A stench of blood hung in the collapsed room. He Suowei’s left arm was pinned by a broken beam, his spine supporting the weight of fractured ceiling beams, barely leaving space for two teammates to move.
The He brothers released calming pheromones to help stop the bleeding and ease the pain. He Wenxiao was first to crawl out, straining to lift bricks off He Suowei. He Wenyi gnawed the steel rebar pinning him down. The bite strength of the North American gray wolves, enhanced in their glandular genes, was enough to bend even heavily rusted rebar until it finally snapped.
Still, He Suowei’s arm remained impaled. With no anesthesia or proper tools, neither of them dared remove it forcibly.
“I’ll do it myself. Step back.” He Suowei’s face was ashen; blood loss and pain had stiffened his body. He grabbed a slim cigar, lit it, closed his eyes, conserving strength, and slowly lifted his arm along the direction of the broken rebar.
Dirty blood and flesh clung to the steel as he yelled, pulling his arm free. Cold sweat ran down his face; his damaged bulletproof vest was soaked.
The two teammates rushed to his side, releasing pheromones frantically. Though alpha-to-alpha soothing was weaker, it was better than nothing.
He Wenxiao licked the bleeding wound on He Suowei’s arm; He Wenyi cleaned his bullet wound on the abdomen. If they had tails, they would be tucked between their legs, trembling.
Wolves are a strictly hierarchical species; the instinct to obey their leader was ingrained in their genes. Their actions weren’t for sterilization or pain relief, but a desperate display of submission and guilt to avoid banishment.
“Enough.” He Suowei grabbed He Wenyi by the hair, forcing him to look up. “It’s not your fault. Get up and find the exit.”
He Wenyi reluctantly lifted his head. His lips were scraped by the rebar, bleeding, but he licked the blood back in with his tongue.
“Remember to get a tetanus shot later,” He Suowei said, pressing his vest to prevent his abdominal wound from tearing further, struggling to stand. “Let’s go. Follow Bai Shi’s instructions and find Room 28—that should be the exit.”
“I’ll go myself,” He Wenxiao said. “Wenyi stay with the captain; I’ll lead the PBB troops inside.”
He Suowei shook his head. “Separating is too dangerous. I can still move—stay together.”
“Understood.”
Bai Chunian lingered a while longer in the first room, the cultivation chamber, examining files. Though the 324 replication only yielded limited actionable info, careful review still uncovered useful data.
He found a folder labeled Special Operations Weapon Coding Rules, detailing the numbering system for experimental subjects: each number consisted of three sets of digits—first for gland type, second for mimicry degree, third for basic abilities.
Using Experimental Subject 1513, the Snake Woman, as an example: the first digit “1” represents a snake-type gland, the second digit “5” represents 50%, or half mimicry—her lower body being a snake tail—and “13” indicates her basic ability is target state transformation, which includes petrification.
By the same logic, based on known subjects, Lan Bo’s special weapon number is 857: 8 represents an aquatic-fish-type gland, 5 indicates half mimicry (since his lower body is a fish tail), and 7 likely represents some kind of electric discharge ability.
The No-Form Stalker’s special weapon number is 324: 3 possibly denotes a draconid-type gland, 2 represents 20% or one-fifth mimicry (hence the single tail), and 4 signifies amphibious/stealth-related abilities.
This numbering system is crucial intelligence: when capturing unknown experimental subjects, deducing their physical form and basic abilities from their assigned number can provide vital tactical advantage.
Bai Chunian memorized these rules, scanned the file racks, quickly reviewing most of the valuable information before moving on.
After wandering and searching, he finally located the 2:00 a.m. room: the surgical modification chamber of Research Institute 109. Its layout resembled a normal hospital operating room but with chains, half-height iron cages, handcuffs, and collars.
Bai Chunian picked up a blood-stained electronic collar from the floor, pressed the button to open it, then closed the loop; the red light came on and it could no longer be opened. He touched his own neck, faintly recalling a circular mark slightly darker than the surrounding skin.
Two hours passed. Bai Chunian next reached the 3:00 a.m. room, the “Training Chamber.” Transparent eco-boxes with reinforced glass walls were splattered with large patches of blood. Tiny bloody handprints marked the glass corners, like a child desperately banging on the walls, trying to escape.
