Chapter 66
The whole world knew of the vast marshlands in the eastern region—a densely forested area spanning over a million square kilometers.
The marshlands were notoriously treacherous, filled with confusing mists. Ordinary trees couldn’t take root in the unstable, muddy ground. Only resilient water-loving plants like red maples and cypress trees could thrive here. Yet, they all looked alike, making them unreliable as landmarks for navigation.
Recently, due to either climate changes or some unknown factors, thick fog had begun to seep out of the forest, enveloping the entire marshland.
This dense fog made even the locals who lived on the outskirts hesitant to venture into the swamp.
As the bus began its journey, a thin layer of mist seemed to rise from the road, as if it had been expecting their arrival.
The sky was overcast, with dark clouds hanging low, blocking out any hint of sunlight.
In the distance, the towering cypress trees stood silent and foreboding, like a great beast lurking in the shadows, its jaws agape, waiting for lost souls to wander into its maw.
The eerie atmosphere seemed to seep into the bus, causing its passengers to shift uneasily in their seats.
That was until their eyes turned toward Wen Xin.
The nervous expressions on their faces instantly turned into a look of deadpan resignation.
The seat in front of Wen Xin had been forcibly removed before departure, leaving a large empty space for him to stretch out his injured leg.
Beside him was a fruit basket overflowing with fresh, colorful fruits.
The other passengers stared at it enviously.
Fresh fruit! In winter!
The usually cold and distant official now hovered around Wen Xin with an eager smile, handing him a wet towel.
“We can’t use open flames on the bus, so we couldn’t boil water. Please make do with this for now.”
Not everyone on the bus was pretending to be Wen Xin; some were hired workers brought along for their skills. However, none of them had ever seen the official smile like this.
For a moment, the workers felt like flipping tables in frustration.
Is this preferential treatment or what?
What makes that limping guy so special?!
If the official could hear their thoughts, he would surely have let out a mocking laugh.
Special? He can make the red falcons bow their heads. Can any of you do that?
Wen Xin stared at the wet towel handed to him for a moment before accepting it with a polite smile. “No trouble at all, thank you.”
The official’s smile grew even warmer. “You’re too kind.”
He didn’t take his eyes off Wen Xin, watching intently as if waiting for him to finish using the towel so he could take it back.
But Wen Xin knew that what the official was really waiting for was to see his face after he wiped it clean.
After all, the search notice had clearly stated one criterion: the person they sought was “good-looking.”
Without hesitation, Wen Xin unfolded the towel and began wiping his face.
He had already claimed to be good-looking as part of his earlier ruse. To hesitate now would only arouse suspicion, even if there was no reason to doubt him.
Besides, Wen Xin had seen his own reflection.
Most people’s homes still had mirrors, even in these chaotic times.
When Wen Xin had lost his memories and was wandering aimlessly, he had used a mirror to examine his face, hoping it might trigger some recollection.
Although it hadn’t helped him remember anything useful, at least he knew what he looked like.
By his own assessment, he wasn’t unattractive.
Due to poor nutrition and constant travel, his cheeks had sunken slightly, and his hair was unkempt, giving him a somewhat haggard appearance.
But Wen Xin figured he was still above average—certainly not ugly enough to be thrown off the bus.
As he carefully wiped away the grime, a smooth, clean face gradually emerged.
Though Wen Xin himself might not realize it, others could easily appreciate his handsome features.
His attractiveness wasn’t limited to just well-proportioned features but rather an inherent grace in his demeanor.
When he turned his head to glance out the window, the dull light filtering in seemed to brighten, highlighting his long, shadowy lashes that framed a gentle, refined elegance.
In that instant, the passengers who had previously been grumbling fell into a stunned silence, the bus filled with the sound of a pin dropping.
If appearance was the criterion for identifying the person they sought, then none of them could compete with Wen Xin.
The official’s eyes also flashed with a hint of admiration.
He hadn’t expected the other official’s earlier exaggerated praise to turn out to be so accurate.
Now more certain than ever that Wen Xin was the person they had been searching for, the official’s face practically glowed with excitement.
After all the failed attempts, they had finally found the real deal. How could he not be thrilled?
