The moment they passed each other, Xiao Xun felt as though everything in the distance had slowed down. The sounds around him shifted from chaotic to distant, and the clock on the wall seemed to have stopped, with only the pendulum swinging back and forth at an abnormally slow pace.
Sixth Uncle Xiao Yang’s ability to manipulate time—a characteristic of the Lingti—was “Rate Convergence,” which allowed him to control the flow of time within a certain radius around him.
Sixth Uncle Xiao Yang currently works for Research Institute 109. His arrival at this moment was almost certainly prompted by a tip-off. He had made this special trip to ensure that the Lingti family’s factory could supply sufficient monoenine on schedule. If he were coming, he certainly wouldn’t have come alone.
Realizing this, Xiao Xun immediately grew wary. It seemed he had to notify the others immediately that the situation had changed; they must act swiftly and leave the Lingti Clan without delay.
However, time flowed much faster in his current environment than it did outside. Although he could send the message, he had no way of knowing if they would be able to receive it.
“Xiao Yang is here,” Xiao Xun whispered insistently into his hidden communicator.
Xiao Yang flashed a mocking smile. “Pulling tricks right in front of me?”
Xiao Xun’s reaction time was already top-notch, but he was still outmatched by Xiao Yang’s abilities. In the blink of an eye, Xiao Yang was upon him, grabbing Xiao Xun by the throat. As his fingertips slowly tightened, Xiao Xun’s face flushed red. He struggled to pry his fingers loose, but with his throat clamped shut, even breathing became painfully labored.
“Time passes much faster by my side than it does out there. If I were to strangle you right now, how long would it take for someone to discover your body?”
“Is that unicorn Alpha treating your niece-in-law next door your boyfriend? Guess how long it’ll take him to find you once your body’s rotted away.” Xiao Yang narrowed his eyes at him. “…Sneaking around on a date? I, as your guardian, haven’t given my consent yet.”
They stood right out in the open. Xiao Xun struggled, unable to break free from the grip around his neck, yet the people passing by continued to chat and walk slowly, as if they hadn’t even noticed anything unusual. Under Sixth Uncle’s control, even if Xiao Xun shouted, it wouldn’t do any good.
But any ability that involves splitting one’s consciousness inevitably consumes glandular energy. Such a powerful control ability must be draining Uncle Liu’s glands tremendously; the longer it lasts, the greater the chance of breaking free.
“Uncle Liu, if you want to protect the factory and the serum, why not just warn the Old Master openly?” Xiao Xun barely suppressed the pain of near-suffocation and asked, forcing himself to remain calm.
Xiao Yang merely raised an eyebrow, offering no reply.
Xiao Xun continued, “Don’t you want to avoid exposing your identity? Don’t you want them to know you’re working for the Institute? Or… is there something between you and Aileen…?”
A subtle shift flashed across Xiao Yang’s eyes.
In truth, Xiao Xun was just making things up on the spot under pressure, but his J1 ability, the Omniscient Dashboard, could help him select the most likely guess.
“You and Ailian… you two… you’re also a Lingti… you broke the clan’s rule against intermarriage… so you… won’t admit it…”
“Sixth Uncle… has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like someone?” Xiao Xun asked haltingly. “He’s also a doctor, around your age, and looks just like you… and he used to work at the 109 Research Institute too… If Professor Lin Deng weren’t already dead, people would definitely mistake you two for each other. Have you ever met him?”
In the eyes of the public, Professor Lin Deng had indeed been gone for a long time. Xiao Xun didn’t want to reveal the fact that Lin Deng was still at headquarters.
“Hm?” Xiao Yang’s grip loosened slightly as he muttered, “…Deng?”
The moment Xiao Xun heard this, he knew that Uncle Liu wasn’t completely unaware of Dr. Lin Deng’s affairs. He paused to gather his thoughts; as long as he could buy time—until Uncle Liu could no longer sustain the accelerated timeline—he would be able to escape.
Xiao Yang seemed somewhat impatient, even bordering on anxious. Narrowing his eyes with a faint smile, he set Xiao Xun down and asked in a measured tone, “What do you know about this Professor Lin Deng?”
