On the restored radar’s display, two experimental subjects appeared.
The closest was Special Operations Subject No. 857—Electric Phantom.
According to the coordinates, Electric Phantom was located at the center of Lesha Tower, two hundred meters above the ground.
The position was precise—it overlapped exactly with the mermaid coiled at the top.
A flicker of surprise crossed the warden’s face. “The machine isn’t malfunctioning, is it? How is he Electric Phantom?”
Du Mo quickly explained, “The 109 Research Institute modified him. After the explosion incident, several subjects escaped. He was one of them.”
“Why wasn’t I told earlier?” The warden sighed, propping his head up. “Forget it. Remove him from the capture list.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If we really dragged that ‘great Buddha’ back, the international prison wouldn’t have a peaceful day again.”
His attention shifted to the second subject detected by the radar—
No. 211 Special Operations Weapon: Golden Silkworm.
The display traced his escape route. His movement was slow—likely due to injuries.
The warden asked lazily, “Has someone already purchased the Golden Silkworm?”
“The Red-throated Bird’s boss. He also bought four or five other subjects—Golden Silkworm is just one of them.”
“No official purchase invoice means illegal possession. Arrest him.”
“Yes, sir.”
After issuing the order, the IOA president approached from the front.
Du Mo hurriedly got out to open the car door. Both men held the rank of major general—since President Yan had come forward personally, it would be inappropriate for the warden to remain seated.
The warden stepped out slowly, slightly hunched, holding a plain black umbrella. He set the tip lightly on the ground.
“Long time no see.” President Yan extended his hand calmly.
“Long time no see, long time no see.” The warden embraced him warmly. It looked like a reunion between old friends—but beneath it, tension simmered. Leaning close, the warden murmured with a smile, “Seems you’re still keeping your little subordinates under tight protection.”
Yan Yi’s expression remained indifferent. His grip tightened slightly, bones creaking faintly. “Public security isn’t great. I have to keep a closer watch.”
After the gunpowder-laced pleasantries, the warden began walking toward Lesha Tower. “I should go greet the siren.”
Yan Yi replied flatly, “Go ahead. Humiliate yourself.”
—
Lan Bo’s detection by the radar caused some commotion.
But his appearance was so unusual that people couldn’t immediately decide which was more dangerous—a mermaid or an experimental subject.
Many didn’t even understand the merfolk species at all; some thought they were extraterrestrial beings.
So when Lan Bo was detected, the shock and visual impact weren’t quite as overwhelming as expected.
However, the muzzles of the special forces and prison officers all ended up aimed in unison at Lan Bo atop the tower.
The warden came to a stop beneath Lesha Tower, planting his black umbrella on the ground, both hands resting lightly on the handle. He signaled for everyone to lower their weapons, then lifted his head to look up at the mermaid at the very top, releasing a trace of pheromones that conveyed respect.
The scent drifted upward. Catching it, Lan Bo’s vacant blue pupils narrowed into thin lines. His tail loosened, and he plunged from the height. Just as he neared the ground, a dizzying electromagnetic boom rang out, suspending his body about a meter above the surface.
The warden removed his crooked military cap and gave a gentlemanly bow.
The barely passable display of etiquette softened the severity between Lan Bo’s brows. Propping his head up, he reclined sideways along the lowest beam of the iron tower and gave a quiet hum in response.
“There’s no need for you to be so hostile toward me. I’m only here, in the interest of all humanity, to confirm that certain experimental subjects pose no threat.”
Lan Bo glanced at his fingernails. “The fact that you’re all still alive is proof enough that we’re not a threat.”
The warden laughed lightly. “I’ll only be taking a few that are insignificant to you. I’m not looking for your beloved alpha, but someone similar— a black panther experimental subject. Have you seen him?”
Lan Bo thought for a moment. Xiao Bai seemed to have mentioned that there was someone like that around the reptile, but hadn’t gone into details.
The PBB special forces escorted the barely conscious Jinlüchong back to M Port. His hands were bound with specially made cuffs, and an inhibitor was embedded at the back of his neck to suppress his gland and prevent him from lashing out.
