Chapter 81
Three years ago.
“Wen Xin, I’m really sorry to trouble you, especially during the New Year.”
The store manager clasped her hands together apologetically during the video call. “Think of it as an emergency shift. I’ll credit you with triple pay.”
Wen Xin was organizing the goods and was about to respond when a soft, childish voice came through the call’s background.
“Mama! Daddy says he can drink an entire bottle in one go! Is that true? Come see, Mama—”
The manager turned her head and called out, “Stop your dad! Don’t let him drink too much!”
After her shout, an older, gentle voice chimed in, urging:
“It’s the New Year. Why are you still working? Money can’t buy everything. Hurry and join us for dinner; the dishes are getting cold.”
The store manager let out a helpless laugh. “Mom, the dishes just hit the table; they’re not going to get cold that fast. I still have work to do…”
Though she said this, her eyes instinctively glanced to the side.
“Big brother, don’t overdo it! Oh, wow—he really did it! Amazing!”
In the background, a lively commotion erupted. Children clapped and cheered while relatives and friends called out excitedly. The manager sighed with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, a smile spreading across her face.
It was only then that she noticed the video call still active. Quickly adjusting her expression, she apologized again to Wen Xin.
“Sorry about that. The house is packed, and it’s a bit chaotic.”
Wen Xin shook his head, dismissing the issue.
Seeing the distracted look on the manager’s face, he said gently, “Go eat with your family. I can handle things here.”
Someone called for the manager again in the background. She acknowledged them before turning back to Wen Xin.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”
“No problem,” Wen Xin assured her. “Everything’s already prepared. I’ll wait at the door for someone to pick up the goods. When they arrive, I’ll have them list everything, take a photo, and send it to you.”
The manager nodded gratefully. “Thank you so much, Wen Xin. I’m really sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s nothing,” Wen Xin replied.
He carefully wrapped all the goods in cardboard and tied them securely with plastic string to keep the items from shifting in the boxes.
After double- and triple-checking that nothing was missing, he locked the door and stood by the entrance with the goods, waiting for the pickup.
The night had deepened, and the sky sparkled with scattered stars.
Red lanterns hung from the branches lining the street, swaying gently in the breeze. The bustling crowds had dispersed hours ago, retreating to their homes, leaving the once lively commercial street unusually quiet.
Occasionally, a few hurried figures passed by, their faces bright with joy.
The person scheduled to pick up the goods was running late. Wen Xin stood in the cold night air, exhaling into his hands to warm them. His breath emerged as faint white mist, curling around his fingers.
Looking up, he gazed beyond the empty commercial street to the residential buildings in the distance.
In the dark, each window glowed warmly with golden light, like small, inviting sparks of fireworks.
Wen Xin was captivated by the sight.
After another ten minutes, the person finally arrived, apologizing profusely as they approached.
Wen Xin shook his head. “It’s alright.”
The two quickly transferred the goods, created an inventory list, and took a photo to send to the store manager.
Perhaps feeling guilty for making Wen Xin wait so long, the person enthusiastically pulled out a red envelope. “Sorry for making you come out so late and delaying your New Year’s dinner with your family. Please take this.”
Wen Xin blinked in surprise, instinctively trying to refuse.
“No, no, take it,” the person insisted. “It’s just a small token—one of the red envelopes I prepared for the kids. There’s not much inside, just a bit to add to the festive spirit.”
Before Wen Xin could protest further, the small red envelope was pressed into his hand.
Not knowing how to decline, Wen Xin ran his fingers over the cheerful design of the fu child printed on the envelope and softly said, “Thank you.”
“No, it’s me who should thank you. I’ll head off now, and you should hurry home too. Don’t keep your parents waiting.”
Wen Xin nodded. “Alright. Oh, and…”
“What is it?”
The words Happy New Year swirled in his throat but never left his lips.
After bidding farewell, Wen Xin walked home alone.
With the small red envelope in hand, his steps were slow and deliberate. Even the bare branches along the roadside seemed to fascinate him, as he often paused to stare at them.
