In the garden of Shaojin Residence, the fir leaves had turned red. Domino reclined against the cushions by the bay window, sketching in a notebook.
One page recorded the incident at M Port—when Bai Chunian lost control and went berserk, causing his M2 ability to collapse while its destructive power expanded to the point of wiping out hundreds.
The reptile sat across from him, a lollipop in his mouth, typing on a laptop resting on his legs, his eyes fixed on the screen. “So that means the divine envoy’s current differentiation level may have already broken past M2?”
“Mm. I sensed a higher fluctuation of power, but I can’t determine exactly what it is.”
Whether human or experimental subject, differentiation level is extremely difficult to detect from the outside. Only when someone uses their differentiated ability do the pheromones they release allow others to judge their level. In other words, if someone has reached M2 level but has only ever displayed J1-level abilities in front of others, then observers can only determine that he is at J1—they cannot know his true level.
The reptile complained, “You were that close to him. Couldn’t you have gathered more intel?”
Domino curled his lips, summoning several red butterflies with faint blue iridescent patterns to flutter at his fingertips. “In that situation? If I had touched Bai Chunian, Lan Bo would’ve eaten me without hesitation. You know how it is—in his eyes, we’re no different from humans. Just ants.”
“Be grateful. When the anomaly radar activated at the end, it picked me up. Good thing I ran fast, or I’d be locked up too.” He cupped his face, admiring the even more beautiful butterflies, still delighted by the ones blessed by Lan Bo. “By the way, you’re underestimating the other four members of the IOA agent team. They’re not experimental subjects, but they’ve clearly shown enough potential to rival them. Keep underestimating them and you’ll suffer for it—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Did you figure it out? What’s going on with Jinlüchong’s gun?”
The reptile turned the laptop toward Domino. “Here.”
His M2 differentiation ability, “Earth Parallel Plane,” could convert a target entity into duplicated data and then into text, allowing him to obtain a detailed analysis.
In simple terms, it was like copying all the data of Earth into a 3D game. Any objectively existing inanimate object could be pulled from an inventory and inspected for its full information.
“The special equipment installed on Jinlüchong’s gun is called a ‘Silkburst Magazine.’” The reptile pointed to several lines of text on the screen.
Weapon Name: Silkburst Magazine
Materials: Gland voluntarily contributed by a 100% compatible partner in a bonded relationship
Rarity: 4 stars
Special Ability: A weapon equipped with the Silkburst Magazine becomes a bug-like weapon with infinite ammo and durability. When it hits a human, the body instantly explodes into spider silk; when it hits an experimental subject, it greatly prolongs their healing time.
“Wow, that’s cool.” Domino read with fascination. “But I more or less figured that out while watching. What I really want to know is—what’s the deal with the scythe Lan Bo gave Bai Chunian?”
The reptile looked troubled. His M2 ability was powerful, but it also consumed a great deal of energy. The rarer the object, the more taxing it was to analyze, so he had to be cautious.
“I’ll try.” He was just as curious about that terrifying weapon created from the divine envoy’s power.
He typed a line of code into the laptop. Gradually, the screen displayed the form of the long scythe—formed from water-turned-steel and the coagulated blood of corpses. Lines of text appeared one after another like a loading bar.
Weapon Name: Scythe of the Dead Sea Heart
Materials: The collective remains of all life that has died in the ocean
Special Ability:
The data froze on that line before crashing into a severe unknown error. When the reptile tried to reload it, a drop of blood from his nose fell onto the keyboard. He wiped it, froze for a moment, then immediately shut the laptop, unplugged it, and stopped using his M2 ability.
“Ah-choo.”
Lan Bo, soaking in the fish tank while watching TV, suddenly sneezed, expelling a string of tiny jellyfish that drifted slowly through the water.
“Catching a cold?” Bai Chunian picked up an empty glass from the coffee table, scooped some water from the tank, and handed it to him. “Drink more cold water.”
The water in the tank was exceptionally pure. As long as Lan Bo soaked in it, it would be continuously filtered to drinking quality—cleaner than bottled mineral water. There was no need to worry about grime or changing the water.
“No.” Lan Bo leaned over the edge of the tank, his tail flicking the surface. “Want to come in and soak? It’s been a full eight minutes since we had any intimate contact. I’m so lonely.”
“No thanks. If I soak in this weather, I’ll freeze my joints stiff.” Bai Chunian leaned over the coffee table, sketching. Spread out before him was a map of the international prison and its patrol schedule.
“Didn’t you install warm lighting in the living room?” Lan Bo rested his chin on his hands at the tank’s edge. “It’s very warm.”
