Chapter 61
When the little monkey appeared on the rain shelter, A-Yan seemed to sense something and raised his head as well.
The small monkey, no larger than a one- or two-year-old human toddler, lay on the rain shelter, poking out its round, furry head. Its grape-like black eyes looked at them curiously.
A-Yan glanced at the caretaker and saw that the young man was also looking at the little monkey. Only then did he withdraw his gaze.
At that moment, he noticed something else. He lowered his head to look at the ground.
The afternoon sunlight wasn’t particularly intense, slanting down from above the rain shelter and casting a large shadow onto the ground. However, at the very top of this shadow, there was no sign of the little monkey’s head sticking out.
A-Yan blinked in surprise and quickly realized—
This little monkey has no shadow, just like me! So, is this little monkey a “spirit” too? Why haven’t I seen it before in the base?
What A-Yan had just discovered was something Su Ci had noticed at a glance. Su Ci examined the small monkey, his eyes showing a hint of intrigue.
Contrary to A-Yan’s assumption, this little monkey was not a spirit.
Su Ci looked at the little monkey and gently extended his hand toward it.
The small monkey tilted its head, its golden fur shining even brighter under the sunlight.
It seemed to be observing Su Ci. After a moment, it pulled its head back. Then, soft footsteps could be heard coming from the top of the rain shelter.
Following the sound, A-Yan quickly saw a bit of the monkey’s tail peeking out over the edge of the shelter. The little monkey nimbly climbed down the support column of the shelter, clinging to it with ease.
It jumped to the ground and crouched slightly, its small, furry hands tucked close to its chest. Its round eyes darted around cautiously, taking in its surroundings.
After confirming there was no danger, the little monkey hopped forward with agile movements, finally stopping about a meter away from them.
A-Yan watched the little monkey curiously.
Its ears and tail were similar to Number Six, but its demeanor was much gentler and more docile. At the very least, A-Yan had never seen Number Six this quiet before.
Number Six was a monkey, so was this little guy also a monkey? How had it ended up here? Was it kept by someone in the base? But… it didn’t have a shadow.
Though A-Yan was full of questions, it didn’t stop him from finding the little monkey incredibly cute.
It was the first time he’d seen a creature smaller than himself. It looked so well-behaved! But… if it were a spirit, did that mean it could see him?
Thinking of this, A-Yan imitated the caretaker and extended his hand toward the little monkey.
The little monkey crouching a meter away tilted its head again. Then, it approached A-Yan carefully. Finally, its furry little hand rested gently on A-Yan’s palm.
A-Yan blinked in surprise and instinctively turned to look at Su Ci.
The child’s black-red eyes sparkled with excitement, glimmering with delight as he shared his joy with Su Ci.
The little monkey can see me!
Su Ci could feel A-Yan’s pure joy and couldn’t help but curve his lips into a faint smile. He reached out to pat the top of the boy’s head.
The little monkey, meanwhile, patted A-Yan’s hand curiously, found nothing there, and quickly let go. Its round black eyes then shifted back to Su Ci.
It didn’t make a sound, but its shiny, grape-like eyes sparkled pitifully, as if saying: Do you have anything to eat?
Su Ci folded his arms, thought for a moment, and finally took a Star-chain Fruit out of the fruit box stored in his spatial clasp. He extended it to the little monkey.
The little monkey took the fruit with both hands.
The bright red fruit was about the size of its head. It gave a happy little chirp, then flipped itself over and landed on a nearby bench.
There, the monkey crouched at one end of the bench, its furry feet tucked close together. It hugged the fruit tightly and bit into the skin, sipping the sweet juice before nibbling at the flesh in small, dainty bites.
Watching the little monkey eat the Star-chain Fruit so seriously, A-Yan couldn’t resist tiptoeing closer.
The monkey noticed him approaching but didn’t run away. It simply continued eating its fruit, neat and tidy, not even letting a drop of juice fall to the ground.
While the little monkey gnawed away, it occasionally glanced up at A-Yan.
