After Raising Monsters, I Was Loved by Everyone in the Wasteland – CH143

The cavern was filled with thick black smoke, and the ever-rising temperature reminded the brothers constantly: time was running out.

Despite his deep grief, Wen Xin managed to calm his emotions and asked rationally, “If that’s the case, then why didn’t I receive this serum earlier in my life?”

“No, you did receive it. But it was later extracted from you,” Wen Jingfeng replied, his own emotions clearly unsettled as he massaged his temples. “Even at the cost of our parents’ lives, that power couldn’t be absorbed by you. You almost shared their fate.”

“Mother was a visionary,” he continued. “Even under such dire circumstances, she left a contingency plan.

“She returned to the First Base under the pretext of seeking advanced medical treatment for your health, but in truth, it was to arrange trustworthy people. When the time came that you could no longer bear the power, they could safely extract it.”

Wen Jingfeng tugged the corner of his mouth, a self-deprecating smirk forming. “Too bad I learned the truth too late—only in the past few months. Back then, our parents didn’t tell me the full story, probably because they knew I’d selfishly claim the power for myself rather than use it to save this so-called world.”

Fate was indeed absurd.

The letter from Xin Nuannuan, intended for the two brothers, had been delayed by twists of fate, reaching them a full decade late.

Grief consumed Wen Jingfeng’s heart. He couldn’t help but wonder: if he had been allowed to inherit the power back then, would their parents still be alive? Forget all that talk about destiny! The future had already changed. With Xin Nuannuan and Wen Guodong, why couldn’t things be different?

Why hadn’t they told him the truth from the start?

As Wen Jingfeng sank into despair, Wen Xin’s sudden and firm “No” jolted him back.

“It’s absolutely not for that reason,” Wen Xin said, gripping Wen Jingfeng’s shoulder and meeting his tearful, red eyes. “Did you forget what Mom used to say? ‘Saving the world is an exhausting and thankless job for fools.’”

“Saving everyone is my wish—not yours. How could they have sacrificed you as if it were the natural thing to do?”

Wen Jingfeng froze at these words. The tears brimming in his eyes trembled with the weight of realization.

Meanwhile, the chamber’s temperature continued to rise, seemingly reaching its limit. A series of ominous cracking sounds erupted from within.

Wen Jingfeng glanced at the lake’s surface with clenched teeth. If they jumped into the water now, they might escape the explosion. But then, oxygen would become their next deadly challenge.

Choose between suffocating or getting blown up?

The only thought in the man’s mind was dragging An Qi out and giving her a thorough beating.

Wen Xin let out a small sigh. In that fraction of a second—less than even 0.01 seconds—he buried all his emotions and, with an unexpectedly light-hearted tone, asked, “Brother, if you had to choose to survive or die, would you choose to become a merman and survive?”

“What?” Wen Jingfeng, unprepared for such an abrupt question, glared at him irritably. “If I could survive, who would choose to die? You—”

Before he could finish, Wen Xin swiftly pulled something from his pocket and shoved it into Wen Jingfeng’s open mouth.

Caught off guard, Wen Jingfeng instinctively tried to spit it out, but the smooth, round bead melted the moment it touched his tongue. A cool liquid slid down his throat.

“What did you make me swallow?!” he exclaimed in shock.

Without answering, Wen Xin caught the flash of fire in the corner of his eye, grabbed his brother, and plunged them both into the lake.

The moment they hit the water, the icy liquid wrapped around their bodies, muting all external sounds into a deep, tranquil silence.

A second later, the chamber erupted into a massive explosion. Roaring flames swallowed the entire cavern in an instant.

It was unclear how much time had passed.

“Pfft—cough!”

Wen Jingfeng broke the surface of the water, his face still a picture of stunned disbelief.

An explosion like that should have sucked all the oxygen out of the cavern, leaving a deadly heat behind that would prevent them from surfacing and ultimately lead to their drowning.

This had been a situation with no escape.

And yet, somehow, they were breathing underwater.

No—that wasn’t it. What had Wen Xin made him ingest earlier?

Ignoring the destruction wreaked by the explosion, Wen Jingfeng turned to the shore and fixed his gaze on Wen Xin, who was now pulling himself onto dry land.