As he neared his doorstep, his pace became even more hesitant.
Eventually, the cold air biting at him made him sneeze, snapping him out of his daze. Accepting defeat in his silent battle with the weather, he finally opened the door.
The lively chatter of a television greeted him, broadcasting the New Year’s Gala.
Two hosts stepped onto the stage, introducing the next performance with rhyming couplets and beaming smiles, joyfully welcoming the Spring Festival.
On the dining table sat two dishes. They had been there long enough to lose their warmth, the steam having long since dissipated.
Wen Xin closed the door, walked to the table, and pulled out a chair.
The faint creak of the chair scraping the floor was the only sound in the quiet apartment, a jarring contrast to the vibrant celebrations echoing from the surrounding buildings.
He didn’t reheat the food, nor did he pick up his chopsticks to eat. Instead, he propped his chin on his hands and stared at his phone.
The screen still displayed a message he had sent three hours earlier.
Wen Xin: Happy New Year.
But there was no reply from Wen Jinfeng.
Wen Xin assumed his elder brother was busy. He listened absentmindedly to the television while staring out at the illuminated windows across the city, his mind drifting aimlessly.
A loud bang from outside broke the silence.
On the balcony across from his, a young girl rushed out, shouting excitedly. “Mom, Dad, look! They’re setting off fireworks over there!”
Hearing the commotion, Wen Xin stood and walked to his balcony, gazing into the night sky.
Brilliant fireworks shot into the sky, bursting into vibrant, colorful blooms that lit up the darkness.
Wen Xin’s pupils reflected the dazzling display, trembling slightly with emotion.
A flood of feelings surged in his chest—excitement, sadness, a bittersweet ache that left a faintly bitter taste in his mouth.
On the opposite balcony, the girl turned to her mother and asked, “Mom, can you make wishes on fireworks?”
“I don’t know. Usually, people wish on shooting stars. Why would you want to wish on fireworks?”
“Because it’s a new year!”
“Well, you can set a goal for yourself or make a wish. Who knows? It might just come true.”
“Really? Then I wish to grow taller next year!”
Make a wish…
Wen Xin clenched his fingers slightly and looked down at his phone.
Still no reply from Wen Jinfeng, though his university classmates and colleagues were filling group chats with greetings and red envelopes.
He tapped lightly on each message, adding a small “+1” to the string of blessings.
Licking his lips, Wen Xin waited until the girl and her family had gone back inside before slowly clasping his hands together.
He wished that next year, he and Wen Jinfeng could reconcile and have a calm, meaningful conversation without arguing.
He wished he could learn how to better connect with people—just one friend would be enough, and he would cherish them deeply.
He wished that everyone he knew could find peace and happiness. He even hoped the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood garden would find homes soon.
Pausing, he murmured to himself, “Don’t be greedy. They say if you’re too greedy, your wishes won’t come true.”
“Hmm… but it’s New Year’s and my birthday today. Surely, I can make one more wish.”
Convincing himself, Wen Xin’s eyes curved into a sweet smile, like a child who had just tasted honey.
Fearing he might miss his chance, he quickly closed his eyes again and whispered his last wish:
“I hope that next New Year—and my next birthday—I won’t be alone.”
Three years later.
“Wen Xin! Did you prepare this for us? Wow!”
Xiao Qi’s delighted voice rang out, clear and bright, filling the entire room.
Wen Xin nodded, a little nervous. “Do you like it?”
“I love it! I super love it!”
Xiao Qi hugged the plush toy tightly, nuzzling its soft, fluffy fur, a joyful smile lighting up its face.
Unable to contain its excitement, Xiao Qi blurted out, “We also prepared a gift for you—mmph!”
Wen Xin’s eyes widened in surprise. “A gift?”
Ah Jiu sighed in resignation as it let go of the little fox, whose mouth it had tried to cover. “You big mouth.”
Xiao Qi inhaled sharply, realization dawning belatedly. “Oh no, we were supposed to keep it a secret! Otherwise, it ruins the surprise.”
