The military arrived to handle the aftermath, led by the He brothers. He Wenyi directed his team to put out fires. The building had been blasted beyond recognition by indiscriminate grenade fire, but with Lan Bo present, extinguishing the flames was hardly more than a flick of a finger.
One squad was assigned to protect the prison guards while they counted inmates in the cell blocks, while the PBB rapid support unit raced against time to treat the wounded. But with limited medical staff on-site, Doctor Charles alone struggled to keep up with the number of casualties.
He Wenxiao, carrying a submachine gun, wearing a steel helmet with goggles and a bulletproof vest, walked over and crouched beside Bai Chunian. He took out a black body bag from his vest, opened it, and held it steady for Bai Chunian to place the remains inside.
“Thanks for your hard work,” Bai Chunian said, sealing the bag after placing everything inside piece by piece. “Where’s your captain?”
“He took a team to Port M. By now, they’ve probably already raided the Ruruofangcheng Group’s office building.”
Before the battle, Bai Chunian had already passed along the fragments of information Jinlü Chong had given him to IOA headquarters in case of unexpected developments. It seemed IOA had forwarded the intelligence to the military.
According to Jinlü Chong, his purchase receipts were in the hands of the head of the Ruruofangcheng Group. The group was suspected of illegally purchasing special combat weapons without proper authorization. Senior executives would be arrested, and the police would intervene in the investigation.
Although the Ruruofangcheng Group was likely just a scapegoat backing the Red-Throated Bird, if the evidence held, they might still yield useful leads under interrogation. After all, businessmen were far easier to question than terrorists.
After finishing with the Pastry Chef’s remains, Bai Chunian folded the body bag and loaded it into the helicopter, then went to check on Lu Yan and Bi Lanxing.
Bi Lanxing, exhausted, lay resting inside a cave woven from vines. Lu Yan curled up beside him, occupying only a small corner, silent. Both of them bore a few minor injuries.
“Everything okay?” Bai Chunian lifted the vine-woven door curtain and asked. The space inside was filled with the soothing scent of honey-like pheromones.
Lu Yan’s ears drooped. He shook his head dully and replied in a low voice, “We’re fine. Is Instructor Han okay?”
“He’s fine. You did well.” Bai Chunian casually ruffled his hair and closed the vine curtain. The two kids needed some time to process the fight.
He went to check on Han Xingqian next.
Han Xingqian had intended to assist the support team, but his gland had been injured. The team gave him a stabilizing injection and ordered him to remain where he was and not move.
Xiao Xun knelt beside him, his clear, round eyes like a puppy’s. He wanted to hold Doctor Han’s hand but hesitated, settling instead for holding the wrinkled edge of his sleeve while feeding him water with the other hand.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Xiao Xun muttered repeatedly, rubbing the sweat from his palms.
Lying on a sanitary cloth, propped on one elbow, Han Xingqian looked at him. “Why?”
Xiao Xun’s tail was unconsciously tucked tightly between his legs. He kept rubbing the calluses on his fingers from holding a gun—an obvious sign of anxiety. This wasn’t new. He often showed such symptoms, but his withdrawn and prideful nature made it easy for him to mask anxiety as aloofness. He could fool others, but not a doctor.
“It’s okay.” Han Xingqian took his slightly trembling hand and murmured gently, “I can’t release calming pheromones right now. Relax—follow my lead. Take three deep breaths first.”
Xiao Xun did as told, but with his hand held in the warm, dry grip of an alpha, his heart rate only climbed higher.
His condition was completely transparent in front of Doctor Han, who chuckled softly. As the support team passed by carrying the wounded, Xiao Xun straightened, about to move aside to clear a path—but Han Xingqian took the opportunity to pull him closer.
“No need to apologize. I was the one who hid my strength from you. You didn’t understand my A3 ability or know it would detonate. That’s not your fault—it’s mine.”
“A3… Your level is so high. Why would you come teach us… and take such care of me?” Xiao Xun’s tone immediately became more formal. A3-level differentiation was not only rare but often came with high social status.
