Eaten Ch.54

Chapter 54: “Do you know when the apocalypse really began?”

This was Poppy’s favorite place — soil rich with moisture and fungal nutrients, abundant and warm sunlight.

Here, it would take root, grow and reproduce, blossom and bear fruit, becoming the most lush and beautiful plant on this land.

Wu Heng clenched his teeth so hard that blood welled on his tongue. He sat up and swung his hand, slapping Ying Liuquan hard across the face.

“Violence,” Ying Liuquan said calmly, “is also one of humanity’s sins.”

“……”

Wu Heng wasn’t good at cursing. He just looked at him in confusion for two seconds before stepping over Ying Liuquan and forcefully prying Lin Mengzhi’s hands from around his own neck. He patted Lin Mengzhi’s face lightly.

“Mengzhi? Mengzhi?”

Lin Mengzhi blinked back to awareness. His eyes were brimming with tears, yet utterly lifeless.

“A’Heng, why did I fall asleep back then? Why couldn’t I wake up? If I hadn’t fallen asleep—if I had woken up earlier—my grandma might not have died. I killed her. She was so old, and her two sons—one died young, and the other… I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.”

“She only had me. But when she was hurt by those people, I wasn’t there. She couldn’t see… she must have been so scared—”

Wu Heng guessed that this was Ying Liuquan’s ability officially awakening, its influence spreading to those around him—just like when Lin Mengzhi first awakened his own power, unconsciously burning with fever and catching fire.

Without hesitation, Wu Heng grabbed the muscles on Lin Mengzhi’s arm and twisted hard — a full three hundred and sixty degrees.

“Ahhh—!”

Only then did Lin Mengzhi’s eyes regain focus. He scrambled up and threw himself into Wu Heng’s arms, crying uncontrollably.

“A’Heng, I don’t know what happened, I just suddenly missed my grandma so much!!!”

Ying Liuquan, now lying turned toward them at some point, watched the two on the bed with a calm, shadowy gaze.

“That wasn’t longing,” he said quietly. “That was you trying to atone for your sins. You abandoned her… left her in danger…”

Wu Heng slapped him again, covering his mouth with a cold tone.

“Shut up.”

Then he turned to look at Lin Mengzhi.

“Mr. Ying’s ability has fully awakened. He can guide others… to take their own lives.”

“What?” Lin Mengzhi’s heart still pounded violently in his chest. He couldn’t connect his sudden, overwhelming desire to die with Ying Liuquan—they barely even knew each other.

But if it was caused by a psychic ability, then everything suddenly made sense.

“Go downstairs and check on the others. If anyone’s acting strange, wake them up right away.”

Wu Heng released Ying Liuquan, got out of bed, and pulled on his jacket, swallowing down the blood that still filled his mouth.

“Okay!” Lin Mengzhi responded quickly, grabbed his own coat, and ran for the stairs.

When Wu Heng turned back again, Ying Liuquan had somehow already sat up, facing him.

“Your parents did love you,” Ying Liuquan said softly, his voice calm and even. “But their love was too short-lived, too light. You don’t understand that. You were obedient, considerate, cared for your sister, had perfect grades—yet they never loved you enough. You were mistaken. You thought parents are born loving their children, and that they should naturally favor the one who performs best in every way. But those two things… contradict each other. They love only when they choose to love—no reason needed.”

“You’re not wrong. You’re a good person. But no one will love you. Not for any reason. That’s your fate—the fate of someone born into this world unloved.”

“Death marks the end of happiness for others. But for you… it could be where happiness begins. Your hell lies right beneath your feet. You can leave it behind, end the pain, and reach happiness early. It’s a right everyone has, equally.”

Before his words had even faded, Wu Heng drew his knife.

He leaned forward, the blade plunging deep into Ying Liuquan’s shoulder.

Ying Liuquan lowered his eyes. A flash of red flickered in his pupils—then disappeared.

He raised his hand slowly, wrapping his fingers around Wu Heng’s wrist.

“Sadness and anger are your rights too,” he murmured. “But they’re the most useless things of all. Emotions—any emotion—are meaningless.”

A warm current flowed from Ying Liuquan’s palm into Wu Heng’s skin, coursing along his veins, spreading through his entire body. Wu Heng’s grip loosened slightly, and the blade slowly slid out from Ying Liuquan’s shoulder.

“I’ll be like you,” Ying Liuquan murmured, “I’ll end this pain. It’s divine punishment—fate cast upon us.”

“A teacher’s duty is to impart knowledge and dispel confusion,” Ying Liuquan said with a gentle smile. “Let me help you.”

He held Wu Heng’s wrist, turning the knife halfway in his hand. The blade, still wet with his own blood, was now pointed directly at Wu Heng’s heart.

The young man began to push the hilt forward, inch by inch.

Wu Heng stared at him, stunned. “Teacher…”

“Mhm. I’m here,” Ying Liuquan answered softly. His fingers pressed lightly against Wu Heng’s wrist, as if in comfort.

