Lan Bo’s face remained expressionless as she punched Bai Chunian in the face. Bai Chunian folded his hands in front of him to block the blow. Although Lan Bo hadn’t put much force into it, the restraints on the back of Bai Chunian’s neck were still firmly in place. The punch landed squarely in the palms of his hands, sending a tingling pain through his hand bones and cheekbones.
“Don’t hit me, honey. I’m telling the truth. There’s nothing fake here. It’s just the two of us in this room. Let me explain.”
“You little bastard. That collar and those earrings were gifts I gave him. I can’t forgive you anymore.” ” Lan Bo withdrew her right hand, hooking her index finger through the collar around Bai Chunian’s neck to pull him close. With the tip of her other finger, she lifted his chin. Her pale golden lashes swept up and down coldly from time to time as she gazed down at him with a slightly lowered gaze. Her blue pupils narrowed into vertical slits, and her ears elongated and sharpened, gradually transforming into translucent blue gill-like appendages.
Bai Chunian was awestruck by his appearance, which was growing ever closer to his true form, and he looked up with his hands hanging limply at his sides at the arrogant merman who had made his own body his throne.
Lan Bo lowered his head and sniffed him, moving from his cheek to his neck. Although the pheromone suppressor prevented him from emitting a distinct scent, a faint trace of his scent remained.
A translucent ear fin blocked Bai Chunian’s view. He noticed that delicate, winding blood vessels ran through the thin fin, making it look like a thin, living slice of sapphire.
Just as Bai Chunian was lost in observation, a searing, piercing pain suddenly shot through his neck. The mermaid’s fangs had sunk deep into the fragile flesh of his neck. The suppressor had left him defenseless, and his pain tolerance had been drastically reduced, making the agony all the more intense.
Bai Chunian bit his lip to endure it, but Lan Bo seemed determined to tear a chunk of flesh from his neck, his ferocious strength tugging violently at Bai Chunian’s throat.
Yet Bai Chunian did not push him away. He placed both hands on Lan Bo’s waist and silently held him close. His strong arms, developed over the years, held him firmly in his embrace, letting him bite and punish as he pleased.
Blue lightning crawled across the skin of Bai Chunian’s nape and chest where the sharp teeth had pierced the flesh, etching a mark resembling the pattern of a devilfish.
Lan Bo licked the blood droplets from his lips, tracing the mark he’d bitten into his Alpha’s skin with his fingertip: “It’s real.”
Bai Chunian let out a sigh of relief, resting his chin on Lan Bo’s shoulder as his tense body relaxed. “How did you know?”
“Not everyone can bear the Siren’s totem mark.”
“……Hmm, so how many people… merfolk have you killed?”
“Randi.”
“I’m sorry, I was just joking.”
“Mm.” Lan Bo still looked displeased.
“We’ll explain when we get home. There’s no time now.” Bai Chunian grabbed his hand, using the floor to push himself up, his body swaying slightly as he stood: “We can’t stay here long. Satan went berserk and killed all the researchers. He’s definitely lurking in some corner, watching us. Come on, follow me.”
Bai Chunian pulled him to the combination lock, quickly entered the code, led him into the dormitory, and then ran to the next room, saying in a low voice, “These are two symmetrical, closed-loop rooms. I originally thought that destroying the gym—the torsion point—would neutralize Satan’s powers, but it seems we’ll have to find another way out.”
Lan Bo stared absently at the suppressor on the back of Bai Chunian’s neck, where the blue infection serum was still swirling blindingly. A surge of nameless rage churned within him, for blue had once been his favorite color.
Bai Chunian simply tugged at Lan Bo, urging him forward: “Satan has the ability to foresee the future, but judging by the scant information in the files, his foresight seems limited to a closed container—which is exactly the room we’re in right now. No matter what we do, he can deduce the outcome and then interfere with us. “He’s using just a few snippets of future footage to mislead and drive a wedge between us. This test subject is definitely no pushover.”
Lan Bo raised an eyebrow in disdain. “Pick a room. I’ll tear it apart.”
Bai Chunian shook his head: “The fact that we walked away unscathed after punching a hole through the gym was just luck. Since this is a lab producing the In infection serum, they must have stockpiled massive amounts of the serum and raw materials somewhere. If we blow up the containers, we’re dead. Oh wait, I’m dead. That serum doesn’t even affect you—you’re amazing, honey. You’re a god.”
Lan Bo nodded silently.
“I already know where we are. If you want to conduct illegal experiments without anyone noticing, there’s a perfect spot—one that’s hard to find and lets you dispose of waste without a trace.”
