Bodies resembling Bai Chunian spilled from the containers devoured by Kraken, drifting alone in the sea.
A pod of orcas circled the area, forming an orderly line, using their smooth foreheads to push the floating corpses gently toward Lan Bo.
Lan Bo knelt on a reef, taking a body, placing his hand lightly over its eyes. He murmured: “blasyi kimo. (Bless you)”
A bioluminescent jellyfish floated atop the corpse, merging into a point of light, and the body gradually turned to white sand. Coral sprouted atop the reef, tinged orange-red.
After Bai Chunian left by helicopter, Lan Bo buried each displaced corpse in the sea, letting them nurture coral—the coral became their gravestones.
After interring the last, the seabed bloomed into a vibrant orange-red coral sea. Lan Bo lay among it, resting, glancing at the memo etched on his forearm.
He meticulously brushed away sand from the first two scars; the wounds healed rapidly, restoring smooth, unblemished skin.
He left the third item, carving it deeper with sharp nails.
Bai Chunian’s injuries weren’t severe, and infection hadn’t spread further, yet headquarters sent personnel to retrieve him.
For the first time, he boarded the chairman’s private plane. The bedroom’s warm lighting was comforting, with a double bed draped in soft silk bedding.
An anti-inflammatory IV was secured to the back of his hand. Bored, he lay on the bed, tasting bitterness in his mouth, and reached into the bedside drawer for sweets.
There, neatly boxed, was a collection of condoms.
“…” Bai Chunian propped himself up on the bed, peering into the drawer.
A whole drawer full.
“Ohhh.” He rested his chin on his hand, smirking, and quickly closed the drawer as if nothing happened.
A doctor in a white uniform entered, checking the remaining medication before sitting to examine the wound.
Professor Zhong, current head of the IOA Medical Department, possessed an M2-level Qingfeng Vine gland, J1 detox ability, and M2 wound-healing skills. In the alliance, his status was second only to Yan Yi.
“They brought you all the way here? The chairman is overcautious—I expected Brother Han to pick me up,” Bai Chunian said, leaning against the headboard, flexing his healed left hand, clenching it to show Professor Zhong. “I’m fine. Healing proves the inflammation cleared—I’m more precise than instruments.”
Zhong Caibing rolled up his sleeves, checked the wound—it was fully healed, leaving only a faint mark. He examined Bai Chunian’s eyes, hands, spine, and ribs thoroughly before relaxing.
“I had to see for myself. If you keep leaping around, the wound could worsen and be harder to treat.”
Bai Chunian lazily propped his head on one hand: “Mm, I’ll behave, don’t worry.”
“Behave?” Zhong Caibing laughed. “I heard you managed to snatch all of Director Bi’s and Director Lu’s precious kids to the training base. No one else could have done that.”
“Tsk! That’s a secret agent matter—hardly kidnapping.” Bai Chunian clapped his thigh, defending himself, then leaned in slowly. “I heard you have a little alpha at home, high-ranking. Interested in sending him to the training base?”
“My Xia Naichuan just started middle school,” Zhong Caibing chuckled. “His father watches him closely—he’s exhausted as it is.”
“You care a lot,” Zhong teased.
“Of course.” Bai Chunian counted on his fingers. “Currently, fewer than ten kids can be immediately deployed from the base.”
“So sometimes training them just lets you vent your frustration—these kids are so clumsy. But over time, you start to see a group of earnest little fools as adorable.”
“I think… someone like me… uh, my type? If someday I’m gone, I need to leave capable people for the chairman.”
He spoke to himself, then fell silent, leaning against the headboard and staring blankly at the IV needle on the back of his hand.
“One day, we’ll vanish from this world.”
Bai Chunian lowered his eyelids, shadows cast by the light brushing across them. “Like a worn-out gun.”
Professor Zhong sat by the bedside, sensing the boy’s low mood. Since boarding the plane, Bai Chunian’s spirits had been noticeably down.
Through years of experimenting on test subjects, Zhong had observed that some displayed incredibly subtle emotional shifts. Their brains reacted to scenarios of blame, misunderstanding, or abandonment in ways that made them recoil—entirely unlike robots programmed to perform fixed behaviors and expressions. In fact, their precision-engineered brains sometimes made them more sensitive than humans.
To lump all test subjects together as lazy and ignore their humanity was arbitrary—and unscientific.
