At four in the morning, the bus heading to the airport drove through pitch darkness. Inside and outside the windows, everything was black—except for two glowing lights: Lan Bo’s tail, shining blue, and Ying’s backside, glowing green.
A total of twenty members had been selected for this exchange training with the PBB military base.
The trainee list was personally drafted by Bai Chunian. It included Ying, Clownfish, and Mongoose from the investigation division, as well as Bi Lanxing, Lu Yan, and Xiao Xun—who had stood out during the Aphid Island assessment—along with several other top-ranked trainees.
The Medical Association sent Han Xingqian as their representative, along with two additional doctors. In return, the PBB Thunder Support Unit sent three of their most outstanding young doctors to IOA for training.
The tech department also sent Duan Yang. It was said that the PBB base had recently acquired a batch of advanced equipment—someone like Duan Yang, a technical prodigy obsessed with machinery, would never miss a chance to see it.
Lan Bo had a very healthy sleep schedule. Leaning against the bus window, he dozed off. Occasionally, a tiny glowing blue jellyfish would pop out of his nose, only to retract again with his breathing.
Bai Chunian kept getting up, grabbing things from the overhead rack—tissues, water—again and again, just to deliberately show off the matching ring on his ring finger, a sapphire band shaped like a fish that paired with Lan Bo’s.
When he turned back, he saw that Lan Bo had already chewed halfway through the curtain in his sleep. He quickly pulled him back into his arms, letting him rest against his shoulder, tying a knot in the half-eaten curtain as if nothing had happened.
Clownfish sat across the aisle, with Ying by the window.
Bai Chunian stared at Clownfish’s face for a while. “Weren’t you single-eyelidded before?”
Clownfish scratched his head awkwardly. “…Well…”
Lu Yan suddenly popped up from behind the seat. “Yeah! We all think Xiao Cheng’s getting better-looking—his eyes are bigger, his skin’s fairer, his legs are longer. They say people get better-looking at eighteen. Will I get better-looking when I turn eighteen too?”
Bai Chunian shot him down. “This is as good as you’re gonna get. Sit down. Who told you to stand up?”
Bi Lanxing used his vines to pull Lu Yan back to safety, wrapping them around him like a seatbelt. “You’re already good-looking, A-Yan,” he said softly.
Clownfish scratched his head again, embarrassed. Ever since that “child’s father” translation incident, the King had granted him beauty. After accepting the glowing jellyfish Lan Bo gave him, Xiao Cheng had been receiving more and more love letters every day—so many that now he ran away with Ying whenever he saw an alpha.
Even his symbiotic summon, the sea anemone, had changed. Its former golden color had become a brilliant radiant gold, layered with faint blue patterns—dazzling to look at.
Bai Chunian gestured for Clownfish to wake Ying up. “Tell him to watch it. If his butt keeps glowing randomly during missions, he’s gonna get exposed.”
“Ying just reached M2-level differentiation recently,” Clownfish explained. “He can’t fully control the excess energy yet, so… it leaks out. He’s been having trouble sleeping because of it.”
Hearing that, Bai Chunian chuckled and told Clownfish to find a blanket to cover the kid so he wouldn’t catch a cold.
At the back of the bus, Han Xingqian sat with his eyes closed, resting.
Xiao Xun sat beside him. Seeing that Han Xingqian hadn’t moved for a while, he assumed he had fallen asleep. Quietly, he leaned a little closer, sitting properly with his hands on his knees—his tail beginning to sway.
Since returning from the prison, Han Xingqian had been extremely busy. The two of them had hardly had any chances to talk.
At one point, Han Xingqian had messaged him, asking him to come eat together. But Xiao Xun felt that being surrounded by Medical Association professors would make things awkward, so he declined.
Afterward, though, he started worrying that Han Xingqian might have been upset by that.
And he had been thinking about it ever since.
After sitting for a while, Xiao Xun felt confident that Doctor Han was truly asleep. Carefully, he activated his J1 ability—the Universal Dashboard—to check Han’s emotional state.
Emotional breakdown:
- Joy: 50%
- Curiosity: 30%
- Playfulness/teasing: 18%
- Sexual desire: 2%
“….”
Xiao Xun was baffled. He could detect emotions, but he couldn’t tell in whose presence these feelings arose. His mind went blank, and he started to wonder if Han had someone special.
“Detecting something?” A calm, pleasant voice whispered in his ear.
Xiao Xun stiffened. Han’s face was right beside him; he could even see the fine fuzz on his cheeks.
“You’re scanning me?” Han asked with a faint smile. “Your pheromones smell nice, Sunflower.”
Xiao Xun lowered his head.
“Sensitive Mimosa suits you better,” Han said, using the cap of his pen to straighten Xiao Xun’s folded collar.
“…Uh… sexual desire…” Xiao Xun stammered.
“Hmm? You detected that? But that’s actually very low for an alpha. You might want to test Instructor Bai instead.”
Han’s calm demeanor made Xiao Xun feel a bit self-conscious. Trusting Han’s words, he stealthily scanned Bai Chunian’s emotional data.