Ah Lü groaned, exasperated. “How did someone like you last so long in the Idealism Sect?”
“With your cluelessness, it’s a miracle no one ever tried to overthrow you.”
Wen Xin, now brimming with curiosity, leaned in closer. “You prepared a gift for me? What is it?”
The little ones all averted their eyes, scrambling to salvage the situation.
Wen Xin, however, simply stared at them, his clear, bright eyes brimming with anticipation.
Whenever Wen Xin showed the slightest hint of a pleading expression, the little ones would surrender without fail. And now, with him looking at them like this, there was no resisting.
Ah Lü was the first to break. “Fine, fine, I’ll spill. That human, Tang Qi, told us that today is your birthday.”
Wen Xin froze for a moment.
With everything that had happened recently, he had completely forgotten that his birthday was around this time.
“So you all…”
“We organized a birthday party and prepared gifts for you.”
Ah Lü rummaged through a box and pulled out a bag of uninflated balloons. “Look, we even got streamers and party poppers. It wasn’t easy to find this stuff, but Ah Jiu’s connections came through.”
San San, lugging over some supplies with considerable effort, nodded in agreement. “We spent days picking out just the right gift.”
Ah Jiu massaged his temple, clearly exasperated. “Stop talking, all of you.”
Ah Lü didn’t see the issue and shifted the blame. “Next time, we need to keep secrets from Xiao Qi. Wen Xin wouldn’t have found out if it weren’t for that slip of yours.”
Xiao Qi retorted immediately, “But I didn’t say it was a birthday gift—that was you!”
Ah Jiu remained expressionless as it commented, “You’re both equally bad at this.”
As the squabbling continued, San San suddenly remembered something.
“By the way, I ran into Tang Qi earlier. He said he’d bring the cake over soon and told us to get Wen Xin out of the room for a bit…”
The fluffballs’ eyes widened in unison, and they turned to glare at San San, gritting their teeth.
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“Can’t you see Wen Xin’s standing right here?!”
San San blinked, stunned. “But wasn’t it already obvious?”
The other fluffballs: “…”
Their bickering escalated until, unable to resolve the matter, they decided to turn to Wen Xin.
“Wen Xin, you said…Wen Xin?”
Their arguing came to an abrupt halt as Wen Xin, standing silently, suddenly pulled them all into a tight embrace.
Startled by the rare show of strength, Ah Lü caught the faint sound of a muffled sob and froze in panic.
Ah Jiu, however, was quick to grab it by the tail, mouthing, “Not sadness.”
Ah Lü shot back an urgent look. “If he’s not sad, why is he crying?”
Wen Xin’s voice was hoarse as he murmured, “Thank you all.”
He released them, his eyes curving into crescent moons as he smiled radiantly. “I’m so happy, I can’t hold it in.”
Though he was smiling, tears continued to fall, as if some heavy burden had finally been lifted.
The sight was so bittersweet that the fluffballs froze, unsure of what to do.
Wen Xin quickly wiped at his eyes, but the more he wiped, the more tears came.
Seeing their startled expressions, he waved a hand dismissively. “Cough, sorry, give me a moment to calm down.”
The fluffballs scrambled around, gathering near him in a flurry of movement.
Xiao Qi leaped onto the table and handed Wen Xin a tissue. “Who cries when they’re happy?”
Ah Lü climbed onto Wen Xin’s shoulder, gently rubbing his head with the tip of its tail. “I heard humans shouldn’t cry on their birthdays—it’s bad luck. Let us cry for you instead.”
Ah Jiu awkwardly suggested, “Do you want some water?”
San San quietly helped wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry anymore.”
“Come on, Wen Xin, smile,” Ah Lü cooed softly, nuzzling his forehead. “Just smile for us.”
Surrounded by their clumsy comfort, warmth bloomed in Wen Xin’s heart, and he finally managed a tear-streaked smile.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a faint meowing sound came from outside the window.
“A cat? Out in this weather?”