Xiao Xun coughed, clutching his throat. Xiao Yang, shedding his earlier aggressive demeanor, placed a hand gently on Xiao Xun’s shoulder and pulled an orange gummy candy from his pocket. “Why don’t you tell Uncle Liu?”
In truth, Xiao Xun knew nothing about Lin Deng, but if he didn’t come up with something on the spot, he’d be in trouble. Fortunately, regarding Lin Deng’s personal life, Bai Chunian had mentioned a bit about Lin Deng and Ai Lian’s college romance when sharing intelligence within the group—this would serve as a perfect starting point.
The flow of time within their space was much faster than in the outside world; apart from them, time continued to pass normally for everyone else.
In the next room, Han Xingqian was writing a medical report for his sister-in-law when a faint static suddenly crackled through the invisible earpiece in his ear—so faint that even Bai Chunian didn’t notice it.
But Han Xingqian’s hearing had been honed through his practice of listening to heartbeats; even the slightest noise would trigger an automatic analysis in his mind.
Han Xingqian looked up and saw his sister-in-law staring at him, her gaze shifted slightly to the left, as if she were fixated on his ear.
The invisible communicator was attached inside the canal of his left ear. Han Xingqian remained composed on the surface, but inwardly he worried that she had noticed something.
So he opened the second compartment of the medical kit and rummaged inside, where he kept disposable syringes and surgical scalpels.
His sister-in-law immediately looked tense. She anxiously rubbed her abdomen and frowned, asking, “Doctor, is my condition serious?”
“Don’t worry. ” Han Xingqian closed the compartment of the medical case. “I’m just changing my gloves.”
His sister-in-law finally relaxed a little.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Song. Please rest for a moment; I must excuse myself.” Han Xingqian stood up and bowed slightly, then walked quickly out to adjust the position of his hidden communicator and check on Xiao Xun’s condition in the lobby.
“It’s fine, go ahead. I’m all right. I’m just a little tired. Please come to my bedroom later.” His sister-in-law, Song Feng, watched the doctor’s hasty retreat, gently stroking her swollen belly as she let out a soft sigh.
On his way to the lobby, Han Xingqian whispered into his communicator, “Xiao Bai, do you guys still have time to reposition the sniper rifle magazine?”
At that moment, Bai Chunian was rushing toward the factory. The situation was urgent; he had no time to identify the faint static on the communicator, let alone listen to Han Xingqian’s words. He simply replied hurriedly, “No.”
“I suspect that Miss Song Feng has X-ray vision.”
Bai Chunian fell silent for a moment. “Yes… the Lingti Gland. Her species’ evolutionary path favors speed and vision, so X-ray vision is a possibility. But we don’t have time to turn back. You’ll have to figure out a way to relocate on your own. Why hasn’t Xiao Xun said anything for so long? Go check on him right now.”
They were on their way to the factory to assist Lu Yan and Lan Xing when the two youngsters had already encountered Gagantel; now that contact had been lost, Bai Chunian felt uneasy.
“Lan Bo, stop pulling me!” Bai Chunian suddenly shouted.
At some point, Lan Bo had pulled a thin chain from the collar around Bai Chunian’s neck. He gripped it in his hand and gave it a sharp tug, causing Bai Chunian’s throat to tighten painfully.
Bai Chunian had plenty on his mind at the moment; he merely glared at Lan Bo to tell him to stop fooling around, without saying much else.
Lan Bo, having been glared at for no reason, felt a bit put out and glared back: “Don’t take your frustration out on me.”
Bai Chunian beckoned Lan Bo over, then they slipped into the birch grove to avoid being seen by others, running in a straight line toward the factory location Lu Yan had sent.
But the Lingti Clan’s estate was truly vast; the straight-line distance from the birch grove to the factory was a full sixteen kilometers—a journey that couldn’t be covered in just two or three minutes, even by car.
“Don’t say a word.” Bai Chunian made a shushing gesture, then focused intently on the faint sounds coming from the communicator.
