After Raising Monsters, I Was Loved by Everyone in the Wasteland – CH77

Chapter 77

Wen Xin locked eyes with the young man, who looked as tense as a startled rabbit.

It seemed that the slightest sound or movement would send him leaping backward, darting several meters away.

“‘Long time no see?’” Wen Xin said, amused and exasperated. “You’re standing so far away—what can you even see?”

He reached out a hand to the boy, softening his voice and curving his brows in a warm smile. “Come here already. Let me take a good look at our Ah Jiu and see if you’ve changed much.”

His tone was as familiar as ever, untouched by the months they’d spent apart.

Behind the young man, it felt as though an invisible hand was gently urging him forward, pushing past his unease.

Step by step, he advanced, his mind wandering back to their parting.

Though the distance between them was only a few steps, a trace of longing had already welled up in his eyes, glimmering like starlight.

Wen Xin’s heart softened completely.

Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Wen Xin took on the demeanor of a family elder finally welcoming a wandering child back home. He meticulously checked over Ah Jiu, ensuring there were no injuries or lingering issues.

Ah Jiu, obedient and composed, allowed Wen Xin to fuss over him. A soft blush spread across his cheeks.

S-class mutants were capable of concealing their aura, compressing it to an almost negligible radius.

But the red panda had a natural gift for recognizing such auras.

When Ah Jiu was still at the door, the red panda didn’t feel much of anything.

But as the young man drew closer, a sudden oppressive pressure, as if an abyss had opened nearby, washed over it. The roasted meat in its mouth instantly lost all appeal.

The red panda stared blankly at Ah Jiu.

Back then, Ah Jiu had been a nameless, unremarkable C-class mutant, indistinguishable among the countless others at the base.

The red panda had never bothered to remember his aura, so it didn’t occur to it that the youth Wen Xin had been searching for—Ah Jiu—was the same person it had met mere moments ago as the lord of Rose City.

But why hadn’t he revealed himself earlier? Why change his appearance before coming here?

Perhaps the red panda’s bewilderment was too obvious, for the next moment, Ah Jiu glanced at it as if by chance.

Gone was the shy, bashful expression. His sharp gaze was like an ice-tempered blade, a warning that pierced straight through the red panda.

Every hair on the red panda’s body stood on end. It nearly dropped its piece of roasted meat before quickly turning away, trembling, to gnaw on it in silence.

First Xiao Hei, and now this “young man” Ah Jiu—why did everyone like scaring it? This was so unfair, it whimpered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wen Xin noticed the red panda’s retreat into its own little world. Curious, he turned his attention to Ah Jiu’s face.

The boy’s lashes fluttered lightly as he met Wen Xin’s gaze with mild confusion.

…There didn’t seem to be anything amiss.

Wen Xin patted Ah Jiu’s shoulder, remarking with a smile, “You’re still the same as before, though your hair seems to have grown longer.”

When Ah Jiu had left, his tousled golden locks barely reached the middle of his neck.

Now, they skimmed his shoulders, long enough to tie into a small ponytail.

Ah Jiu grasped a lock of his hair as if noticing it for the first time, his expression turning faintly surprised. “It does seem longer.”

He had grown it on purpose.

After all, having been away for months, there had to be some sign of change on him.

On closer inspection, the difference wasn’t significant, but the fact that Wen Xin noticed Ah Jiu’s hair had grown showed how attentively he had been observing him.

The warmth in Ah Jiu’s heart blossomed. Suddenly, Wen Xin’s hand was on his head again. “Ah Jiu.”

The young man instinctively responded, “Yes?”

“These past months must have been tough on you, haven’t they?”

The question came out of nowhere.

Startled, Ah Jiu glanced at Wen Xin. For a brief moment, it felt like a flood of pent-up emotions surged to his throat. He quickly averted his gaze. “How could it be? Look at me—I’m no different from before.”

But before he could turn his head fully, Wen Xin gently cupped his chin and tilted it back toward him.

Wen Xin’s gaze was steady and filled with concern as he sighed softly. “Your eyes are red.”

Just those few words nearly undid the canary’s composed facade.

