To determine whether communication with the experimental subjects would be effective, Bai Chunian did not release all fourteen at once. Instead, he selected three that were easier to control for an initial test. Each subject would be guided by a trainee, and for safety, every trainee assigned would be stronger than the subject they were responsible for.
The trainee assigned to the Formless Stalker was a sailfish alpha from the Berserk Shark unit, though the Formless Stalker didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.
Bai Chunian waved a hand. “If there’s nothing else, you can all get familiar with each other for now. Training starts tomorrow.”
The Formless Stalker lingered near Bai Chunian, reluctant to return to his room.
“I want to go see the major,” he said quietly.
Bai Chunian flipped through the list in his hand, mentally arranging the next batch of subjects, and replied casually, “The major’s pretty busy. If you’ve got something important to say, I’ll take you to see him.”
“I do.” The Formless Stalker nervously rubbed his fingertips together. “I have something important to say.”
“Alright.” Bai Chuanian stood up. “Then come with me.”
Walking from the underground sealed training ground to the major’s office took about fifteen minutes. The Formless Infiltrator followed silently behind him. He had never been much of a talker and didn’t initiate conversation.
Bai Chuanian tried to chat with him. “Why did you choose that name for yourself?”
The question pulled the Formless Infiltrator out of his wandering thoughts. He pressed his lips together before answering, “The first time he asked my name, I said it was Xia Apple. The major cares a lot about other people’s feelings, but even so, he had a hard time holding back his laughter.
“He tried to guide me, saying that apples left out too long will grow little worms.
“But my mind went completely blank at the time, so I changed my answer and said my name was Xia Little Worm.
“After I got back to the prison, I thought about it for a long time before realizing I had misunderstood him again. Human language is very complicated. Using real-world things as names can make people laugh. But that is my problem. The character ‘Xia’ sounds nice in a name. Even if people make fun of me, I will not change my decision.”
“We’re here.” Bai Chuanian stopped in front of a half-closed door and ushered him inside.
The major was bent over his desk writing, with a computer and a map set beside him.
“Have a seat. Give me a moment—this report is urgent,” Xia Jingtian said.
The Formless Infiltrator sat obediently on the sofa, staring at the major without blinking, watching the way his brows lowered as he worked.
Five minutes later, Xia Jingtian looked up, shut down his computer, and tidied his desk.
The Formless Infiltrator was still dazed. Bai Chuanian gave him a light tug. “The major is looking at you. Say something.”
His body jolted. He carefully straightened his clothes and lowered his head. “I… can answer questions.”
Xia Jingtian smiled gently. “No need to be nervous. This is not your first time here.”
“Mm… mm.”
Experimental subjects matured several times faster than humans. Although less than a year had passed since he last saw the major, the Formless Infiltrator’s mind had grown far more mature. Now that he understood the vast gap in their identities, he had instead become restrained and uneasy.
Xia Jingtian turned to Bai Chuanian. “You handled the Triangular Pyramid Hut incident, right? You should be familiar with him. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes—yes, a lot.” Bai Chuanian had long been frustrated by his lack of access to the Formless Infiltrator; many questions had remained unanswered.
When he took the suitcase from the triangular pyramid hut, it had two slots for reagents, but only one HD reagent was inside (HD, or Horizontal Development reagent, which grants a gland-related companion ability immediately upon injection). At first, he suspected the Formless Infiltrator had injected it, gaining a self-replication ability related to mimicry, nearly allowing him to escape capture.
The active cells in the HD reagent fuse with glandular cells and stimulate the growth of a companion ability. They cannot be metabolized. If he had injected it, traces would certainly remain in his glands.
But later, Han Xingqian said that no residue of the HD reagent had been detected in the Formless Infiltrator’s body. That meant he had never injected it. The self-replication ability must have been mimicked using his J1 ability, “Man in the Mirror.”
Bai Chuanian asked, “When you escaped, how many HD reagents did you take?”
“One. There was only one in the case. I snatched it from a researcher.”
“What researcher?”
“A researcher from Institute 109. He is already dead.”
“What happened?”
“While I was still in the institute, I had to go to the testing room regularly for examinations. During the last one, after discussion, the higher-ups decided I had not reached their expected state and chose to destroy me. I saw that Hummingbird Aileen had already signed the destruction consent form.
