“That won’t do either.” Bai Chunian wiped Lan Bo’s eyelids with his thumb. “I can’t let you lose your delicate nature after you’re with me.”
“Mm.” Lan Bo kissed him, then let go and flopped onto the bed, resting his hands behind his head. “Then why did Lando go and snatch that lousy rock? I didn’t want to kill him—he should count himself lucky. If my clan had been there, I would’ve killed him just to maintain my dignity.”
“Last time I ran into Eris at the Red Lynx breeding facility, Black Panther suddenly stepped in to break up the fight. At first, I thought he was protecting Eris, but when Eris used ‘As If on the Brink of a Precipice’ against me, he stopped her too. It seemed his only goal was to keep neither of us from dying first.” Bai Chunian knew exactly what was going on. “You should have taken that gem back. He snatched the ruby—most likely to rebuild Eris’s mechanical core.”
“Do you want Eris to die?”
“Not exactly. But if he dies—and it’s not me who kills him—I’d feel a bit better. After all, we’re the same kind…” Bai Chunian picked up his laptop, logged into the IOA’s internal network, and scrolled to the most wanted criminals section at the top. Among the neatly arranged photos of fugitives, he found those of Eris and Qishenggu and pointed them out to Lan Bo.
“I work for the IOA. Whoever the Boss tells me to take out, I have to do it. Eris and Qishenggu are both on the IOA’s most-wanted list. Unless they hide away for the rest of their lives and stop causing trouble, the Boss has already shown more than enough tolerance toward the test subjects—he definitely won’t put up with them.” ” Bai Chunian bit his lip. “Back then, I went ahead and blew up the Red Lynx breeding facility on my own. The Boss didn’t hold it against me, and I can’t be so ungrateful.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty. Yan Yi doesn’t hold your mistakes against you because you can do more for him. Your value outweighs the effort they’d have to expend to cover up your crimes, and your loyalty outweighs the trouble you’ve caused.” ” Lan Bo kept his eyes half-closed as he reached out to touch Bai Chunian’s waist, gently rolling up the hem of his hospital gown with his fingertips. “I won’t deny that they feel familial affection and gratitude toward you, but humans are driven by self-interest. Once you grow up, you’ll understand: their relationships are bound by interests, and when those interests clash, war breaks out—it’s always been that way.”
“Lan Bo. Don’t say things like that.” ” Bai Chunian found Lan Bo’s hand resting on his waist, pressed his palm against the back of it, and interlaced their fingers.
“Why can’t I say it? I want to teach you to understand these things.” Lan Bo propped his chin on one hand and slowly closed his eyes. “Humans are too selfish, and test subjects are too grateful. You two should balance each other out. There shouldn’t be just one species dominating the land in this world—I can’t stand it.”
“Then why were you willing to go out to sea with the IOA ship to clean up the submarine lab? I heard from Brother Han that you even let the crew kiss your fingertips.”
Lan Bo’s cheeks flushed slightly. He buried his face in the pillow and mumbled, “The sea is forgiving. For those willing to become its followers, I will protect them, however insignificant they may be.”
“You’re such a tough talker.” Bai Chunian reached out and ruffled Lan Bo’s hair. “You must be tired. Does your body ache? Let me give you a massage.”
Bai Chunian placed his right hand on Lan Bo’s waist to massage him, while his left hand tapped the keyboard to adjust the live feeds from several Search Division agents.
Lan Bo lay lazily on the bed, letting Bai Chunian’s hands gently knead his waist. The Alpha’s palms were firm and strong, making the massage exceptionally soothing. As drowsiness gradually washed over him, he buried his face in the pillow and closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Bai Chunian released a wisp of soothing pheromones to lull him to rest; the rich, intoxicating aroma of brandy was heady.
Tick-tock.
Among the twenty-plus real-time video windows running in the computer’s background, one lit up with a green light and beeped. This signaled that an agent had completed their mission and submitted an online request to end the operation. Bai Chunian needed to review the mission results before deciding whether to assign follow-up tasks.
Bai Chunian clicked on the window, which showed that Lu Yan had submitted his mission report. In the live feed, Lu Yan jumped up and wrapped his arms around Bi Lanxing’s neck, pulling the Alpha up to his own height. He cheerfully flashed a “Yay!” gesture near the other’s cheek, while Bi Lanxing, looking utterly exasperated, kept watch on the surroundings for him.