The youth’s perception was always so sharp, as if a single glance could uncover all of Ah Jiu’s darkness and fragility.

Defeated, Ah Jiu admitted in a hoarse voice, “Yes.”

His eyes now bright red, Ah Jiu silently pleaded for a moment of solace and leaned against Wen Xin for support.

Wen Xin patted the red panda, who was sitting on the floor. “Ah Lü has been gone for quite a while, and I’m starting to worry. Could you go check the entrance and see if it’s coming back soon?”

The red panda glanced between Ah Jiu and Wen Xin, quickly catching on. It obligingly shuffled out the door, even closing it gently behind itself.

As the room fell silent again, Wen Xin sat back on the bed and patted his lap.

Ah Jiu climbed up without hesitation. Relaxed now, and perhaps even slightly dependent, he rested his head on Wen Xin’s lap and slowly closed his eyes.

Wen Xin’s slender fingers ran through the soft, golden hair, stroking it gently, over and over.

This wasn’t just a gesture of comfort—it was also a way for Wen Xin to inspect him.

The journey from being a nameless boy to becoming the lord of Rose City must have been fraught with hardship, perhaps even bloodshed.

Mutants healed quickly. If Ah Jiu wanted, there would be no scars on his body.

But Wen Xin noticed how the boy’s muscles tensed reflexively when his hands brushed certain spots on his head or spine.

That was enough to tell Wen Xin where Ah Jiu must have suffered grievous injuries—pain so severe that it had etched itself into his very bones, leaving him involuntarily flinching at every touch.

Time passed in silence.

The boy, lying quietly on Wen Xin’s lap, suddenly broke it. “Those weren’t really hardships.”

Even if they were, they were hardships he had chosen for himself.

Ah Jiu had always longed to rise to the highest heights, to stand where countless others would look up to him in awe, where no one would ever dare trample on him again.

He had resolved to endure anything—to swallow the blood and shards of his broken teeth, to raise his blood-stained arms, and to claw his way to the top.

The skeletal throne he now sat upon bore the heads of the two mutants who once ruled this land.

When Ah Jiu first entered their domain, they had eyed him with unrestrained greed.

Tender meat, beautiful, and an easily controlled plaything.

But as they leered and appraised him, Ah Jiu’s lips curled into a high, mocking smile.

Survival of the fittest, the weak are prey for the strong.

Every lonely and silent night, Rose City’s new king would sit upon his skeletal throne, his hand absently stroking the skulls of the two who had once sworn to make him beg for mercy. Each time, he reminded himself:

Weakness is death.

Wen Xin looked down at him, noting the calm in his expression. He reached out and poked Ah Jiu’s forehead lightly. “If it wasn’t hard, then why are you so upset?”

Ah Jiu closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper, almost petulant. “It’s your fault for showing up so suddenly.”

He turned over, looking up at Wen Xin from below, then grabbed Wen Xin’s hand and placed it on his neck, his gaze intense.

“Wen Xin, if I told you that killing me would give you control over half the Western territories, would you press down and do it?”

Wen Xin froze.

His expression quickly darkened, and his lips thinned into a cold, harsh line.

“…”

Ah Jiu’s fingers trembled slightly as he realized he might have said the wrong thing. He hastily pushed himself up, his usually aloof face now filled with panic.

“I was joking! Please, Wen Xin, calm down. Don’t be mad. I was wrong—mmph!”

The palace had floor heating. The red panda, holding its half-finished plate of roasted meat, was contentedly wandering the corridor.

Suddenly, a pained cry echoed from the room behind it, startling it so much that it jumped.

The red panda assumed the two had started fighting and, panicked, dropped its plate and ran to the door.

But as it strained its ears to listen, it realized the voice crying out in pain wasn’t Wen Xin’s.

The red panda froze in shock.

Wen Xin is… human, right?

Then how—why—was the terrifying S-class city lord the one begging for mercy?

Utterly bewildered, the red panda hesitated, unsure if it should enter.

Big shots like them cared a lot about appearances. If it barged in and saw Ah Jiu being humiliated, would it be “silenced” to protect the secret?