“Gaa—waaah!”

A shrill, piercing cry split the air.

X, the parrot, had been affected too—its beautiful red tail feathers flared up in panic. But when it saw Ying Liuquan’s influence drawing Wu Heng closer to self-destruction, it shook its head hard, then darted forward, kicking the knife out of their hands with one sharp swipe of its claws.

X tackled Ying Liuquan onto the bed, both claws slashing at his throat until blood streamed down in sheets.

Yet Ying Liuquan only raised a trembling hand and gently stroked the gray parrot’s neck.

“How pitiful,” he whispered. “Born a beast—and destined to remain one.”

Wu Heng sat on the floor, dizzy and breathless. He realized then that Ying Liuquan was turning his power on X.

He staggered to his feet, grabbed the parrot into his arms, and ran out of the room.

Before leaving, he didn’t forget to slam the door shut. There was a key still in the lock—he twisted it twice, roughly, and turned it backward, sealing it tight.

Downstairs, firelight burst and flickered. Someone was crying. Someone else was screaming.

In Wu Heng’s arms, X thrashed wildly, biting at its own tail feathers.

Blood-streaked down, crimson feathers drifted softly to the floor.

Wu Heng stroked X’s head and slid down to sit against the corner of the wall. He looked into the parrot’s blood-red eyes and spoke softly, trying to calm it.

“It’s okay. We’re safe for now.”

X twisted its head around—and tore a large chunk of flesh from its own back.

“……”

Wu Heng quickly grabbed its head, keeping it from turning any further. The parrot gave a muffled, broken cry deep in its throat. Wu Heng looked at it in silence for a long moment, then bowed his head and pressed his forehead gently against the bird’s.

“You’re not a beast,” he whispered. “I’ll always be by your side. I need you. I love you.”

The sounds in X’s throat grew louder, trembling with emotion. It cooed twice, then spread its wings wide and wrapped them tightly around Wu Heng’s neck.

Wu Heng rested his palm softly on its back, his skin smeared with tiny flecks of blood.

Click.

From a room upstairs, a door creaked open.

A tall, dark shadow slithered out into the hall.

Wu Heng turned his head and saw that it was Xie Chongyi.

“Class Monitor”

Xie Chongyi wore a jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. He yawned, half-lidded eyes dull and calm.

“So noisy,” he muttered.

Why wasn’t he affected? Why did he look so normal?

Wu Heng’s confusion vanished the instant his gaze met Xie Chongyi’s dark red eyes.

No—he was affected. The problem was that his version of “normal” right now wasn’t normal at all.

Before he could react, the bird in his arms was flung across the corridor. X tumbled midair, righted itself, and darted back toward them like a bullet.

But by then, Xie Chongyi had already dragged Wu Heng into the room.

He pressed the boy’s slender, pliant body against the door.

“Wanna pet?” he asked.

“?”

The confusion in Wu Heng’s eyes deepened into blank bewilderment.

Of course he knew what that word meant—but somehow, it felt utterly out of place in a moment like this.

His own eyes were red too—bright and vivid.

A faint, clean scent came from his body, tinged with something sharp and bitter. His mind was still sluggish, drained by the psychic pressure from earlier; even his thoughts lagged behind as he stared at Xie Chongyi without blinking, wondering what he would do under the influence.

Xie Chongyi’s cool lips brushed against Wu Heng’s earlobe. His palm slid from Wu Heng’s shoulder down to his waist, tracing from front to back, kneading gently.

“I returned to Hanzhou when I was fifteen,” he murmured. “But do you know where I lived before that?”

“Jingzhou?” Wu Heng replied—he’d heard from Xue Shen that Xie Chongyi had only transferred to their school in high school.

“My mother, Xie Yi—she was willing to dedicate everything she had to the country, to the people. That included me.”

Xie Chongyi gave a low laugh, one tinged with bleakness. “I’m just like her. I was willing to offer myself to that experiment. There were a few other kids my age—we were lucky. We survived. But it hurt, Wu Heng. I told my mother, I wanted to go home. I begged her to take me home.”

“She said I should be proud. That not every child had the qualifications to participate in the experiment.

But Wu Heng—she forgot that besides being a major… she was also my mom.”

“Do you know when the apocalypse really began?”

“It was twenty years ago, you idiots.”

He buried his face into Wu Heng’s neck and began to laugh, muffled and unrestrained.

Wu Heng’s body went rigid. It took him a long while to find his voice.

“…What?”

When Xie Chongyi finally stopped laughing, he lifted his other hand to cup Wu Heng’s bewildered face.

“I’d been spreading everything I knew about the apocalypse long ago. But the only person who ever believed me… was you.”

He smiled faintly. “I thought the person behind that account was someone from Jingzhou. Didn’t expect it to be you.”

“But when I said you were good-looking back then, I wasn’t lying.

Wu Heng, you really are beautiful.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Author’s Note:

Wu Heng: My brain feels… kind of scrambled.

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