Chapter 100: “…I don’t want to go to Jingzhou anymore”
“Yeah, keep bragging.” Lin Mengzhi clutched his head in agony. His childhood friend was completely clueless, and judging from his personality, he might stay single for life. His answer had no reference value whatsoever.
Inside the room, countless black hands extended from the walls, pinning the weeping, hysterical guards—some even banging their heads on the floor. Mo Xie leaned against the sofa and asked seriously, “Teacher Ying, why did you attack the guards of our base?”
Ying Liuquan put on his glasses, resting his fingertips against the frame and gently nudging it upward. His eyes were calm. “Why does Mr. Mo think this is an attack?”
“What does Teacher Ying think he is doing then?”
Ying Liuquan couldn’t help recalling his past. Sweat that had yet to dry slid down his gaunt brow and fell. He spoke sincerely: “Perhaps you’ve heard of psychological therapy? In truth, this is more like repairing the most fragile part of a human being.”
Mo Xie swallowed. “Making them kill themselves—you’re calling that repair?”
Ying Liuquan listened to someone quietly sobbing behind him. His own eyes brimmed with tears as though he shared their pain. He said softly, “Since they are beyond saving, it’s better to end their suffering sooner.”
There was almost no smile left in Mo Xie’s eyes. Unrestrained, he scrutinized the young man before him, weighing the nature of the other’s ability—mind reading? Psychological interference? In this vast world, nothing was too strange to exist. Their base wasn’t without ability-users of similar types, though they were nearly non-offensive and gentle as water.
But someone whose ability only harmed and offered no healing effect at all—this was his first time encountering one.
“And what about you? You yourself—you seem,” Mo Xie implied, “in a great deal of pain.”
Ying Liuquan shook his head lightly. “Someone in this world has to be the executioner.”
“A sacrifice?”
“You’re making me sound far too noble,” Ying Liuquan replied modestly. “I only end their suffering. I cannot give them happiness. I suppose… I’m merely an imperfect corrector of this world.”
After a long silence, Mo Xie finally chose to pierce through the façade. “You seem to be making yourself sound even more noble.”
“Mr. Mo, that is merely your personal standard.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a dark shadow appeared behind the young man. Like a ghostly hand, it wrapped directly around his neck, yanked backward, and forced him to fall against the sofa, staring upward.
Mo Xie’s voice came from across the room. “I only need you to write a complete report, Teacher Ying. Your ability should not be used to harm our own people.”
Ying Liuquan gently clasped the shadow with his fingers. The gas-like entity that no one else could even perceive was firmly held in his hand.
“At high places, the cold becomes unbearable, Mr. Mo. You are undoubtedly a successful man—even now. Yet loneliness and solitude have been gnawing at you, unceasingly.”
“You—”
The shadow dispersed. Mo Xie stepped onto the coffee table, his strong fingers gripping the throat of this boastful geography teacher.
“Enough.” Mo Xie lowered his gaze, his heart utterly still.
Ying Liuquan’s level wasn’t high, and his technique was crude—easy to counter. Yet compared to physical or psychic attacks, being pried into like this offended someone like Mo Xie far more deeply.
Ying Liuquan blinked. “Alright then, poor lonely bachelor. Do you have wine here? I could have a drink with you—and chat a bit.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Mo Xie let go. His figure dispersed like black smoke in front of Ying Liuquan’s eyes and reappeared in his original seat, settling into a more relaxed posture. “Go wake up your two students.”
“Why?”
“Because as of now, I don’t believe a single word you say.” Mo Xie held his glass of water and chuckled softly.
Ying Liuquan stood up and smoothed his clothes. In a low voice he said, “Human suffering is sometimes a matter of fate, and sometimes the result of their own stupidity. Mr. Mo, do you think you are the former… or the latter?”
After speaking, Ying Liuquan left the office. The two people waiting outside immediately approached him.
“Mr. Mo wants the two of you to go in and talk.”
“Teacher Ying, how did you know Liu Ning is a man?!”
Ying Liuquan narrowed his eyes slightly. “I was just strangled in there.”
“Uh-huh, and how does that make you know Liu Ning is a man?”
“When your teacher has just suffered a brutal and barbaric ass*ult, you—”
A sharp pain stabbed through Lin Mengzhi’s mind. He originally wanted to say, ‘I’m not even a student from your school, I’m a pure civilian,’ but he suddenly found himself unable to speak. His body swayed. “Sorry, teacher.”
Before Ying Liuquan could continue speaking, Wu Heng punched him square in the face. The young man staggered, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor.