This was normal—the subjects’ regenerative abilities were extraordinary. Training involved placing two subjects in the same eco-box to fight each other; losing subjects were injected with higher concentrations of catalysts. Bai Chunian remained unmoved.
The 4:00 a.m. room was the “Ward”: white beds and sheets, with projections of birds and forests outside the window. A child’s drawing rested on the windowsill, “Toy House” scrawled crookedly in crayon. The drawing showed blocks arranged exactly as in the author’s diagram: 11 blue blocks, 11 red blocks, and 6 yellow blocks.
The 5:00 a.m. room, the “Testing Room,” contained only a notice:
“Experimental Subject 324 did not meet cultivation expectations; dispose of accordingly.”
Stamped in red, “FAIL,” with a roughly signed name, barely legible: “Eileen.”
6:00 a.m. – Visitor Room of the Institute
7:00 a.m. – Institute Bathroom
8:00 a.m. – Institute Imaging Room
9:00 a.m. – Researcher Office
10:00 a.m. – Injection Room, with a sterile tray holding a ketamine anesthetic
With each room he passed, Bai Chunian’s expression grew steadily more grim. Upon reuniting with Lan Bo back in the crematorium room, all eleven blue rooms had been pushed together and arranged according to the diagram. All doors now connected, allowing free movement; the sequence of blue rooms was fixed as if pinned in place.
Exhausted, Bai Chunian leaned against the crematorium and closed his eyes. Lan Bo rested his head near him, coiling his tail around Bai Chunian’s shoulder, tail tip gently stroking his hair and releasing calming pheromones, just like in the breeding chamber before.
“Not feeling well?” Lan Bo asked.
“No.” Bai Chunian rested his hand behind his head. “Just recalling childhood… makes me a little nauseous.”
“You spent three years in Research Institute 109. How was it?”
Lan Bo recalled calmly, “Well-fed… everything was fresh.”
Bai Chunian smiled with closed eyes. “And here I was, slightly worried about you.”
Soon, he noticed something unusual—a freshly bitten apple appeared beside him.
“Stage reward again,” Bai Chunian said, picking it up and addressing the empty air. “One more, we’re two people—can’t split it.”
Another bitten apple soon appeared. Lan Bo ate one, leaving Bai Chunian with half the core and some saliva.
“Any more?” Bai Chunian asked the air.
A third bitten apple dropped into his hand. All three were identical in color, size, shape, and bite mark—clearly replicated from a single template.
Bai Chunian leisurely ate, snapping his fingers at the air: “Let’s make a deal: release the hostages, I’ll clear the way for your exit, maybe lend you some money to start a factory making bootleg figures. Everyone profits, no need for more games—I’m tired. I just want to go home and watch TV.”
The room remained silent; 324 gave no response.
Bai Chunian stood, estimated the time, and began checking the red rooms in order according to the diagram. There were also eleven red rooms:
12:00 – Inside the public Santana taxi
13:00 – Back kitchen of Zhengyuan Restaurant
14:00 – Main banquet hall of Zhengyuan Restaurant
15:00 – Liren Square
16:00 – Construction site
17:00 – First floor of the abandoned building
18:00 – Second floor of the abandoned building
19:00 – Xinyuan Community
20:00 – Bedroom in Xinyuan Residential Building
21:00 – Bedroom Closet
22:00 – Dark, nearly lightless empty room
After arranging all eleven red rooms in sequence, the sliding rails locked automatically; the rooms could no longer be moved.
Bai Chunian and Lan Bo inspected each room inside and out. Outside, they found three corpses crushed by moving rooms.
During the process of pushing each room into sequence, Bai Chunian noticed that the arrangement of the eleven red rooms differed somewhat from that of the eleven blue rooms. However, since he couldn’t get an intuitive view of their overall layout, he could not determine the exact differences.
Unexpectedly, in the 22:00 room, Bai Chunian found the third note left by the author. The paper matched the previous two, marked “Page Three” at the top right. The note read:
“I have already understood the secret of this little house. The master of the house is exceedingly arrogant; he seems to be demonstrating against someone—or perhaps searching for someone. But he has no name, only a numerical code. I suspect the person he seeks knows his code. We are trapped in the Toy House, and cannot find the exit for the time being.”