Officers from the international prison stepped forward to take custody. The purchase invoice for Jinlüchong was in the hands of the Red-Throated Bird organization. Since that group was not recognized internationally as a legitimate organization, Jinlüchong was classified as an unregulated experimental subject and had to be placed under the direct supervision of the international prison.
Freed from his burden, Jinlüchong felt much lighter. Whether he was about to enter prison or return to Red-Throated Bird, neither outcome inspired fear in him anymore.
Lowering his head, he was shoved into an armored transport vehicle by the officers of the international maximum-security prison.
Yan Yi regretted not being able to bring Jinlüchong back to headquarters. The more experimental subjects the international prison controlled, the more influence it would have in negotiations. He stared for a long time at the young man’s back as he was forced into the vehicle, struck by an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
The detection radar showed that there were still experimental subjects nearby, but within range they flickered once and then disappeared.
The warden waited in front of the radar console for quite some time. The PBB special forces and international prison officers conducted a carpet search of M Port. From start to finish, the operation lasted about four hours. Only after confirming that no experimental subjects remained hidden did they call it off.
While the search was underway, the IOA agents—except for Lan Bo—had already taken a ferry out into open waters.
The five of them rested inside the cabin. Xiao Xun had received treatment from the PBB Thunder Support Unit; his fractured leg had been fully repaired, and after a few days of bed rest, he would be fine.
Bi Lanxing helped Lu Yan move the heavy mummy to the side of a cabinet, securing it with vines. No one could be sure whether it would still move without Jinlüchong, so tying it up seemed safest.
After settling the mummy, Lu Yan sat on the floor, tore off some manuscript paper, and began folding paper cranes, placing them together with the corpse of the little lion cub from his backpack, busying himself for quite a while.
Han Xingqian sat across from him, tending to the injury in his left eye.
Although experimental subjects wouldn’t die from being shot by Jinlüchong’s gun, their healing speed became extremely slow—especially in delicate, fragile areas like the eye. Even Bai Chunian would need at least a month to fully recover.
Xiao Xun still couldn’t walk properly. He shuffled over with support from the floor, lowered his head, and spoke softly to Bai Chunian, “Thank you, Instructor.”
“Oh, no problem.” Bai Chunian waved it off.
Xiao Xun frowned, blaming himself. “I lost focus during the operation… and didn’t trust my teammate.”
“Do you trust them now?”
“…Yes.”
“It’s fine. I’m at fault too.” Bai Chunian felt a bit guilty about causing his trainee to fall and break his leg. “Honestly, we should blame Brother Han. I thought if I kicked you down, he’d catch you first. Who knew he’d be too busy staring at me? That’s true love right there.”
“Shut up.” Han Xingqian peeled back his bandage. The eyeball was already a mangled mass of flesh, leaving behind a hollow socket. Rotting tissue and newly grown flesh clung to the gauze, pulling at nerves as it was torn away.
Bai Chunian hissed sharply.
“Endure it.” Han Xingqian administered two shots of anesthetic around the socket and focused on disinfecting the area, cutting away excess tissue. The bullet was lodged deep inside and had to be removed with forceps.
“Hey, you’re about to poke through the back of my head,” Bai Chunian complained.
“It’s embedded deep. What do you expect me to do?”
“Just leave it in there. It’s only a bullet. It’ll heal around it.”
“If I don’t take it out, you’ll have trouble going through security checks later. Bear with it. Stop being so delicate.”
“It really hurts.” Bai Chunian had no choice but to distract himself by examining Jinlüchong’s gun.
He gently touched the silk cocoon wrapped around the stock. The gland inside was warm, still pulsing, and emitting the scent of poppy pheromones.
“Is this the gland of someone close to Jinlüchong?” Bai Chunian held it up to the light, trying to see through the cocoon. “With his personality, he doesn’t seem like the type to kill his own family. So was he forced? If he was forced, then why would the gun still be in his possession?”
As he pondered, a bang rang out.