“Is your leg comfortable? Should I raise it a bit higher for you? And are you alright in those clothes? I’m not sure where I can find clean garments right now, but you’re welcome to wear mine if you’d like.”
Wen Xin could sense the official’s escalating enthusiasm.
Initially, he had been slightly worried about the attention, but now, with the official hovering so close, he was starting to feel overwhelmed by the pressure.
Politely declining further assistance, Wen Xin changed the subject, “Once we reach our destination, will we all be following you?”
The official nodded. “Yes, the foggy marsh is so thick you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Even with professional equipment, it’s nearly impossible to navigate correctly. We have to take a very specific path.”
“This path is highly confidential, so when we get there, we’ll blindfold everyone. Don’t worry; we’ll also tie a rope to each of you. As long as the rope remains intact and there are no accidents, you won’t get lost.”
Wen Xin: “…”
Judging by how seriously the official spoke, it seemed like they’d lost quite a few people in the past.
But Wen Xin wasn’t worried. In fact, he was counting on the confusion to slip away.
For now, the official looked at Wen Xin like a prized treasure he had long sought after, reluctant to leave his side. However, Wen Xin managed to convince him that he needed some quiet to rest, finally sending the official back to the front of the bus.
Once alone, the little red panda, who had been silently observing, finally spoke in a soft voice to avoid being overheard.
“Listen, you’re looking for a snake, and the snakes are searching for a person. What if you really are the Wen Xin they’re all talking about?”
Wen Xin had wondered the same thing.
But the rumors he had overheard while waiting in line suggested that the one searching for Wen Xin was the leader of the eastern region—a nearly fully evolved S-level mutant.
The average person had never seen what an S-level mutant looked like.
Some well-informed individuals speculated that the abnormal gathering of snakes in the area might indicate that this leader was a giant serpent.
Others had wildly differing theories: some believed it was a tiger, others said a wolf, and some even guessed it was a lizard.
If it weren’t for the fragmented memories Wen Xin had witnessed, he wouldn’t have known that this S-level mutant was actually a terrifying black-scaled python.
Wait a minute… black scales?
Wen Xin turned to the little red panda and asked, “Is No. 1 also a snake?”
The little red panda blinked, trying to recall, then shook its head firmly.
“I’ve never seen No. 1, but I’ve heard that it’s a creature with the genes of multiple species—a kind of ancient dinosaur.”
Wen Xin couldn’t quite place whether he felt disappointed or relieved. He let out a soft sigh.
Curious, The little red panda asked, “Can you really not remember your own name?”
Previously, Wen Xin had felt an inexplicable sense of danger whenever the topic of his name came up, which was why he had instinctively chosen not to reveal it when The little red panda first asked.
But with so many people openly changing their names to “Wen Xin” on the spot, he no longer saw the point in keeping it hidden.
Wen Xin hesitated for a moment before admitting, “Actually, I vaguely recalled that my name really is Wen Xin.”
The little red panda’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s an amazing coincidence.”
Coincidence? At this point, Wen Xin was seriously starting to suspect that he might indeed be the person those mutants were looking for.
The bus continued its journey, the passengers either lost in thought or anxiously peering out the windows. The thickening fog made it hard to see anything beyond a few meters. The heavy silence on board was occasionally broken by the hum of the engine and the soft whispers among passengers.
Wen Xin was deep in thought, trying to piece together the fragments of memories that had been surfacing ever since he overheard the officials discussing Wen Xin’s background earlier.
Just before boarding the bus, the officials had asked him questions, seemingly offhand, about his past. Wen Xin, relying on the sparse memories he had, casually mentioned that he used to live in City G. The moment he said that, he noticed a glimmer of recognition in the official’s eyes.
The glimmer turned into surprise when Wen Xin added that he was a cake baker before the apocalypse and had moved to City A in search of his family.
The reaction from the official had been instant—a mix of disbelief and hope.
The other passengers quickly picked up on this. Someone leaned over and quipped, “So, your name is Wen Xin, huh? You’re 24 years old, lived in City G before the apocalypse, and moved to City A to find your family. And you used to be a cake baker who owned several cats. Did I get that right?”