A new signal came in—it was Lu Yan’s backup channel. Heavy breathing filled the line, accompanied by an echo.
The breathing continued for a long time before someone finally spoke.
Lu Yan’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d just been through a chase: “Brother Chu, we’ve been cornered in the heat chamber. It’s extremely hot in here. The Gantel monsters are afraid of high temperatures—they can’t come in. Lan Xing is badly injured right now, and the bomb is still on me. I’m going to crawl through the ventilation duct to set it off.”
Bai Chunian’s expression darkened: “No way. Get back out here, you stupid rabbit. Who gave you permission to act on your own?”
Lu Yan insisted, “The heating chamber is close to both the storage room and the mononene production lab. I just need to crawl to the central area.”
“You’ve already gone head-to-head with Gantel? Can you just crawl through the ventilation ducts in the thermal chamber? If a single spark flies, the bomb on your body could blow you both to bits. Get out of there. And ‘severely injured’? How severe is that? Didn’t Red Crab teach you how to report your condition? With your current combat readiness, what other missions do you think you’re qualified for? Get out of there!”
Although Lu Yan’s J1 ability, “Hideout of the Cunning Hare,” was indeed well-suited for planting bombs, Bai Chunian had never been entirely confident in his capabilities. Moreover, driven by a complex mix of emotions, he didn’t want Lu Yan or Bi Lanxing to suffer even the slightest injury.
Since the test subject Gagantel had appeared, it meant that members of Institute 109 had already arrived at the Lingti Estate to guard the factory and raw materials. While giving instructions to Lu Yan, Bai Chunian sent a request for backup to headquarters. The remaining field agents from the Special Operations Unit’s Search Division, currently on other missions, would be dispatched to the Lingti Estate to assist with the demolition operation.
This mission was proving far more difficult than anticipated. Bai Chunian felt he shouldn’t have brought three (recently promoted) trainees along; once the team scattered, he wouldn’t be able to protect every single one of them.
Lu Yan’s next words were extremely muffled; Bai Chunian couldn’t make them out clearly. It seemed the communicator had malfunctioned again.
“Just how hot is it over there… the communicator’s actually melting… Damn it, let’s get moving.”
The stealth communicator was merely a tiny chip attached to the ear canal; while waterproof, it wasn’t heat-resistant, making it difficult to use in harsh environments. This time, to avoid detection, everyone had traveled light, leaving behind any equipment that might be scanned.
Just then, Bai Chunian’s neck tightened suddenly as Lan Bo tugged on the collar again to remind him.
Bai Chunian was already frazzled and snapped impatiently, “Stop pulling on me. You’re choking me.”
“If I don’t keep you in check, who’s going to stop you once you lose it?”
Bai Chunian took a deep breath. “I’m not like that. I know what I’m doing.”
“That pearl is seriously affecting your state of mind. I don’t think it was a coincidence that you saw the photo of it… You care a lot about these humans, don’t you? You’d be heartbroken if this squad were wiped out by the Lingti Clan, right? So stop thinking about other things and focus on figuring out a solution.”
Bai Chunian gave a wry smile. It turned out that even the slightest dip in his condition was immediately picked up by Lan Bo’s keen intuition.
Come to think of it, it was true. The appearance of the photo of the immortal spirit was highly suspicious, as if it had been deliberately placed in such a conspicuous spot to mess with his mind.
Bai Chunian calmed down and pursed his lips in thought.
“They’re pushing you toward deterioration,” Lan Bo said flatly.
Bai Chunian’s body trembled slightly.
The Institute knew the physical condition of every test subject better than anyone. Bai Chunian had already reached Level 9 of the Maturity Stage; even the slightest emotional fluctuation could trigger a deterioration. He had witnessed firsthand in the International Prison how the Pastry Chef had deteriorated from a low-level bee into an unstoppable, terrifying test subject. If the Institute was pushed to the limit, it would absolutely be capable of such a thing. If the Divine Messenger were to degenerate, the entire world would turn against him. If it came to endangering the Ocean, even Lan Bo would have to kill him with his own hands.