Beside him, Lin Mengzhi shook his head violently, stumbling like a drunk for several steps. He slurred, “A’Heng, why did you knock out Teacher Ying?”
“If you want to set yourself on fire, I can wake him back up for you.”
Lin Mengzhi rolled up his sleeves. “Should I give him another punch?”
“Just go inside first.” Wu Heng stepped over Ying Liuquan, and Lin Mengzhi lifted the teacher, propping him seated against the doorframe.
“Please sit,” Liu Ning said calmly. Two fresh cups of water had already been poured on the coffee table.
—
“Tell me then—why did you kill someone?”
Lin Mengzhi was about to speak, but Mo Xie smiled and said, “Your teacher already gave an explanation for you. But there were two children…”
His gaze landed on Wu Heng’s face. “You killed them.”
Wu Heng nodded slightly, admitting it without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you human? Why treat your own kind like—” Mo Xie paused, thinking. “When you killed those two children, what were you thinking?”
Wu Heng had barely given the matter any thought. He rewound the memory back to the moment it happened before he remembered what he’d been thinking then. His eyes lowered, his expression gentle. “I just don’t agree with your base’s system.”
“So killing is how you express that?” Mo Xie was genuinely surprised by this answer—there wasn’t even the slightest attempt at justification.
“Everyone has their own way.”
“I know what those kids did. But their crimes weren’t punishable by death. And even if they were deserving of death a thousand times over—do you have the authority to execute them?” Mo Xie looked at the two boys before him. One had the unmistakable look of a troublemaker—thick brows, bright eyes, practically a spark away from having his hair stand on end. The other was thin and quiet, like a mayfly on water that would die if the sunlight grew the slightest bit brighter. Yet paradoxically, it was the latter who gave him an immense sense of danger.
“Execution authority?” Wu Heng’s eyelids twitched. “Do you have it?”
“Of course.”
“Then so do I.”
Lin Mengzhi’s education was limited. He worshiped his childhood friend, but only one phrase appeared in his mind: shameless beyond belief.
“No,” Mo Xie chuckled. “You don’t.”
Wu Heng understood what Mo Xie meant. He lifted his gaze and looked straight at him, eyes calm. “I will.”
Mo Xie casually spread his hands.
“See them out.”
Lin Mengzhi, who had been holding in his words for a long time, finally spoke. “You’re just letting us go? No firing squad?”
This time, Liu Ning spoke. She stood behind the sofa. “You’re people brought in by Wu Dian. Even if you had killed for no reason, we don’t have the right to punish you. Besides, this situation is understandable.”
Her true gender having been exposed for no reason, Liu Ning’s attitude had shifted sharply. Her tone carried a faint mockery. “Inviting you here was only for the sake of recording a report. There was no need for such hostility. Greeting us with a ‘gift’ like that the moment we meet—this time Mr. Mo was in a good mood. Keep acting this recklessly, and dying young will only be a matter of time.”
“Please.”
Having just been scolded by the “goddess” he’d only known for a day, Lin Mengzhi couldn’t lift his head. When he finally did, his childhood friend was already gone.
Wu Heng hefted the unconscious Ying Liuquan over his shoulder and leapt directly out the corridor window.
Below, intertwined vines and leaves formed a giant hand to catch them.
The boy walked slowly out of the building, lifting his eyes toward the distant glow, brilliant as gilded gold.
From Mo Xie just now, he had inexplicably felt a shadow of Wu Shiming. Yet the former had to be far better than the latter. Still, when facing themselves, the roles they played were nearly identical.
“Why?”
“Reason?”
“Explain.”
Why was he standing here, carrying someone who had nothing to do with him on his shoulder? Ying Liuquan was always causing trouble. He could have easily silenced the chatterbox forever, yet he had only knocked him out—and even remembered to take him along when leaving.
He had almost never killed anyone without reason. He had endured countless beatings filled with mockery, suffered hunger no ordinary person could withstand. Yet he still, barely, counted as a good kid.
So why was there always someone sitting across from him asking why? Why did he always have to justify his actions? Why were the rules made by others while he could only obey? Why was he always the responder, the executor? Why couldn’t he be the one asking questions—or the one in charge?
He had no interest in power. He just wanted to sit at a sunlit dining table and eat properly. That was all.
But until today, he had repeatedly been questioned, even offended, by people who had nothing to do with him. His original wish had never been fulfilled.
As his eyelids fell, the lingering light in Wu Heng’s eyes disappeared.