His tone was mocking, but the words hit Wen Xin like a punch. These details were disturbingly familiar.
How did this stranger know so much about him? Or was it just another case of someone trying to match the criteria laid out by the mysterious search notice?
The passenger continued with a mocking grin, “All these details are public knowledge. Every time they update the search notice, people rush to change their backstories. Fake names, fake IDs, fake places of origin—there’s nothing they won’t fabricate.”
Wen Xin’s mind raced as he listened. He couldn’t deny the eerie familiarity of the information. The words stirred something deep within him, bringing flashes of fragmented memories, though he couldn’t yet make sense of them.
He knew one thing for sure—there were too many coincidences piling up for this to be just a fluke.
Could it be that I really am the Wen Xin they’re looking for? he wondered, his heart pounding.
But there was one thing that didn’t quite add up. If the leader of the mutants in the eastern region was indeed searching for someone named Wen Xin, why were they so focused on his appearance? And what was the connection to the rumors about an S-level mutant in the form of a giant black-scaled python?
As he mulled over these thoughts, another memory surfaced—a hazy recollection of watching a documentary that showed swarms of snakes gathering in a foggy swamp. Everyone believed the leader of these snakes was an S-level black-scaled python.
But… was that truly the case?
A sudden thought struck Wen Xin like a bolt of lightning.
What if the so-called leader wasn’t actually the black-scaled python that everyone assumed it was? What if it was something—or someone—else entirely?
The pieces were beginning to fit together in his mind, forming a picture he hadn’t considered before.
Wen Xin’s eyes narrowed as he turned to The little red panda, who was still perched on his shoulder. “The little red panda, have you ever seen the No. 7 mutant yourself?”
The little red panda blinked and then shook its head. “No, I was born after No. 7 had already established its territory. I’ve only heard stories from the older mutants.”
Wen Xin pressed on, “But have you ever heard anyone mention what color No. 7 is?”
The little red panda’s small face scrunched up in concentration. “Well… not exactly. The researchers used to curse about it a lot. They would say things like, ‘That damn snake—one day, we’ll turn it into soup!’ or ‘No. 7’s gone berserk again! Quick, sedate it!’ But they never talked about its color.”
Seeing the little red panda’s puzzled expression, Wen Xin didn’t give up. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small cloth pouch. Carefully, he took out the green scale.
“You were able to sense No. 1’s aura on the black scale,” Wen Xin said, showing the green scale to The little red panda. “Can you tell which mutant this one belongs to?”
The little red panda sniffed the green scale cautiously. At first, the overwhelming scent from the black scale made it difficult to distinguish anything. But under Wen Xin’s expectant gaze, The little red panda pressed its nose closer and took a deeper whiff.
Finally, a faint recognition flickered in its eyes.
“I think… it might belong to No. 7,” The little red panda said hesitantly, its voice filled with uncertainty.
That small confirmation was enough to send Wen Xin’s heart racing. If the green scale really belonged to No. 7, then everything he suspected might actually be true.
But before Wen Xin could fully process this revelation—
Screech!
The bus driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.
The abrupt stop caused everyone to lurch forward. Heads smacked against the backs of seats, and the bus filled with pained groans.
Wen Xin, having no seat in front of him, instinctively grabbed onto the edge of the window frame to steady himself.
Compared to the other passengers, who were thrown into disarray, Wen Xin managed to remain relatively composed.
Quickly, he stashed the two scales back into the cloth pouch and tucked it safely inside his shirt, just as the bus erupted into complaints.
“Can’t the driver give us a warning before stopping like that?”
“Ow, my nose! My face! These damned bus windows!”
“What the hell is going on up there… wait, what the—!?”
The last voice trailed off into a panicked shout. The passenger was pointing out the window, their hand trembling.
Even without them pointing, everyone could see it now—the thick black smoke rising in the distance.
The air was filled with the sound of explosions. Though not continuous, the sporadic blasts seemed to be taunting someone. For the average person, this kind of heavy artillery fire was far beyond anything they had ever experienced. Each boom shook the ground like a mini-earthquake.
The direction of the smoke and explosions was unmistakable—it was coming from the foggy marshlands where they were headed.