The handwriting remained neat up to this point, but a subsequent line was extremely scribbled:
“Mercenaries, hostage, armed, seven people.”
The sudden mention of mercenaries immediately made Bai Chunian think of Enko and his team.
Lan Bo said, “When we arrived, I heard mention of two squads.”
At the small house’s exterior, Lan Bo had encountered one group of mercenaries. Their leader, Black Scorpion Alpha, had been communicating with their employer and mentioned that two squads had already entered the house. In other words, besides Enko’s team, another squad was present inside the house, now holding hostages in an unknown location.
Bai Chunian grimaced. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Lan Bo lazily scratched his claws. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
Bai Chunian knelt patiently before him. “From now on, any intel you hear, tell me immediately.” In a team, withholding information can endanger everyone. Lan Bo had never participated in teamwork before, so it was normal that he didn’t understand these basic principles. But Bai Chunian’s tactical plans were precise down to each action of every team member, and errors came at the cost of their lives.
Lan Bo frowned but, seeing the alpha’s seriousness, nodded. His tail tapped Bai Chunian’s head. “Don’t be mad.”
Bai Chunian immediately lost his temper, kneeling on the floor with a helpless laugh, showing half a sharp canine.
Exiting the red room area, they entered the yellow room zone on the far right. According to the diagram, there were six yellow rooms, numbered 23:00 to 28:00. Bai Chunian wondered how the No-Form Stalker perceived time, since a normal day has only 24 hours.
Entering the 23:00 room, the atmosphere changed dramatically. The walls were bright yellow, the ceiling hung soft star-shaped lights, the floor was covered with a shaggy carpet, and corners held pink rabbits and teddy bears. In the center, a small coffee table displayed a fully built block set, colors and arrangement matching the author’s description.
Bai Chunian slammed the wall, pushing the room into the first position of the yellow zone.
Moving to the next room, they encountered something previously unseen: the 24:00 room was nearly identical to the prior one, differing only in minor details. Its lighting came from two walls rather than star lights, and the ceiling appeared to be made of wooden planks.
Bai Chunian activated his communicator. “Captain He, are you still alive?”
After a few seconds, He replied, “Say two more words and I’m gone.”
Bai Chunian asked, “Have you gotten out yet?”
He: “Not yet, but our equipment can now receive signals. I just contacted the ground team. The Storm Unit has installed enough explosives outside, ready to blow the house once the hostages are rescued and execute 324 on the spot.”
“Don’t detonate it,” Bai Chunian said, staring at the wooden ceiling, lost in thought. “Send a team to Xinyuan Community in Tongkou City.”
He asked, “Why?”
“Precaution. Quickly.”
Suddenly, a muffled gunshot came from the next room.
Bai Chunian pressed his ear to the wall, listening. The walls were thick; aside from the gunshot, almost no voices could be heard. He couldn’t recklessly push the room, lest he alert the mercenaries and endanger the hostages.
Just as he was at a loss, a loud thud came from the adjacent room. Two rooms had misaligned slightly, leaving a narrow gap at the doorway.
Through the gap, voices became clear.
A coarse mercenary voice shouted, “Who the hell is banging on the walls?”
A young man replied laughingly, “Sorry, sorry, I tripped…”
“Damn omega, you still dare cause trouble? Behave!”
It sounded like the mercenary kicked the omega hard, knocking him near Bai Chunian’s location, leaving him on the ground, unable to rise.
Unexpectedly, a note suddenly flew through the gap:
“They installed explosives on the wall.”
The paper and handwriting matched the author’s previous notes.
Bai Chunian whispered, “Lan Bo, get ready to strike. Don’t let them blow the house up. Only use differentiation if absolutely necessary.”
Lan Bo pressed against the wall, claws digging small holles, tail swaying to maintain balance. His blue eyes narrowed into sharp lines, fixed on the doorway gap.
Bai Chunian stepped back, shoulder smashing against the wall, widening the gap. Lan Bo grabbed the frame, transforming into a streak of electric blue as he slipped into the opposite room.