Their mission took place in Jiutan City. The assassination target visited Jiutan Mountain every year at this time to burn incense and recite sutras; having committed too many bloody atrocities, he easily turned to faith for psychological comfort.
They had not yet left Jiutan Mountain; in the distance, the landscape remained lush and forested, with several temples scattered artfully among the hills. Tourists walked in small groups along the stone paths; perhaps because of the distance, the figures on the mountain trails looked as tiny as insects.
“Done. How about it? Hurry up.” Lu Yan waved his tactical dagger at the camera, casually scraping the dried blood crust from the blade against the chest of his combat uniform before sheathing it back into the leather holster on his leg.
“Stop showing off. Hurry back. Even a simple assassination mission like this has taken you two days.” Bai Chunian scolded him, yet couldn’t help but curve his lips upward, revealing his sharp canine teeth.
“Just the trip alone takes a whole day! It wouldn’t be any faster if you came!” Lu Yan was so annoyed his rabbit ears stood straight up. Bi Lanxing reached one hand into the frame, ruffled Lu Yan’s head, and pressed his ears back down. His voice, coming from off-camera, was a little quiet: “All right, Yan, the plane picking us up has arrived. Stop messing around. Let Brother Chu get some rest. Be a good boy.”
Sitting in front of the screen, Bai Chunian stroked his chin and chuckled, “Oh my, sharing a room really makes a difference. Lanxing, tell me—is that little bunny’s tail ball nice to squeeze?”
Bi Lanxing choked on his words, coughed twice, and awkwardly looked away. Before he could say anything, Lu Yan’s face flushed red, and he jumped up and down holding the button camera: “ “You’re making that up! There isn’t!”
Knowing he couldn’t be hit through the screen, Bai Chunian loved nothing more than teasing this little bunny until he got all ruffled up and angry.
However, in the top right corner of the live feed was a temple. It was too far away to be seen clearly, so it appeared tiny in the lens. Through the shaky footage, Bai Chunian noticed that the building seemed to tremble slightly.
“What’s that?” Bai Chunian’s smile vanished instantly as he fixed his gaze on the temple in the upper right corner and zoomed in on the image.
The building was indeed shaking.
“What?” Lu Yan turned to look and noticed the trembling temple as well. He scratched his cheek in confusion and pointed at it. “Lanxing? What is that?” ”
Suddenly, a deafening roar erupted from the distant temple. The earth cracked and shifted as a massive, elongated serpent’s head slowly pushed its way up from the ground—over twenty meters tall, three times the height of the temple. Chunks of earth slid from its head, and the stone path winding through the mountains cracked under the shock, plummeting into the gorge. Immediately afterward, the trembling temple soared into the air, as if lifted from the ground by some unseen force.
The giant serpent let out a roar that pierced the heavens. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, ripples of vibration spreading out in concentric circles. The temple was uprooted, and a colossal black turtle with a twenty-meter-long neck hoisted half a mountain onto its back, letting out a deafening roar.
The massive, gray-and-white turtle began crawling with the mountain peak on its back. With a single stomp of its colossal feet—as thick as palace columns—it crushed a prayer hall to pieces. Pilgrims in the mountains screamed and scattered in all directions, while a few daredevils continued filming the scene.
Although Lu Yan and his team were far away, they still felt the violent impact. Bi Lanxing used vines to carry Lu Yan as they raced through the mountains; several times, the intense vibrations nearly flung them into the canyon.
“You go evacuate the pilgrims on the mountain,” Bai Chunian said, furrowing his brow slightly as he gave a low command. “I’ll send the agent closest to you to provide support.”
“Got it. Don’t worry.”
Bai Chunian sent a request for backup and their location to the other agents in the Search Division, reported the incident to the team leader, and forwarded the video footage from earlier to the Technical Department.
The Technical Department replied that this was the spectral manifestation of Test Subject 3014, “Baxia Dragon-Turtle,” derived from the “Death God Summoning” ability of the Immortal Specter M2. Two years ago, this test subject had been dismembered, incinerated, and destroyed due to its excessive size and overwhelming strength.
Immediately afterward, Feng Yue sent a message: “Brother Chu, I can’t make it over. I’ve got one here too—a centipede emitting poisonous fumes, grayish-white in color, crawling toward the downtown area. Don’t worry about me; I can handle this.”
“A centipede… that’s the one that died at the Red Fox breeding facility… another Undead Summoning Entity…” Bai Chunian gritted his teeth, cursing himself for being ordered by the doctor not to leave headquarters. He nudged Lan Bo beside him, “Honey, wake up. Go help them out.”
