Chapter 129
Mr. Ghost?
At first, Wen Xin thought it was nothing more than a casual doodle, the kind children draw from their wild imaginations.
That was until he spotted more graffiti related to “Mr. Ghost” near the stairwell corner.
In this drawing, a young child was curled into a small ball, arms wrapped around their knees. Blue crayon tears streaked down the child’s face, splashing onto a gray floor. Not far from the child floated the same black scribble. Two tiny paws extended from the dark mass, seemingly trying to embrace the silently crying child.
As Wen Xin studied the drawing, a subtle emotion welled up within him. When he instinctively tried to parse the feeling, it was as if a mist clouded his heart—vague and indescribable.
Xiao Qi sidled closer and, noticing Wen Xin’s unusual mood, asked hesitantly, “Wen Xin, who is this Mr. Ghost?”
Distant memories yielded only a blank void.
“Maybe,” Wen Xin said uncertainly, “he was my imaginary friend when I was a child.”
Perhaps he had been too lonely and conjured a companion from his imagination to stave off the solitude.
Wen Xin glanced up at the second floor, sensing that his room must still hold many similar doodles. But his immediate priority was to find anything Wen Jinfeng might have left behind.
Suppressing the urge to go upstairs and investigate, he turned toward the garden, unaware that Yuan Yanzhong’s expression mirrored his own dazed state.
Signs of rummaging were everywhere—drawers overturned, cabinets emptied. It was unclear how many waves of intruders had come after Wen Jinfeng’s disappearance.
Masking the coldness in his eyes, Wen Xin led Yuan Yanzhong and Xiao Qi to the old flower garden.
Although neither of the Wen brothers had visited in years, Wen Jinfeng had valued the house and had hired people to clean it regularly. He had even employed a gardener to maintain the garden.
Now, the once-pristine flowerbeds were a mess. Rare flowers had been uprooted, and crushed into the soil by countless footprints. The circular flower plots were pitted and uneven, showing clear signs of invasive searches. The once beautiful garden was in ruins.
Seeing his childhood home desecrated, Wen Xin couldn’t help but feel a surge of fury. His fingers trembled as he tried to calm himself. The next moment, Yuan Yanzhong’s hand reached out, clasping his.
The naturalness of the gesture startled both of them.
Normally, Yuan Yanzhong refrained from touching Wen Xin openly, his admiration for the poised and radiant young man tempered by a deep, unspoken inferiority complex.
But after seeing the graffiti, it felt as though an invisible shackle in Yuan Yanzhong’s mind had shattered. The emotions he had repressed surged like a flood.
Caught by Wen Xin’s surprised gaze, Yuan Yanzhong’s panic was fleeting. Regaining composure, he spoke with calm reassurance, “Don’t be upset. The garden’s still here. We can clean up the mess, and the flowers can be replanted. Once we find out who did this, I’ll help you deal with them.”
Despite Yuan Yanzhong’s steady tone, his words carried a clumsy, almost childlike attempt to console.
Wen Xin studied Yuan Yanzhong’s shifting eyes, and the heaviness in his heart lifted. A faint smile broke across his lips, dissipating his anger.
“All right,” Wen Xin said, smirking. “Once I catch those people, you’ll be my enforcer. Deal with them properly.”
Walking to one of the flowerbeds, Wen Xin looked up at the second floor, directly at his childhood bedroom. To comfort him as a child, the house staff had planted a cactus directly below his window so he could always see it.
Because the spot was relatively obscure, even the gardener had paid it little attention, allowing it to escape the ravages of the intruders.
Over the years, the cactus had vanished, replaced by a few scraggly weeds swaying in the wind.
Squatting down to inspect the soil, Wen Xin noticed no signs of recent digging, making him question his hunch. Still, deciding to try his luck, he grabbed a shovel and began digging. Xiao Qi and Yuan Yanzhong rolled up their sleeves to help.
After digging about two meters deep, Wen Xin’s shovel struck something hard.
“Looks like we found something!”
He called Yuan Yanzhong and Xiao Qi over, and together they unearthed a large iron box buried in the dirt.
Wen Xin brushed off the clinging soil. Judging by the scratches and corrosion, the box had likely been underground for nearly a decade. That explained the lack of fresh digging marks.
But a decade ago, Wen Jinfeng would have been a high school student. No matter how farsighted, it was improbable he could have predicted today’s events.
This meant the box wasn’t left by Wen Jinfeng. Eliminating his brother, there was only one other possibility—the former owners of the house.
Wen Xin’s mind flickered with images of old photographs as he focused his attention on the box.
The rusted iron lock crumbled with a light twist of his fingers.