Bai Chunian’s readings:
- Sexual desire: fluctuates rapidly between 50–90%
- Frenzy: fluctuates rapidly between 10–50%
The dashboard’s numbers became chaotic and blurry.
Han looked at the little dog whose face was turning red, finger pressed to his lips to stifle a laugh. “See? Normal alphas show numbers like this.”
Xiao Xun quickly shut down the Universal Dashboard. Too terrifying.
Han whispered reassuringly, “Being constantly exposed to an alpha’s pheromones can cause mild allergic reactions. You can stay closer to me; then the public lion’s pheromones won’t hit you directly.”
“Oh, okay.” Xiao Xun snuggled a little closer.
They were the only two in the last row. The bus jostled slightly along the highway, and before long, Xiao Xun grew drowsy, hugging his backpack and closing his eyes.
A pair of snow-white wings quietly extended from behind Han and draped lightly over Xiao Xun.
The bus delivered them to the terminal. Bai Chunian lined everyone up for roll call. Soon, a Land Rover pulled up in front of them.
“I should have driven you here,” Jin Lü Chong said, pushing open the front passenger door. “But I got lost looking for the bus. By the time I arrived, you’d already left.”
“That’s courteous of you. Who drove you here?” Bai Chunian asked, glancing at the driver’s seat. A mummy sat behind the wheel, one hand resting on the steering wheel, turning his head toward them.
Jin Lü Chong moved his spider silk fingers. The mummy turned off the engine, stepped out, opened the trunk, and carried a suitcase to Jin Lü Chong.
He opened the suitcase and handed a gift to Bai Chunian.
Inside were spider silk creations: a shirt for Bai Chunian, ear warmers for Lu Yan, cooling sleeves for Bi Lanxing, knee guards for Xiao Xun, and a small pom-pom hat to fit the tip of Lan Bo’s tail.
“The chairman said it’s cold there. My silk is warm and durable,” Jin Lü Chong said slowly, reminding them, “When you’re not around, my brother and I will also help the chairman with small chores.”
As the plane took off, Bai Chunian watched the scenery shrink below. Jin Lü Chong and the mummy waved from the car roof.
Lan Bo was far calmer than the first time he flew, sitting beside Bai Chunian with his seatbelt on.
“So cute,” Lan Bo said, delighted with the little hat Jin Lü Chong had woven. He shook the tip of his tail, making the pom-pom bounce.
“You’re right,” Bai Chunian said, gazing at the sky. “Some people choose to face the future, some linger in the past. Today I realized that death doesn’t mean being forgotten.”
“I investigated,” Lan Bo added. “Shao Wenjing transferred his assets himself—he probably knew he had little time left. He left all his money to Jin Lü Chong.”
Bai Chunian pulled out a tablet to show Lan Bo some data. “Also, under the bed in his secret room, I found a USB drive sealed in spider silk. The tech department cracked it. It contains all the clues Shao Wenjing had gathered about the research facility that year.”
“What’s on it?”
“It’s a summary he made before he died,” Bai Chunian enlarged the file for Lan Bo. “Eight years ago, 109 Research Facility’s executive, Hummingbird Ailian, is now the head of the institute.”
“You remember File A we got in the ATWL exam? It mentioned a hurricane-virus pandemic in the early 17th century. People developed glands, a European magician performed levitation publicly, and eventually grew wings and flew away. Some doctors think the magician reached M2 level, with glands awakening into a hummingbird.”
“That file didn’t mention the magician’s gender. My gut says alpha, but it could be omega. Omegas leave glands for descendants of their own species more often than alphas do.”
“Many humans have hummingbird glands,” Lan Bo said, unimpressed. “Even if Ailian is descended from the hummingbird magician, so what?”
“If we could prove a blood relation, it could validate many of my hypotheses,” Bai Chunian explained. “At first, I thought they were making special ops weapons purely for profit. But maybe not.”
“Look, Jin Lü Chong was an early experiment. Their initial target was just humans.”
“And the Snake-Eye?”
“His median index is 5. That means the degree of mimicry between his original and final forms is 50%. Like you—when you transformed from a stingray into a stingray-human, your mimicry was 50%, hence your index is 857.”
“You’re saying what?”
“I think Snake-Eye might have originally been a snake. After modification, he grew a human upper body. But… what if he was human first, then modified to have a snake tail? In that case, his median index would still be 5.”
“Actually, their initial plan was only to experiment on fully grown humans, right?”
“Hmm… I’m not certain. Once we reach the military base, we’ll discuss it. Once we have a theory, the investigation begins.”
“It’s ultimately not our fault,” Lan Bo said, draping an arm over Bai Chunian’s shoulder, casually swaying the tip of his tail. “People pay the price for arrogance and pride. The 109 Research Facility is no different. I’ll personally tear apart their skulls and display them in a palace as fish tanks.”
“By the way, where are we heading now?” Lan Bo asked. He had a habit of acting on impulse, never bothering to ask what came next.
“First to Red Peach Island. The PBB Kraken unit will pick us up for the military base. Once there, they’ll assign lodging and training.”
Lan Bo frowned. “You’re going to be an instructor. What about me?”
“You’ll be my student.”