After Raising Monsters, I Was Loved by Everyone in the Wasteland – CH36

Chapter 36

[Warning: The following chapter contains a flashback sequence that shifts the narrative to an earlier/future time in Lan Tuan’s life. This scene is crucial for understanding the character’s background and motivations. Please be mindful that the timeline will revert to the present afterward.]

Wen Xin, a man seeking his own death.

Whether it was the young Lan Tuan who would one day become the king of the sea or the young Lan Tuan who glimpsed the future through the Blue Whale’s memories, both had the same thoughts.

The reason was simple.

The most chaotic period had passed, and both humans and mutants had established clear territorial boundaries.

Mutants were cruel and domineering, hating and despising humans.

Under such conditions, no one dared step into mutant territory.

The monthly pile of corpses left on the coast served as both a warning and proof.

Lan Tuan raised his chin slightly, casting his gaze over his subordinates.

Through his mental imprint, he could clearly feel the surging malice within them, thick and dark.

Some mutants even bared their teeth and claws, snarling menacingly at the human youth with bloodthirsty intent.

Surrounded by hostility, most humans would have already collapsed, knees buckling in fear.

Yet, the young man before them stood firm, back straight as a poplar.

The mutants were somewhat astonished by his composure.

But, unfortunately for him, this surprise wasn’t enough to stop Lan Tuan’s urge to kill him.

The more calm and unruffled this youth appeared, the more Lan Tuan was reminded of those researchers.

Standing behind glass, observing the despair and suffering of mutants, they were always as calm and detached.

Hypocritical humans—Lan Tuan wanted nothing more than to tear their faces apart.

But just as he was about to give the order, the youth raised his voice, calling out a name.

Hearing that name snapped a string of reason within Lan Tuan’s mind.

By the time he came back to himself, he had already pinned the young man to the ground, snarling with a twisted expression.

“Human, how dare you mention him?”

“How dare you stand before me and utter his name?!”

The name the youth spoke was that of a certain renowned researcher.

It was this researcher who created mutants and orchestrated countless cruel experiments, who unleashed the zombie virus, leading people to suffer and lose their homes, driving humanity’s downfall in just under two months.

This same researcher continued to live under the protection of Base One, even after his atrocities were exposed, shocking and enraging all of humanity.

The youth lay under Lan Tuan’s weight, his throat and chest pressed, suffering.

Even through his diving suit, Lan Tuan could feel the youth’s labored breaths beneath his flippers.

Yet almost simultaneously, the young man’s voice emerged, unwavering, calm, without a hint of tremor.

“I not only mentioned him—I came here to kill him.”

Lan Tuan’s eyes burned with rage.

His grip tightened, causing the youth to curl his fingers involuntarily.

Then, he spoke again, recounting recent events with steady resolve.

“That man isn’t just your enemy—he’s humanity’s disgrace. Even now, he hasn’t stopped stirring up trouble.”

“In response to countless calls for justice, Base One finally put him on trial, monitored by all ten bases, with over twenty officers overseeing the process.”

“But in less than two days, of the fourteen officers initially voting for the death penalty, seven reversed their decision, four abstained, and two vanished.”

Wei Xin spoke with a grim voice. “I am the only one who held my ground throughout the trial and am still alive.”

“Base One has an arsenal of advanced weapons; even you wouldn’t withstand them. If you kill me now, you’ll lose any chance of avenging yourself.”

With the final word, his voice nearly faded to nothing, close to suffocation.

A dying man had no reason to lie.

And that last statement struck a raw nerve for Lan Tuan.

Coldly, Lan Tuan released his grip from the young man’s throat.

He didn’t trust him immediately—human deceit was notorious among mutants.

Instead, he decided to listen to the human’s plan.

Wei Xin quickly caught his breath and, without pause, began to outline his plan.

Clear and well-structured, the plan accounted for all possible surprises and setbacks. Its feasibility was undeniable.

Lan Tuan couldn’t help but be impressed.

He was almost ready to agree.

But his rationality kicked in, and his tone grew icy again as he asked the key question, “Why should I trust you? What if you change your mind halfway?”

Wei Xin looked up at him.

“Because I didn’t have to come here at all.”

His gaze was steadfast, piercing through the mask and water, carrying a tangible conviction.

“I could’ve accepted the generous private deal offered by Base One, lived in luxury, with a villa, an army of servants, gourmet meals priced beyond imagination, and wine that a single drop could save hundreds from starvation—

“I could’ve enjoyed all this, doing nothing, needing nothing, but I came here, to your domain.”

