Chapter 88
Base One?
The fishermen, isolated from the outside world for so long, looked confused when Wen Xin mentioned the renowned Base One.
“What kind of place is that?”
Fortunately, one of the young men who occasionally ventured out to buy supplies had heard of it.
“Base One is up north,” he explained. “I heard it’s one of the more powerful survivor bases. During the outbreak of the apocalypse, they took in many refugees and specialize in dealing with mutants.”
The young man bit his lip, his face full of resentment. “Mutants… yes, they’re researching mutants. That must be why they targeted the Sea God!”
But his knowledge was limited to rumors. He only knew about Base One’s exclusive equipment and custom-made drugs, items that only wealthy merchants with significant resources could afford.
The fishermen’s most pressing concern was finding a new place to settle down quickly.
Wen Xin helped them plan some of the logistics for survival.
“You can’t stay in such a conspicuous place anymore. You’ll only be discovered again.”
The villagers, still shaken from being used as bait to lure out the Sea God, wrung their calloused hands in sorrow and confusion. “But… where can we go like this?”
Generations of their families had lived by the sea, their lives intricately tied to it.
To make matters worse, after consuming the blue pearls, strange changes had appeared in their bodies, making it even harder for them to integrate into the outside world.
Wen Xin thought for a moment. “You could live in some of the abandoned residential buildings near the coast. There are many unclaimed houses. You can continue fishing as usual, though it will be less convenient than before. But the advantage is that you’ll blend in with the crowd.”
“Before you move, though, you’ll need to bribe the local overseers or officials in charge to avoid questioning or investigation. If anyone asks where you came from, say the other side of the coast flooded, and you’ve come here to take refuge.”
The fishermen were surprised by the depth of Wen Xin’s knowledge. His suggestions, detailed and methodical, revealed a maturity far beyond his apparent age. Even some of the older villagers felt a twinge of inadequacy compared to him.
When Wen Xin finished, he noticed their eager, wide-eyed stares and hesitated. “…What do you think?”
“Good, good!” the village chief spoke up first, his relief evident. “It’s a blessing you’re here. I don’t even know how to thank you.”
Wen Xin waved it off, then turned to find his car had been dragged back to the village.
It was the fishermen’s doing. Despite their dire circumstances, they hadn’t scavenged from the car. Instead, they had protected it, knowing it belonged to him.
Wen Xin opened the damp trunk and checked its contents. By some miracle, the damage was minimal, with only a few items slightly soaked by seawater.
Considering the devastation of the tsunami, it was remarkable.
After changing into a clean set of clothes from the car and tidying himself up, Wen Xin emerged looking completely transformed. His refined demeanor now exuded intelligence and sophistication.
The fishermen were stunned. Seeing someone change clothes and seem like an entirely different person was a novel experience for them. They couldn’t take their eyes off him, their expressions awestruck.
Meanwhile, Lan Tuan had surfaced unnoticed, shifting into his childlike humanoid form. His upper half looked like a soft, chubby child, while his lower half retained the slick, shiny blue tail of a walrus. Propping his elbows on a rock, he rested his chin on his hands, watching Wen Xin intently.
Oblivious to the baby walrus behind him, Wen Xin called two young villagers to accompany him to scout the surrounding area.
The two followed without hesitation, unconsciously treating Wen Xin as their leader.
By evening, the three returned.
The young men joyfully shared the good news with the villagers. Under Wen Xin’s guidance, they had found a suitable refuge camp. After some negotiation, they secured lodging at a cost of just three pounds of fish per person per month.
“Don’t give more than that,” Wen Xin reminded them. “Don’t let anyone know you can fish freely in the sea, and don’t tell anyone you’re the Sea God’s people.”
The fishermen, having learned their lesson, promised to keep their identities well hidden.
The excitement of finding a new home helped ease some of the sorrow from losing their village. Smiles began to return to their weary faces.
After a long day of work, Wen Xin’s stomach growled. As he prepared to rummage through the car for food, a villager came by with a large three to four pound sea bream.
Before Wen Xin could thank them, more villagers arrived, bringing crabs, sea snails, shrimp, and kelp.
“Summer is when shrimp are the plumpest, but crabs are best in autumn. They’re perfect for making porridge,” one fisherman said, his smile deepening the wrinkles on his kind, weathered face. “If you come back, we’ll make sure you eat to your heart’s content.”
“Yes, you must visit again,” others chimed in.
In just half a day, Wen Xin had built a bond of trust and warmth with the fishermen.
No one thought of asking him to stay. To them, Wen Xin’s composure, eloquence, and distinguished aura made it clear that this small coastal village could never hold someone like him.
The villagers still needed time to pack their belongings, so there was no rush to leave just yet.
Wen Xin lit a bonfire and prepared the fish. He cleaned and gutted it, skewered it on branches, and grilled it over the flames. Borrowing a steaming pot from the villagers, he used it to cook the crabs and shrimp.
As the enticing aroma wafted through the air, Lan Tuan’s head emerged from the sea.