Ying Liuquan crashed heavily onto the ground. At that moment, Lin Mengzhi had just chased out the front gate. A thick vine, as sturdy as a Roman column, wrapped its branches and leaves around his childhood friend’s body, retreating underground and vanishing from sight.
—
Xie Chongyi was dozing inside a truck’s cargo compartment. He was alone inside, while guards passed by continuously. Xue Shen and the others were seated under the shade of a nearby tree.
The ground cracked open, and slender vine tendrils tore through the earth, bringing Wu Heng back to the surface.
Wu Heng climbed directly into the truck.
In an instant, Xie Chongyi’s eyes snapped open.
Their eyes met. Xie Chongyi’s gaze held a faint trace of amusement, though the corners of his mouth didn’t lift at all. He scanned Wu Heng from head to toe, then returned his attention to Wu Heng’s face.
Wu Heng stood at the far end of the truck, silent for several minutes, not moving a step forward. He stood in the dazzling light and shadow, sweat beading densely on his neck like a glistening net, which only made the paleness and gloom of his face more pronounced.
Xie Chongyi gradually sensed that something was off. He straightened up slowly, abandoning his relaxed lean against the truck wall. “What’s wrong?” The boy stood up as he spoke.
Wu Heng’s eyes followed Xie Chongyi’s movement. Xie Chongyi approached and first touched his face—both sides—then his head, his neck, and both arms. The bugs’ senses told him the boy wasn’t injured, but bugs were still just bugs; they couldn’t tell him why Wu Heng was unhappy.
Putting aside his earlier anger, Xie Chongyi leaned slightly closer. “Not speaking? Who b*llied you?”
“No one,” Wu Heng said hoarsely.
He was here to take Xie Chongyi. He didn’t want to wait any longer.
After taking Xie Chongyi, he would leave with Lin Mengzhi and Wu Zhi, then, like Mo Xie, claim a city for himself, take over a building and an office, with one assistant—or rather, two, a man and a woman—behind him. Every day, a few people would come to report, standing beneath him to be judged.
“Then what’s going on?” Xie Chongyi placed his palm on the back of Wu Heng’s head, running his fingers through the hair and curling a handful into his palm, gently forcing him to lift his head.
Wu Heng’s expression remained calm. “Class Monitor, I don’t want to go to Jingzhou anymore.”
Xie Chongyi froze. His fingers instinctively relaxed. When he saw Wu Heng wince from the slight pressure, he immediately let go and rubbed the roots of his hair.
“Why? Did someone from Kuhuang say something to you?”
“No,” Wu Heng said, looking straight at Xie Chongyi.
“Then why? Give me a reason.” Xie Chongyi narrowed his eyes. He felt at a loss for words—his own injury had muddled his thoughts. The boy in front of him had delicate bone structure supporting a ghostly face. He had left less than an hour ago, and now he returned only to say he wanted to leave again. Had he been unkind to him? Of course not. It was simply that Wu Heng had no conscience.
Wu Heng had wanted to say he had no reason, but Xie Chongyi was not Mo Xie—he had a little more patience. His gaze lowered. “Why go to Jingzhou?”
Xie Chongyi instead smiled. “What did you want to do at first?”
“Class Monitor, come with me.” Wu Heng lifted his eyes again, his calm now tinged with a curious intent as he made the invitation.
Though he knew Xie Chongyi would surely refuse—he was the same type as Wu Dian and Sheng Jiang—Wu Heng still asked. He had already figured it out; otherwise, Xie Chongyi would have traveled lightly from Hanzhou instead of taking them along.
“Where do you want to take me?”
“I don’t know.”
Xie Chongyi studied Wu Heng for a long moment. Then he stepped back, like an invisible knife cutting a chasm between them. “Be careful on the road.”
Wu Heng quickly grabbed him. “You make me very uncomfortable.”
“I’m uncomfortable too.” Xie Chongyi pushed against Wu Heng’s shoulder, but the truck wall was hard. He immediately pulled him back. The instant Wu Heng collided into his chest, a crack opened in his heart, and his anger flared.
Wu Heng’s eyes widened as he watched Xie Chongyi’s features magnify before him. He had never realized that expressing discomfort could be done through a kiss.
Instinctively, he sank into Xie Chongyi’s scent. His indulgent, heedless enjoyment—regardless of time, place, or circumstance—infuriated the other completely.
Xie Chongyi trailed a kiss along the corner of Wu Heng’s lips to the barely visible lower lip, teasing with the tip of his tongue against his teeth, while his hands mercilessly kneaded Wu Heng’s waist. Wu Heng’s body went soft, like a snake.