This photo of the pearl was a warning.
Lan Bo’s tail tip curled around Bai Chunian’s calf and rubbed gently. “You want to be a dad? You’re not old enough yet. Wait until you’re a little older, and you’ll have everything.”
Bai Chunian finally calmed down completely. He turned around and hugged Lan Bo, gently inhaling the soothing pheromones from the back of his neck. “ “I get it. Even the research institute is making a move, yet the Puppet Masters haven’t lifted a finger. I don’t think they’re unconnected to this. I’ll take care of them one by one—no one’s getting away. Let’s go.”
The pharmaceutical factory’s heated chamber.
Certain raw material bacteria depend on high temperatures to survive, so the factory necessarily has a heated chamber where the temperature can reach up to 100 degrees Celsius to preserve specific ingredients.
Lu Yan helped Bi Lanxing to a corner, then went to the temperature control panel to adjust the settings, turning the heat up.
“You rest for a moment; I’ll check things out.” Without pausing, Lu Yan leaped to the steel door of the heated chamber and peered through the tempered glass.
Outside the door, more than twenty people stood crammed together, all wearing pharmaceutical factory uniforms. Their faces were stiff and ashen, and their fingernails were extremely long as they clawed at the iron door with all their might. Their strength was immense, shaking the door and the wall it was attached to. Soon, cracks appeared in the wall, and they violently smashed the door open.
Lu Yan was knocked onto his back by the sheer force of the impact. The stiff figures swarmed him indiscriminately; he managed to dodge one only to be caught by another. Several of them grabbed his right arm and one of his legs—their strength far exceeded that of ordinary humans. In just a few seconds, Lu Yan felt a searing, tearing pain in his groin and armpits; they were trying to tear his arms and legs right off his body.
Bi Lanxing was severely injured and had lost too much blood; he was slumped in the corner, nearly unconscious. Lu Yan crawled frantically away from Bi Lanxing, dragging those dangerous objects away from him.
The temperature inside the room rose rapidly, reaching 53 degrees Celsius within minutes. The skin of the two zombies closest to the heating plate began to melt, and their movements grew sluggish.
Bi Lanxing had already reviewed the detailed records. Test Subject No. 436, Gagantel, had a final code of 6, indicating a summoning ability. He could assimilate ordinary people within his range into zombies in the form of a virus, and they would obey his commands; this ability was irreversible.
However, these summoned creatures have a weakness: they fear high temperatures. At 53 degrees Celsius, the virus loses its infectivity, manifesting externally as the zombies’ skin melting. When the temperature reaches 65 degrees Celsius, the proteins denature, the virus is completely inactivated, and the infected die.
Lu Yan, gritting his teeth against the pain, lunged violently toward the heating plate, dragging the remaining zombies along with him. A wave of heat washed over him, and the limbs that had been tightly gripped were finally freed.
Without pausing to check the burns on the back of his hand from the heating plate, Lu Yan, once he was certain these zombies were no longer a threat, stumbled back to the corner of the wall, knelt beside Bi Lanxing, and quickly began to undress.
A nearly nine-centimeter-long gash had appeared on Bi Lanxing’s chest. They had come face-to-face with a Gagantler—that massive creature wielding a broad iron blade. As the blade swung toward him, Bi Lanxing had only managed to cast a single Poison Ivy Armor spell on Lu Yan.
Bi Lanxing’s breathing was even weaker than before.
“Wake up, don’t fall asleep.” Lu Yan slapped his face, deftly stripped off his own clothes, and tore the camouflage vest he was wearing into strips to bind around Bi Lanxing’s wound to stop the bleeding.
Bi Lanxing half-opened his eyes. The little rabbit in front of him was bare-chested, his hair damp with sweat and plastered to his face. The fur on his rabbit ears had clumped together in tufts. He was very fair-skinned; Bi Lanxing had expected the delicate, fair-skinned little rabbit to have skin as smooth as milk, but he hadn’t expected to see two symmetrical layers of thick calluses on his shoulders, just below his chest, These were the spots where the stock of his Uzi rested.