Sensing his brother’s confusion, Wen Xin shrugged with an air of innocence. “A Blue Pearl. It’s harvested from the waters of Mermaid Bay in the southern region. Once consumed, it lets you breathe underwater. The downside is that you’ll temporarily transform into a merman, but Lan Tuan can reverse that effect. I only had two. I used one for myself earlier and just gave you the other.”

“…” Wen Jingfeng stared, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t you take it out sooner?!”

Wen Xin blinked as if the question was obvious. “If you’d known earlier that we could survive, would you have told me the truth?”

Wen Jingfeng was speechless.

So… was his little brother playing him?

Clutching his chest, Wen Jingfeng felt an overwhelming wave of cardiac arrest-level frustration. He didn’t know whether to be shocked that his once-naïve younger brother had turned crafty or relieved that he had finally grown smarter—enough not to be easily fooled anymore. He was happy with both outcomes.

Wen Xin had no time to soothe his brother’s wounded pride. His gaze shifted forward.

The explosion had torn apart the research pod, scattering debris throughout the cavern amidst faint tendrils of black smoke.

This was what the brothers had anticipated. Yet what they saw went beyond their expectations.

Where the pod had once been, a passageway now revealed itself—a path that must have been there all along but had been completely blocked by the research pod, keeping it hidden from view.

The passage led to another chamber, vastly different from their current cavern. If the first space was a cave, this new one could only be described as a grand hall.

It was massive enough to house three aircraft carriers side by side. Twelve towering pillars lined the path, each intricately engraved with ancient, enigmatic patterns. The floor was strewn with irregularly shaped vessels that appeared to be burial offerings.

At the far end of the path stood a towering, majestic statue.

The statue bore a striking resemblance to a dinosaur, with sharp claws, serrated fangs, and a robust body. Its eyes were painted a chilling blood-red color that hadn’t faded over the years, still exuding an eerie, malevolent aura.

Beneath the statue lay a giant stone coffin. Its chains—over a dozen of them—had been violently broken, leaving the coffin empty.

Though ravaged by time, the ruins retained the grandeur of their former glory. From the remnants of the structures, one could still catch glimpses of their splendor.

With only a moment’s thought, it became clear that this temple was the very site where genetic creations had been sealed. It was the tomb Xiao Hei had guarded for millennia and the starting point of Dr. An Qi’s descent into sin.

Wen Jingfeng needed a long moment to recover from the sight, only to notice that Wen Xin seemed entirely unfazed.

A sudden realization struck him, and he laughed bitterly. “I can’t believe I fell for it. You said the crystals could generate oxygen, and I believed your nonsense.”

“Crystals that supply oxygen? Even if they could, they’d be colorless and odorless, making it impossible to tell. The altar inside the cavern meant there had to be a passage for workers to enter. Since neither of us found it, it had to be blocked by the wreckage.”

“You figured all this out from the start but didn’t say a word!”

“Well, Brother, you’re too guarded,” Wen Xin said with a helpless smile. “If I hadn’t played dumb, you wouldn’t have gone along with it.”

Seeing Wen Xin produce another vial of serum, Wen Jingfeng’s heart skipped a beat. He scrambled to his feet in alarm. “What are you doing? We’re safe now! Don’t do anything reckless!”

“We’re safe, but Xiao Hei and the others above aren’t. Neither is this world.”

Wen Jingfeng cut him off sharply. “We’ve done all we can! Besides, the Tomb Keeper of this time period is still alive, and it has the power to destroy the world. Why not let it handle the disaster?”

“Because it gave me its power to heal.”

Wen Xin held up the vial and asked, “Brother, if I returned this serum to Xiao Hei, could it use this power again?”

Wen Jingfeng froze.

When he didn’t respond, Wen Xin smiled faintly and answered for him. “Of course not. If it could, this serum would’ve gone to Xiao Hei in the first place, not me.”

Wen Jingfeng struggled to explain, “Because it was converted through a human host, turning from intangible energy into a physical substance, so—”

“So, only I can use it, once my body adapts to it.”

Wen Xin stepped forward, heading toward the statue at the center of the hall.

As though sensing the familiar source of power, the reagent in the vial emitted a dazzling azure glow, eager to announce its presence.

Having grown accustomed to Xiao Hei’s fierce form, Wen Xin found no fear in the statue’s intentionally menacing design, sculpted to intimidate.