Seventeen hostages crouched against the wall with hands over their heads. Three mercenaries holding micro-submachine guns watched over them. Suddenly, a humanoid figure wrapped in blue lightning moved along the wall into the doorway. The nearest mercenary had no time to react—Lan Bo’s claws flashed, slicing through his spine, killing him instantly.
The remaining two mercenaries immediately tried to release oppressive pheromones. Lan Bo, however, was unaffected by their weak alpha-level pressure. Before they could activate their j1 ability, he slashed both of their throats with his claws.
The bright, cozy yellow wallpaper was splattered with blood as Bai Chunian stepped into the room. He first scanned the furnishings, which were identical to the previous room, then went through the hostages one by one, lifting their heads to verify identities and count.
The last hostage he checked was an omega, with sharply upturned eyes, wearing a hat that pressed down a tangled mop of mid-length black hair. He had clearly been beaten by the mercenaries, his lip swollen with a bruise. Squinting at Bai Chunian, he chuckled, “Looks like not all cops these days are idiots—there are a couple with brains after all.”
“Lan Bo, go disable the bombs,” Bai Chunian instructed, tossing the author aside and brushing dirt from his hands. “You must be the writer, huh? Good. It’s thanks to a smart hostage that casualties weren’t worse—otherwise my Lan Bo would’ve had his pay docked.”
Before Bai Chunian finished speaking, Lan Bo had already begun sending strong electric currents through the surrounding rooms to short-circuit the bomb triggers. But they had arrived too late. The bomb in the farthest room wasn’t disabled in time; just one second before the current would have reached it, it detonated.
The explosion rocked the ground, shaking the entire underground structure.
“Tch,” Bai Chunian clicked his fingers. “What a bunch of idiots.”
According to the diagram, the twenty-eight cube-shaped rooms weren’t tightly packed; many gaps of unclear purpose were left between them. Even a single room’s detonation caused enough shock to collapse the voids throughout the subterranean complex.
Taking advantage of the foundation’s incomplete collapse, Bai Chunian forced open a doorway and drove the hostages out. “Move! You thrill-seekers chasing money, your lives are over if you linger—next time you’ll think twice!”
The author leaned in mysteriously, about to say something. He got out a “9” before Bai Chunian, annoyed, kicked him out of the doorway. The hostages scrambled after him in a panicked rush.
Lan Bo moved with the hostages, eliminating the four mercenaries who had planted bombs. He discovered that the explosives had been inside a safe, which contained a silver briefcase. Without hesitation, Lan Bo retrieved it and returned to Bai Chunian.
Captain He led the PBB Storm Unit to the exit to meet them. Once the hostages poured out, the exit completely collapsed.
The exit had been built inside the Hongfeng Mountain subway tunnel, heavily crowded with people. As the tunnel emergency stop activated, confused passengers surged out of the cars, causing utter chaos.
The hostages emerged as hundreds of pink hundred-dollar bills sprayed from the exit, raining down like a storm. The promised ten million reward from the No-Form Stalker was fulfilled, and the crowd of onlookers scrambled to grab the cash, while police and military personnel struggled to maintain order.
Medics and nurses hurried to strap Captain He onto a stretcher, bandaging him. He shouted at the other team members, “Wenxiao! Wenyi! They’re not out yet! Don’t blow it! Save the people first!”
The exit was sealed; the triangular-pyramid house shook and partially collapsed from the explosion. The entire complex became a sealed death trap.
Inside, debris continued to fall. Bai Chunian barely stood, bracing against a wall. Lan Bo squeezed back through a warped doorway, carrying the silver briefcase.
“Why are you back?” Bai Chunian asked, intending for Lan Bo to exit first.
“It was in the safe. Mercenaries wanted it,” Lan Bo said, handing over the briefcase.
Bai Chunian sat down, cautiously examining the briefcase. It was locked, with a scanner mounted on the front.
The No-Form Stalker’s rules stated that the first player to escape the exit would receive a ten million reward, and anyone escaping within twenty-four hours would receive a gift.