Whether it was when Wei Xin first arrived or while surrounded by threats from mutants, whether standing or pinned to the ground by Lan Tuan, his tone remained steady, like a rock weathering a storm, unwavering.

“I came here alone, fully prepared to die. King of the Sea, observe closely.”

“This is my resolve and sincerity.”

*

The images of the future were fragmented.

But from the cheers of both mutants and ordinary humans, Lan Tuan could tell the plan had succeeded.

Unfortunately, the triumph was short-lived.

Not even a day later, news broke that the young officer, Wei Xin, who had braved mutant territory was captured. All ten bases declared that he would face trial.

The charge? Colluding with outsiders and conspiring to harm a scientist of great contribution to humanity.

Hearing this, some of Lan Tuan’s subordinates couldn’t hold back, their expressions twisted with disgust.

“Are humans insane?”

The researcher had transformed prosperous cities into desolate ruins, left families shattered, and caused billions of senseless deaths.

Afterward, he’d stopped hiding his true self, experimenting not only on mutants but also on human bodies. Rumors said he captured dozens, even hundreds, each day for his experiments, with only a handful ever emerging alive.

Yet they labeled him as someone of “great contribution”?

Lan Tuan couldn’t comprehend it either.

But he hadn’t met many humans, so perhaps his confusion was to be expected.

In the days leading up to Wei Xin, the young officer’s trial, Lan Tuan relished in the memory of slaying the researcher with his own hands.

But as time passed, the satisfaction faded, leaving him with an inexplicable sense of emptiness.

Strangely, Lan Tuan found himself recalling the youth’s steady voice.

He grew curious, wondering if the young officer still maintained that calm and resolve when he was captured.

And so, Lan Tuan began allowing a few humans to enter his territory.

The humans did not disappoint, bringing Lan Tuan news about Wei Xin

There was a flood of information—some clear, some chaotic.

During the nearly half-month trial, the verdict on Wei Xin seemed to waver like a storm, undecided and unstable.

His fate dangled on a thread; every minute, every second, could be his last.

Lan Tuan thought he should remain indifferent—it was, after all, human affairs.

But the more he listened, the more restless he felt.

Particularly troubling was the news that extremists had broken into the prison and tried to kill Wei Xin.

Human walls were built solid, but somehow, there were always issues with their prisons.

By the eighteenth day, reports came that the prison roof had collapsed.

Rain flooded half the cells, and a power failure almost electrocuted everyone.

A sudden thought flashed in Lan Tuan’s mind.

Why not sneak into the human base and rescue Wei Xin?

The more he thought about it, the more tempted he was.

But before Lan Tuan could put his plan into action, Wei Xin was freed.

No one had broken into the prison, and no other officer had intervened.

After twenty-five days of deadlock, the First Base Tribunal finally relented and reached a verdict:

—The evidence was insufficient; Wei Xin’s charge of collusion with outsiders was unproven. He was released, cleared of guilt.

The human delivering the news was visibly emotional, trembling all over.

He finished, then wiped his tears, red-eyed, and said, “People on trial in the Tribunal usually last no more than twelve days. He truly went through hell.”

Lan Tuan could vaguely understand.

On the day of Wei Xin’s release, Lan Tuan used a form he’d never assumed before, blending into the welcoming crowd.

He watched as the young officer emerged from the shadows of the prison, his steps steady, his face calm.

Sunlight spread across the land, outlining the youth’s lean, striking features in a faint glow.

Amidst the crowd’s cheers, the flowers, and the applause, the young officer resumed his position, his honor restored.

He glanced over the crowd, then offered a slight, calm smile and raised a hand to quiet everyone.

Once the crowd fell silent, he raised his hand to his shoulder in a particular gesture.

It was the pledge from when the survivor bases were first established.

It symbolized—

Humanity will never yield.

After a brief pause, the crowd erupted, cheering louder than before.

They shouted his name, repeating that early pledge, faces flushed, breathing ragged, tears streaming.

It was a brilliant sight.

Even after Wei Xin entered his vehicle and closed the door, the crowd’s cheers continued.

Lan Tuan, caught up in the excitement, felt his heart race, and without thinking, he chased after the officer’s car.

But he watched as the car sped around a few loops before heading straight to the hospital.

The moment before he entered the vehicle, Wei Xin stood straight, eyes bright like a blade, face pale but calm.

Yet, when he got out of the vehicle at the hospital, he was carried out on a stretcher.

