Chapter 39: From Now On, You Are My Own Brother
Chu Yang slowly raised his head, searching Jiang Jue’s face with an unblinking, intensely focused gaze.
The handsome, usually expressionless face clearly showed unmistakable signs of exhaustion. Faint, dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, hinting at a long and sleepless night. His lips were pressed into a tight, pale line, and his entire posture carried the rigid strain of someone running on sheer willpower.
Looking further down, Chu Yang spotted several jagged tears along the cuffs of Jiang Jue’s black sleeves—the unmistakable marks of sharp claws.
Although there were no obvious wounds beneath the fabric, the deep weariness radiating from the man was impossible to hide.
As Chu Yang took it all in, an uncomfortable ache swelled in his chest, feeling like a heavy lump of wet cotton—stifling, bitter, and painfully tight.
In this apocalyptic wasteland, human nature was treacherous and unpredictable. People would turn against their own flesh and blood for a single mouthful of food. In the beginning, when Chu Yang had shamelessly latched onto Jiang Jue, his goal had been simple: cling to a powerful protector so he could survive a little longer in this living hell.
Yet who could have imagined that this seemingly cold, detached powerhouse would take a casual, offhand complaint so deeply to heart? To help him expand his pocket dimension, Jiang Jue had ventured out alone into the dead of night, putting his life on the line just to hunt monsters.
Throughout his entire life, no one besides the grandmother who raised him had ever treated Chu Yang with such genuine, unconditional sincerity.
A hot sting pricked the corners of his eyes. A sudden spark of fierce resolve settled over his features, as if he had just made the most momentous decision of his life.
Taking a deep breath, he looked straight into Jiang Jue’s dark eyes.
“…Brother Jiang,” Chu Yang began, his voice raspy. He licked his dry lips, his expression turning solemn and earnest as never before. “Thank you. Truly… Everything you’ve done for me, I, Chu Yang, will remember it for the rest of my days.”
He paused, drawing a steady breath as his eyes burned with fierce conviction. “I’ve made up my mind. From this moment on, you are my brother—my own real brother!”
Jiang Jue froze, visibly caught off guard. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, breaking the usual stillness of his features. A flicker of astonishment crossed his dark eyes, swiftly followed by a look of sheer, indescribable complexity.
Wait… wasn’t he just frantically checking for injuries and worrying about high-tier mutants a second ago?
How did the conversation take such a sharp left turn into an impromptu family adoption?
The abrupt leap in logic left Jiang Jue at a complete loss for words. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, a faint trace of helpless amusement flickering across his face.
Yet, gazing down into Chu Yang’s clear, bright eyes—taking in the unguarded warmth and pure, unreserved devotion shining within them—the tight strings around Jiang Jue’s heart seemed to be plucked by an invisible hand.
He looked away for a brief, self-conscious second, but his gaze was drawn right back. Hesitating slightly, he reached out with his calloused, battle-worn hand, gently resting his palm against Chu Yang’s messy hair and giving it a fond ruffle.
“Mm,” Jiang Jue murmured softly, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a tender indulgence that even he failed to notice. “As you wish. Whatever you want to call me is fine.”
Feeling the warm, slightly clumsy comfort of that hand on his head, a sudden lump rose in Chu Yang’s throat. Quickly lowering his gaze to hide the emotion, he busied himself by sifting through the leather pouch, his fingers brushing against several stones that felt distinctly different from the rest.
“Huh? These two…” He pulled out a crystal with a vibrant, deep green glow and another with an earthy yellow hue and remarkable density, turning them over to compare with the cloudy white ones. “These feel completely different—the energy humming inside is way stronger… Could these be… Tier 2 cores?!”
He snapped his head back up, panic flaring in his eyes as he looked at Jiang Jue. “Brother Jiang, did you run into Tier 2 zombies?! Are you hurt anywhere?! Let me see!” He reached out frantically, trying to check Jiang Jue’s arms and torso.
Jiang Jue subtly shifted his body out of reach, shaking his head with an unruffled expression. “No injuries. I got lucky and handled it quickly,” he said dismissively, downplaying the feat.
Yet taking in the heavy exhaustion in the man’s eyes, Chu Yang knew the battle couldn’t have been nearly as simple as he made it sound. Seeing that Jiang Jue had no desire to dwell on it, Chu Yang didn’t pry further, simply clutching the two high-tier cores tightly in his palm.
“That’s good… that’s a relief…” he muttered under his breath, carefully slipping the stones back into the pouch.
The room settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft rhythm of their breathing.
Jiang Jue finally let his rigid posture relax, leaning back slightly against the cold brick wall. The heavy weight of physical and mental fatigue crashed over him, making his thoughts sluggish. The faint, clean scent of mild soap and herbal salve lingering around Chu Yang provided an odd sense of comfort, allowing his strung-out nerves to finally unwind.
“Sleep,” Jiang Jue murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Easing himself down onto the mattress beside Chu Yang, he pulled a corner of the thick duvet over his shoulders. Almost the instant his eyelids drifted shut, his breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of profound, instantaneous sleep.
Lying on his side, Chu Yang used the pale moonlight filtering through the window to study Jiang Jue’s sleeping face close up.
In slumber, the sharp, forbidding edges of the man’s features softened completely, revealing a rare and unguarded vulnerability.
Chu Yang leaned in a fraction closer, watching the slow rise and fall of Jiang Jue’s chest. In a voice as soft as a whisper on the wind, he murmured, “Brother Jiang, thank you.”
Over the next few days, life in the abandoned brick factory settled into a steady, quiet routine.
Every morning upon waking, Su Mubai’s first priority was to channel his healing ability over the wound on Chu Yang’s flank. Under the soothing white glow, the angry redness along the edges receded steadily, and fresh, healthy tissue began to knit the deep gash together. While the scar would take time to fade completely, the danger of reopening the wound had passed, and the sharp stinging diminished with every passing day.
Jiang Jue settled back into his regular training habits. Though he spoke little, whenever he had a spare moment, he would head down to the open concrete floor on the ground level to practice his swordsmanship.
His movements lacked any flashy, formal flourishes; every single strike was concise, lethal, and honed through life-and-death combat. The long straight blade moved like an extension of his own body—at times crashing down with thunderous speed that tore through the air with a high-pitched whistle, at times darting forward with the unpredictable malice of a striking serpent, and at times weaving a seamless wall of silver steel that seemed completely impenetrable.
Lin Xiao stood watching by the doorway for a long time, his eyes wide with awe. Unable to contain his excitement, he rubbed his palms together and jogged over, his voice brimming with respect. “Brother Jiang, your blade work… it’s unreal! Could you… maybe give me a few pointers? Nothing fancy, just teach me how to swing faster and hit with more power!”
Jiang Jue halted his routine, turned his gaze onto Lin Xiao, and considered the request for a brief moment before offering a concise nod. “All right. Watch closely.”
Slowing down his tempo, Jiang Jue broke his style down into its most fundamental, practical components—the slash, the cleave, the parry, and the thrust. He demonstrated each motion repeatedly, explaining the precise mechanics of shifting one’s body weight and timing the release of force.
Lin Xiao threw himself into the lesson with absolute focus. Gripping a heavy, polished steel pipe in place of a sword, he matched Jiang Jue’s movements step for step, beads of sweat soon glistening across his forehead.
Upstairs, Chu Yang lay propped up in bed, idly counting the hairline cracks along the ceiling plaster. When the sharp, rhythmic whistling of a blade cutting through the air drifted up from the ground floor, accompanied by Jiang Jue’s low, steady instructions, his eyes lit up in an instant.