Sensing its gaze, A-Yan was filled with wonder. This little creature… it can see me! This was the third living being to perceive him, apart from the caretaker and the book spirit. Wait, no—if it’s just sensing me, then Number Two would be the third.
A-Yan reached the edge of the bench. Finding the bench a little too high, he blinked and teleported to the other side in a flash.
The little monkey froze for a moment, clearly surprised, but it didn’t seem scared. It simply glanced at A-Yan before returning to eating the fruit, completely unbothered.
A-Yan studied the monkey intently. Crouched as it was, it was even smaller than him when he sat down. For the first time, he felt like something had successfully triggered his protective instincts.
He turned to look at Su Ci, his eyes filled with silent inquiry.
Su Ci understood his unspoken question and nodded. “If it lets you touch it, then it’s fine.”
Receiving permission, A-Yan turned his attention back to the little monkey. Unable to speak, he carefully extended his hand toward it, inching closer while keeping a close eye on its reaction.
Seeing that the monkey didn’t move away, A-Yan gently placed his hand on its furry ears.
The soft texture was immediately noticeable, but instead of the warmth he expected, the little monkey’s fur was strangely cool. It wasn’t like Lang Ze‘s fluffy and warm fur at all.
Curious, A-Yan reached out and patted the monkey’s head, only to find it felt just the same—soft, but lacking in warmth. He retracted his hand and looked at the caretaker with a puzzled expression.
“It’s different from us,” Su Ci said calmly. “It’s not a spirit.”
Seeing that the hover bus had yet to arrive, Su Ci scooped up A-Yan and sat down on the bench, letting the boy sit comfortably in his lap.
A-Yan’s cheeks flushed faintly, but he obediently settled into Su Ci’s arms like a small pillow.
The little monkey didn’t react much to Su Ci’s proximity. It looked at him twice, then resumed nibbling on its fruit, seemingly indifferent.
Meanwhile, A-Yan’s mind buzzed with questions.
If it’s not a spirit, then what exactly is this little monkey? Why can it see me? And… how did it disappear so suddenly outside the greenhouse earlier?
Unable to hold back his curiosity, A-Yan extended a finger and gently poked the monkey’s shoulder.
Its fur was as soft as before, but still devoid of warmth.
As he reached to poke it a second time, the little monkey finally showed its displeasure. It grabbed A-Yan’s finger and pushed it away. Its round, expressive eyes shot him a look that said, Enough already!
For the first time, A-Yan felt as if he were the one being scolded for misbehaving.
Fine…
He retracted his hand, deciding not to disturb the little monkey’s snack anymore.
Su Ci, meanwhile, didn’t immediately explain anything to A-Yan. He continued observing the golden little monkey with a thoughtful expression, still uncertain of its origins.
Since waking up this time, so many strange and new things have appeared…
At that moment, the driverless hover bus finally arrived.
Su Ci stood up, carrying A-Yan in his arms. A-Yan, feeling a little shy, rested his head against Su Ci’s shoulder. But when he glanced back at the bench, he found that the little monkey had vanished without a trace.
Huh? Where did the little monkey go this time?
Though curious, A-Yan didn’t overthink it. He glanced back toward the plantation, figuring that the little monkey must have returned there.
The bus quickly started, and after they had settled into their seats, the hover bus began its journey.
Su Ci glanced up at the roof of the bus. With a flick of his fingers, a golden light shot out. The little monkey, who had somehow ended up squatting on the bus roof and was still munching diligently on the remaining half of the Star-chain Fruit, was suddenly surrounded by a layer of light.
As the light transformed into a mark that appeared on its forehead, the little monkey remained completely oblivious, its attention wholly fixed on its fruit.
It looked so quiet and docile—its personality truly was completely different from Number Six’s.
The hover bus left the area around the plantation and entered a route slightly different from the usual path.
The scenery along the way was largely the same.
Because crops couldn’t be cultivated on Prison Star, there was no greenery on either side of the road. Rows of streetlights and constantly rotating surveillance cameras stood tall, monitoring the base’s interior at all times and feeding their data back to the central intelligence system.
Su Ci, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them and looked out the window.