This time, Wen Xin noticed him. “It’s you,” he said, pleasantly surprised.
The blue-haired child pushed himself onto a rock with a smooth motion, sitting up to reveal his round walrus tail.
Wen Xin smiled knowingly at the sight and raised the grilled fish in his hand. “Want some?”
Despite his salt-damaged spices, the freshly caught fish was tender and delicious. Even without heavy seasoning, its natural flavor was enough to leave one craving more.
Having already eaten a fish himself, Wen Xin offered the next one to Lan Tuan.
The baby walrus nodded eagerly, reaching out a tiny arm and blinking with wide, innocent eyes. He let out a soft, pleading chirp. “Gulu~”
Understanding his intent, Wen Xin set the fish aside and walked over to pick him up.
Lan Tuan’s tail was wet, smooth, and squishy, with a springy texture. His upper body, soft like a human toddler’s, felt as if it might dissolve into water at any moment.
Wen Xin handled him carefully, afraid he might accidentally harm the fragile creature.
Looking into Lan Tuan’s big, watery eyes—resembling the waves of a clear blue sea—Wen Xin couldn’t help but offer a heartfelt compliment. “You’re so adorable.”
The little walrus looked at him with crescent-shaped eyes, tilting his head to nuzzle Wen Xin’s pale cheek, his tail swishing joyfully.
Suddenly, Lan Tuan sensed a faint trace of hostility.
He instinctively looked up and met the gaze of Ah Lü.
The viper glanced at him, then at Wen Xin’s hands, which were busy patting and soothing the little walrus. Its eyes grew darker and more piercing.
Lan Tuan was no naive infant. Before the catastrophe, his unusually close bond with Wen Xin had already made Ah Lü wary.
But back then, no matter how Wen Xin touched or hugged him, the viper never displayed such hostility.
Lan Tuan blinked as if pondering something, then suddenly kissed Wen Xin on the cheek.
Smack!
Ah Lü’s gaze turned even more frigid.
If its hostility could take physical form, the look in its eyes would have been a barrage of razor-sharp blades hurtling toward Lan Tuan.
Caught off guard, Wen Xin was both amused and exasperated. He tapped the baby walrus lightly on the forehead. “What are you doing?”
Lan Tuan found it entertaining. Meeting Ah Lü’s glare, he giggled mischievously and hugged Wen Xin’s neck tightly. “Gulu gulu.”
Look at the jealous snake.
And jealous Ah Lü was.
The viper had always ignored the other “dumplings” nearby—like San San the red panda, who spent all its time eating and sleeping, offering no competition whatsoever.
But Lan Tuan’s arrival had completely diverted Wen Xin’s attention.
Carrying the little walrus, Wen Xin approached Ah Lü, noticing the green bundle’s sulky demeanor. Freeing one hand, he stroked the viper’s head gently and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Ah Lü turned its head to the side with exaggerated dignity, exuding an air of aloof disdain.
Wen Xin set Lan Tuan down on a nearby stool and picked up Ah Lü instead. Scratching its chin, he spoke softly, “Are you upset?”
Ah Lü instinctively relaxed under Wen Xin’s tender touch, its eyes half-closing in comfort. But it still muttered, “You smell like fish.”
Lan Tuan, nibbling leisurely on his fish nearby, remained completely unbothered. After all, a walrus wasn’t a fish.
Wen Xin, oblivious to the implied accusation, sniffed his arm. “I don’t think so…”
He reflected on worse times. Back when resources were scarce, he had rolled through corpses, drenched in blood and sweat, surrounded by the stench of decay, flies, and mosquitos.
Compared to that, he considered himself quite clean now.
He squeezed the viper’s cheek lightly. “Once the villagers are settled, I’ll find a proper place to bathe. You’ll have to bear with me for now, Ah Lü.”
Hearing Wen Xin’s unconditional indulgence, tinged with warmth in his voice, Ah Lü shifted slightly, its tone uncharacteristically soft. “That’s not what I meant…”
It noticed Lan Tuan enjoying his fish, seemingly indifferent to everything, and grew even more annoyed at its own simmering frustration.
Pointing a claw at Lan Tuan, the viper grumbled, “Do you really believe that’s Lan Tuan?”
It blurted out a clumsy excuse. “Lan Tuan wasn’t this ugly.”
“How could that be?” Wen Xin studied the baby walrus carefully. Ignoring the walrus tail, Lan Tuan could easily have been discovered by a talent scout and become a child star in the pre-apocalypse world. “Lan Tuan is pretty cute now, isn’t he?”
Ah Lü flicked its tail sharply and let out a heavy huff.
Cute again.
It had figured it out. Everything was cute, except for the snake.
Humans, mmph.
Wen Xin noticed something odd about Ah Lü today. No, more accurately, its behavior had changed since Lan Tuan appeared.
He scratched the viper’s chin and rubbed its ears, his usual combination to coax it. Normally, Ah Lü would roll over and purr sweetly, utterly at ease.