He stood before the statue, staring up at it. Without hesitation, he attached a syringe needle to the vial.

Wen Jingfeng, unable to keep up, shouted from behind, “Wen Xin! That power is beyond human control! Have you forgotten how close you came to dying before? Or our parents that we lost?!”

But Wen Xin was faster. Resolute, he injected the serum into his body.

The brilliant blue liquid swirled within the vial before vanishing entirely. Wen Jingfeng froze, his eyes wide with despair. “WEN XIN!!”

Removing the syringe, Wen Xin lifted his head and offered a faint smile. It was a soft smile, as gentle and warm as the first breeze of spring along a riverside.

“Brother, I’ll never forget why our parents left us.”

“Then how could you—”

“Because their lives, their determination, are within this power. That’s why I can’t abandon it.” Wen Xin’s voice was unwavering.

At those words, the rage on Wen Jingfeng’s face evaporated, replaced by a stunned helplessness. It was as though chains of fate had sprung from nowhere, binding him in place.

He knew the weight of Wen Xin’s words.

After a long pause, Wen Jingfeng lifted his head. His proud face was now filled with desperation. “…Stay alive. No matter what you become, you must survive!”

“Do you hear me, Wen Xin?!”

Of course.

When I was younger, I wasn’t ready. But now, I’m different. I may be able to bear this power. So don’t worry, I’ll come back alive.

Wen Xin wanted to reassure his grieving brother, but he found he could no longer speak.

The power coursing through his body was changing him. He felt it vividly.

His pulse quickened, pounding like a thunderstorm. His long-stagnant bones creaked as they began to grow. His blood heated, hotter and hotter, until it boiled like magma. The transformation brought excruciating pain, so intense it felt as though his soul had separated from his body, adrift in a stormy sea.

Wen Xin was drowning in that sea.

He gasped for breath, flailed against the waves, and screamed silently, refusing to yield to the overwhelming crisis.

The struggle felt endless, as though hundreds or thousands of years had passed. His flesh eroded under the relentless assault of seawater, peeling away until only his frail skeleton remained.

His strength was nearly spent, yet the waves continued to batter him. A colossal surge loomed overhead and crashed down, submerging him completely.

As he was about to sink into the pitch-black depths, Wen Xin made one final, desperate grasp—and caught hold of something.

It was a person, with a plain and unremarkable face.

Though the searing pain clouded his thoughts, Wen Xin gradually remembered. The figure was a comrade with whom he had shared a mission—a man with a wife, a daughter, and three old hens at home.

As Wen Xin recalled, more familiar faces began to appear in the underwater darkness.

There were trusted allies, temporary companions, and steadfast comrades-in-arms, along with strangers he had met only once.

Each reached out a hand, pulling Wen Xin upward in silence.

Some released their grip as they ran out of strength, but others immediately took their place, continuing the effort.

Images of the past and the future that might have been blurred together; flashed before Wen Xin’s eyes like a reel of memories.

He saw Xiao Hei’s long years of solitary vigil. He saw his father by his mother’s sickbed, resolutely accepting the vial. He heard the anguished cries of countless people during disasters.

And through the haze, he heard a question echo in his mind.

If you had a chance to change the future, would you seize it with all your might?

I can’t give up.

Wen Xin thought.

This power is no longer about my personal wishes. It carries my parents’ lives and resolve, Xiao Hei’s millennia of guardianship, and everyone’s shared hope for the future.

As Wen Xin steeled his resolve, the hands pulling him upward grew stronger, and the faces around him became clearer.

Tang Qi, Wen Jingfeng, Ah Lü, San San, Ah Jiu, Ah Zi, Xiao Qi, Lan Tuan, Xiao Hei, his father…

At last, a beautiful, capable woman appeared before Wen Xin.

She smiled at him with pride, cupped his face in her hands, and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

Go.

Her lips formed the word silently, and with a firm push on his back, she propelled Wen Xin toward the lifeline waiting just ahead.

Wen Xin found his anchor.

Gripping the rope tightly, he climbed toward the light with every ounce of strength he had left.

Meanwhile, the First Base had become a living hell.

The S-class mutated zombies were leagues beyond the mindless minions from before. They were savage and indiscriminate, attacking anything alive. Worse, they carried a sinister virus. Many fighters unknowingly succumbed mid-battle, turning into zombies themselves and tearing into their comrades’ throats.