What came into view were several buildings constructed within towering walls. The material of the walls was the same as the Nursery’s, but these walls were even taller.
The defensive measures here were clearly top-notch. Judging by the number of patrolling guards and the level of their equipment, this was undoubtedly the most heavily guarded area in the entire nursery sector.
At that moment, the hover bus came to a stop at a station.
A soft mechanical female voice announced: “We have arrived at the Research Institute. Passengers who have reached their destination, please disembark in an orderly manner. Thank you for your cooperation.”
So this was the Research Institute.
Su Ci’s impression of the institute wasn’t particularly favorable. This was the place where the sedatives were developed. From what Xia Jingming had said earlier, it seemed that getting a position here required some pretty high qualifications.
In terms of defense, however, the Research Institute undoubtedly held a prominent status within Base 24.
The reason Su Ci had taken notice of the Research Institute was because…
He heard Gu Qingchen‘s voice.
Still, Su Ci had no real interest in what Gu Qingchen was doing at the Research Institute. He cast a cursory glance in that direction and was about to look away.
However, Gu Qingchen‘s next sentence caught his attention.
“When will Number Four be able to return to the nursery?”
The amount of information in that one sentence was… substantial.
By then, the hover bus had reached the end of its stop. It resumed its journey, slowly departing along the perimeter of the Research Institute.
Number Four, huh…
Thinking of the little girl who had been crying alone in her room, Su Ci sighed inwardly and finally closed his eyes again.
Of course, he wasn’t actually planning to sleep.
Su Ci’s spiritual form drifted upward. He glanced at A-Yan, leaving a strand of consciousness tethered to his physical body, before focusing on the Research Institute. His ethereal figure faded from where it was.
When Su Ci’s spirit solidified again, he was already inside the Research Institute.
It was a laboratory—maintaining the cold, metallic aesthetic typical of the base. Various precision instruments lined the space, and several electronic screens displayed rapidly updating streams of data.
Su Ci couldn’t make sense of these things. No relevant knowledge appeared in his mind—perhaps this technology wasn’t considered common knowledge.
At the center of the room, Number Four—the little boy with lion-like ears and tail—floated inside a glass container filled with solution. Round electrodes were attached to various parts of her small body, connected to data cables running out of the container.
His eyes were closed, and he floated motionlessly, completely unconscious.
Standing outside the glass container were Gu Qingchen and another man in a white lab coat. The man’s gray-brown eyes were fixed on the biy, and within them was a disturbing mix of joy and obsession.
Su Ci’s gaze flickered to the nameplate on the man’s chest, where the words Ren Yufei were written.
Gu Qingchen’s face didn’t look too good. His voice was low as he called out to the man, “Dr. Ren.”
“Oh.”
It was only then that Dr. Ren seemed to snap out of his reverie. His expression softened into one of gratification as he replied, “Qingchen, based on the test results, Number Four truly possesses the ability to manipulate objects.”
“This is an ability Red-Tailed Lions never inherently had!”
Ren Yufei’s voice was filled with excitement as he continued, “In other words, allowing high-bloodline cubs to live on Prison Star does indeed have a significant chance of unlocking their potential—granting them new abilities before they even reach adulthood!”
It was exactly as Xia Jingming and Shi Yijiang had said before: prolonged exposure to pollutants increased tolerance and occasionally resulted in awakening abilities.
This, of course, was one of the reasons the Star Alliance refused to abandon this planet.
The current Star Alliance consisted of dozens of member nations, both strong and weak, all descended from the two great human nations that had split apart thousands of years ago.
Despite political rivalry, clashing interests, and constant scheming among the nations, all recognized one undeniable historical truth:
They shared a common ancestry, a unified bloodline stemming from the same origins.
This was the foundation upon which the Star Alliance was formed.
The original purpose of the Star Alliance was to unite humanity’s nations against the alien lifeforms encountered during interstellar exploration.
Member nations contributed warriors to the cause. The more a nation’s warriors contributed to these wars, the more resources that nation received—ensuring both humanity’s survival and their own nation’s growth.