“They wanted to anesthetize me and push me into the incinerator. I escaped. On my way out, I ran into a researcher in a white lab coat. He wasn’t wearing a name tag, and I had never seen him before. He looked to be in his thirties—a lighthouse jellyfish omega. He was holding that suitcase.
“He saw me. I thought he was there to capture me, so I grabbed the suitcase and smashed it against his head, then ran.
“I had just left the institute building when I heard gunfire. The researcher I took the case from was shot in the chest and fell from a window.
“He died. I am certain he died. That cannot be doubted. But I do not know why the institute’s security would kill him.”
Bai Chuanian caught an inconsistency. “Did you open the suitcase at the time? What was inside?”
The Formless Infiltrator nodded. “When I hid in the cafeteria kitchen, I opened it. There was one HD reagent inside. The other slot was empty. I did not touch anything. I only knew it was valuable because its label was purple. There are very few reagents with purple labels in the institute—they are all extremely expensive.”
“Then where did your self-replication ability come from?”
“My J1 ability allows me to mimic all manifested differentiation abilities in front of me. When that researcher fell to his death, the self-replication ability appeared. My glands automatically captured it and then imitated it. The situation was urgent at the time, so I did not think much about it.”
Bai Chuanian rested his chin in his hand, looking out the window. He appeared distracted, but in reality, he had already replayed the entire incident several times in his mind.
“How many HD reagents did the institute actually produce?” he murmured.
“Two. Only two,” the Formless Infiltrator said firmly. “I have been inside the archives. I can reproduce all the documents stored there. On shelf B-4-89, third row, second compartment from the left, there is an inventory record. It states that since its development in year K029, only two HD Horizontal Development reagents have been successfully produced. I escaped in K030.”
Xia Jingtian interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them. “It is now K034. We cannot be sure how many they may have produced in the years since.”
Bai Chuanian kept looking out the window. “I also left the cultivation base in K030. It has been four years now.”
He pulled up a file on the electronic screen on his wrist. “Doctor Han said that from the most critical active cells in the HD reagent, he detected my DNA. My DNA is one of the raw materials used in its creation.”
“But the institute must have kept your samples.”
“They did. But a lot of evidence suggests those samples are no longer usable.” Bai Chuanian pointed out the irregularities he had discovered during recent missions. “When I encountered Experimental Subject No. 809, Kraken, in the Caribbean, I found a large number of my clones. Then, when we intercepted the Red-Throated Bird shipment at Port M, we discovered a huge number of white lion cubs.
“Four years have passed. If they could use my DNA to manufacture the reagent, they would have succeeded by now. There would be no need for all these pointless attempts.
“In other words, even though they still have my DNA, they can no longer produce the reagent.”
Xia Jingtian leaned forward with interest, listening intently. “Why?”
“I’m not the same as I was at birth.” Bai Chuanian spread his hands. “Because of Lan Bo. My DNA mutated. The principles behind it are hard to explain, but Lan Bo has that kind of power.”
“But you didn’t mutate only after leaving the institute. They still had opportunities to preserve your samples. That logic doesn’t hold.” Xia Jingtian rested his head on his hand, quickly identifying the flaw.
“Fair enough.” With his theory overturned, Bai Chuanian had no other leads.
“Do you have anything else to add?” Xia Jingtian turned to the Formless Infiltrator and asked with a faint smile, “Little Worm?”
The Formless Infiltrator sat on the sofa, silently heating up with embarrassment, stammering, “When I think of something, I’ll tell you.”
“Mm. It’s getting late. Xiao Bai, go get some rest. Little Worm, stay. I have a few things to discuss with you.”
“Alright.”
He hadn’t slept the night before and had spent the entire day observing training, so Bai Chuanian was indeed exhausted. He left the building under the starlight and returned to the single dormitory the instructors had prepared for him at PBB.
His room was at the very end of the corridor. As he passed He Suowei’s dorm, he noticed the door was wide open and peeked inside.
