Chapter 169.1: Infected
With the mission complete, Mao Fengying went downstairs to see the two of them out into the courtyard.
At this moment, the emotions she had been suppressing for so long finally found a chance to erupt. Wu Heng glanced at Shen Ping’an. “I’ll wait outside for you,” he said, then obediently walked out into the courtyard to wait.
Seeing him leave, Shen Ping’an’s tense body temporarily slackened. Compared to his past family, he now cared more about how Wu Heng’s gaze on him might change.
Only after making sure Wu Heng had gone far did he turn to Mao Fengying and speak first. “What is it you want to say?”
Mao Fengying felt a sting at his coldness. “How can you talk to me like that?”
“How else am I supposed to talk to you?” Even in the darkness, the ability user could clearly see the patches of white hair on the woman’s head before him. Even if she could work in Area S, anywhere Ning Bizhen was present would never be truly easy for her.
Shen Ping’an secretly took a deep breath, forcing all the tangled emotions out of his body. These matters had nothing to do with him.
Mao Fengying stood facing him. “I admit, it was because your father and I sensed something was wrong that we brought Ruyi to Jingzhou. But our original plan was to settle things first, then come back for you and your grandparents.”
“But who could have predicted that something would go wrong so quickly? Did you think we didn’t want you?”
“No,” Shen Ping’an denied quickly.
Relieved, Mao Fengying reached out and grasped her son’s arm. “Seeing you alive and well, I…”
Shen Ping’an pulled her hand away and stepped back, clearly setting a boundary. “You can’t guarantee that this trip to Jingzhou is completely safe. So you took one and left one behind—you thought you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket.”
“But disasters came down across the world. You realized that in times like this, a family should be together. After all, the more people there are, the higher the probability of encountering ability users.”
Mao Fengying’s body shook violently.
“How can you say that?!” she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion. “Do you think it was easy for us to return from Jingzhou to Hanzhou? If it weren’t for you…”
“You being alive is good news for me, because I want everyone to survive,” Shen Ping’an interrupted her again. He wanted to say something harsh and cruel, but inside he felt only numbness and a faint trace of sorrow.
“Recalling the past right now will only hasten death. Telling me this doesn’t change anything, so I have more important things to attend to.”
“Shen Ping’an!” The boy’s coldness cut Mao Fengying to the core. “How could you become like this? You became an ability user, got yourself a backing, and now you turn your back on us? Ungrateful wretch!”
Shen Ping’an calmly regarded her. “I only made a decision similar to the one you made back then. But rest assured, if I don’t achieve my goal, I won’t come back to throw tantrums in front of you.”
If Mao Fengying couldn’t detect the faint trace of mockery in his words, she would have been deaf.
“You hate me? You hate your parents!”
“I just don’t forgive.”
“We didn’t abandon you, we…”
“The right to explain is yours. As long as you can convince yourself and feel a little better, you can say whatever you want,” Shen Ping’an said, unmoved no matter what Mao Fengying said. “But for me, it makes no difference.”
Mao Fengying stared at him in disbelief. She could hardly believe such words were coming from her own child. This cold, icy demeanor made her question whether this was truly the son she had carried for ten months and given birth to.
She recalled the past: her eldest son had been quiet and reserved, yet whether it was housework, studying, or taking care of the elders, he had made things much easier for them. And now? Her expression slowly shifted from sorrow to doubt.
“Have you been possessed by a mutated plant?”
Shen Ping’an glanced toward the dense forest behind her. “You can go ahead and imagine whatever reasons make you feel better.”
Mao Fengying’s face began to twitch uncontrollably.
She raised her hand and slapped the boy hard, turning his head to the side.
“We gave birth to you and raised you, and now that you’ve grown up, your wings have hardened, you hold grudges, and you’re keeping score with us?!”
“All right! Then return all the money we spent on you over all these years!” In family disputes, the account books are always tangled and impossible to reconcile; parents seemed to naturally hold absolute authority.
Mao Fengying went berserk. Ignoring entirely the difference between an ordinary human and an ability user, she lunged at Shen Ping’an, clawing and striking.
Her tears and saliva splattered across his clothes, but Shen Ping’an remained indifferent, letting her thrash and bite.
“Why don’t you just die? If you want to set boundaries with us, if you hate us this much, why don’t you give your life back to me?!”
Shen Ping’an’s expression grew even colder than before. “My life is my own.”
The boy was unyielding—neither reasoning nor emotion could sway him. Even attempts at kidnapping would fail. The joy of reunion quickly faded, leaving only guilt and despair.