Given this, Prison Star, a planet capable of unlocking warriors’ latent potential and granting abilities to ordinary soldiers, was naturally too valuable to abandon.
This fact had already been proven during the nearly two decades of experiments conducted by the Research Institute:
Warriors with ordinary bloodlines had a far higher chance of developing abilities compared to those with special bloodlines, who were already inherently powerful.
This was because warriors with special bloodlines, when exposed to excessive levels of Blood Mist pollution, often experienced a backlash from their bloodline powers. Even if they had built up a tolerance to the pollutants, they were prone to losing control—ultimately transforming into mindless, savage beasts.
In fact, ordinary bloodlines—or warriors with weaker bloodline power—had no need to worry about losing control due to a backlash from their bloodline. This meant their probability of awakening abilities increased significantly.
After losing a number of powerful Beast Blood Warriors on Prison Star, the Star Alliance began deliberately reducing the proportion of such warriors stationed there, opting instead to increase the number of ordinary warriors.
At first, ordinary warriors lacked the capabilities necessary to fend off the Blood Mist monsters. Sacrifices were made during the transition.
Fortunately, as more warriors began awakening abilities, the situation improved. Although these newly empowered warriors still lagged behind their Beastblood counterparts in overall physical prowess, their combat strength saw a substantial boost.
Of course, the awakening of abilities was random—not every warrior could awaken powers, and not every ability was useful in combat.
Adapting to newly awakened abilities also required prolonged research and training.
Through years of observation, the Research Institute discovered a pattern: the younger the warrior, the greater the chance of awakening their potential.
This was why Prison Star’s bases annually conscripted new recruits and transferred older soldiers—those who failed to awaken abilities—to other planets or frontline positions. Star Alliance nations were more than willing to send a steady stream of promising cadets to Prison Star.
If these newly minted cadets awakened abilities, training plans could be formulated early, significantly shortening the development cycle. In every aspect, the cost-benefit ratio was much higher.
After all, over the past twenty years, Prison Star had established a mature system. As long as protective measures were taken during extreme weather, the risk of casualties was minimal.
Some bases even organized their warriors to actively engage monsters—treating these encounters as daily training exercises. After all, on the battlefield, they would face alien lifeforms of all shapes, sizes, and abilities.
Of course, the Research Institute never abandoned the exploration of how to safely and effectively help Beast Blood Warriors awaken abilities.
On Prison Star, it wasn’t unheard of for Beast Blood warriors to awaken powers. Although rare, those who succeeded became outstanding soldiers in the military, achieving remarkable feats in humanity’s battles against interstellar aliens.
Already possessing extraordinary bloodline power, these warriors became nearly invincible upon awakening abilities—reaching a new level of combat strength.
The Research Institute labeled such warriors Super Soldiers.
The creation of Super Soldiers wasn’t impossible; it was just extraordinarily dangerous. The key challenge lay in finding a way to reduce their risk of losing control while increasing their chances of awakening abilities.
However, due to previous heavy losses, the Star Alliance no longer permitted the use of Beast Blood Warriors for such experiments. These warriors were the elite of the Alliance—many from royal or noble lineages across various nations.
If further casualties occurred, it would jeopardize the harmony and stability of interstellar society, potentially sparking widespread unrest.
Did this mean the scientists on Prison Star had no options left?
Of course not.
Prison Star served as a prison for the most dangerous criminals in the galaxy. If they couldn’t experiment on warriors, then what about these star-criminals?
The answer…
Was still a firm no.
While these criminals might deserve no mercy, the risk of failure was too great. If the experiments succeeded and granted them new powers—or failed, leading them to fully Beastify—their already formidable strength would multiply exponentially.
Such outcomes would endanger not just Prison Star, but all of humanity. No matter how tempting the Super Soldier project was, the Star Alliance could never approve such experiments.
Left with no other option, the determined scientists turned their sights on the Nursery Care Facilities.
The Nursery Care Facility program was initially created to house the children of prisoners. However, when the Blood Mist and its monsters appeared, increasing the planet’s danger level to unprecedented heights, the program was abruptly abandoned.