Good grief—spotless. The bed was made as flat as the floor, and the floor was as clean as a bed. The military blanket was folded into a perfect square, the towel hung with sharp, precise edges. Everything in sight was uniformly blue-green. The trash can had no trash, nothing was placed on the desk, and no clothes hung on the rack. Every facility seemed to exist without being used.
Who would have thought? Old He looked rough on the outside, but was so meticulous in private. Truly untainted despite being in the mud.
He had only taken a few steps when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw the two little wolves with the surname He—one carrying a basin, the other holding a rag—as they went inside. He Wenyi crouched on the floor, diligently scrubbing it, while He Wenxiao pulled out yesterday’s unwashed socks from under the bed, soaking and scrubbing them with soap. He even looked happy doing it, his long tail wagging so hard it seemed ready to spark.
Bai Chuanian doubled back and checked the nameplate. It did indeed say He Suowei.
Heh. Overestimated him. Turns out he’s just good at exploiting child labor. Bai Chuanian spat lightly and returned to his own room.
He had already told Lan Bo to come back and wait for him, but the room seemed empty. Out of habit, he glanced behind the door—no one there either.
He switched on the hanging lamp. As the white light came on, a mermaid dropped down from the ceiling, knocking him to the ground.
Lan Bo held a translucent hydro-steel tactical dagger, the blade lightly pressed against Bai Chuanian’s neck, and said in a low voice, “You’re done for. I’m going to fuck you.”
Bai Chuanian’s hand had already reached a vital point of his attacker, but when he saw it was Lan Bo, he relaxed slightly. He lay back, exposing his most vulnerable abdomen, even deliberately tilting his neck toward the blade.
A thin line of blood appeared on his neck. Startled, Lan Bo immediately dissolved the dagger into water, drenching Bai Chuanian’s chest. His undershirt clung to his chest muscles, outlining their shape.
Bai Chuanian seized the initiative, pinning Lan Bo onto the bed. A rich scent of brandy pheromones spread out as the thin cut on his neck quickly healed.
He pinned Lan Bo’s wrists above his head, then lowered his head and lightly kissed his lips. “You hurt me, honey. My neck really hurts—blow on it for me.”
Lan Bo lay beneath him, glaring.
Bai Chuanian buried his face in the soft, cool hollow of his neck, grumbling, “And you’re still being mean to me.”
“You… you…” Lan Bo had been angry, but suddenly forgot what he was angry about. Dazed, he released a trace of white wild rose pheromones, soothing the large cat clinging to him and acting spoiled.
Bai Chuanian’s room had floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the lights of the research buildings along the opposite shore flickered faintly.
Lan Bo sat in a hanging swing chair by the window, gazing out at the sea. Bai Chuanian sat on the carpet with his laptop on his knees, typing up a report.
He needed to send the information provided by the Formless Infiltrator back to the IOA.
The room was dim. Lan Bo pressed the tip of his tail against the carpet and gently pushed, rocking the suspended chair.
Looking at the brightly lit buildings across the sea, he asked leisurely, “The buildings over there are all lit up. What are people doing at this hour?”
“That’s a research base. They’re probably still working,” Bai Chuanian replied, eyes fixed on the laptop screen. He bent one leg, resting his cheek on his knee, a cigarette held between his fingers. The quiet room was filled with the crisp sound of typing.
Lan Bo hugged his tail, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “Then tomorrow night, I’ll swim across. Wherever the lights are on, there’ll be people thinking about you.”
Bai Chuanian’s fingers paused on the keyboard, his eyes inevitably filling with a smile.
A notification popped up on his laptop—an encrypted email from IOA headquarters. Their computers were all equipped with specialized anti-hacking chips from the tech department to ensure information security.
He opened the email. It contained Jinlü Chong’s testimony, along with intelligence gathered by IOA’s covert agents.
The IOA Alliance Agent Division was not made up entirely of openly operating agents like Bai Chuanian. There was also a group of covert agents who conducted investigations and carried out missions in secret. Their identities were completely classified—aside from the chairman and a few high-ranking officials, no one knew who they were. These agents operated in the shadows, bringing back unknown leads for the IOA.
Jinlü Chong provided the address of a factory, stating that the batch of white lion cubs intercepted at Port M—originally part of the Red-Throated Bird shipment—had been intended for delivery to that pharmaceutical factory.