“‘You’?” Han Xingqian still held his hand, casually brushing away the sweat from his palm. “I’m just an ordinary doctor. Now we’re both teacher and student—and partners. I hope that in any matter, you won’t hide anything from me anymore.”
“I’ll be honest.” Xiao Xun nodded. His tail slowly loosened from its tight tuck and began to sway slightly behind him.
Bai Chunian suddenly appeared behind them, catching sight of Han Xingqian openly holding the boy’s hand. “Han, taking advantage of a trainee? Shameless. And here I was worrying about your injury.”
“Worry about yourself first.” Han Xingqian released Xiao Xun’s hand and sat up, pressing the bandage at the back of his neck. “After what happened with the Pastry Chef, I don’t even know how much pressure you’re going to be under. It’s already hard enough.”
Although Xiao Xun had already fully confirmed that Bai Chunian’s true identity was that of an experimental subject, the fact that the two of them spoke about it so openly in front of him still caught him off guard. Instinctively, he tried to step aside to avoid the situation.
Unexpectedly, Bai Chunian suddenly turned his head, raised both hands, opened his mouth, and let out a playful “rawr.” As a beast-type alpha, his canines were especially noticeable when he bared his teeth.
Xiao Xun looked completely confused, the wagging of his tail slowing down.
Han Xingqian chuckled under his breath.
“Oh? Not scared of me anymore?” Bai Chunian dropped the strange pose and idly played with the gun in his hand. “That’s enough. I’m not asking for much.”
“I’m going to get some air.” Bai Chunian pressed a hand on Xiao Xun’s head. “Han’s a good guy—not some creep. You can talk to him. He just really likes dogs. Good thing you’re not a golden retriever, or he’d already be hugging you and kissing you. He loves watching puppies wag their tails, mmph—”
Han Xingqian stuffed a wad of gauze from the med kit into his mouth. “Go bandage Lan Bo’s scales.”
After Bai Chunian left, Xiao Xun crouched on the ground hugging his knees, watching him. Bai Chunian glanced back at him and couldn’t help adding, “…That time was just casual conversation.”
Before he could finish, Xiao Xun was already wagging his tail again.
Bai Chunian made a round to check casualties. The rescue operation was running in an orderly fashion, and there wasn’t much he needed to do, so he quietly wandered off to find Lan Bo.
Lan Bo was sitting on the rooftop of a high-rise, his deep-blue tail hanging over the edge. He gazed up at the faintly brightening sky, while below, turbulent seawater crashed against the rocks.
Bai Chunian climbed up and sat beside him, legs crossed.
“What are you looking at?”
“A dead star.” Lan Bo tilted his chin toward a corner of the sky, where a meteor streaked past.
“It actually died a long time ago. Its light is only reaching us now—that’s why we can see it.”
“Why?” Lan Bo asked.
“That’s what human books say. Their scientists are pretty amazing.”
“Humans are the least romantic creatures,” Lan Bo said. “It’s not strange they’d say that.”
“But I think they’re right. If you calculate based on the speed of light and stellar distance, it does work out that way.”
“No.” Lan Bo cupped his hands, and a pool of water rose slowly within his palms, reflecting the sky. “Everything that dies returns to the sea. I’ve found many star corpses on the ocean floor.”
“You mean starfish?” Bai Chunian gestured. “Five arms, cling to rocks—people even use them for hotpot?”
“Yes. There are ones with many arms too, just like stars.”
“I thought stars were round.”
“They have many points.”
“That’s because your deep-sea vision is bad.”
“No.” Lan Bo seemed utterly convinced, speaking with quiet certainty. “Everything is reborn in the sea.”
“Don’t starfish die too?”
“They just return to where they came from. The sea only shelters those who have nowhere else to go.”
“Will he… too?” Bai Chunian took out the pink glass bead the Pastry Chef had turned into and held it up to the light.
“Of course.”
On the other side of the rooftop lay the surging ocean. Bai Chunian sat silently for a long time. Finally, he straightened and threw the glass bead with all his strength into the sea.