With a creak, the lid opened, releasing a puff of dust that made Wen Xin cough. Inside, he found stacks of documents and files. He quickly pulled them out.
Xiao Qi took some of the papers, squinting at the dense and convoluted text. “What is all this?” she asked, struggling to decipher it.
A glance was enough for Wen Xin to pick out terms like “biotechnology,” “evolutionary pathways,” and “x-415 genetic map.” His expression turned grave.
Wen Xin’s eyes moved to the signature on the documents:
City H Bio-Genetic Engineering Research Division. Sixth-Generation Project Leader. Xin Nuannuan.
These were left behind by his mother?
Wen Xin didn’t know much about his mother, Xin Nuannuan. What little he knew included the fact that City H, once a renowned research hub and precursor to First Base, was a city teeming with scientific talent. Revered as a haven for aspiring scholars, its research achievements have garnered global acclaim, earning it a reputation as a producer of elite scientists.
For his mother to have become a project leader in such a competitive environment spoke volumes—she was a genius among geniuses.
A complex wave of emotions surged through Wen Xin as he traced his fingers over his mother’s signature. Gently, he opened the documents and began reading.
Despite bracing himself, the data within still caused his expression to darken.
He flipped directly to Xin Nuannuan’s experimental journal.
The first few entries reflected her initial enthusiasm: preparation work was complete, and the experiments were progressing steadily. Her team was composed of leading experts in the field, and their initial results were promising.
From her words, it was clear Xin Nuannuan held high hopes for the experiments, believing they could alleviate human suffering.
Carrying the expectations of many and leading a team of prodigious talents, Xin Nuannuan undoubtedly bore immense pressure. Yet her journal contained no trace of complaint—only determination and an unshakable passion that Wen Xin couldn’t ignore.
One entry described her elation at a set of significantly improved observation data, and Wen Xin found himself smiling faintly, infected by her optimism.
But the tone of the journal shifted as the experimental subjects—mice—began to exhibit alarming abnormalities.
“…Among test groups 1-16, 15 mice developed side effects of genetic disorders. Not only did they lose all rationality, but the gene fusion experiment also altered their cellular activity, leading to mutations.”
“They became bloodthirsty, violent, and photophobic. Their biological indicators were highly abnormal, and their tendency toward cannibalism was amplified exponentially.”
“…What unsettles me most is that pain does not calm them, and tranquilizing sprays are ineffective. Even at the risk of tearing their throats apart, they will fight to the death to bite a piece of flesh from their companions.”
If these developments had only been a source of concern for Xin Nuannuan, what followed next pushed her into sheer terror.
“The last mouse was clearly dead! I personally witnessed its vital signs disappear completely. Why, then, did the corpse move? How is it that cells deprived of sustenance can remain active for such an extended period?”
“The body began to decay, yet it behaved like a living organism, with an even greater hunger for fresh flesh than it had in life. Lacking consciousness yet retaining the instinct to consume—how is this different from a zombie?”
“Until now, I believed zombies existed only in movies, but then we detected a transmissible virus in the last test subject’s body.”
“I combed through all the relevant literature and found no records of such a virus. This means that the virus was newly created within the experimental subjects! A new virus—with no antibodies, high resistance, and extreme transmissibility… My God, what have we created?”
“My unease grows with each passing day. When I first joined the project, the doctor assured me that all the substances used had passed preliminary safety tests.”
“But if that were true, why did his team react with such surprise and excitement? It was the kind of reaction one has when results far exceed expectations.”
“I proposed destroying the experimental subjects, including the virus within them, but the doctor insisted on continuing. He said too much had been invested in the project—funds, manpower, and external scrutiny left them no room to retreat.”
“…The doctor is definitely hiding something. This cannot go on. I need to find a way to stop them… Is there a way to forcibly terminate the experiment?”
Reading through the journal left Wen Xin deeply shaken.
The origin of the zombie virus remained a mystery, and while many suspected First Base, no concrete evidence had ever surfaced.
Never in his wildest dreams did Wen Xin imagine he would hold such evidence in his hands, with his own mother as one of the participants.
As he sifted through the documents, several yellowed photographs slipped from the folder. Wen Xin bent to pick them up, his hand freezing mid-motion.
One photograph was a group portrait of the researchers involved in the experiment.
Dressed in white lab coats, they exuded confidence and professionalism, embodying the very essence of elite scientists. At the front of the group stood his mother and father, clearly pivotal figures in the team.
At the center of the group, an elderly man smiled kindly—a man who was nothing short of a nightmare for countless mutants: Dr. An Qi.
Turning the photo over, Wen Xin noticed the names of the team members written on the back. Next to An Qi’s name was a prefix: “Mentor.”
An Qi had been his mother’s teacher!