Not far away, Wu Heng stood, bending slightly to observe the rose bushes in front of him while listening to the commotion nearby.
Compared to the dark black poppies, the white roses before him—already mutated—seemed to glow in the night. Their wavy-edged petals, bowl-sized blooms, each branch dripping with vivid color.
“They’re called Paul II. If you like, you can cut some to take with you,” Shen Miao’s voice came from behind a second-floor window. “They’ll wither eventually anyway.”
Wu Heng looked toward the source of the voice, but before he could clearly see Shen Miao’s face, a red light shot from the forest on the left.
In his peripheral vision, its targets were Shen Ping’an and Mao Fengying.
Vines, like flowing blood, poured out from the inside of the boy’s wrist. On the ground, they solidified into a massive curved blade. With force, the blade lifted the human and leapt directly behind Mao Fengying.
Puchi! The hard exoskeleton split as if it were tofu; the spinal bones, the size of cattle, were cleanly severed. Dark, stinking bodily fluids splattered everywhere.
Wu Heng sheathed his blade and looked casually at Ning Bizhen, who was walking toward him. A stray lock of hair stuck to his lips, fluttering in the wind.
The sudden attack of the giant poisonous insect must have terrified Mao Fengying; she had hidden into Shen Ping’an’s embrace. The surrounding heat made her eyes nearly shut, and hearing Ning Bizhen’s voice made her tremble all over.
Ning Bizhen stopped in front of Wu Heng. This was the first time the two faced each other alone, the first time they truly saw one another’s face.
The boy’s face seemed entirely non-threatening. His ghostly pale skin revealed blue veins beneath, and his abyss-like pupils—unmoved even when a massive rock was thrown—showed neither respect nor the awe Ning Bizhen had hoped to see.
This person, Ning Bizhen realized, was the true core among that group.
“Filial piety is the root of all virtue. Shouldn’t a person like him be punished?” Ning Bizhen asked, smiling lightly.
“Who will punish him?” Wu Heng tilted his head.
“I will.”
“Why?”
“This is my territory.”
Wu Heng: “It can be mine too.”
A shadow crept over Ning Bizhen’s seemingly gentle face. A thin layer of blood mist coiled around his legs, twisting upward, thickening as it rose.
“You should know, all the survivors in Hanzhou are under my control.”
Wu Heng smiled faintly. “I’ll allow you to take them with you when you leave.”
“……”
Ning Bizhen was not a gentle man. Behind him, in the dark, the shadows of countless insects, mountain-sized, swayed and pressed forward.
“Xiao Ning!” Urgent footsteps sounded, followed by Shen Miao’s breathless call. Shen Miao stood at the doorway, looking toward their side with evident disapproval.
Ning Bizhen turned with the insect shadows behind him to look at Shen Miao.
He stepped toward him, then took half a step back, coldly glancing at Wu Heng. “I won’t hold it against you this time. After Shen Miao’s birthday, get out of Hanzhou immediately.”
Wu Heng stared expressionlessly at Ning Bizhen’s retreating figure.
Mao Fengying clutched Shen Ping’an, having just survived a near-disaster, her hair and face slick with cold sweat.
“Didn’t I say not to come downstairs? The dampness outside is awful,” Ning Bizhen complained to Shen Miao as he walked, displeasure in his voice. He climbed the steps and casually took his hand. “Your new hairstyle really suits you.”
Shen Miao couldn’t spare his gaze for anyone in the courtyard. He let Ning Bizhen lead him, thinking to deal with things once inside the house.
But at that moment, Shen Ping’an suddenly moved. Mao Fengying was pushed aside and let out a startled cry.
At the corner of the castle wall, vines shot up from the ground.
As Shen Ping’an brushed past Wu Heng’s shoulder, he became a green blur, appearing behind Ning Bizhen in the blink of an eye. He raised the dagger in his hand and drove it toward the man’s neck.
Crack! Shen Ping’an had never expected it to go so smoothly—Ning Bizhen’s first reaction had been to push Shen Miao into the house, missing the opportunity for his own immediate response.
Dark red blood oozed from the wound. Shen Ping’an leaned close to Ning Bizhen’s ear, his tone cold and sharp. “I hope you speak with a little more respect when talking to him.”
At that moment, a tooth-filled mandible emerged from in front of Ning Bizhen’s shoulder, snapping toward Shen Ping’an’s wrist.