Lan Bo watched the tiny splash it made upon hitting the surface. “Wouldn’t that count as evidence? Aren’t you turning it in?”
“He gave me an extra piece of cake. I can write him an extra report in return.”
“I remember you don’t like cake.”
“I don’t. But to him, it was expensive.”
The bead had weighed like a thousand pounds in his pocket. When he threw it into the sea, Bai Chunian felt an immense sense of relief.
“Saving the world… I really overestimated myself. I can’t save anyone.” He looked down at his palms, rubbing away the dried blood. “We’re all going to die. Maybe there’s no need to do anything great.”
Lan Bo raised a brow. “I won’t die. And I’m the king of the sea. Isn’t that great enough?”
“…Fine. You’re great.” Bai Chunian exhaled. “It took me six years to accept that I’m not. Turns out just not breaking the law is already pretty good.”
Lan Bo flicked the tip of his tail. “What a surprise. I thought your existence hadn’t even lasted five years.”
“…Don’t interrupt. I’m not in the mood to be cheerful.”
“Then cheer up. In the sea, no one truly dies.” Lan Bo opened his hand. In the water pooled in his palm appeared the glass bead Bai Chunian had just thrown. He guided it into the deep sea, where it fell into a giant white butterfly clam. The clam began secreting layers of nacre, nurturing it into a pearl, while vivid pink coral grew around it.
“…Ah.” Bai Chunian froze for a moment, then leaned closer in astonishment.
Lan Bo’s eyes curved in a smile. “Your clones, and the white lion cubs that died in Port M—I planted them all in the sea. With every breath I take, I can hear them.”
Lan Bo’s heart was the ocean’s heart. All things grew within his breath.
Bai Chunian suddenly wrapped his arms around Lan Bo’s waist, pressing his face into the hollow of his neck. “You really are incredible.”
At dawn, Bai Chunian stood in the corridor, representing the IOA special operations team as he waited to meet the warden. Lan Bo, as expected, clung to the outside of the glass, waiting for him.
No one had slept the night before. Du Mo stood beside him, dark circles under his eyes, bloodshot and exhausted.
Bai Chunian looked more relaxed, hands in his pockets. He nudged Du Mo with his elbow. “If you get fired, you can come work at IOA.”
Du Mo had no mood for banter. The prison had suffered a major security breach. Every guard on duty would face punishment—possibly even the warden would resign to take responsibility.
The office door opened, and the warden called them in.
Bai Chunian walked in calmly. He had put his inhibitor back on; the chip he used earlier had been a decoder—once attached to the inhibitor’s screen, it could unlock it within three seconds without damaging it.
The warden sat behind a redwood desk, his back slightly hunched, fingertips pressed together atop the surface. A black umbrella stood propped beside the desk, though there was no rain outside the window.
“You helped the prison subdue an experimental subject that deteriorated without cause. According to regulations, I will reduce your sentence,” the warden said with a faint smile.
Experimental subjects without organizational oversight were required to serve forty years in prison. If they caused no harm to humans during that period, they could be released.
Bai Chunian corrected him immediately. “It wasn’t an unprovoked deterioration. No experimental subject deteriorates without cause. A Red-Throated Bird assassin broke out of prison and injected the Pastry Chef with an AC stimulant produced by Institute 109—that’s what caused it.”
The warden’s slightly drooping eyes curved with a hint of amusement. “And how do you prove that?”
“I captured that assassin alive and handed him over to your guard, Ling Que—the bellbird omega.”
“But he’s dead.” The warden smiled. “The assassin you mentioned also died of blood loss during transport. So I can only conclude the Pastry Chef deteriorated without cause. Experimental subjects are inherently dangerous. If this gets publicized, how do you think people will see it?”
Bai Chunian opened his mouth, then closed it again. He understood—they had no intention of admitting anything. Even someone like the chairman, who never spoke ill of others, referred to the international prison as a “rogue prison.” That reputation hadn’t come from nowhere.
“Fine.” Bai Chunian leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “You win.”