Seeing this, Wen Xin’s worry for the green serpent overpowered his pain, and he immediately pushed himself upright, leaning on the seat for support.
One of the other passengers stared out the window in disbelief. “They’ve gone mad! That swamp is filled with poisonous gas. Are they trying to blow up the whole forest?”
As if to prove the speaker’s words, the orange flames intensified, lighting up the sky as if it were being consumed by a massive inferno.
“Oh my god—”
While the passengers were panicking, the bus driver and the official seemed unusually calm, as if they had witnessed such scenes many times before.
The official sighed heavily, muttering under his breath, “Looks like the First Base is causing trouble again.”
But before he could finish his sentence, Wen Xin, who had made his way to the front of the bus, grabbed the official’s wrist in desperation.
“Who are these people? Why are they attacking?” Wen Xin demanded, his voice urgent.
The official was taken aback by the intensity in Wen Xin’s eyes but eventually sighed in resignation. “Who else but those troublemakers from the First Base? They’ve been trying to take down that S-level mutant for ages.”
As a human who had to coexist with the mutants, the official’s position was awkward. Aligning with either side would make him seem like a traitor to the other.
In the end, he chose to focus on his job and let the rest sort itself out.
The official shook his head regretfully. “Judging by the current situation, it looks like our journey ends here today. We’ll have to come back in a few days once things have calmed down.”
The other passengers immediately agreed, eager to turn back. The idea of venturing into a war zone just for a slim chance at a reward was not worth risking their lives for.
But Wen Xin’s eyes remained fixed on the rising plumes of smoke in the distance.
With a voice that was barely more than a whisper, he said, “I need to go.”
Everyone turned to stare at him as if he were a madman.
“Are you crazy?” one passenger exclaimed. “You can’t walk, let alone survive whatever’s going on out there!”
But Wen Xin was resolute. He needed to reach the swamp, even if it meant going alone.
The official guiding Wen Xin was visibly troubled by his determination. “I understand your urgency,” he said with a reluctant sigh. “But we can’t take the bus any further. The heavy artillery will attract the patrol drones. If we get caught in their crossfire, none of us will survive.”
The other passengers nodded vigorously in agreement, not wanting to take any unnecessary risks.
One of them added sarcastically, “If you’re so desperate, why don’t you go on foot? Just don’t drag the rest of us down with you.”
The underlying message was clear: You’re on your own if you insist on heading into the danger zone.
Wen Xin wasn’t offended by their dismissive comments. He knew they were right—he couldn’t charge into the chaos with his injured leg. He needed to find another way to reach the marsh quickly.
Just as he was about to negotiate further with the official, a sudden flurry of movement outside the right-side window caught his eye.
A flock of red falcons, the same ones he had seen earlier perched on the power lines, were now circling the bus. All of them had gathered here, hovering just beyond the glass, as if waiting for him.
The falcons landed gracefully on the ground, their piercing eyes locking onto Wen Xin. Their once-intimidating vertical pupils had softened into round, harmless ones, and their wings were slightly lowered in what looked like a gesture of submission.
The sight was enough to make Wen Xin’s heart leap with hope.
Without wasting another moment, he turned to the bus driver. “Please, let me off here.”
The driver, who was in the middle of preparing to turn the bus around, glanced back at him with irritation. “Kid, why are you so eager to throw your life away? You really want to die that badly?”
Wen Xin didn’t have time to argue. His gaze flickered to the rows of buttons on the dashboard. From what he could tell, the bus had been modified extensively, making it hard to discern which button would open the door.
He quickly assessed his options. The bus window was still unlocked.
Without a second thought, Wen Xin hobbled over to the window, gripping his cane tightly.
A passenger nearby shouted in alarm, “What are you doing?”
The others on the bus were equally taken aback. They watched in disbelief as the seemingly crippled young man deftly opened the window. He turned to The little red panda, still perched on his shoulder, and whispered a quick instruction.
Then, without hesitation, he gripped the window frame, swung his legs over, and slid out like a nimble fish darting into water.
“Are you insane?!” the official yelled, rushing to the window.
The bus was modified to sit higher off the ground, with the window at least 1.5 meters above the pavement. A jump from that height could easily break a leg, especially for someone already injured.