The figure lurking outside wasn’t a cat, of course—it was Tang Qi, who had previously agreed on a “cat” signal with San San.
Hearing the repeated false meows, San San realized what was happening and sheepishly hurried to open the window.
Tang Qi brushed the snow off his coat and muttered in annoyance, “What were you doing just now?”
“I nearly froze along with the cake. It’s hard enough to find cream these days—if the cake had been ruined, we’d have been stuck using steamed buns as a substitute. How ridiculous would that be—wait, hold on!” Tang Qi stopped mid-rant, his gaze landing on Wen Xin.
“You didn’t get him out of the room?”
As the words left his mouth, Tang Qi realized his mistake and clapped a hand over it.
Then he noticed Wen Xin’s red, puffy eyes.
His expression shifted immediately. Abandoning the cake, he vaulted into the room and rushed over.
“What happened? Why are you crying?”
Wen Xin met Tang Qi’s worried gaze with a bright, sunny smile. “I’m just really, really happy.”
“Truly, incredibly happy.”
That evening, the group gathered for dinner.
The surprise party didn’t go quite as planned, but the cake managed to make it safely to the table.
Ah Jiu turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, leaving only the soft glow of the candles atop the cake. Their warm yellow light flickered gently.
Wen Xin sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his fluffball companions and Tang Qi.
Three empty chairs sat opposite him. Each had a pair of chopsticks and a bowl in front of it, accompanied by a tuft of purple fur, a piece of blue fluff, and a glossy black scale—representations of the three fluffballs yet to be found.
Tang Qi grinned and teased, “Another year older, little brother.”
Ah Lü chuckled. “You were so emotional today. There will be more days like this in the future, but next time—no more crying, alright?”
Ah Jiu said sincerely, “Happy birthday, Wen Xin.”
San San chimed in, “Happy birthday!”
Xiao Qi was the most enthusiastic. “Wen Xin, make a wish!”
It was time to make a wish.
Wen Xin closed his eyes and clasped his hands together.
His thoughts wandered back to the days when he was still alone.
The sound of chopsticks tapping against a plate would echo coldly in the empty room. The liveliness existed only on the television.
Wen Xin couldn’t help but wonder if this happiness was real or just a fleeting, beautiful dream.
Unable to resist, he made a childish move, cracking one eye open to sneak a peek at the fluffballs and Tang Qi.
Ah Lü caught him and tapped Wen Xin’s forehead with its paw. “Hurry up and make your wish, or it won’t work.”
Wen Xin couldn’t help but laugh.
He realized then that all the wishes he’d made in the past—those extravagant hopes—had come true.
The heavens had been kind to him after all.
Still, he couldn’t help but think of the missing members of his little group. He didn’t know where they were or if they were safe.
His gaze lingered on the three empty chairs. He pushed aside his feelings of regret and worry, replacing them with hopeful determination.
Wen Xin closed his eyes again.
He wished for the little ones and Tang Qi to remain healthy and safe. He wished for everyone to reunite soon.
He wished for an end to the calamities, and for that day to come sooner rather than later.
Bang!
A firework exploded outside the window.
They all looked up, gazing at the night sky as a dazzling display unfolded.
The calamity didn’t pause for the holiday, but for one day, people allowed themselves a moment to relax and celebrate the New Year.
By the next day, most had returned to their usual struggles, fretting about how to survive the day ahead.
Still, even a single day of reprieve gave these perpetually tense individuals a moment of solace.
Wen Xin continued his usual training. At the entrance to the training grounds, he noticed a familiar figure—a servant from the scavenger team they had met previously.
The man looked different: his energy was vibrant, his spirit much improved compared to just a few days ago.
Curious, Wen Xin wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and walked over. “Do you need something?”
The man held a bag in his hands, filled with medical supplies. He offered it to Wen Xin with enthusiasm. “This is for you.”
“For me?” Wen Xin asked in surprise.
In the months since the apocalypse began, most safe areas had already been thoroughly looted, especially places like grocery stores and pharmacies. Any news of remaining supplies would immediately attract desperate scavengers.