“You’ve made an outstanding contribution to maintaining prison security. If IOA comes to bail you out, we can waive part of the bail fee,” the warden said generously. “As a gesture of goodwill, I can also share some intelligence. The international prison has not engaged in illegal research or trafficking of experimental subjects. Everything we do is for public safety. At the next conference, I will propose that Institute 109 cease the production and sale of experimental subjects.”
The prison needed to preserve its image and avoid public panic. With things stated so plainly, continuing to argue would only make Bai Chunian seem ungrateful. There was no way he could force the prison to admit fault.
The atmosphere grew tense when a staff member suddenly rushed in and knocked on the door. “Sir, the PBB Storm Unit has arrived! Their hypersonic transport has landed on the island!”
Bai Chunian’s eyes lit up. He guessed Captain He had brought the invoice evidence to bail out Jinlü Chong.
The warden remained dismissive. “They don’t have the authority to barge into this prison.”
But the staff member said anxiously, “Major Xia Jingtian has already entered the building!”
The warden subtly tightened his grip on his pen.
The heavy wooden door swung open. A puma-type alpha in a PBB uniform stepped inside, tassel epaulettes and cap in place. The moment he entered, the air itself seemed to grow heavier.
Outside the window, Lan Bo watched closely, tail tip raised in alert, ready for anything.
Bai Chunian, also a beast-type gland user—and not lower in rank—still felt a tangible pressure. He had heard that this major’s ability was related to gravity, but beyond that, it was the weight of experience and presence that truly pressed down.
Xia Jingtian removed his cap and held it in his hand, surveying the room before turning to the warden.
Though his rank was lower, their affiliations were clearly different. Xia Jingtian showed no fear.
He removed his gloves, took a document from a subordinate, and placed it on the desk. His tone was composed and steady. “These are the purchase records for Experimental Subject 211, Jinlü Chong. The PBB military base is here to post bail.”
The warden chuckled lightly. “Just a bail request—does it really require such a display?”
Xia Jingtian produced a second document, stamped with multiple official seals, and slid it forward. “Sir, after evaluation, the international prison is deemed unqualified to supervise experimental subjects. Effective immediately, all experimental subjects will be transferred to the PBB military base for containment and guided conditioning. Please assign personnel to carry this out.”
The warden exhaled softly. “Those seals couldn’t have been gathered overnight. It seems you came prepared.”
Bai Chunian shifted subtly toward the corner, thinking, Of course. What else do you think I came here for? Even if things hadn’t gone as planned, the result was the same.
The warden pressed his lips together, glanced once at Bai Chunian pretending to be invisible in the corner, then took the documents and left.
He Suowei stood beside the major with a rifle, taking advantage of the handover to whisper to Bai Chunian.
He gave Bai Chunian a light punch to the chest. “I thought you’d defected. I was genuinely upset for a while. You owe me for that.”
“Come on, it’s just us.” Bai Chunian reached toward his pocket. “Got a cigarette? Cheap one’s fine.”
“Who smokes that garbage?” He Suowei nudged his hand away with the rifle barrel. “Our major’s right here. Even if I had one, I wouldn’t give it to you. Get lost.”
The two muttered in the corner. Catching sight of Major Xia approaching from the corner of his eye, Bai Chunian straightened and saluted, right palm over his left chest.
Xia Jingtian handed him a document. “Your chairman has approved this. You’re assigned to assist with training at the PBB military base.”
Bai Chunian raised a brow. “How did I get dragged into this?”
“This is an officer’s invitation. I value your abilities and hope my team can learn more comprehensive skills from you. At the same time, IOA will send personnel to the base for exchange training.”
Bai Chunian hesitated before taking it, then smiled faintly. “You… know what I am, right?”
Xia Jingtian didn’t treat it as a joke. “There is more than one experimental subject at the base. Some were purchased as advanced weapons before we understood them. Others were taken in out of necessity. Our comrades include both humans and experimental subjects. Our enemies are the same. The PBB special forces distinguish only between friend and foe—not race.”