Seeing the blood seeping through his inner shirt, Lan Tuan felt his heart skip a beat.

Malnutrition, heart failure, soft tissue injuries, nerve damage, joint issues…

When the medical results came in, several of the young officer’s subordinates erupted with anger, nearly storming the Tribunal.

They raged for a long time.

And while Wei Xin was wheeled into the ICU, Lan Tuan had no chance to approach him.

He wanted to wait until Wei Xin woke, but he couldn’t stay in human territory for long.

After waiting through the night, he reluctantly left.

After this encounter, Lan Tuan thought he and Wei Xin would never cross paths again.

Yet, Wei Xin found him once more.

His arm was in a cast, wrapped in white bandages.

Noticing Lan Tuan’s curious gaze, Wei Xin smiled, “I heard you’d been asking fishermen about me.”

Lan Tuan never lied.

“Yes, and so?”

“Nothing much.”

The young officer approached, slowly seating himself on the rock beside Lan Tuan, and then looked at him.

“Just realized you don’t seem to hate me as much, so I came to propose a long-term partnership.”

Lan Tuan raised an eyebrow. “What could humans possibly offer?”

Wei Xin smiled, “Oh, a lot.”

“Humans have hands, minds, and can create many useful tools, even seasonings for countless tasty dishes.”

Before Lan Tuan could object, Wei Xin pointed towards the shore, “Look, they seem to enjoy it.”

Lan Tuan, sensing something amiss, followed his gaze.

He saw his usually fierce subordinates acting like children with new toys, ecstatic and excited.

A few mutants were scrambling for surfboards, some fighting over water jet packs.

And a few were clustered around a grill, eagerly rubbing their fins.

Lan Tuan’s face darkened. “Hey—”

Before he could finish, Wei Xin beside him remarked, “Perhaps, humans and mutants can even be friends.”

Lan Tuan froze.

The word friend felt like a sharp thorn, piercing his heart.

“Friends?”

Recalling the dull, graying eyes of his young deer friend, Lan Tuan felt his breathing falter, his expression turning icy.

Wei Xin quickly sensed Lan Tuan’s distress.

But Lan Tuan’s pointed question arrived first.

“I’ve heard a story about you.”

Lan Tuan looked at the officer, “You were once abducted and held with hundreds of humans in a private gladiatorial arena, filled with crazed mutants and infected. Five days, no food or water.”

“Humans die in three days without water. How did you survive?”

At this question, Wei Xin’s smile faded bit by bit.

“There were over twenty survivors with you, but before long, they couldn’t handle the mental strain and took their own lives.”

“Even your best friend died. Why didn’t you?”

Unintentionally, Lan Tuan’s tone had a hint of self-loathing.

Wei Xin didn’t seem to notice it, though.

The relaxed atmosphere grew tense like smoke hung in the air.

Watching the officer’s tight, trembling expression, Lan Tuan thought he might snap.

But Wei Xin took a deep breath, seemingly swallowing all his grief.

He raised a hand, stopping a subordinate who was angrily reaching for his gun.

Wei Xin turned toward the sunlit sea, closing his eyes briefly as if recalling those perilous days.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, unshaken.

“Precisely because my life isn’t only mine—I had to keep living.”

Lan Tuan’s resentment began to waver like a fierce wind had swept through it.

Wei Xin clasped his hands.

“My friend’s name was Tang Qi—Tang as in Chinatown, Qi as in the Morning Star. He was a good man, brave and loyal.”

“When I was dying of thirst, he used a key to cut his own wrist, keeping me alive long enough for help.”

“Before he closed his eyes, he said he hated the apocalypse. It took his family and his beloved cat.”

Wei Xin exhaled, his voice growing firm, each word like thunder reverberating.

“Man-made disaster became natural catastrophe, and in the face of it, human strength feels small and fragile.”

“But as long as I have breath, as long as I can move a finger, I’ll do everything I can to stop such tragedies from happening again.”

As he spoke, Wei Xin turned to face Lan Tuan.

From Lan Tuan’s perspective, the setting sun cast a warm glow, falling into Wei Xin’s deep, clear eyes, shining brightly.

“That is why I’m still alive.”

After returning home that night, Lan Tuan’s heart kept racing.

The officer’s determined voice echoed in his ears, keeping him awake for a long time.

When he finally drifted off, he had a rare dream about his old friend.

But this time, the little deer wasn’t covered in scars.

Its fur was sleek and shiny, its dark eyes gleaming.

In Lan Tuan’s excited gaze, the deer bent its head to lick his forehead, “I couldn’t make it to the end, but you must.”