Lan Bo had clashed with the Black Panther during the mission to retrieve the gem. After all, it was an A3-class Messenger-type experimental subject—even Lan Bo couldn’t easily overpower it. She’d expended a great deal of energy and was now fast asleep, her pheromones weakened by exhaustion. Curled up in her pillow, she mumbled, “Sticky…”
Unable to find anyone immediately, Bai Chunian suddenly thought of Professor Lin Deng, who was staying (under house arrest) at the IOA. It would be good if he could help with this urgent matter.
——
Elian’s private residence was located in a villa district an hour’s drive from the institute’s headquarters. She rarely went home and usually lived at the institute, but she had been returning more frequently lately because she had locked Xiao Yang inside.
Xiao Yang wasn’t exactly on a hunger strike; he just hadn’t had much of an appetite. He often stared blankly out the window at the garden, lost in thought.
The bedroom door creaked open. Ailian walked in wearing a silk nightgown. Uncharacteristically, she wasn’t wearing heavy makeup or high heels, and she didn’t look as intimidating as usual.
Ailian brought in two glasses of lemon water, sat down across from him at the coffee table, pushed one toward Xiao Yang, then crossed her legs, propped her chin in her hand, and gazed out at the garden through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The two sat in silence for a moment. Ailian was the first to break the tense atmosphere, saying, “ “I’ve given your suggestion some serious thought. We could assign a team of specialized researchers to act as trainers, turning the non-aggressive experimental subjects—both the young ones and those in the cultivation phase—into pets for sale. That way, we wouldn’t have to destroy them. What do you think?”
Xiao Yang’s eyes crinkled slightly as he gazed gently out the window. “Whatever you say. I’ll leave it up to you. After all, you’re the boss, and it’s not my place to meddle in your business plans.”
Aileen frowned, tapping the glass of her cup with her bright red fingernails. “What exactly do you want? We’re both at this stage in life—we’re not little children throwing tantrums anymore.”
Xiao Yang smiled as he pushed a resignation letter toward her.
“I’m quitting. Let me leave the country and find a place to retire. I’ve earned enough money living in constant fear. I’m getting old; I can’t handle such high-stakes work anymore.”
“You—” Ailian was about to explode, but forced herself to hold her temper. Before entering, she had repeatedly warned herself not to resort to violence and to communicate calmly, but it seemed she had failed again.
“Stay.” Elaine leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and laid out her terms. “I’ll cease all cooperation with the Lingjuan Clan, and I’ll help you eliminate the current heads of the Lingjuan Clan.”
Xiao Yang’s eyes flickered. He hated the Lingjuan Clan, but he was also fed up with Elaine’s condescending attitude during negotiations—they were really no different from one another.
“You still don’t get it,” Xiao Yang chuckled softly and sighed. “You built your fortune on test subjects, and year after year, you’ve secured a spot on the rich list. But just as they can propel you to the heights, they can just as easily cast you into hell. Teacher Ailian, you place too much faith in your luck.”
Aileen was getting a little annoyed, but her phone suddenly rang. Before she had a chance to snap, she pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
It was a surveillance file sent by her AI assistant, Deng.
Aileen coldly pressed the play button, her face gradually turning from rosy to ashen.
In the surveillance footage, several researchers in hazmat suits were bringing the immortal specter—frozen by the liquid nitrogen capture net—back to headquarters and locking it once again into the transparent observation chamber deep within the facility. These observation chambers were extremely sturdy; it was impossible to break out from the inside, and only the researchers’ irises could open the hydraulic locks.
The immortal spirit lay quietly in the observation chamber, a white cloth draped over its head, still carrying the backpack it had brought with it. The researchers had checked—the pearl was safely inside the backpack, and everything appeared normal.
The surveillance feed remained unchanged for a long time. Losing patience, Aileen fast-forwarded to the end.
Toward the end of the video, a pool of viscous liquid—apparently deep red—began to seep slowly from the corner of the surveillance screen.
A snow-white fingertip crawled rapidly across the screen from the edge, covered in the deep red liquid, leaving a crimson trail on the floor.
The nimble hand bounced onto the control panel outside the Immortal Undead Observation Chamber, facing the iris lock on the hydraulic door, and revealed a blood-soaked eyeball clenched in its palm.
“Hehe.”
A ghostly laugh suddenly echoed through the previously silent video.