For the sake of creating Super Soldiers, and under the influence of certain vested interests, the Nursery Care program was eventually restarted.
By this point, the original purpose of housing orphans had fundamentally changed.
The children sent to Nursery Care Facilities were no longer ordinary orphans. They were children whose bloodline powers had awakened—making them too dangerous for standard welfare institutions to handle. Each one possessed tremendous bloodline strength.
These were the offspring of criminals whose parents had either been executed or left without immediate relatives willing to take them in.
Under such circumstances, even if something were to happen to these cubs on Prison Star, the consequences would be minimal and the public reaction could be controlled.
Moreover, as cubs, the power they could unleash was limited. Even if they completely lost control and fully beastified, they were far easier to manage than an adult in the same state.
Additionally, as previously documented, the younger the individual, the higher the likelihood of awakening abilities—this had already been confirmed.
From every perspective, these cubs were the most suitable experimental subjects.
Of course, due to the Cub Protection Laws, the Research Institute couldn’t implement overly radical experimental methods. The application they submitted was merely to restart the Nursery Care Facility Plan, allowing Prison Star to continue sheltering cubs.
The Research Institute’s role was to observe and record the cubs’ data as part of their daily lives.
While the environment on Prison Star was oppressive, its safety had significantly improved. Restarting the Nursery Care Facility Plan didn’t seem unreasonable at all.
Thus, with backing from various stakeholders, the application was quickly approved.
And Ren Yufei was the direct head of this project.
Seven years had passed since the first cub—Number Two—was taken into custody. Since then, more and more cubs had been sent to the Nursery Care Facilities on Prison Star. However, these cubs had not developed as anticipated.
Not only had they failed to awaken abilities, but their mental states had deteriorated under the oppressive environment and exposure to pollution. This often resulted in frequent incidents, leaving the personnel managing such affairs at Base 24 overwhelmed.
Among them, Number Two and Number Four, as they aged, had even begun to show signs of failing to suppress their bloodline powers—putting them at risk of full beastification.
Ren Yufei had already given up hope. The project seemed destined to fail, and they were on the brink of their first outright failure case. But unexpectedly, just at this critical juncture, hope appeared—
Number Four had awakened an ability to manipulate objects!
How could Ren Yufei not be ecstatic?
Among all the cubs, Ren Yufei had originally placed the greatest hope on Number Three. Though blind, Number Three’s emotionally detached nature made him the most resistant to pollution’s mental erosion.
Yet it was the often-overlooked Number Four who surprised him! Ren Yufei gazed at the young boy floating in the nutrient pod, as if he had discovered an invaluable treasure.
“The Super Soldier project has hope of success!”
However, Gu Qingshen poured cold water on his excitement: “What if Number Four isn’t a purebred Red-Tailed Lion?”
In modern interstellar society, interspecies marriages were commonplace, thanks to convenient star travel. Only a few ancient families, who still valued bloodline purity, adhered strictly to such traditions. As a result, it was exceedingly rare to encounter entirely purebred bloodlines.
Ren Yufei nodded thoughtfully in response.
“You make a valid point. That’s why a bloodline analysis on Number Four is already underway. But even if he possesses another powerful bloodline, this still holds immense significance.”
This was because powerful beast bloodlines were inherently exclusive.
Even in cases of mixed bloodlines, when one bloodline manifested, the others would be suppressed. In extreme cases, the dominant bloodline would absorb and convert the weaker ones into a single, unified beast bloodline.
This phenomenon was commonly referred to as atavism.
To date, no one had ever simultaneously manifested and mastered two bloodlines while remaining alive.
Across the Star Alliance’s trillions of inhabitants, only a few dozen recorded cases existed throughout history. In every case, the individuals died in their cub years due to bloodline power conflicts—unable to endure the mutual repulsion of their powers.
As for Number Four, based on prior data records, he had already demonstrated the strength and speed characteristic of the Red-Tailed Lion. At less than nine years old, he already possessed a physique that surpassed ordinary warriors.