“The chairman has already left for Westminster to attend an international conference; he can’t spare the time,” Zhong said, standing. “He asked me to do something for him.”
His warm, long fingers gently ruffled Bai Chunian’s hair, a faint smile on his lips. “He had me do this and asked me to tell you—you are one of a kind.”
Bai Chunian stiffened slightly, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Noted.”
Zhong removed the IV and slowly exited the room, closing the door behind him. Before leaving, he glanced in; Bai Chunian had cocooned himself tightly in the blanket, head buried.
The private jet touched down. Several nurses assigned to care for Bai Chunian tried to lift him onto a stretcher, but he refused, slipping on his jacket and stepping off the plane himself.
A Porsche waited outside. Han Xingqian sat in the driver’s seat, absorbed in a medical journal.
Bai Chunian opened the door and slid in. “I mean, you’re just sitting here twiddling your thumbs. I have the professor personally pick me up, and you’re still supposed to feel good about it?”
Han closed the journal, resting his hand on the wheel. “That’s the chairman’s order; I can’t argue. Taking the time to pick you up is already a favor.”
“Time to spare?” Bai Chunian only then noticed the passenger seat held someone else—Xiao Xun, sitting stiffly.
Bai Chunian immediately got out, flipping Han a middle finger through the glass, mouthing: “Bastard.”
Han drove slowly beside him, rolling down the window, gently nudging the frame. “Come on.”
The evening wind was cool. Bai Chunian wrapped his coat tighter around himself, asking over his shoulder, “Why bring him out?”
“Adult matters,” Han said, fingertips tapping lightly on the steering wheel.
“Ugh.” Bai Chunian grimaced at the phrasing.
Xiao Xun hurried to explain: “Brother Han took me to the Alliance Police Department to change my ID. The Lingti family identity is inconvenient, so…”
Han raised an eyebrow. “Or else?”
Xiao Xun choked, his face alternating between red and pale.
“I’ll return to base myself,” Bai Chunian waved them off, leaning on the window to warn, “The sniper I brought in—I better not see him messed up. You, you’re no good either.”
Han laughed softly, rolling up the window and merging into traffic.
Bai Chunian wandered around the harbor. Night winds stirred, sending goosebumps across his skin. He huddled in his coat, squatting on the pier, pulling out a cheap cigarette and lighter. His fingers stiff from the cold, he clicked several times before the flame caught. The lights of moored ferries reflected on the water.
Though he had saved a few million, with his villa and sports car hidden from view, he preferred living in a cramped, two-unit-per-floor apartment. Mornings greeted him with the neighbor whistling while walking a bird, bustling markets crowded with people, selecting ingredients for the day—mundane details others complained about, but for him, they were the life he had yearned for while growing up in the breeding tank.
Ash fell into the water. Bai Chunian lowered his gaze, watching his reflection, the white fishbone earpiece on his ear. Dark mineral stones revealed hints of deep blue, pulsating rhythmically like breathing—or a heartbeat.
He drew a smiley face on the water’s surface, shook off the damp, and stood.
It was already good. Contentment would do.
By early morning, Aphid Island was alive with extra training. When sunlight blazed, students lined up on the shore, readying themselves with their gear.
Today was the year-end assessment, broadcast live to headquarters so senior officers could watch each student’s performance.
Bai Chunian returned on the ferry, arriving just in time. He changed into his instructor uniform, coat draped casually over his shoulders.
Several instructors were present, scolding their respective students. When they noticed Bai Chunian return, their expressions grew unreadably complex.
“What are you staring at?” Bai Chunian asked, puzzled. “I just got back from a trip.”
The students stood perfectly still, eyes wide, afraid to breathe.
Bai Chunian glanced at his watch, throat dry, voice hoarse: “What? Hoping I’d die out there?”
He retrieved his binoculars from his pocket, inspecting the line-up. He adjusted Ying’s hat and tugged at Lu Yan’s collar.
“All of you, eyes wide and shifty—what’s so funny?”
“If this year’s assessment ends in a mess again, think about the consequences, got it?”
The students shouted in unison, “Understood!”
“Understood, sir!”
A low, magnetic voice whispered at his ear.
The mermaid’s deep-blue tail coiled around the reef as he hung upside down, clinging beside Bai Chunian like a lizard.
Bai Chunian froze on the spot.
Han Xingqian sat on the hood of the armored vehicle, cracking sunflower seeds. “He showed up last night. Went through every dorm—total chaos.”