Bai Chunian wore a white shirt with a knitted vest over it, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pencil tucked between his fingers as he studied the diagram.
Lan Bo climbed out, pushed the tank closer to him, then slipped back in, resting on the edge to watch him draw.
“You’re planning to infiltrate the international prison, aren’t you?” Lan Bo smiled faintly, unconcerned. “You won’t get in. Those old men know you belong to me—they wouldn’t dare touch you.”
He didn’t want Xiao Bai to leave his side—not even for a minute.
“Stop messing around. This is serious.” Bai Chunian tried to reason with the stubborn, obsessive fish. “Right now, the world’s stance toward us falls into three categories. First, groups like Institute 109—production, sale, and exploitation of experimental subjects. As long as you have money, you can buy one and use it.
“Second, the IOA alliance—advocating a ban on creating experimental subjects and recognizing the rights of those that already exist.
“Third, the international prison—advocating detention or elimination of experimental subjects.”
“The first and third are both extremes. In reality, only the second is beneficial for our future.” Bai Chunian said, “Don’t you think we should do something?”
Lan Bo let out a cold laugh. “Isn’t this just because that rabbit president suggested it?”
“Oh, come on.” Bai Chunian reached out and kneaded his face. “Here we go again—every omega in the world is your rival. I’m not that attractive, okay? I’m just a very ordinary alpha. No one’s going to steal me from you.”
“…Fine. Do whatever you want.”
“The problem now is, there are a lot of experimental subjects—and not all of them are victims forced into rebellion. Some of them are genuinely dangerous. Then again, if you’ve been imprisoned since childhood, it’d be strange to turn out normal.” Bai Chunian tapped himself. “People like me are actually pretty rare.”
Lan Bo listened to him attentively, occasionally asking, “Why didn’t you turn out like that?”
“I don’t know either.” Bai Chunian held a pencil between his teeth as he measured the diagram, then used his computer to calculate proportions, speaking indistinctly, “Probably because of you.”
“Actually, I only seem normal on the surface. For people like us, whether our minds are twisted or not doesn’t really matter—as long as we can control our actions, that’s enough.” Bai Chunian brushed the eraser shavings off the paper, lifted it to take a look, and said lightly, “Done. I’m going to shower—my arms are covered in graphite.”
Lan Bo lifted his tail out of the water and curled it toward him. “Come.”
“Nope. I want a hot shower.” Bai Chunian grinned and dashed to the bathroom door, lifting the hem of his shirt and pulling it off.
As he moved, the lines of his abdomen and waist stretched, Lan Bo’s name embedded against his pale skin.
Propping his head up, Lan Bo admired the young man’s body, his damp voice low and coaxing. “Obey?”
Bai Chunian paused slightly as he set his clothes aside, then turned and pushed the bathroom door open.
A hand caught the edge of the glass door. Lan Bo leapt swiftly out of the tank, climbed along the ceiling to the bathroom entrance, and braced the door to stop it from closing—nearly catching his hand in it.
“You keep avoiding this topic. Was that kind of experience unpleasant for you?” Lan Bo slipped into the bathroom, sitting on the marble counter by the sink, his tail curling around Bai Chunian’s long legs.
“I value what we have now.” Bai Chunian turned his head away. “So… mating feels a little… dirty.”
Joking was one thing, but in the past, reproduction had been forced on him like a task. Every time he felt any pleasure from it, it brought shame and guilt.
Lan Bo wrapped his arms around his neck, looking at him seriously. “Poor child. They really hurt you—psychologically. Irreversibly.”
“I’ll teach you, little by little. You need to learn this way of expressing love.” Lan Bo climbed onto him, his tail coiling around his legs for support as he embraced him from behind. “Everything will get better.”
“Today we’ll start with something simple.” Lan Bo took his hand, guiding it as he looked at their reflection in the mirror. “We’ll just use our hands.”
…
A long while later, the phone outside the bathroom rang twice. Bai Chunian came out in a bathrobe to answer it.
Han Xingqian said, “We’ve successfully removed the spider silk from the mummy’s face. The features are perfectly preserved. The president got a bit emotional when he saw it—you should come take a look. There might be a clue.”
“Mm.” Bai Chunian’s voice was hoarse, his eyelids still noticeably red.
“Why did it take you so long to answer? Just woke up?”
“Do you really want to ask? Single people aren’t suited to hearing the answer.”
“….” The call ended.
They gathered in the consultation room at the Medical Association, where autopsy images were projected onto a hanging screen.
Inside a sterile lab, experts had carefully removed the silk covering the mummy’s face, revealing a handsome face indistinguishable from that of a living person. After a rapid scan, they stitched the silk back to prevent internal deterioration.