Medicines, particularly winter cold remedies, were now incredibly rare. Just one pill could fetch a fortune on the black market.
Yet the man was offering Wen Xin an entire bag?
The servant explained, “The scavenger team leaders wanted me to deliver this to you. After you dealt with the monster, we managed to enter the town and found a pharmacy that hadn’t been raided yet.
“These were recovered from there.”
Wen Xin shook his head, declining the gift. “That was just part of my job. I’ve already received payment for the task.”
But the servant pressed the bag into Wen Xin’s hands, his gaze earnest. “Please, sir, take it. You may think what you did was a small thing, but for those people, without you, they might not have survived the winter.”
He continued passionately, “You don’t know how long that task had been posted in the bounty office. Because it was near the free hunting zone where mutants roam, no one dared to take it.”
The scavenger team had waited a long time before someone like Wen Xin came along.
If Wen Xin hadn’t shown up—or if no one else capable of completing the task had arrived—they would have eventually risked their lives to try, even if only for survival.
The servant, fortunate to have a safer job, was grateful that his friends had lived to see another day.
Wen Xin had plenty of resources, including the compensation boxes Ah Jiu had given him. But those items were difficult to transport, especially with roads blocked by wrecked vehicles. He knew there might come a time when even his car would have to be abandoned.
This bag of medicine, compact and practical, was something he could carry and use when needed.
Wen Xin smiled. “Thank you. This will be very useful.”
Having delivered the gift, the servant lingered. He seemed even more uneasy than before, hesitating as if he had something else to ask.
“Sir, there’s one more thing…”
He took a deep breath, meeting Wen Xin’s gaze with sincerity. “I know someone as extraordinary as you must already have powerful followers. Compared to them, in both status and strength, we might seem inadequate…”
The man’s face flushed red as he spoke with determination, emphasizing every word: “But please forgive our audacity. We would like to request to join your followers!”
Wen Xin was completely caught off guard by the request.
His first thought was that the servant must have misunderstood. Though Wen Xin’s name was spreading like wildfire outside, he had no followers to speak of.
Instead, he had countless bounty hunters who saw him as a walking treasure chest, their mouths watering at the prospect of claiming the hefty price on his head. It was as if he were a tantalizing meal, each faction eager to carve out their share.
Wen Xin chuckled, both amused and helpless. “You must be joking. I don’t have any followers.”
Back at the base, he’d once served as the leader of a rookie class and later as the captain of an action team. But after his extended absence, those recruits and teammates had likely been reassigned to other units.
It wasn’t that Wen Xin was oblivious.
He simply assumed he was far from reaching a level where anyone would choose to follow him. Aside from holding a position of authority in City A’s management someday, he couldn’t imagine any situation where people would voluntarily join him.
But the servant refused to believe him.
With Wen Xin’s skills and reputation, how could no one admire him or pledge their loyalty?
The man’s expression dimmed slightly, suspecting that their humble status was the issue and that they simply weren’t qualified to follow someone like Wen Xin.
Yet he wasn’t willing to give up. Clinging to hope, he pressed on with sincerity: “Even if you don’t have followers yet, we could be your first!”
“We may not have advanced equipment or a hundred members like the large scavenger organizations, but we’re not without our strengths.”
His voice was filled with genuine conviction.
“The team leaders, for example, can take down zombies on their own and have extensive experience in wilderness survival. We’ve fought our way out of encirclements by over a dozen zombies and even taken down a C-class mutant. Please believe in us—we can become stronger.”
Wen Xin stared into the servant’s shining eyes, momentarily speechless.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to respond. Hearing such heartfelt declarations, an entirely new idea began to form in his mind.
A thought he’d never had before.
Followers.
Wen Xin turned the word over and over in his mind, as if parting a fog to reveal the sunlight.
Until now, his growing fame had brought him nothing but trouble.
At one point, when the First Base placed a bounty on him, he had seriously considered hiding on a remote island for a few years to let the storm blow over.
