Under the night sky, Wen Xin held Lan Tuan close, gently smoothing down his fur.
Lan Tuan lay nestled against Wen Xin’s chest, almost melting into a puddle, softly purring in contentment. In his cat-like mimicry form, he had a long tail similar to Xiao Hei’s, though he rarely flicked it around. Only when he was truly delighted did his tail start tapping up and down as a signal of his joy.
Wen Xin was well aware of this little habit of his. But now, seeing Lan Tuan’s tail practically a blur and his claws gripping tightly to him without any sign of loosening, Wen Xin found himself slightly puzzled.
When they’d first met, Lan Tuan had clung to him for a full 10 hours, making him think the little one was extremely clingy. In reality, though, Lan Tuan mostly enjoyed being a cozy ball in his water bowl, lazily soaking up the sun.
Every so often, he’d crawl out of the water, trundle into the kitchen or living room, and give a few gentle rumbles, asking for a petting session. He never wanted more than seven or nine pats before wandering off on his own, almost as if he just needed reassurance that Wen Xin was there before settling back into his quiet contentment.
Wen Xin scratched Lan Tuan under the chin, but his hand froze suddenly.
Lan Tuan sensed Wen Xin’s shift in silence right away. He gave a soft purr and lifted himself slightly, placing his paws on Wen Xin’s shoulders, peering at him directly.
In those big, clear eyes, Wen Xin saw the glint of reluctance, but not sorrow. Under the moonlight, those eyes shimmered gently.
Wen Xin, almost feeling the emotion himself, found his ache of separation easing as he murmured, “You’re certain we’ll meet again, aren’t you?”
Lan Tuan nodded, stretching his neck to gently lick Wen Xin’s forehead.
What Lan Tuan loved most was simply lying next to him, soaking in the sun. If he ever had to choose between being by Wen Xin’s side and basking in the sun, he knew he would choose the former.
Every morning when Wen Xin left early for work, Lan Tuan couldn’t help feeling a pang of reluctance. He’d watch Wen Xin disappear at the door, then run back to the balcony, waiting with his eyes fixed on the garden below.
Once Wen Xin left the garden, left the neighborhood, and finally vanished beyond the city’s towering buildings, only then would Lan Tuan slowly turn away.
It was a tough kind of waiting—the same painful anticipation he’d once endured at the base, counting down those long, hard days with his friend.
But that bitterness rarely crossed his mind anymore. What he remembered now was the sound of the key turning in the lock, Wen Xin opening the door, his arms full of bags with delicious treats for them.
The dark corridor made the light in their home seem all the brighter.
In that warm glow, Wen Xin’s smile shone like a cascade of stars, making the world feel dazzling and vibrant.
And in that instant, as he waited at home, all his sadness was replaced by pure joy.
Lan Tuan tilted his head, rubbing his face against Wen Xin’s cheek.
“Meow…”
Wen Xin, I know parting is sad. But don’t be too sad for me, because I’ll find you again. Just like the first time, I’ll find you a second time.
“Meo..”
And when I do, maybe you’ll be just as surprised as I was.
*
Lan Tuan eventually left.
Before he did, he plucked and tugged at himself until he managed to gather a tiny tuft of blue fluff.
Recalling how Xiao Qi (the little fox) had managed to leave a whole clump of fur without any effort, Lan Tuan felt a little disappointed.
Just when Wen Xin had been comforted by him, he turned around and found himself now trying to comfort the disheartened Lan Tuan.
Once Lan Tuan was a bit less glum, Wen Xin pulled out his suitcase.
“Is there anything you’d like to take with you?”
The little ones didn’t need to eat in the traditional sense; their real sustenance came from mutated energy sources. Food had simply been a treat.
For instance, Ah Lü had been known to gobble up plastic bags and even part of the table.
Wen Xin had tried to pack some food for them to take, but all of them refused, so he didn’t insist.
Lan Tuan eyed Wen Xin’s clothing, but he only had a few sets packed for himself, as most of his space was allocated for snacks.
Xiao Qi had already ripped one piece, Ah Lü had taken two, and if Lan Tuan took another, Wen Xin would be left with hardly any clothes.
Lan Tuan deliberated over Wen Xin’s suitcase for a long time, then turned his gaze up to Wen Xin’s hair, blinking.
Wen Xin: “…”
Lan Tuan had plucked fur from his whole body for him. To hesitate about a few hairs now seemed rather selfish.
Yet, Lan Tuan didn’t require him to go bald. Instead, he gestured with his chin for Wen Xin to lower his head, lifting his paw and carefully snipping off a small tuft of hair.
It was such a tiny amount that you wouldn’t notice anything unless you looked closely.
Still, it was easy to get lost.
Wen Xin decided to ask Xu Qiang for a sterile vial and placed the hair inside for Lan Tuan. To fill the bottle a bit more, he added a small origami star he had folded from a candy wrapper, making the container look a bit fuller.
Seeing Lan Tuan struggle to carry it, Wen Xin tied a piece of string around the bottle, adjusting the length so it would hang comfortably around his neck.
None of the others had told Wen Xin where they’d end up. He suspected they didn’t quite know themselves.
Still, he couldn’t resist asking Lan Tuan, “Do you know where you’re going?”
Lan Tuan, without hesitating, pointed towards the ocean. “Meow.”
Without a map or navigation, Wen Xin couldn’t tell where he was pointing, but he looked in that direction for a long time, memorizing it carefully.