Amidst the raw stone defenses, they could fend off attacks from mutated zombies, but they were powerless against the spreading virus. They could annihilate countless enemies but could not silence the anguished screams of their comrades.

Corpses littered the ground, and devastation was everywhere.

As despair threatened to engulf everyone, an intensely radiant light pierced through the dense layers of gloom, descending from the skies and blanketing the battle-scarred land below.

Those touched by the light felt an inexplicable comfort, like basking in a gentle spring breeze.

To their amazement, the monsters’ shrieks abruptly ceased.

The creatures seemed drawn to the warmth of the light, abandoning their attacks as they staggered toward its source.

As they moved, the madness faded from their faces. Lifeless, glassy eyes regained their spark, decayed and blackened flesh sloughed off like spilled ink, revealing fresh, untainted skin beneath. Twisted, deformed limbs visibly straightened and returned to normal.

When they reached the light’s proximity, the monsters crouched, curling up as if they were children reunited with their mother. A rare tranquility settled over them, and one by one, they stopped breathing.

The scene was nothing short of a divine miracle.

The surviving humans stared in shock, struggling to comprehend what they were witnessing.

The zombies… were dead? The monsters and mutated creatures, too?

How could this be? Why did they revert to their original forms? Could it be that… the zombie virus had been eradicated?

“Wen Xin!”

A loud shout broke the stunned silence, snapping the survivors out of their daze. They looked up in the direction of the voice—and nearly dropped their jaws again.

There, in the miraculous light, was a living, breathing human!

The survivors exchanged bewildered looks, their faces full of confusion. They craned their necks to get a better view, only to see the light extinguish after purging the monsters. The figure within plummeted like a kite with a severed string.

The creatures on the ground froze in panic!

They hadn’t anticipated Wen Xin’s appearance in such a manner. The surge of power just moments ago had been overwhelming, far beyond what a human should endure.

As Wen Xin fell lifelessly, the creatures scattered below became frantic, buzzing like ants on a hot pan. They were about to leap to his rescue when a massive shadow streaked through the air. Emerging from the dim heights, it transformed into a humanoid form, catching Wen Xin securely in its arms.

“Wen Xin!” “Is he okay?!” “Why does he have that kind of power? Isn’t he just an ordinary human?!”

The creatures clamored as they rushed over, only to find the hulking figure of Yuan Yanzhong unmoving and silent. He didn’t respond to their barrage of questions.

Ah Lü, now in its smaller snake-like form, caught a glimpse of Yuan Yanzhong’s ghastly expression. Its heart felt as though it had been pierced by a knife, bleeding profusely with pain.

It couldn’t believe what it was seeing. Trembling, it cautiously extended the tip of its tail toward Wen Xin’s nose.

After a long, dreadful silence, Ah Lü lifted its head, utterly bewildered. “Why… why isn’t Wen Xin breathing?”

The snake seemed unable to comprehend the situation, stubbornly continuing to test for signs of life. Yet no matter how many times it checked, the result was the same.

—Wen Xin had stopped breathing.

“You’re joking! Wen Xin can’t possibly not be breathing!”

The little fox shoved Ah Lü aside and pressed its ear to Wen Xin’s chest, straining to hear a heartbeat.

Nothing.

Why was there nothing?

How could there be nothing?!

Panic spread among the creatures like a tidal wave. The fox grew hysterical, shaking Wen Xin by the shoulders. “No! Wen Xin can’t be dead! He can’t die!”

“Wen Xin, wake up! This isn’t funny at all! From now on, I’ll do whatever you say, just please wake up! Wen Xin!”

The fox’s voice cracked into sobs.

The canary’s chest heaved violently. Turning to the red panda, its blood-red eyes burned with desperation as it demanded, “After you left, where did Wen Xin go? Who did he meet?”

The red panda clenched its lips shut, unable to answer. Tears filled its eyes, which mirrored the canary’s crimson gaze—a sign of an impending frenzy.

I never should have left Wen Xin, thought the panda bitterly.

“Answer me!” the canary roared.

Just as conflict threatened to erupt among them, Ah Zi, the purple squirrel, interjected in a measured, deliberate tone. “It’s the energy.”

“That power is far too intense. It should never have existed within a human. If we trace where Wen Xin got it, we’ll find what killed him!”