But what happened next stunned everyone.
Instead of crashing to the ground, Wen Xin executed a flawless roll upon landing, gracefully dissipating the impact. He sprang up quickly, barely wincing from the strain on his injured leg.
“Ah!” The little red panda called out urgently.
Seeing Wen Xin safely on the ground, the little red panda tossed down the cane, which landed with a thud beside him. The little red panda then jumped out of the window, and Wen Xin caught it securely in his arms.
Ignoring the collective gasps from the passengers, Wen Xin made his way toward the waiting red falcons.
“I can’t move fast on my own,” he said to the falcons, “so I’ll need your help to get me there.”
“Caw!” one of the falcons cried out enthusiastically, eager to assist.
Two of the falcons swooped down, each grabbing one end of his cane with their talons. With powerful flaps of their wings, they began to lift it off the ground.
Wen Xin grasped the middle of the cane firmly with both hands, allowing the falcons to slowly lift him into the air. The rest of the flock gathered around to stabilize him as they took off, heading in the direction of the rising smoke and flames.
Inside the bus, it took a moment for the stunned passengers to process what they had just witnessed.
Finally, someone broke the silence, scratching their head in disbelief. “Who… who the hell is that guy?”
The Green Scaled Viper was currently at a critical stage of its evolution.
Much like ancient martial artists who risked losing control when interrupted during secluded training, the continuous harassment from Base One had already impacted the Viper’s evolution to a significant extent.
And it was becoming utterly exasperated.
At this point, the Green Scaled Viper had lost count of how many attacks it had faced.
The last bombardment had destroyed half of its nest.
It had taken an eternity for the Viper’s minions—small snakes—to gather the materials to construct a cozy “nest” resembling Wen Xin’s bed, strong enough to support its massive body.
But just like that, it was blown to bits!
The Green Scaled Viper had nearly exploded with rage.
It couldn’t even focus on its evolution at that time and immediately stormed out, capturing all the attackers and tossing them into the snake pit as feed.
And that was only one instance.
Base One’s attempts to prevent it from evolving seemed endless.
Knowing it was searching for Wen Xin, they sent countless people disguised as him.
They used poison, guns, and even honey traps!
The Viper’s psyche suffered a massive blow when it opened a beautifully wrapped gift box, only to find a completely naked stranger inside.
Mutants did not share human notions of modesty; to a snake, the human body was merely flesh.
But still, it felt as if its eyes had been scorched.
—Blinded by the utter lack of human decency.
The Green Scaled Viper was terrified that next time, it might see Wen Xin himself stark naked.
The consequences would be more than just missing out on snacks for a year.
Wen Xin would definitely bite it multiple times, then ignore it for six months out of sheer anger.
The mere thought of this possibility made the Viper’s scales tingle with dread.
After a fit of rage, it finally managed to get its subordinates to understand not to throw any more imposters in its path.
Things were peaceful for a while.
But it didn’t take long before Base One’s people returned once again!
The Green Scaled Viper’s eyes glimmered with malice.
Before it could go after these nuisances for revenge, they were already rushing back to deliver themselves on a silver platter.
But the Viper couldn’t leave; doing so would play right into Base One’s hands.
It had thought about relocating, but without evolving into its complete form, it could only suppress its biological signature by weakening itself—like No. 1 did.
In the critical moment of evolution, that would be akin to courting death.
Without the ability to control its presence, it would be found no matter where it went.
Unless No. 1 suddenly descended from the heavens to serve as a decontaminant.
It couldn’t help but roll its eyes.
The odds of the entire Base One suddenly dropping dead were higher than No. 1 showing up.
As the sound of explosions continued outside, the Viper was drifting off to sleep.
The smaller snakes and other mutant minions, who were too weak to withstand the bombardment, had long since been sent deeper into the swamp.
There was a newly created buffer zone where the artillery couldn’t reach them.
Besides, Base One’s target was only the Viper. There was no need to keep those weak subordinates around.
Ultimately, it shouldered everything on its own.
The barrage was getting closer, with waves of heat licking at the cold, beautiful scales of the enormous Viper.
The Green Scaled Viper thought idly.