“Where?”
“Of course there is,” Bai Chunian was about to blurt out, but suddenly, mindful of Lan Bo’s feelings, he swallowed the rest of his words. “Um… Anyway, just come with me for now. We’ve been gone this long; the IOA has already made a move. I think they’ve probably figured out our location, but we’re completely out of contact with them right now. From here on out, we’ll have to rely on our teamwork. I hope I didn’t waste my time training those precious trainees.”
——
Five or six helicopters bearing the IOA insignia had already gathered over the calm sea, and twelve members of the special operations team had entered the water to search.
Bi Lanxing sat in the helicopter, pressing his earpiece to listen to updates from the senior agents underwater. The uniformed Omega beside him monitored the radar on the computer, issuing commands from time to time. This was Senior Agent Cang Xiao’er, the former head of the Investigation Division—a high-ranking A3-level Omega and a longtime acquaintance of the Chairman. She effectively oversaw all operations of the IOA Special Operations Unit but rarely made public appearances. The fact that an IOA agent had met with misfortune in public signified a challenge to the unit’s authority; given Cang Xiao’er’s temperament, she would undoubtedly take matters into her own hands.
“Senior, have you detected any signals yet?” Bi Lanxing couldn’t help but ask.
“We haven’t pinpointed their exact location yet. However, your assumption is correct—there is indeed a suspicious submarine on the seabed.”
“Right, a submarine. Instructor Han previously discovered a sunken submarine on the seabed in the Pacific Ocean as well—it was filled with the remains of experimental subjects and In infection agents.” Bi Lanxing perked up. After speculating that the submarine might be where Lan Bo and Bai Chunian were hiding, he immediately used satellite maps to scan possible routes, pinpointed the most suspicious areas, and finally located the target.
“You did well. Old Bi really knows how to raise a child.”
“I’m just sorry for disturbing you, Senior. I’m still not capable enough to make decisions on my own regarding operational plans.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m definitely going to look after Little Bai. Such a lovable little kitten—it’s just a shame he’s a bit too young, otherwise…”
“?”
“Hmm, it’s locked on.” Cang Xiao’er sat up straight, his gaze fixed on the new light spot appearing on the screen.
Bi Lanxing immediately turned his gaze in that direction as well.
Joining the twelve members of the Special Operations Group in their descent to the ocean floor was Xiao Xun, who was tasked with firing the M2-enhanced sniper round—loaded with his own ability—at the submarine’s hull.
Bi Lanxing immediately relayed the details of the targeted submarine to the IOA Technical Department and contacted Senior Duan Yang, the department’s top expert: “Senior, I’ve compiled the data fragments Instructor Han sent me into a document. Please try sending it to the terminal of the targeted submarine.”
Bi Lanxing now had two documents in his possession: one was a detailed analysis of the infectious agent sent back by Dr. Han, and the other was sent to him by Crawler. Crawler had stolen the list of experimental subjects scheduled for destruction by the research institute in April. However, time was too tight to translate the original English version of the data; fortunately, Brother Chu’s English was quite good, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
Duan Yang: “Copy that. I didn’t expect you two young ones to be so capable on your own. Brother Chu really has a keen eye.”
Bi Lanxing: “Not at all. Our contribution is minimal. You flatter us.”
Suddenly, a voice shouted over the communicator: “Quick! Pull him back!”
Bi Lanxing’s expression changed abruptly: “What’s happening?”
“The trainee in charge of underwater sniping is convulsing! He’s been poisoned—the seawater is toxic!”
To carry out a sniper shot in the pitch-black depths, Xiao Xun had to get close enough to the submarine to ensure accuracy. However, certain parts of the submarine had already shown signs of damage, inevitably causing some of the chemicals it carried to leak out and dissolve into the surrounding seawater. Although he was wearing a breathing apparatus, some of his skin was inevitably exposed.
Bi Lanxing’s eyes widened; he instinctively gripped the railing, then immediately forced himself to calm down. He told the pilot, “Let’s go down. Give them our position. The medics, prepare to assist. It’s most likely cyanide and Blue Virus poisoning.” He then spoke into the communicator, “Bring him up. Quickly.”
With that, he cut the mic, rubbed his hands together, pressed his forehead against the space between his palms, and muttered to himself, “We’ll make it, we’ll make it. I’m prepared. We’ll be fine.”
From the communicator came Xiao Xun’s faint breathing: “This was… part of my plan. We… all came here knowing this… Deputy Captain… I’m fine… I calculated the concentration using the universal instrument panel—the probability of death is only… 37%…”