Projections indicated he would experience at least two more major growth spurts before reaching adulthood—perfectly aligning with the growth patterns of the Red-Tailed Lion bloodline. Most critically, when beastified, Number Four displayed the Red-Tailed Lion‘s distinctive ears and tail.
So, Number Four was undoubtedly a Red-Tailed Lion cub. Not only had his bloodline already manifested, but he had also grasped a portion of his bloodline power.
And now, he was demonstrating a second kind of special ability.
Whether this was the awakening of a new ability, or the simultaneous mastery of two bloodline powers, both scenarios carried significant research value.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
Ren Yufei adjusted his expression, patting Gu Qingshen on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything the Research Institute does complies with interstellar law. I would never harm this child.”
He looked toward Number Four, his gaze intent yet filled with an almost tender affection. “After waiting for so many years, we’re finally seeing results. How could I bear to let anything happen to him?”
Next, they would analyze all past monitoring data for Number Four and conduct comparative studies. Due to the existing constraints, they wouldn’t be able to control all variables, and the conclusions would inevitably have discrepancies—but even so, the data would hold considerable reference value.
For now, they would treat Number Four primarily as an observation subject.
After all, no one knew whether he might suddenly exhibit bloodline conflict.
“We’re going to conduct a full physical examination,” Ren Yufei continued. “Only after careful consideration will we decide whether he can return to the Nursery Care Facility.”
“After all, he’s entering a critical period. Bloodline conflict, from its onset to fatality, usually doesn’t exceed half a month.”
“During this time, it’s best for him to stay here. If anything happens, we can monitor and respond immediately. Don’t you agree?”
Gu Qingshen nearly retorted with a sneer. Bloodline conflict was a terminal condition. To this day, no known medical treatment existed to cure it. At most, expensive medications could alleviate the patient’s suffering.
But this was Prison Star—specifically the impoverished Base 24. Where would they possibly find such costly medicine?
As someone working in the Medical Purification Department, Gu Qingshen knew this all too well.
So what “monitoring and response” could the Research Institute provide? If bloodline conflict really occurred, it would merely make it easier for them to collect data and record its progression.
Gu Qingshen’s face darkened as he said, “You’ve heard the latest intelligence on yesterday’s blood rain, haven’t you? The monsters in the blood mist have begun attacking base infrastructure. A repair worker hiding in the logistics building was devoured by a giant spider.”
Hearing this, Ren Yufei’s expression grew somber, and he turned his gaze toward Gu Qingshen with a faint trace of hostility.
Gu Qingshen, however, met his glare without flinching. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes were sharp as blades. “Dr. Ren, you can’t pretend not to know what this means.”
Ren Yufei remained silent, even avoiding Gu Qingshen’s gaze.
Gu Qingshen, however, directly provided the answer. “It means Prison Star no longer meets the most basic safety requirements for the survival of cubs!”
“Even if Number Four truly awakens his ability, or if he miraculously becomes the first cub to survive while mastering two bloodline powers—what then?”
“If Prison Star can no longer meet the minimum living standards for cubs, this line of research must stop immediately!”
Ren Yufei listened quietly to everything Gu Qingshen had to say. Though his gaze was gloomy, his expression remained unnervingly calm.
“It’s still too early to jump to conclusions,” he replied. “Yesterday’s incident might have been an isolated accident. And if, as you claim, Prison Star has truly become so dangerous, then keeping Number Four here in the Research Institute is safer, isn’t it?”
Seeing Ren Yufei’s stubbornness, Gu Qingshen gritted his teeth in frustration.
“The stability of a cub’s emotional state is critical for suppressing bloodline backlash. I urge you to consider this carefully. Returning him to a familiar environment would be far more beneficial for both his physical and mental health.”
Ren Yufei took a deep breath and said, “I will consider your suggestion. For now, Dr. Gu, please return to the Purification Department. They need you more there.”
Gu Qingshen glared at Ren Yufei. Realizing he couldn’t persuade him, he eventually turned and stormed out.
Ren Yufei watched him leave, his expression still gloomy, and at this moment – the young man floating in the transparent solution behind him suddenly opened his eyes.