Usually, after half a day of this, they would retreat. This time, though, they seemed more determined than ever.
It was clear that Base One was hell-bent on killing it this time.
Yet despite the looming danger, the Viper felt an overwhelming drowsiness creeping in.
How strange…
Was it usually this tired?
*
Outside the Misty Marsh, in Base One’s temporary command post.
Following orders, the subordinates mixed several special compounds into the shells about to be launched.
Once the final round was fired, they turned to report, only to overhear their commander whispering to a researcher.
“If this fails, we’ll end up accelerating its evolution, and the consequences will be unimaginable…”
“No, no, General, don’t be so apprehensive. Even if we did nothing, it would complete its evolution in a few days. The consequences would still be just as dire.”
“I don’t think this is something to joke about, Dr. An Qi!”
“Hahaha, you’re too tense, General. You have no sense of humor.”
The subordinate, hearing this, couldn’t help but glance at the distant swamp where the explosions continued.
The once resilient swamp cypress trees were now in ruins.
Half-broken roots were charred black, and large patches of mud had dried up under the intense heat, exposing the cracked ground like a shattered shell.
It was desolate, filled with smoke and the stench of death.
Was this supposed to be amusing?
The so-called “General” wore a grim expression that bordered on anger.
Under his deathly glare, the researcher finally toned down his grin, though he still seemed utterly unconcerned.
“Do you know why I ordered you to hold back in the previous assaults? The firepower you’ve been using wasn’t even enough to scratch No. 7. Using more would have been a waste of resources.”
He sighed, the reflection in his glasses glinting coldly. “The best chance to kill it was right after it escaped the base. One idiot, desperate to save his own life, used a secret weapon I explicitly banned, nearly killing No. 7.”
“At that time, even ordinary bullets could’ve wounded it. But sadly, you missed that golden opportunity.”
The General tried to hold back his rage.
But he couldn’t.
He burst out, “If you had that secret weapon, why didn’t you use it earlier? Do you have any idea how many people we lost trying to hunt down that mutant?!”
“It’s a secret weapon, General,” the researcher said with a mocking smile. “If we used it against a mid-boss, would it still be a secret weapon?”
The General’s brows furrowed tightly. “Mid-boss?”
“No. 1.”
Mentioning his masterpiece, the researcher’s eyes gleamed with cold pride.
But that pride was devoid of any warmth, more like one admiring a highly effective tool, evoking a chilling sense of dread.
The General’s lips trembled, his logic reining in words that would only sour their relationship.
The researcher continued, “No. 1 has the toughest body and the most terrifying strength, which will increase exponentially after evolution! Compared to No. 1, the other mutants are just inferior products. We can never replicate something as perfect as it!”
Hearing this, the General felt a shiver down his spine. He gritted his teeth and said, “Yes, it’s powerful, but have you considered that once No. 1 completes its evolution, it’ll be even harder to control than No. 7? How will we withstand its retaliation then?!”
The researcher simply smiled, his lips sealed.
“That’s a problem for the future, General. Focus on the task at hand.”
The General rubbed his temples in frustration, guessing that the researcher’s confidence stemmed from the secret weapon he had just mentioned.
Taking a deep breath, he resolved never to take another assignment with these mad scientists again.
Being around them was a constant assault on his worldview.
*
The Green Scaled Viper’s body was heating up rapidly.
Leaving behind the heavily miasmic areas of the marsh, it found its way to the edge of a muddy pond. The heat radiating from its body was so intense that the surrounding mud began to steam.
Instinctively, the Green Scaled Viper knew that this sensation was normal—it was a sign that it was nearing the final stage of its transformation into a complete form.
But the discomfort was relentless.
The Viper had always prided itself on not being a delicate creature. It had endured countless brutal experiences; as long as it wasn’t death, it could tolerate any pain.
Yet, for some inexplicable reason, it was now feeling exceptionally fragile. No matter how much it resisted, waves of weakness surged through its mind, one after another.
Fragile… like that human youth who would tear up just from parting.
Wen Xin…
The Viper had already been trying its best to not think about him.
But once its mental defenses were breached, it was as though a dam had burst. Memories that had been buried deep were now flooding through its mind, unstoppable and overwhelming.