After some agonized deliberation, the red panda chickened out and quietly slunk away, clutching its roasted meat.

“I didn’t hear anything. Yep, nothing at all.”

Half an hour later, Ah Lü returned.

True to its word, it brought back a mutated giant mountain wolf and a saber-toothed, three-eyed deer, more than enough to sate the red panda’s appetite.

Though already full from the roasted meat, the deer’s tantalizing aroma quickly drew the red panda’s attention.

It was as if a voice in its head whispered that devouring these creatures would be far more satisfying than dozens of mutant ants.

The red panda, drooling, let out an excited squeal and pounced toward the food.

Ah Lü grabbed the loose skin on the back of its neck and clicked its tongue in annoyance. “Let the kitchen cut it up for you. Don’t gnaw on it here and make a mess everywhere.”

While wiping the blood off its paw pads, Ah Lü scrutinized the third red eye on the deer’s head and frowned. “I swear, the mutants here all look bizarre.”

The base had its share of genetically failed monstrosities, creatures with extra heads or limbs.

But those additional parts were usually lifeless, shriveled appendages.

Ah Lü’s usual hunting style was quick and ruthless—see the target, kill the target.

It hadn’t paid much attention to whether the deer’s third eye had blinked twice before its death.

It had tested one earlier to ensure it wasn’t poisonous and tasted good before bringing this one back for the red panda.

Turning to glance at the closed door of the room, Ah Lü thought nothing of it and casually pushed the door open. “Why is this shut? What are you two—hiss.”

It froze, staring at Ah Jiu’s bright red left cheek.

Ah Lü sucked in a sharp breath. “Did a bee sting you?”

The boy hesitated, stealing a cautious glance at Wen Xin.

Once Ah Lü heard the full story, it rolled its eyes and huffed. “Serves you right, joking about that with Wen Xin.”

Ah Jiu hadn’t been joking. When he asked that question, he had been utterly serious.

He had been prepared for any reaction from Wen Xin, even the worst kind.

It was as if he were a beggar, frozen stiff in the dead of night, stumbling upon a roaring bonfire.

Even knowing the flames might burn him, he couldn’t resist extending his frostbitten hands, greedily reaching for warmth.

But seeing Wen Xin so furious, Ah Jiu couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.

He licked his dry lips and silently sent a sound wave to Ah Lü: Help me calm him down.

Ah Lü rolled its eyes. Do you want me to fix the mess you made? Dream on.

Ah Jiu: The base has a few nail technicians skilled in scale care. I can send them all to you.

He added: They’re top-notch human professionals. In no time, your scales will gleam so brightly that Wen Xin will adore them even more.

At that, Ah Lü’s tail began swaying with interest. Now we’re talking!

As they exchanged their private conversation, Wen Xin stood silently nearby, seemingly oblivious to their scheming.

Ah Lü cleared its throat. “Wen Xin, look, Ah Jiu already knows he was wrong—”

Wen Xin, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, cast a sidelong glance. His clear eyes still simmered with anger as he uttered a single syllable: “Hmm?”

Ah Jiu instantly stiffened, his spine going rigid. Ah Lü, sensing the shift in atmosphere, immediately switched sides. Turning to Ah Jiu, it sternly chided, “Knowing you were wrong doesn’t make it okay. That’s not something to joke about!”

Ah Jiu: “…”

He hadn’t expected Ah Lü to betray him so quickly and was left speechless.

Within seconds, Ah Lü had climbed onto Wen Xin’s shoulder and was now inspecting his red fingertips with a concerned look. “His skin’s so thick—did it hurt your hand? Let me see.”

Ah Jiu: “…………” Where’s your pride?

Wen Xin glanced at the boy’s bewildered expression, his tone cold. “Exactly. That’s not something to joke about.”

He enunciated each word deliberately, his voice calm yet firm. “After all, Ah Jiu isn’t actually the lord of Rose City, who controls most of the Western territories. If someone overheard you, they could report you for treason.”

Ah Jiu froze, his bravado melting instantly. He quickly apologized, his tone rife with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Wen Xin, still upset, barely touched his dinner that evening.

But in this era, food was an incredibly precious resource.