Shen Ping’an smoothly withdrew the dagger like a slithering snake, but the ground beneath him split almost in sync with his movement. In the forest, black insect shadows surged like a tidal wave, covering everything.
Yet Ning Bizhen waved his hand, and they vanished in an instant.
The man clutched the bleeding wound with one hand, slowly turning to look—uncertain whether at Shen Ping’an or Wu Heng. He said, “I’ll show you a magic trick. Don’t blink.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Shen Ping’an felt a sharp pain in his wrist, followed by a sudden lightness in his body. His mind went blank.
By the time he recovered, his body was half a meter off the ground, his left arm tightly bound by vines.
“Shen Ping’an.” The one dragging him back was Wu Heng, though in his vision Wu Heng was a blurred mass of green. He could only identify him by voice.
“You two are very close.” Ning Bizhen’s neck wound had already healed. He stood in place, his calm, harmless expression suddenly pressing down with a weighty aura. “Kill him.”
Shen Ping’an hadn’t even realized it yet, but his right hand had already raised the dagger high. Without hesitation, he sliced through the vines binding his left arm.
He fell to the ground, catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the man behind him chuckling lightly. The boy swore for the first time: “Filthy mutt.” Then, he drew the dagger from his back, turned toward Wu Heng, and sprinted.
Wu Heng stepped back, doing nothing, leaving Shen Ping’an free to slam against him face-to-face.
As they closed the distance, Wu Heng noticed that the patterns on Shen Ping’an’s green eyes were dissolving, the blood-red at their base intensifying.
His gaze was changing too. Beneath the cold exterior, Wu Heng realized Shen Ping’an was actually gentle and tender.
No matter how many zombies or monsters he had slain, madness and bloodlust had never appeared in his eyes. But now—just from Ning Bizhen’s words?
The boy’s slightly reddened lips parted. “This is betrayal.”
Nearby, a rose collapsed, its thorny stem silently approaching.
Before anyone could react, the stem lashed out like a chained cuff, wrapping around Shen Ping’an’s ankle. Mao Fengying screamed, “No!” But amid her cries, Shen Ping’an was flung like trash.
He struck the rooftop and fell, landing perfectly at Ning Bizhen’s feet, a few thick, white petals drifting down with him.
Ning Bizhen looked down at him. “Your body isn’t under your control, and neither are your thoughts. Strange, isn’t it? Don’t worry—you feel odd now because you haven’t fully become an insect yet.”
“Your abilities are strong. Later, I’ll give you a nice position.”
“Try again. Kill him.”
The dagger, glinting coldly, appeared once more in Shen Ping’an’s hand. He slowly rose from the ground.
Watching this, Ning Bizhen felt both satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Satisfaction came from no one being able to resist the queen’s command; dissatisfaction came from the fact that this was the first sub-insect to carry out an order so unwillingly.
Fine, he admitted—the 3S+ boy in front of him was strong. But a true warrior never falters just because the enemy is formidable.
3S+—hiss—if only he could also be turned into a puppet.
Wu Heng was troubled. He didn’t know when Shen Ping’an had been infected—maybe it was from the earlier sneak attack, maybe even earlier.
He didn’t want to kill Shen Ping’an. He could keep him as livestock.
“I don’t think I can finish him off,” Shen Ping’an said in his usual tone, but his expression toward Wu Heng was completely different.
“Try,” Ning Bizhen encouraged, though refusal wasn’t an option.
Shen Ping’an nodded and sprang up, moving rapidly toward where Wu Heng was standing.
Wu Heng barely moved his fingers, yet the figure moving at high speed suddenly stuttered and stalled in place.
Ning Bizhen furrowed his brow—this was impossible.
Driven by even stronger intent, Shen Ping’an’s murderous focus intensified. He broke through all restraints and reached Wu Heng, a flicker of childlike innocence still in his eyes.
Wu Heng seemed to realize something. A glowing dagger appeared in his palm, moving so fast that it was almost invisible.
Shen Ping’an’s body froze. A gaping hole appeared in his abdomen, and the wind whistled violently through it.
Mao Fengying’s cries and curses rang out.
The dagger still lodged in Shen Ping’an’s abdomen, Wu Heng kicked him at Ning Bizhen’s feet. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he looked at Ning Bizhen. “Here you go.”
Then, from the rose bushes came a rustling sound, growing louder as if moving closer. Vines, like spirit snakes, appeared and coiled around Wu Heng’s body. In an instant, he vanished without a trace, leaving only a shower of rose petals drifting to the ground.