After a brief internal struggle, the Green Scaled Viper gave up.
If merely thinking about the young man’s face could ease some of the pain from the evolution, why not indulge in it?
However, just recalling Wen Xin’s face was no longer enough.
Snakes were naturally greedy. It wanted more.
So, it dug deeper into its memories, searching for those moments that brought it comfort.
There were so many.
The times spent with the human youth were filled with peace. In those moments, it no longer needed to worry about its future or about hiding from Base One’s relentless pursuit.
When Wen Xin’s gentle hand stroked its head, and his soft voice echoed above it…
When Wen Xin discovered it stealing snacks, though angry, he couldn’t bear to scold it. Instead, he would give a helpless yet affectionate smile.
When Wen Xin sensed its fear and anxiety while curled up in the darkness, without hesitation, he would scoop it up and place his vulnerable neck right before its venomous fangs, as if saying, “I trust you.”
In those moments, the Green Scaled Viper could almost forget all the torment it had endured in the research base. All that remained was the warmth of the young man’s touch.
It was close… so close.
The Viper coiled itself tightly, lifting the tip of its tail lazily, lost in thought.
Once it completed its evolution into a full form, it could finally leave this place and search for Wen Xin.
How could Wen Xin’s brother have lost track of him? How incompetent!
The Viper’s mind wandered aimlessly.
But something still felt off—did it usually think this much?
Yet, it couldn’t control the cascade of racing thoughts.
To find Wen Xin, it had to succeed in evolving.
But what if it failed?
Hah, it was no weakling like the other mutants. How could it possibly fail…
[How could you be so sure?]
A cold, mocking voice suddenly echoed in the Green Scaled Viper’s mind, piercing it like an ice-cold dagger.
The Viper’s scales bristled in an instant.
Its pupils contracted into thin slits, and it reared its colossal body like a mountain, roaring into the surrounding air, “Who’s there?!”
Far away, through the lens of a high-powered telescope, the General clenched his fist and let out a sigh of relief. “Excellent, the drug is taking effect!”
But to his surprise, the researcher beside him immediately put down his binoculars and turned to head towards the armored vehicle.
The research team that had accompanied him began packing up their equipment, loading it onto the vehicle.
The General was taken aback. He hurriedly approached, confused. “Dr. An Qi, you’re leaving now?”
“No. 7 is about to enter a berserk state.”
Dr. Anqi squinted slightly with a smile, “The moment it reaches emotional collapse, it will unleash the inherent desire for bloodlust, attacking every living thing in sight with a crazed fury.”
“When there are no more targets for No. 7 to vent its rage on, it will turn its aggression inward, ultimately biting itself to death.”
After finishing his explanation, Dr. Anqi leaned back comfortably in his seat, exuding an air of calm authority. “I suggest you leave some of your men here to wait for the outcome. Whether it succeeds or fails, it’s not suitable for you to stay here any longer. The spies from other factions will surely catch on.”
“The research is about to enter its final experimental phase. Until we find the path to human evolution, it’s better not to openly confront everyone just yet. After all, this world is mostly filled with ordinary people trapped by their emotions, unable to withstand the darkness before the dawn.”
“But don’t worry, one day, everyone will realize that we were right all along.”
Dr. Anqi cast a sidelong glance at the speechless man, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t you agree, General?”
Without a hint of hesitation, the armored vehicle carrying Dr. Anqi and his team drove away.
The General stood still, gripping his binoculars so tightly that his fingertips turned white. After a long pause, he pressed his throbbing temple and spoke hoarsely to his waiting subordinate, “Leave a squad here to monitor the situation. Report back to the base immediately with any updates.”
“The rest, withdraw twenty kilometers away and prepare to eliminate Number Seven if the mutation fails!”
“Yes, Sir!”
*
Meanwhile, the Green Scaled Viper was still struggling against the hallucinations.
But its efforts were in vain.
Because this was not a mere illusion, but rather the deepest fear buried within its subconscious mind.
The more it resisted, the clearer the visions became.
The Viper found itself in a vivid, imagined scene.
It had failed its evolution, and its primal bloodlust had overtaken its consciousness.