Lan Tuan opened his mouth.

He suddenly choked up.

“I swear, I won’t ever… ever let them end up like you…”

*

In the end, Lan Tuan and Wei Xin did become friends.

Wei Xin had claimed he came to discuss a partnership, yet he kept delaying the details.

When asked, he always blamed it on being too busy.

Defense arrangements, resource distribution, infrastructure—he traveled between bases without stopping.

Lan Tuan realized that being a human leader was a thankless job.

Wei Xin seriously corrected him.

He wasn’t a leader, and Lan Tuan shouldn’t call him that publicly; it could cause diplomatic issues.

So Lan Tuan asked, “Then what are you?”

Wei Xin thought for a moment, scratching his nose, “Probably a messenger of sorts.”

Eventually, Wei Xin presented the partnership plan.

Clear, straightforward, and easy to understand—Lan Tuan could read it himself.

He felt a sudden surge of energy, realizing that maybe governing humans wasn’t so awful.

That is, until he saw the dense, bureaucratic paperwork the officer’s subordinate handed him.

Rows upon rows of words crammed together, complicated and convoluted.

A single greeting at the beginning, two more in the middle, then an entire paragraph at the end.

Barely understanding human language, Lan Tuan immediately looked exasperated.

Seeing him so baffled, Wei Xin laughed aloud.

Lan Tuan felt mocked, nearly puffing up in frustration.

Wei Xin quickly tried to console him.

In that soft, patient voice, Lan Tuan’s anger gradually faded.

But he still wondered why his partnership proposal was simpler than the officer’s usual documents.

The officer ruffled his head with a grin, “That’s the benefit of being a juvenile seal.”

Yes, at that time, Lan Tuan was still just a young seal.

But with the Blue Whale gone, none of the other mutants under his command ever treated him as such, openly and secretly targeting him.

Unable to bear it anymore, Lan Tuan decided to fight back, subduing his rebellious subordinates one by one and branding them with a mental seal. Only then did things finally settle down.

Afterward, he almost forgot he was still just a juvenile. It wasn’t until he was with Wei Xin that he was reminded again of his youth.

Lan Tuan paused.

After a moment, he lowered his gaze and looked at Wei Xin’s hand, noticing one finger was bent awkwardly, as if it hadn’t healed correctly.

After staring for a while, Lan Tuan suddenly stretched out his tongue and gently licked Wei Xin’s finger.

A miracle happened.

A sharp pain shot through Wei Xin’s finger, followed by a crackling sound as the bones realigned.

In a second, his twisted finger returned to its original form, slender and perfectly straight.

Wei Xin’s eyes widened in astonishment as he looked at Lan Tuan.

Lan Tuan raised a flipper and touched his own throat.

“I once had an injury here, but it healed when my abilities awakened.”

At that moment, an understanding passed between them.

Lan Tuan confided that he didn’t want to be the king of the sea tribes because so many mutants under him only wanted to overthrow him.

Most of the time, he just wanted to lie on the beach, pat his belly, nap in the sun, snack on some shellfish when he got hungry, and bask in the sun when he woke up.

Wei Xin, likewise, didn’t want to be an executive. He hated dealing with countless people, which was what his job required.

And many of those he dealt with were seasoned veterans, cleverer than foxes and full of tricks.

One particular frustration he shared was that as an officer, no matter how dangerous a situation became, he could never show fear.

If he panicked, his subordinates would follow suit, and things would spiral out of control.

Lan Tuan listened intently, his curiosity piqued.

Staring at Wei Xin’s calm face as he spoke, Lan Tuan couldn’t imagine him ever feeling fear or anxiety.

“Do you get scared of things too?”

Wei Xin hesitated.

He didn’t want to admit it, but Lan Tuan’s eager gaze left him no choice.

“Yes, like my stern-faced subordinate.”

He leaned closer to Lan Tuan’s ear.

“When the apocalypse first began, my brother sent him and others to retrieve me. They were in such a hurry they knocked me out and took me away.”

Wei Xin sighed, “When he’s angry, he’s terrifying.”

Just then, that very “terrifying” subordinate approached, dutifully reporting the day’s schedule.

Wei Xin showed no trace of fear; instead, he listened calmly, his face unreadable.

Not only did he seem unfazed, but after hearing the report, he shot his subordinate a cold glare.

“I heard E5 Avenue has been restless lately.”

The officer’s gaze turned steely.

“Is it that their previous shares no longer satisfy them, or do they want my position as vice-executive for themselves?”