Wen Xin had passed through many refugee camps where sunken, lifeless faces stared back at him. People would grovel for a bite of bread or a sip of soup, selling even their bodies as if it were commonplace.

Thus, even without much appetite, Wen Xin forced himself to eat. He managed to fill his stomach to about 60% before standing and leaving the table.

He walked slowly back to his room, giving himself time to digest. Removing his tactical vest, he started doing frog jumps in place.

When he finished, panting for breath, he stepped into the corridor and grabbed the eaves to begin a series of pull-ups.

Eighty… eighty-five… ninety… one hundred!

Completing one hundred pull-ups required breaking it into several sets.

As Wen Xin released the eaves and landed steadily on the ground, his legs wobbled slightly. He was drenched in sweat.

Earlier that day, he had killed countless mutant ants. Now, adding this intense workout had pushed his body to the edge. His arms throbbed with pain as he stretched and massaged his aching muscles, walking back inside.

This scene made Ah Jiu, who had been secretly following him, stop in his tracks.

Ah Lü, trailing behind him, remarked, “I told you, didn’t I? Even when we’re not around, Wen Xin is working hard to grow stronger.”

Ah Jiu, his sharp eyesight catching glimpses of faint scars on Wen Xin’s body, fell silent.

Ah Lü’s voice turned somber. “The Western territories are chaotic. I heard about it before we came. Apart from the absence of those sickening experiments from the researchers, it’s no different from the base.”

“You may think you’ve endured a lot and seen the worst of the world’s evils, but does that justify testing Wen Xin? Little bird, don’t you realize how many times Wen Xin has narrowly escaped death?”

Recalling the battered and broken state Wen Xin had been in when they reunited, Ah Lü felt a pang of deep sorrow.

“The red panda is timid and cowardly. When Wen Xin was wandering and suffering from amnesia, it was probably useless to rely on it. Afterward, I weighed him—he didn’t even reach a hundred pounds. If I grabbed any man of his age off the street in the central district, they’d weigh more than him.”

Ah Lü turned to Ah Jiu, its tone cold. “He’s been through a lot. He’s not oblivious. Stop treating him like he doesn’t understand anything—it’ll only hurt him.”

“If you make Wen Xin angry again, even if you’re Ah Jiu, my fangs won’t spare you.”

That night, Wen Xin was preparing to sleep when he noticed a head peeking through the window.

It was Ah Jiu, staring at him pitifully.

—I know I was wrong. Don’t be mad, Wen Xin.

The window looked out onto the snowy palace grounds, where frost coated the trees and everything was bitterly cold.

At first, Wen Xin ignored him, but after ten minutes, he glanced up again. Ah Jiu was still there, huddled by the windowsill.

Frost had formed on the glass, blurring his face. He looked as though the cold had made him shrink into himself entirely.

Wen Xin knew Ah Jiu was faking it.

S-class mutants could withstand extreme conditions. Their bodies wouldn’t burn even in temperatures of hundreds of degrees, nor would their claws freeze in liquid nitrogen at minus two hundred. A little drifting snow was nothing.

But the boy kept tapping on the glass, each knock softer than the last, filled with a pleading tone.

After a dozen or so knocks with no response from inside, Ah Jiu let his hand fall, his expression dim. He resigned himself to standing in the snow all night and trying again.

Click.

The window opened just then, revealing Wen Xin’s clean and handsome face.

Expressionless, he stared at Ah Jiu for a long moment before sighing helplessly. He raised his hand and lightly tapped the boy’s forehead with a finger. “This is your last chance.”

Ah Jiu’s face instantly brightened with a radiant smile.

Inside, the warm air from the heated floor filled the room. Outside, snow fell steadily.

The golden warmth spilled through the open window, trailing along Wen Xin’s pale, jade-like fingers. It melted the frost clinging to Ah Jiu’s brows and lashes, softening his expression.

Ah Jiu grabbed the hand Wen Xin had extended, pressed it against his brow, and closed his eyes. In that moment of boundless remorse, he basked in the peace he so greedily desired.

Raising his head, his eyes sparkled. “Wen Xin, do you still remember what I told you before I left?”

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