The scanned image was projected onto the screen. The technical department had investigated the alpha’s identity and discovered he was Shao Wenjing, the CEO of a medical equipment company who had gone missing five years ago and was only reported dead this year.
Mr. Shao had been unmarried, living abroad with his younger brother Shao Wenchí. Six years ago, Shao Wenchí was kidnapped, and soon after, Shao Wenjing himself disappeared. After news of his death broke, his assets were quietly transferred away, and the Shao family seemed to vanish from the world entirely.
More absurdly, many people at the time suspected Lu Shangjin, since the two had a serious conflict in their youth. But given Lu Shangjin’s status and methods, no one dared to voice it openly.
When Bai Chunian entered the consultation room, President Yan had just smashed a table.
He moved closer to Han Xingqian and asked quietly, “What happened?”
Han Xingqian showed him the test report. “After comparison, the DNA of the spider silk matches Shao Wenchí exactly. Jinlüchong is Shao Wenchí.”
“This is the first time we’ve encountered a case where a fully grown human was directly transformed into an experimental subject.”
Han Xingqian flipped open earlier files. “It’s different from No. 408, the clown Samael. Samael was cultivated from a human embryo—grown outside the body and guided by drugs into becoming an experimental subject. From some perspectives, we don’t consider him human. But Jinlüchong was human until he was forcibly modified at seventeen. We still don’t know what effects that kind of transformation has on the body, since we currently can’t access him.”
Because of this, President Yan was furious. He had spent nearly twenty years building the IOA alliance to protect omegas, only for someone to be conducting live human experiments right under his nose. Institute 109 was openly provoking him.
“Boss, don’t be mad.” In the tense silence, Bai Chunian spoke up at the wrong moment.
Yan Yi looked up at him, momentarily stunned.
“?” Bai Chunian glanced down at his pants. He had rushed out—hopefully nothing inappropriate had gotten on them.
Yan Yi waved everyone out, leaving only Bai Chunian behind.
“Why didn’t you leave?” Yan Yi asked, leaning against the windowsill as he pulled out a lighter and lit a slim cigarette.
He didn’t usually smoke. Bai Chunian rarely saw him like this—there was a hint of weariness, but also a certain composure.
“Leave? What, did I get fired after just three days off?”
Yan Yi shook his head lightly. “I thought after seeing all that, you might feel disappointed in us—and leave with Lan Bo. Life would be easier that way.”
“That’s exactly because I still have that way out that I can act freely here. Even if I mess things up, I can always run.”
Bai Chunian pulled a reduced copy of his diagram from his pocket and showed it to him, pointing to a red mark on one of the prison cells. “Jinlüchong is being held here. I’m going to see him and figure everything out.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” Bai Chunian snapped his fingers. “About the entire Institute 109.”
“But he might not know that much.”
“True, but he’s still the biggest lead.” Bai Chunian pushed the reduced map toward him. “Lan Bo once told me he left something behind in Institute 109. I never asked him about it again—because I didn’t have the ability to help him retrieve it, and I didn’t want to bring up something painful for him. But one day, I will.”
“Boss, you want to save both experimental subjects and humans. That won’t work—but it’s admirable. I’m different. I don’t have your level of idealism. I just want to save myself.” Bai Chunian straightened, placing his palm over his chest. “Everything will get better.”
Yan Yi opened his mouth, but in the end only said, “I’m sorry.”
After a long pause, Yan Yi picked up the diagram and examined it, crushing out his cigarette. “Tell me your plan.”
“The boss of Red-Throated Bird didn’t just buy Jinlüchong. He bought four or five experimental subjects and formed a squad that’s been wreaking havoc in the city. The leader’s called Eris. I don’t know exactly what kind of experimental subject he is yet, but it doesn’t matter.”
“The fact that Jinlüchong was captured by the international prison is only known to us and the PBB special forces. The prison won’t publicize it—they don’t want trouble. We keep tight lips, and the PBB base is far from us. There were no Red-Throated Bird members left at M Port at the time.”
“So right now, Red-Throated Bird still thinks Jinlüchong was taken by us.”
“That crazy squad will show up nearby sooner or later looking for him. I’m going to meet them.”
Yan Yi frowned slightly. “What kind of squad is it? How many people do you need?”
“Not yet. Take a look at this surveillance footage—the tech department just sent it.”
It showed a highway overpass in a nearby city. A helicopter dropped a huge, brightly painted prank box. A car passed by just as the box suddenly split open—four red-clad experimental subjects jumped out, armed with guns and ammo belts, shouting “Surprise!” as they wildly splashed red paint onto passing vehicles.
They sprayed the words “DROP DEAD” in large capital letters across the road, then stood atop the box, firing at surrounding traffic.