They said their final goodbyes at the crossroads, hearts heavy but calm.
Wen Xin patted Lan Tuan’s head, “Take good care of yourself.”
Lan Tuan gave a soft response, “Meow.”
He scampered off into the night, stopping at the corner as Blue Whale instructed.
A faint blue light glowed around Lan Tuan’s form, gradually shaping into a spirit-like whale.
Shielded by buildings, Wen Xin couldn’t see a thing as Blue Whale dipped its head respectfully toward him.
If Wen Xin hadn’t existed, its successor might have lost all will to live, perishing in the base’s cruel trials long ago.
While it despised humanity, Blue Whale was grateful for this kindness.
So, when Lan Tuan wanted to find Wen Xin, Blue Whale didn’t try to stop him. Instead, for safety’s sake, it attached a bit of its mental energy to Lan Tuan.
In its talk with Xiao Hei, Blue Whale revealed its plan not to live much longer.
Humanity has disrespected nature, violated the oceans, treating living beings like mere toys. Its disdain for humanity had long been sealed.
It would give up on becoming a complete evolution, waiting until Lan Tuan could fend for himself before using all its power to trigger a massive tsunami to submerge human cities.
Sharing its plan with Xiao Hei, Blue Whale sneered.
Humans had come from the ocean but had forgotten their roots. This would be their final, poetic reckoning.
Xiao Hei was silent.
It simply asked, “Will your tsunami reach the base?”
Blue Whale paused, realizing the obvious.
It couldn’t.
The base was too far inland. To drown it, it would need a thousand-meter-high wave, enough to cover the entire planet.
If it had that kind of power, it wouldn’t waste time on a tsunami—it would go straight to the base and eliminate every researcher there.
Xiao Hei continued coolly, “So, your tsunami won’t harm those we despise or the ones who caused our suffering. It will only kill innocent people like Wen Xin.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Blue Whale fell silent for a long time, finally sighing wearily.
To it, humans were all the same, so why should it care about innocent lives?
A tsunami that couldn’t reach its hated enemies could still serve as a warning, showing the world the ocean’s wrath.
But then Wen Xin had come along.
Through its connection to Lan Tuan, Blue Whale experienced every bit of affection, warmth, and gentleness that Wen Xin shared with him, moment by moment.
Blue Whale’s hatred for humanity began to shift ever so slightly, allowing it a hint of clarity.
Even if it couldn’t change its views entirely, it was enough to cool the blinding fury.
It was rethinking its plans.
Was it worth destroying everything for revenge, taking countless innocent lives along the way?
Fortunately, Xiao Hei sensed its hesitation.
It straightforwardly resolved Blue Whale’s dilemma.
“If you try to create a tsunami, I will stop you.”
Blue Whale froze, doubting its ears.
Xiao Hei flicked its tail, slowly replying, “To stop you, all I’d have to do is disperse your energy before you gather enough power.”
Its eyes gleamed. “Trust me, even though I’m weaker now, not even with a third of my former strength, I can stop you easily.”
Blue Whale: “…”
Incredulous, it asked, “Why would you stop me? Do you sympathize with humans?”
“Life and death are fated,” Xiao Hei said. “But Wen Xin’s sadness? That’s unacceptable.”
Blue Whale raised its voice in frustration, “My tsunami wouldn’t even reach him!”
“Perhaps not,” Xiao Hei replied calmly, “but he would still grieve. So no, it’s unacceptable.”
For a second, Blue Whale felt like shouting every foul word it knew, but held back, thinking of itself as a respectable whale.
Yet it wasn’t purely anger it felt. There were things it couldn’t ignore, like Lan Tuan, its little successor.
Maybe one day Lan Tuan could inherit its role, uniting the sea tribes, but for now, he was just a cub.
For such a young one to bear that responsibility would be a harsh road.
Since Blue Whale was in no rush to die, perhaps it didn’t need to burden Lan Tuan so soon.
With a weight lifted, Blue Whale sighed in relief.
Turning to Xiao Hei, it voiced a long-held question.
“If you had this much strength left, why didn’t you take revenge on the base when you escaped?”
The higher the grade of a mutant, the stronger its aggressiveness. An S-class mutant, trapped, would never miss a chance to retaliate, killing its captors before fleeing.
Blue Whale had barely managed to restrain itself back then, considering only the wounded young sea cub in its care.
It found it hard to believe Xiao Hei hadn’t harbored similar revenge.
But Xiao Hei said, “It’s not that I didn’t want to kill them; I simply couldn’t.”
Blue Whale was skeptical.
Xiao Hei, who could destroy alloy walls effortlessly, could hardly be incapable.
Xiao Hei’s eyes flashed with anger as it recalled those memories, as if the explosions and screams still echoed in its ears.
It replied coldly, “They had something that can fully restrain mutants. When Ah Lü lunged, he was immobilized on the spot and nearly lost his life.”
The memories faded.
Blue Whale’s thoughts were a whirl, but it turned to Lan Tuan and said, “It’s time to go, child.”
*
Elsewhere, Wen Xin, having safely stored Lan Tuan’s fur, heard a sudden sound.
Is a zombie nearby?
He instantly grew alert, quieting his breathing and drawing his gun as he moved closer to the source.
Then, a fuzzy purple tail came into view, making him pause and frown.
The purple squirrel was busy cleaning up, but the sound of Wen Xin’s voice made it freeze.
“Ah Zi?”