But now, the viper’s muscles remained tense. Though the tip of its tail twitched in pleasure, it stubbornly refused to show any sign of enjoyment.
After trying to soothe it for some time, Wen Xin eventually gave up.
That night, under a sparse sky of stars and a bright moon, the waves lapped gently against the shore.
The sea carried countless tiny bubbles in its foam, each wave rolling out a series of soft, layered sounds, like an affectionate lullaby.
Wen Xin lay in a hammock the fishermen had set up, restless with thoughts of Base One, unable to sleep.
His eyes were shut when he suddenly heard a faint rustling sound.
It was the noise of scales brushing against branches and grass—a sound he knew all too well.
Back in the training camp, there had been a cadet who, during a wilderness exercise, was bitten by a venomous snake.
Antivenom required sealed, refrigerated storage, but such facilities were nonexistent amid the devastation. Though the team managed to administer first aid, the cadet lost a leg.
Wen Xin still remembered the boy sobbing inconsolably—not because of his lost leg, but because he had lost his chance to survive in this post-apocalyptic world.
The sound by the window suggested a small snake, possibly one that had swum ashore from the sea.
Despite his preoccupation, Wen Xin’s movements were swift. His hand reached soundlessly for his waist.
There, he kept his gun and a knife—perfect for handling a snake with murderous intent.
But as his fingers grazed the weapon, Wen Xin’s mind unexpectedly wandered to an incident in the eastern region.
That day, Ah Lü had noticed his injured leg had mostly healed and had insisted on dragging him for a walk in the garden.
It had been autumn, and the garden was barren, stripped of leaves and blooms. Yet Ah Lü had been inexplicably excited.
When Wen Xin had first encountered the snakes, they were everywhere.
The largest among them was three meters long, and the smallest was as thick as an arm. They coiled together in a dense, writhing mass, flicking their crimson tongues and baring sharp, slender fangs. Their dark, weathered scales gleamed ominously under the gloomy skies.
For a moment, the sight made it hard for Wen Xin to breathe. His scalp prickled, and his whole body tensed.
Back then, Wen Xin wasn’t yet capable of facing everything with a calm demeanor. His instincts immediately put him in a battle stance.
But before he could react further, Ah Lü had already clamped its jaws around his pant leg, firmly dragging him away.
Reflecting on those memories, Wen Xin’s hand, which had been resting on the cold back of his knife, relaxed and set the weapon aside.
With Ah Lü around, no snake would dare approach him recklessly.
Wen Xin opened his eyes and turned his head toward the window.
A small green snake, no thicker than his thumb, happened to meet his gaze.
The moonlight bathed the coastal fishing village, casting a clear and soft glow over Wen Xin’s calm, expressionless face.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze. Ah Lü, tense as ever, almost forgot to breathe.
But then Wen Xin suddenly smiled, flipped out of the hammock, stepped onto the damp ground, and opened the window. Without a hint of hesitation, he reached out and lightly poked the snake’s head with his finger.
“And where did this beautiful little snake come from?”
At those words, Ah Lü nearly lost control and reverted to its true form out of sheer excitement.
It didn’t even have time to compose itself before Wen Xin reached out, scooped it up with practiced ease, and began stroking it gently but firmly.
Though the small green snake was tiny, its predatory eyes still carried the fierce nature of a carnivore.
Wen Xin, well aware that Ah Lü wouldn’t harm him, couldn’t help but find its wide-eyed, ferocious glare oddly endearing—a mix of intimidating and adorably cool.
He had been waiting for this day for a long time. Holding back his excitement, Wen Xin tempered his actions to avoid scaring off the viper that had finally chosen to reveal its true form.
Still, he couldn’t hide his growing fondness. He scratched under its chin, traced the scales along its back, and ran his fingers down from its smooth head to the tip of its tail.
Ah Lü, overwhelmed by the attention, flicked out its pink tongue repeatedly, dazed and slightly confused.
Why isn’t Wen Xin afraid? Why does he seem so practiced at handling snakes?
…Could he have had other snakes before?
In the end, it wasn’t Wen Xin who got tired but Ah Lü.
At first, it had been terrified that Wen Xin might reject it for being a snake.
Now, it was equally terrified by Wen Xin’s relentless enthusiasm for stroking it, as if snakes were some fascinating new species Wen Xin was eager to explore from head to tail.
Eventually, Ah Lü fled, thoroughly embarrassed. If it stayed any longer, it might lose a layer of scales from all the stroking.
Wen Xin was left standing in place, both amused and exasperated.
A few days later.
The fishermen had packed their belongings and moved to their new settlement. Meanwhile, Wen Xin continued to search for news of Ah Zi but found that none of the villagers seemed to know anything about it.
“Wen Xin.”
He turned at the sound of Lan Tuan’s voice and saw the baby walrus perched on a nearby rock. “What is it?”
Lan Tuan leaned on the rock, gazing at him earnestly. “My teacher’s injuries have mostly healed. It’s permitted me to go with you, but on one condition: it wants to meet you first.”