By the time it finished speaking, its voice was tinged with an unshakable bloodlust. The squirrel’s fur bristled, standing on end like sharp quills.

“…It was me.”

The murderous tension froze as all eyes turned to Yuan Yanzhong.

They were stunned.

A scalding tear slid down the black cat’s face, falling onto Wen Xin’s closed eyelids with a soft plop. Yuan Yanzhong’s voice was hoarse, every word forced through gritted teeth.

“That power… I gave it to him.”

In the moment of the light’s brilliance, memories had flooded back to Yuan Yanzhong.

He recalled the devastation of the original future. He remembered the pact he had made with the young officer.

And he remembered how the power he had entrusted to Wen Xin would exact an unbearable toll on the human body.

“It’s my fault. He’s dead because of me.”

A thunderous revelation!

The creatures froze, watching as Yuan Yanzhong cradled Wen Xin’s upper body in his arms. His whole frame trembled, his lips quivered, and his clenched fists creaked under the pressure, as if he wished he could merge Wen Xin’s very being into his own flesh and bone.

Everyone was gripped by despair over Wen Xin’s state, so no one noticed that the blue walrus had quietly kept its flippers on the young man’s limp arm.

At last, the creature exhaled deeply, withdrawing its healing power. Ignoring the sweat dripping from its forehead, it gently nudged the back of Wen Xin’s head. “Wake up, Wen Xin.”

The soft call acted like a potent elixir. Wen Xin suddenly coughed violently.

“Cough! Cough, cough…”

The creatures’ eyes widened in unison.

The canary and red panda forgot their argument, spinning around instantly.

The little fox and Ah Lü leaned forward, fixating on Wen Xin’s trembling eyelids.

Ah Zi, the purple squirrel, extended a paw to keep the overexcited creatures from crowding Wen Xin. It, too, stared at the seemingly resurrected youth, hardly daring to breathe.

Under their collective gaze, Wen Xin finally opened his eyes.

He groaned and pressed his hand to his aching forehead. Every bone in his body felt shattered, and his limbs were so weak they might as well have been disconnected.

It felt as though someone had slammed him into the ground dozens of times, then hung him on a rack to bake under the scorching sun. The sensation was unspeakably wretched.

For several agonizing seconds, Wen Xin winced before realizing the eerie silence around him. Looking up, his gaze met Yuan Yanzhong’s vivid red eyes.

He froze.

Ignoring the discomfort wracking his body, Wen Xin reached out and touched the traces of dampness at the corners of the man’s eyes. “You…”

Had he been… crying?

His gesture seemed to jolt the black dragon awake. In the span of just a few minutes, Yuan Yanzhong’s emotions had surged like a tempest, reaching a breaking point. His feelings for Wen Xin—compressed to the brink of eruption—finally burst forth.

Before the others could react, Yuan Yanzhong leaned down and fiercely kissed Wen Xin’s lips.

Wen Xin: “…!!”

The creatures stood there, dumbfounded. They didn’t know whether to look away or keep watching.

Completely unprepared, Wen Xin’s eyes grew in shock. When his mind finally caught up, his face burned with humiliation and fury. He shoved at Yuan Yanzhong’s head with all his strength. “Xiao Hei, what are you doing?! You—”

His protest faltered as his hand came away wet with tears.

Yuan Yanzhong’s reddened eyes locked stubbornly onto Wen Xin’s. The emotions burning in his gaze were so intense that Wen Xin found himself at a loss for words.

After a long pause, Wen Xin raised his arms and wrapped them around Yuan Yanzhong’s neck. He patted the man’s rigid back twice. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

He then turned his head slightly and placed a light kiss on Yuan Yanzhong’s cheek.

The powerful aura radiating from the S-class beings had kept the others at bay, preventing anyone from approaching the center of the commotion. But seeing Wen Xin awake, the survivors finally breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, the rescue team found Wen Jingfeng near the ruins’ entrance. His vital signs were stable.

On the battlefield, the injured helped each other stand, their faces lighting up with the joy of survival. Some who had been bitten by monsters realized they showed no signs of infection and wept tears of gratitude on the spot.

As their figures slowly rose, clustering in small groups, they began to leave the smoke-shrouded ruins. At last, the first rays of morning light broke through the endless night, ascending from the horizon.

The night would pass, and the dawn would always come.