But why had his first instinct been to run?
Was it because, like Wen Jinfeng, he feared inevitable harm?
No. It was because he hadn’t thought to use his reputation.
Fame wasn’t a simple spear—it was a double-edged sword. Used poorly, it could cut deeply into oneself.
But wielded skillfully, it could become a powerful weapon, cutting through insurmountable obstacles.
In the post-apocalyptic world, how many people could claim the “honor” of being known by nearly everyone?
Followers.
When enough people follow, rules can be established, order maintained, and territory defended—all to protect a brighter future.
Wen Xin closed his eyes, his heart pounding like thunder.
He saw a potential path forward, though it was lined with thorns.
He took several deep breaths, steadying himself to avoid rushing headlong.
Looking at the servant, Wen Xin’s voice slowed, his tone carrying a faint but discernible change. “Are you sure you want to follow me?”
The servant caught the implication and his eyes widened in delight, his voice rising uncontrollably. “Does that mean you’re agreeing?”
Memories of his first assignment as a team leader flickered through Wen Xin’s mind.
But this felt entirely different.
Though emotions swirled within him, Wen Xin quickly composed himself and replied evenly, “I agree.”
“However,” he continued, “you’ve probably heard the rumors about me. Following me won’t mean a peaceful life. Killing a few zombies or a C-class mutant won’t cut it.”
The servant opened his mouth, ready to pledge his loyalty, but Wen Xin raised a hand to stop him.
“I know your determination, and I believe in it. That’s why I’ll provide resources and support to help you strengthen your group and grow your abilities.”
The servant’s heart raced. He understood the significance of this opportunity and stammered, “You trust us this much already? Don’t you want to observe us for a while first?”
Wen Xin smiled lightly. “You’ve already passed the initial test.”
He had left Xiao Qi and San San in the car precisely to monitor the scavenger team for any signs of greed or ill intent toward his supplies.
The results had been both expected and unexpected.
Expected, because the team leader resisted the temptation and didn’t touch the car.
Unexpected, because out of the dozen people, only one had failed to resist.
Wen Xin continued, “I’ll be leaving City Rose soon, but I won’t be taking you with me. Use that time to train and improve your abilities. When I return, I expect to see results.”
The servant straightened with determination. “We won’t let you down!”
Ah Lü, who had overheard the conversation, found nothing unusual about it.
Mutants held a strong belief in hierarchical strength. The instinct to admire and follow the powerful was practically encoded in their DNA. A strong mutant would never lack followers.
Though Wen Xin’s body wasn’t powerful, Wen Xin the person certainly was.
For someone like him, gaining followers was perfectly normal.
Ah Lü dismissed the matter as a small interlude.
As for San San, it didn’t think too hard about what it overheard. It quickly forgot the conversation altogether.
Tang Qi was still training some distance away and could only catch a few indistinct snippets of conversation.
When he saw Wen Xin return carrying a bag of medicine, he assumed it was a thank-you gift from the scavenger team and didn’t think much of it.
However, Xiao Qi tilted its head, sensing faintly the enormous storm brewing in Wen Xin’s heart.
Time flowed by, and the harsh winter finally gave way to the vitality of early spring.
One of Ah Jiu’s subordinates reported respectfully, “As the snow melts, the corpses will begin to rot, increasing the risk of plagues and viral outbreaks. We’ll need to deploy personnel to handle the cleanup.”
“Recently, several mercenary and scavenger teams have encountered abnormal mutants in the wild. These are not just physically deformed but exhibit heightened activity. Some plants have even shown the ability to parasitize humans and other mutants, spreading through them.”
“Thankfully, Mr. Wen’s earlier warnings put everyone on alert, so no casualties have been reported so far.”
“We’ve confirmed that these anomalies didn’t originate locally. It may take some time to trace where they’re coming from, but initial suspicions suggest it’s related to—”
Just then, Wen Xin arrived.
He caught a few fragments of the conversation but couldn’t make out the specifics before Ah Jiu interrupted, “Who’s at the door?”