He pressed the muzzle against his own forearm and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced through, leaving a bloody hole before embedding itself in the wall opposite.
Then something strange happened—the wound on his arm rapidly closed and healed, leaving no trace.
“Ah, just as I thought. It doesn’t work in someone else’s hands.” Bai Chunian stroked his chin in realization. “Then it’s reasonable to assume the gland belongs to that mummy. The person’s dead, but the gland is still active.”
Everyone was startled by his sudden gunshot, their bodies tensing as they looked at him. Han Xingqian called him insane.
“I have to investigate this thoroughly,” Bai Chunian said thoughtfully. This matter was deeply connected to Institute 109. Directly modifying human bodies was a severe violation of ethics—if exposed, it would undoubtedly cause a massive public uproar.
This was a good opportunity.
Lu Yan didn’t know what had just happened. He quietly edged over, bracing himself against Bai Chunian’s shoulder and asked, “So how are you going to investigate now? Jinlüchong’s already locked up.”
“That actually makes things easier,” Bai Chunian said, lightly tapping Jinlüchong’s gun against his palm. “Didn’t you hear him? His body’s full of chips. Bringing him back to headquarters would just be asking for trouble.”
“But think about it—what’s the first thing they do when someone enters prison?”
Lu Yan stared blankly. “What?”
“Idiot. A full-body search and medical exam,” Bai Chunian snorted. “Removing implanted chips and micro-bombs from a living body is delicate work. Let them handle it. Besides, the international maximum-security prison is built on an isolated island in international waters—tight security, multiple checkpoints. Even if Red-Throated Bird knows where he is, they won’t be able to get him back.”
Han Xingqian could tell he was already planning something dangerous again. “What are you thinking of doing?”
“I’ll tell you when the time comes. For now, let the international prison play tool and get Jinlüchong settled over the next couple of days.”
From the deck came the sound of water splashing and something heavy landing. Bai Chunian’s lashes lifted sharply, his eyes lighting up. “My wife’s back.”
A few minutes later, Lan Bo climbed in through the cabin window, droplets of water clinging to his golden hair.
Bi Lanxing had been worried about Lan Bo being caught among so many powerful figures—after all, most of the time Lan Bo couldn’t express himself clearly. Seeing him return, he finally relaxed and handed him a towel.
Lan Bo took it, wiped the water from his hair, and headed straight toward Bai Chunian.
Han Xingqian had just finished bandaging him. Bai Chunian’s head was wrapped in gauze, his left eye covered, leaving only his intact right eye exposed.
“All done?” Lan Bo asked.
“Mm.” Han Xingqian lowered his head to pack up the medical kit. “With his physique, it’ll take about a month to fully recover. The dressing needs to be changed every day.”
“Got it.” Lan Bo grabbed Bai Chunian by the collar, carried him off at a run to another cabin room, and carefully set him down on the bed.
Bai Chunian actually liked being carried around like that. For a feline, it was a posture that conveyed security and trust.
Lan Bo cupped his face and examined him. The more he looked, the worse the injury seemed; the more he looked, the angrier he became. His voice turned low as he scolded, “I should have taken you back and locked you up, kept you where you couldn’t see anyone.”
“So fierce…” Bai Chunian, who hadn’t reacted much during the long treatment, suddenly turned pitiful. He wrapped his arms around Lan Bo’s waist, burying his head against his chest. “Stop scolding me.”
“……” The anger in Lan Bo’s heart instantly dissipated.
They sat facing each other on the bed. Bai Chunian held him and murmured, “Sometimes I want to just walk away too. But I’m not willing. I didn’t do anything wrong—why should I be the one to leave?”
“Do as you like.” Lan Bo looked away. “I’ll always be here.”
Bai Chunian rested his chin on Lan Bo’s shoulder, and the two of them stayed quietly in the dim room for a long time.
Just when Lan Bo thought he had fallen asleep and was about to hold him a little tighter, something suddenly licked his neck. The fine barbs on the tongue scraped lightly against his skin, making it sting.