“I can’t remember how long we were in there,” Bai Chunian muttered. “Those endless stairs weren’t a prank—they were meant to confuse our sense of time. When he encountered international prison police, he mimicked the Sea Spider’s ability. The Penrose stairs are a geometric paradox, existing only in two dimensions. Our world is three-dimensional, and the Sea Spider’s ability essentially lowers dimensionality.”
Ignoring all that, Lan Bo placed his hand on the scanner.
The display read: “Congratulations! You found the exit in 12 hours, 35 minutes, 07 seconds. Please accept my token of appreciation.”
The briefcase automatically opened, revealing two compartments. One contained a green injection gun, labeled “horizontal development”, while the other was empty.
A note inside explained: “After injecting the HD serum, a companion ability related to your own gland type will be randomly generated.”
Bai Chunian frowned instinctively, closed the briefcase, and prepared to carry it away.
As he moved, he suddenly felt a tug on his clothes.
“Lan Bo, stop fooling around,” he said, focusing on the briefcase. He looked up and realized Lan Bo was already ahead.
Then Bai Chunian saw the threat: a sharp, long spike pointed straight at him.
It was Enko’s j1 ability—Vibrational Pierce. The No-Form Stalker was now in the room.
Bai Chunian reflexively activated his j1 ability Bone Steel, which promotes rapid division of gland cells, making his bones harder than any metal or alloy—more than sufficient to counter a Woodpecker-type piercing attack.
He raised his left arm to block, but the spike cut through his forearm like butter, embedding its tip deep in his shoulder, spraying blood.
“Shit… agh…” Bai Chunian staggered back five or six steps, slamming into the wall. Blood soaked his black vest, streaking the yellow wallpaper with a deep red mess.
Lan Bo immediately retreated. A rain of sharp spikes followed, forming a cage that blocked him five meters away from Bai Chunian. Lan Bo arched his back, scales turning a furious blood-red, roaring in defiance at the No-Form Stalker.
These weren’t ordinary spikes mimicked from Enko. They were the result of the No-Form Stalker using his m2 ability, “Mirror Domain Enhancement”, to amplify Bai Chunian’s Bone Steel ability to 200%—an attack so powerful that even Bai Chunian could not withstand it.
A melancholic, ethereal voice emerged from somewhere in the room, asking, “Why are you tearing apart my playhouse?”
“Not my fault, damn it—good at nothing, first to take the blame,” Bai Chunian snapped impatiently, yanking out the spikes, letting his blood flow freely. But it quickly stopped on its own; his muscles visibly began to heal before their eyes. Within a minute, the two bloodied holes in his arm had closed completely, leaving only a thin layer of dried blood on his pale skin.
The No-Form Stalker repeated the question. The ceiling crackled with electricity, accumulating twice the usual high-voltage energy, and lightning rained down as if a storm had been born inside the room. Unpredictable bolts struck the floor, scorching it black. Lan Bo moved among the flashes, dodging precariously, struggling to maintain balance.
A maturing experimental subject had an almost negligible chance against a fully grown one, and Bai Chunian forbade him from revealing any higher-level differentiation abilities.
Another bolt struck. Lan Bo was forced out of the room, rolling across the floor twice before slamming against a wall, curling into a ball, sliding away like a fish.
Bai Chunian frowned. “324, if I kill you, there won’t be a trace left. Think carefully.”
The storm abruptly ceased. The No-Form Stalker sensed the overwhelming pressure and paused.
At the same time, another corner of the room released a strange, unfamiliar oppressive pheromone.
Bai Chunian restrained his aura and looked over, surprised to see the two little followers of the He brothers—the ones who had trailed Captain He—entering. Both North American gray wolf alphas released their dominance pheromones, but only a single, unified scent was detected in the air.
“Whoa… twin glands,” Bai Chunian raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Twin glands were a rare, abnormal gland type. In extremely rare cases, identical twins shared a single gland in utero, each inheriting half. Separately, the glands were useless, but when both individuals were within a certain range and simultaneously activated their j1 abilities, the combined j1 could rival a normal person’s m2-level power.
He Wenyu laid a hand on He Wenxiao’s shoulder, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth. Their eyes were both bloodshot, the crimson obscuring their irises.
The combined North American gray wolf twin glands formed the Garm Gland, with j1 ability “Pitfire”.