Ah Jiu’s tone was gentle, devoid of the usual harshness, as he had already recognized Wen Xin’s presence.
Ah Jiu was well aware that after learning of the atrocities committed by the First Base, Wen Xin would not remain indifferent.
But Ah Jiu had his own concerns.
The First Base had effective means of subjugating mutants and had helped numerous factions fend off retaliatory attacks from these creatures. Among humans, its reputation was stellar, and many regarded the First Base as saviors.
According to the latest intelligence Ah Jiu had received, three entirely human organizations had already aligned themselves with the First Base and rebranded as the Xth Survivor Base.
This was clearly not the right time to start a conflict.
“It’s me Wen Xin, Lord of the City. Your servant said I didn’t need to be announced, so I came directly.”
Wen Xin entered to find Ah Jiu wearing a somber expression. Instinctively, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
Ah Jiu couldn’t help but admire Wen Xin’s sharp intuition once again. Shaking his head, he replied, “Just minor issues with city defenses—troublesome, but nothing serious.”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his subordinates, who left immediately.
Ah Jiu then stood and poured a cup of tea for Wen Xin, handing it to him. “What brings you here so suddenly?”
He didn’t even realize how naturally he performed the action.
The lingering subordinate, however, was utterly stunned.
Everyone knew how highly Ah Jiu regarded Mr. Wen, but to think he would pour tea for him—it was unthinkable!
Ah Jiu was the untouchable Lord of City Rose, a figure who looked down his nose at everyone. Any slight disrespect would result in an unmarked grave on the hill behind the city, where even the grass wouldn’t bother growing.
Even leaders of neighboring factions dared not breathe too loudly in his presence.
The subordinate, still in a daze, left the room.
Wen Xin didn’t stand on ceremony. He got straight to the point. “I need some training equipment, but I haven’t been able to find reliable sources. Could I trouble you for help? I’m willing to pay 30% above market value.”
Ah Jiu paused briefly, taking a sip of tea before turning to Wen Xin. “You’re offering payment? Does that mean you still consider me an outsider?”
Wen Xin chuckled. “Of course not. I see you as family, Lord of the City. But even between brothers, clear accounts make for good relationships. I wouldn’t want you to feel slighted.”
Ah Jiu hummed softly, though it sounded more like a skeptical snort.
For Wen Xin, he would spare no effort to procure even the most expensive items.
However, it was Ah Jiu the canary helping Wen Xin, not the formidable Lord of City Rose. Appearing too accommodating might arouse suspicion.
Adjusting his tone to seem more like a magnanimous investor, Ah Jiu said, “Tell me what you need the training equipment for. If it piques my interest, I might waive the cost entirely and even fund you further.”
Wen Xin hesitated. “I doubt this is something you’d want to invest in…”
Ah Jiu raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Is it something you can’t disclose?”
“There’s nothing I can’t disclose,” Wen Xin replied openly. “I’m planning to train some subordinates.”
Ah Jiu nodded; that made sense.
Raising his teacup, he offered, “Are you short on manpower? No need to go through the trouble—I can allocate soldiers from here.”
“And establish a survivor base,” Wen Xin added.
Ah Jiu nearly choked, the tea in his mouth threatening to spray everywhere.
He stared at Wen Xin, trying to reconcile the image of the gentle, composed young man with that of a commanding leader.
Establishing a survivor base wasn’t just about commanding troops—it involved politics, diplomacy, and a fair amount of bloodshed.
Ah Jiu couldn’t even count the number of lives he’d ended to reach his current position. Once in power, hesitation and mercy were luxuries no leader could afford.
Unlike Ah Jiu, who embraced his nature as a mutant and navigated the brutal path without moral qualms, Wen Xin was fundamentally different.
This was a man who couldn’t even scold a cat for misbehaving. Could someone like him really step into such a role?
Ah Jiu swallowed his tea with difficulty and asked seriously, “Are you sure?”