This four-person experimental squad from Red-Throated Bird was led by Eris—an alpha with an almost perfect appearance.
He felt hot and tore off the bird-beak mask covering his face, revealing flowing silver hair and gray-green eyes. His build and looks were like a male model’s—flawless, except for the chilling smile on his face.
Eris excitedly carried a Remington shotgun. Just then, a sedan passed beneath him. With a gleeful shout, he leapt down from above and slammed onto the car roof.
With a thunderous crash, the roof caved in. The windshield shattered into a web of cracks, and the passengers inside screamed in terror.
Even the violent skid of the braking car couldn’t throw him off. He smashed the windshield with the butt of his gun, leaned in, and grinned. “H-e-l-l-o~”
Then he pressed the shotgun against the passenger’s head, murmuring in surprise, “I’ve never fired one this close to someone before.”
He turned cheerfully to the driver. “Have you?”
“N-no… please…” The driver was paralyzed with fear, trembling as he handed over everything valuable in the car.
Eris didn’t hesitate—he pulled the trigger. The shotgun blast obliterated the passenger’s head and seat, splattering blood across the driver’s face—and across Eris’s own.
He laughed nonstop, shifting position atop the car. With another swing of the gun, he shattered the rear window and dragged a crying baby from a child seat.
“Baby!” Eris was ecstatic. He lifted the infant like a puppy, pulled the pacifier from its mouth, and stuck it into his own, sucking on it. Then, with a casual flick, he threw the baby off the overpass.
The four of them caused the worst traffic jam in the city’s history, then leapt over the guardrail and vanished without a trace.
This squad entered Aphid City, destroying everything in sight.
Inside a wrecked tattoo parlor, the owner lay dead in the chair, shot through the abdomen. The four of them played curiously with the tools.
Eris, being in the maturation phase, had far greater comprehension than his three companions, who simply killed mindlessly. He quickly figured out how the machines worked. Rolling up his sleeve to reveal the Red-Throated Bird tattoo, he dipped into red ink and began stabbing over it at random.
The original “red throat bird” was twisted into “crazy bird.”
He then faced the mirror, unusually quiet, drawing a horizontal red line across his nose and a vertical black line from forehead to chin. While doing the black line, he stuck out his tongue—piercing it along with the line.
He admired the result, then turned to show his companions, sticking out his tongue. “What do you think?”
The other three, still in the incubation phase, were busy gnawing on furniture. They lacked the intelligence to understand what he was showing.
Eris slumped to the floor, tossing aside the needle, sucking on the pacifier he’d taken from the baby, muttering gloomily, “No one here appreciates art.”
Suddenly, someone tapped his shoulder.
Eris snapped up his gun and spun around, pressing it to the person’s head.
Bai Chunian stood there with his hands in his pockets, leaning in to study his face, completely unfazed by the shotgun aimed at his forehead.
Their eyes met. Bai Chunian quickly sized him up—a pale, brooding teenage face, around seventeen or eighteen. Institute 109’s aesthetic hadn’t changed—still so monotonous, as if making experimental subjects look like this satisfied some disgusting taste.
“Perfect.” Bai Chunian sincerely praised the markings on his face. “The lines are smooth and clean. The red-and-black color scheme is absolutely killer.”
Eris spat out the pacifier and raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”
“9100. Divine Envoy.” Bai Chunian spread his hands openly.
“Oh, I’ve been looking for you too. The boss told us to eliminate the Divine Envoy on sight.” Eris let out a sinister laugh and suddenly pulled the trigger.
The gun gave a hollow click—empty.
Bai Chunian remained completely unfazed, not even blinking. “Your technique is pretty cool.”
Eris looked at him with interest, loosening his grip. A shotgun shell he had just removed dropped from his palm.
His hands were unusual—each joint formed by a spherical connection. A closer look at his neck showed the same kind of ball-joint structure.
He caught the shell and tossed it casually in his hand. “I believe you’re the Divine Envoy now. Want to go have some fun? I happen to be short a partner.”
“Sure. Where to?”
Eris bared his teeth. “I’m going to the ballet theater to cut off everyone’s big toes.”
“Sounds boring.” Bai Chunian shrugged. “I’ll take you somewhere better.”
Eris’s curiosity was piqued.
“Oh right,” Bai Chunian added, glancing back at him. “I heard the Red-Throated Bird boss puts tracking chips and micro-bombs in your bodies. If you leave your mission area, one of them detonates. If you come with me, won’t you get caught?”
Eris stepped out of the shop, firing the shell straight into the air. As fragments rained down, he spun lightly in place. “I’ll bet this time it’s not the one in my brain that blows.”