The subordinate paled, quickly denying it.

“Keep your people in check and don’t overstep.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Lan Tuan blinked, speechless.

Who was afraid of whom again?

*

In Lan Tuan’s eyes, Wen Xin was a peculiar human who seemed oddly reckless.

What made him strange was that even though Lan Tuan had failed to survive the pain of evolution, the young officer seemed to take it as his own fault.

“I went through the research data. If I can help ease the negative feelings in your heart, the process won’t be so excruciating.”

Wei Xin clutched Lan Tuan’s faintly breathing form, his voice calm yet unsteady, teeth clenched.

“Why… Why wasn’t it enough? Didn’t you like the toys? The food? You loved the sun—I just secured a private sunroom…”

His usually straight back bent, his forehead resting against Lan Tuan’s face, his sobs broken and raw.

“Why did it turn out like this? Was I with you too little?”

Lan Tuan’s breath was faint, but he reached out to lick Wei Xin’s reddened eyes, murmuring to him: it wasn’t your fault, not at all. Since I met you, every day has been so joyful, and free from pain.

But it’s too late now.

To survive and become the king of the sea tribes, his flippers were stained with too much blood.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw countless mutants and humans staring back at him.

He wasn’t an innocent juvenile. He had made too many mistakes.

Even if he were to die, it would be justified.

Yet, as he listened to Wei Xin’s muffled sobs and saw his slumped shoulders, Lan Tuan’s heart ached.

It hurt down to his soul.

If only… I mean, if there were a chance…

If I could come to you sooner, could we bask in the sun together?

…

The vision of the future faded.

Under the sea, Lan Tuan sat dazed, motionless for a long time.

His eyes grew hot, and, lifting his head, tears began to fall.

Wen Xin…

In an instant, a surge of powerful emotion shot through him, crossing the tides of time, and crashing against his heart.

He choked silently, clinging to a single thought.

—I need to find Wen Xin. I have to go now.

—I must find him.

But just then, he heard the Blue Whale’s startled exclamation.

“Why? How could… the future change?!”

Lan Tuan lifted his head, realizing that the future in his mind was fading.

Even the image of Wei Xin ,the young officer, was blurring.

Panic filled his eyes as he let out a desperate wail, clamping his flippers to his head, trying to cling to every memory of Wen Xin.

Don’t let me forget him. Please, don’t make me forget!

Perhaps, some higher power truly heard his plea.

His memories of the future didn’t disappear entirely—they simply shifted.

This time, the future unfolded as he had hoped.

He sensed Wen Xin’s presence early, and as soon as he escaped the base with the Blue Whale, he hadn’t even fully healed before he rushed off to City G.

It was a sunny day.

The young man walked down the street, carrying a shopping bag, laughing and chatting with Ah Jiu (the canary) beside him.

His face held an innocent, youthful look, his tone light and unguarded.

But those kind, clear eyes were exactly as Lan Tuan remembered.

Without hesitation, Lan Tuan dashed forward, clinging tightly to the young man’s clothes.

Wen Xin jumped, startled, and so did Ah Jiu beside him.

Ah Jiu: “Whoa, this is an A-… wait, oops.”

Almost revealing Lan Tuan’s mutant nature, Ah Jiu muttered through gritted teeth, “Where did this little cub come from?”

“A cub?”

Wen Xin, still wrestling to free himself from Lan Tuan’s grip, paused.

He looked down, noticing Lan Tuan’s trembling form, and handed the shopping bag to Ah Jiu, reaching out to gently stroke Lan Tuan’s fur.

“There, there. It’s alright, you’re safe here.”

Ah Jiu hesitated, “It doesn’t belong here. It must’ve run away from somewhere.”

Wen Xin paused, softly asking Lan Tuan, “Do you have a family here? Where would they be?”

But Lan Tuan only made soft grumbling sounds, as if enjoying the comfort, causing the young man to smile, eyes crinkling.

He couldn’t help but ruffle Lan Tuan’s head again.

“Good boy. Whose little one are you?”

At his words, Lan Tuan lifted his head.

He saw the young man bow slightly, his jawline smooth and graceful.

Sunlight touched his handsome face, a warm glow that Lan Tuan couldn’t look away from.

Lan Tuan couldn’t remember much about the future; it had already changed.

Yet, at this moment, he was overwhelmed with a strange urge to cry.

So he clung tighter to the young man, unwilling to ever let go.

“Guu…”

I’m yours.

I’m your little one.

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