Lu Yan’s bandaging technique was very skilled; it seemed he hadn’t slacked off during Han Xingqian’s first-aid class after all, but had taken his notes seriously.
Realizing Bi Lanxing was staring at him, Lu Yan’s face flushed red: “What are you looking at? I’m not even wearing any clothes.”
Bi Lanxing raised his hand to touch the callus beneath Lu Yan’s shoulder, probing it cautiously with a hint of surprise, as if he’d glimpsed a different side of Lu Yan.
He knew Lu Yan was most skilled with dual submachine guns, often wielding two Uzi’s at once. Because the Uzi had a high rate of fire and a small magazine, it was exceptionally effective in close combat; however, once the ammunition ran out, teammates wouldn’t be able to provide timely support, Lu Yan had to ensure he could defend himself and deliver a one-hit kill at close range. His accuracy at short range was a perfect 100%, and behind that accuracy lay day-in, day-out training. The recoil of a submachine gun is far greater than that of a pistol, which is why it had left such enduring marks on his body.
Lu Yan was the most dedicated of them all. He had always known that the glory of his forebears placed immense pressure on him, and he desperately wanted to step out from under the shadow cast by Yan Yi and Lu Shangjin. This little bunny was truly a force to be reckoned with.
“It’s so hot…” After bandaging Bi Lanxing, Lu Yan put his black combat jacket back on and went to adjust the temperature in the heated room. If the temperature dropped below 53 degrees Celsius, the stiffened infected lurking outside would burst in—but at that temperature, they themselves wouldn’t last long before dehydrating.
“The stealth communicator melted in the heat. We’ll have to rely on Brother Chu to track us down using the locator.” Lu Yan held Bi Lanxing close, wrapping a bandage around his waist and tying it in a knot. Then, he released a faint, honey-scented pheromone to soothe his wounds, whispering gently, “They won’t be able to get in for a while. I’m here. Don’t be afraid, okay?”
Bi Lanxing’s body was still warm, yet radiated a cool, plant-like chill.
“Give me your hand.” After bandaging the wound on his chest, Lu Yan moved on to his palm. A blunt blade had sliced through the center of Bi Lanxing’s palm, exposing the stark white bone; it was unclear if any tendons had been severed.
“Once I’m done bandaging you, I have to go plant the bomb. Don’t dawdle.” Lu Yan urged softly, though there was no impatience in his eyes.
“Brother Chu said we should withdraw.”
“He’s thinking of our safety. If we don’t pull out, we’ll get the other teammates into trouble. I’d definitely pull out, but he’s only telling me to leave because he’s afraid I’ll get hurt. If that happens, our whole mission will have been for nothing. The entire plan—starting from when Brother Chu sent people to buy up the reagents and deplete their supplies—will all have been in vain… Why? If our success is snatched away at the very last moment, just because of me… I’d feel worse than if I were dead.”
“But if you go on your own and something happens, Brother Chu will take full responsibility.”
“I…” Lu Yan held back for a long time, her eyes reddening. “I’ll definitely pull this off. None of you believe in me. Do I really look like some stupid rabbit? Brother Chu—Bai Chunian—he’s the one who trusts me the least.”
“Don’t cry.” Bi Lanxing raised his hand, which had just been bandaged with camouflage cloth. Several dark green vine shoots slowly sprouted from the wound, growing and twisting until they matured, forming buds, and finally blooming into a cluster of red flowers.
Lu Yan ate two large blossoms, tears streaming down his face.
“Don’t eat them… These are roses that grew from the bones of my hand. I’ve always wanted to give them to you.” Bi Lanxing struggled to steady himself by gripping Lu Yan’s knees, while his other hand rested on the Free Bird badge pinned to his chest. His voice was hoarse as he said, “Communication with the captain has been lost. As deputy captain, I order you to carry out the mission.”
Lu Yan paused for a moment, hugged him tightly, then turned and picked up the bomb case, running toward the ventilation shaft.
“I’ll cover you.” Bi Lanxing raised his hand; vines grew wildly, propelling Lu Yan into the shaft.