Wen Xin remained calm and composed, smiling slightly. “Not entirely. I still need to travel and find my friends. I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”
“Take it one step at a time. Everyone needs a dream—who knows? It might just come true.”
Wen Xin’s playful tone left Ah Jiu unsure of his true intentions.
In the end, Wen Xin walked away with training equipment at half the market price and access to an expansive open-air training ground.
Everyone knew City Rose was tightly controlled by Ah Jiu, where even a single square meter of land required registration. Yet here was Wen Xin, securing several thousand square meters of space as easily as snapping his fingers.
When word of this spread, the scavenger team gained a clearer understanding of Wen Xin’s influence.
Their hearts swelled with pride and determination, convinced they had aligned themselves with the right person.
Seeing the equipment Wen Xin provided, their eyes lit up, and they threw themselves passionately into training.
The team leaders huddled together, discussing strategies for recruiting new members.
For now, they didn’t dare invoke Wen Xin’s name openly. But when he returned, they were resolved to present him with an impressive surprise, ensuring they upheld his reputation.
Unnoticed, the early spring festival in City Rose was approaching.
The more observant residents knew this festival was more than a celebration of spring—it was effectively Ah Jiu’s coronation ceremony.
It was a declaration to the outside world that City Rose and its lord dominated the western region.
Every faction in the west received a gilded invitation. The language was concise yet chilling in its authority:
“On [XX date], City Rose’s Spring Festival. Absence equals death.”
The western faction leaders were left speechless.
Such arrogance! Such audacity! How dare he?
Of course, they had already tested the waters when Ah Jiu first ascended to power, assuming his foundations were shallow.
The results of their probing were disastrous—Ah Jiu crushed their resistance with overwhelming force.
One leader tried to ignore the invitation, only to wake the next morning to find another placed beside his pillow.
“Don’t be late.”
He froze in horror. Someone had been in his room without him noticing, leaving the invitation where he slept. A chill ran down his spine at the thought of how close death had come.
No matter how much resentment or indignation they felt, the leaders had no choice but to attend the festival, bearing lavish gifts to demonstrate their submission.
The city gates swung open, and cart after cart of precious resources and equipment was paraded inside under watchful eyes. The sight made many envious and stirred the crowd’s excitement.
Meanwhile, the notorious Ah Jiu—perceived as ruthless and domineering—lay with his head on Wen Xin’s lap, as docile as a harmless lamb.
Wen Xin’s hand moved gently through Ah Jiu’s golden hair, stroking it with soft, soothing motions.
Hearing the growing noise outside, Wen Xin patted Ah Jiu’s shoulder and reminded him, “Isn’t the festival about to start?”
Ah Jiu half-opened one eye, his demeanor uncharacteristically childish. He buried his head further into Wen Xin’s lap, grumbling, “It’s still early. Let me sleep a little longer.”
The streets of City Rose grew busier. Despite the city’s history of chaotic disputes, many merchants seized the opportunity to peddle their wares, hoping to make a fortune during the celebrations.
Even troublemakers seemed to restrain themselves during this period.
The other fluffballs, unable to resist the lively atmosphere, had already dashed out to join the festivities.
Only Ah Jiu had begged Wen Xin to help him nap.
Listening to Ah Jiu’s complaints about staying in bed, Wen Xin sighed. “Why are you acting like such a child all of a sudden?”
Ah Jiu retorted, “Sometimes Wen Xin acts like a child too.”
“Me? When?”
“Just the other day, on your birthday. You actually cried because you were happy—mmph!”
Before he could finish, Wen Xin clapped a hand over his mouth, feigning innocence. “Did I? I don’t recall. You must be mistaken.”
Ah Jiu widened his eyes, clearly accusing him of being shameless.
Unable to hold back his laughter, Wen Xin relented. “Alright, weren’t you going to keep your promise? I’ve been looking forward to it.”
At the mention of his promise, Ah Jiu finally sat up, his demeanor shifting entirely. The boyish pout disappeared, replaced by a calm, serious expression.
With a solemn air, he extended his hand toward Wen Xin.
“Come with me.”