Wu Heng’s tongue had been bitten, tingling and throbbing, even bleeding. Xie Chongyi swallowed the blood-stained saliva and slowly let him go.
“Tell me—what did Mo Xie say to you?”
Moisture glistened on Wu Heng’s lips. His fingers unconsciously pressed against the pulsing veins in Xie Chongyi’s neck, and his heart raced.
“I want to go somewhere where only I make the decisions.”
He wanted to do whatever he pleased, even casually grabbing someone on a walk and putting them in his mouth, without anyone forcing him to give reports.
“…Just for that?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“Your wish can be realized,” Xie Chongyi said, feeling along Wu Heng’s healing neck, “but first, I have to go to Jingzhou.”
Wu Heng nodded in understanding. “Your mother is in Jingzhou.”
Xie Chongyi gave a slight nod. Then he lay down on the mat with Wu Heng. His voice sounded casual, almost offhand. “But I have to remind you—no matter where you go, no matter how supreme your power is, in the course of human development, everyone is treated the same. You are no exception.”
Wu Heng buried his face in the crook of Xie Chongyi’s neck. “I know.”
Wu Heng carried a lot in his heart, but the things he kept inside didn’t affect his sleep or appetite. Once he had answered, he fell into a deep, steady sleep.
Xie Chongyi lowered his gaze. His eyes were clear. Wu Heng was not skilled at expressing himself—or even accurately sensing things—a protection mechanism his body had built from childhood. It had its advantages and disadvantages.
So the boy, coming back and immediately insisting on leaving, had likely been wronged by Mo Xie. And this kind of grievance wasn’t even inflicted deliberately; the other person never cared for human emotions.
Xie Chongyi found he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t let Wu Heng leave, and he certainly couldn’t let him go off to face the world alone.
—
It was past ten o’clock at night. The survivors from Shisanhe, who had only just been settled today, were mostly asleep. The long journey and the administrative procedures had worn them out so much that they hadn’t even taken a walk around the base; even the feeling of hunger had been pushed aside for the moment.
Of the Outer, Middle, and Inner Cities, the most regular in terms of schedule was the Inner City. There were no ability users to worry about, no stress from failing to level up, and no torment from the leveling process itself. Base workers entangled in Outer City affairs fared far worse—the last lights in the Outer City usually stayed on until dawn.
A slow, dragging footstep echoed through a quiet alley in the Middle City. Judging from the silhouette, it was a long-haired girl. She wore a white nightgown, and a gray tail, almost hairless, trailed from the hem to the ground.
She walked a short distance and stopped in front of a door.
“Knock knock.”
The door opened. It was the woman who had lost her daughter and son earlier that day. Her eyes were half-blinded from crying, and she squinted at the visitor through the haze. Her voice was hoarse. “Who is it?”
The girl held out a bottle of water. “My condolences.”
At these words, more tears welled in the woman’s reddened eyes. She accepted the water and said thank you repeatedly.
The girl had distributed much of the water she hadn’t finished herself. It would go to waste otherwise—better to give it to those who needed it, and it might even save lives.
Meanwhile, Wu Heng and the others were still working at the base entrance.
Night temperatures had dropped significantly compared to the day, and the condition of the survivors in Xingli was even worse than those in Shisanhe. Xue Shen said that Xingli was nearly a hundred kilometers from Kuhuang, and in this weather, just being able to catch one’s breath while traveling was already fortunate.
“Didn’t Dou Lu go back to the hotel?” Lin Mengzhi asked, curious, “I thought she was done for the day.”
Next to him, Xue Shen replied, “She did go back, but when she heard the Xingli survivors had arrived, she came back on her own.”
“Isn’t Anxi almost here too? I remember it’s closer to Kuhuang than Xingli,” Lin Mengzhi glanced back. The jungle behind them was pitch-black, eerie and unsettling.
“Anxi is small but densely populated. The Kuhuang guards said this afternoon that several evolved zombies had appeared over there. It’ll probably take until the day after tomorrow for them to arrive,” Xue Shen replied.
Wu Heng didn’t join the conversation. He remained silent, scanning and releasing people—scan, release, scan, release.
At most, he would glance at Xie Chongyi, who was the farthest from him.
The two of them had argued that afternoon and then made up, but something felt different—ever since rest time, they hadn’t really spoken.
At that moment, a figure suddenly appeared at the back of the group. Upon landing, he strode quickly toward everyone—it was Wu Dian.
Even before he arrived, his voice carried ahead.
“The zombie tide is coming. Speed up. The base gates will close in three minutes.”