All the hatred and agony it had endured in the research base—being skinned, having bones broken, and blood drawn—surged forth, driving it into a frenzy of vengeance against humans.
It slaughtered countless people and mutants alike.
Blood rained down like a merciless storm, drenching its once-proud emerald-green scales in a sinister red.
Yet, the massacre didn’t stop. It continued, mercilessly, endlessly.
It felt no discomfort, only a twisted sense of euphoria.
Perhaps that was its true nature—a venomous Viper that reveled in bloodshed.
But just as the Viper was lost in the ecstasy of destruction, a trembling voice called out to it.
“Ah Lü?”
—Ah Lü… did you really do all of this?
The Viper abruptly turned around.
It saw the young man standing amidst the sea of corpses, kneeling on the ground, gazing up at its massive form in disbelief, like a tiny speck of dust.
For the first time, the Viper saw fear in those gentle, familiar eyes.
A fear that filled it with dissatisfaction and rage.
And so, the Viper bared its venomous fangs, intending to teach this foolish human a lesson—
But it was that very act, the uncontrollable urge to harm the young man, that sent its heart into a wild frenzy.
Its blood seemed to boil, scorching through its veins like molten lava, pushing its sanity to the brink.
One step further, and it would plunge into the abyss.
In the midst of this near-maddening state, the Green Scaled Viper’s true consciousness floated amidst the chaos, a sudden realization dawning on it.
So this… this was its greatest fear.
Just then—
“Ah Lü!!!”
The young man’s voice, like a bolt of lightning, pierced through the thick fog and shattered the Viper’s chaotic thoughts.
Wen Xin hadn’t expected that even after the swamp cypress trees were almost blasted to nothing, the thick mist would still linger like a stubborn plague.
In the short time since he’d been here, the fog had gathered once more.
Fortunately, he had seen a tall silhouette earlier, allowing him to roughly determine the direction.
On the way here from the bus, Wen Xin had been carried through the air by the red falcons.
But at this moment, he didn’t care about the soreness in his arms.
“Fly lower, right there, yes, just here!”
Once he touched the ground, Wen Xin leaned on his cane, searching desperately.
But no matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of the snake.
The fog was too thick.
Wen Xin was nearly frantic with worry. The way the Green Scaled Viper had been thrashing earlier was clearly abnormal.
Just as he was about to move elsewhere to continue his search, a cat’s meow reached his ears.
“Meow~”
Instinctively, Wen Xin turned around.
A small green furball darted out from the side and leaped into his arms.
The little cat was covered in blood but he didn’t care. It looked up at him, eyes brimming with joy.
In that instant, Wen Xin saw the overwhelming relief and fear in its gaze.
Those fragile emotions seemed to solidify, almost spilling from its tear-filled eyes.
But the green cat held back.
“Wen Xin, Wen Xin, it really is you.”
It rubbed its head against his shoulder as if trying to confirm that he was real and not a hallucination. Then, it proudly puffed out its tiny chest.
“Meow!”
Guess what? I’ve successfully evolved!
But as it carefully examined Wen Xin, its joyful expression froze, the corners of its mouth slowly stiffening with shock and anger.
Ah Lü stared at Wen Xin’s torn and dirty clothes, then at the cane in his hand and his injured leg. Finally, it looked at his gaunt, weary face.
… How could this have happened?
Seeing Wen Xin in such a state made the green bundle’s heart ache so much it nearly ground its teeth to dust.
Its high, proud tail drooped, and it let out a soft, pained meow.
“Meow… meow?”
How did you end up like this? How much suffering have you gone through during this time?
Ah Lü gently approached Wen Xin’s face, its eyes filled with sorrow.
Earlier, it had nearly failed its evolution. But Wen Xin’s shout had jolted it awake, holding onto the last thread of sanity, ringing alarm bells in its mind.
How could it afford to lose control?
How could it forget the promise it had once made?
Ah Lü extended its tongue, gently licking Wen Xin’s forehead, one stroke at a time.
“Meow.”
Don’t worry. Just as I promised you before, from now on, no one will ever be able to hurt you again.
From this moment on, you are the safest person in the world.
