to leave, his gaze inadvertently fell on the letter’s first line:
“Your parents left something behind before they died. It’s about your younger brother. Do you want to know what it is?”
the brain surgery scar…