Chapter 218.1: “There are no three months left”
Wu Heng returned home just as Wen Yuan was leaving with his people. The lord behind him greeted him, and Wen Yuan sized Wu Heng up.
“You don’t look well.”
“What did you talk about with the class monitor?” Wu Heng asked.
“About an hour ago, we received a message from Lin Mengzhi. He’ll probably arrive at Suyou in about six hours. I went to discuss with the Chief Executive about strengthening patrols and defenses, as well as personnel arrangements afterward.”
“Did you get the roster from Kuhuang?”
“Yes. More than 23,000 people.” Wen Yuan’s brows twitched slightly.
This number didn’t match what Wu Heng had initially heard from Xie Chongyi—it was short by around 30,000. But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; there was simply no need. The reason was obvious to everyone.
‘What a pity,’ he thought.
“Got it.”
Back home, the living room was dimly lit. He took off his shoes, and from the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught a dark shadow flash past. Before he could react, there was a loud crash—the massive floor-to-ceiling window was smashed open.
Wen Yuan and the two people behind him were still discussing matters—missions had to be completed, and daily training couldn’t be neglected. The two behind him nodded repeatedly.
Then a gust of cold wind swept in.
Their instincts as ability users made them dodge instantly and turn around.
The lord’s unwavering dark-green pupils had already appeared before their eyes the moment they turned.
Wu Heng suddenly spun around, directly confronting the phantom attacking toward Wen Yuan and the others. The overwhelming vines were shattered into ash in an instant, and the burst of energy forced the three who had already dodged to stumble backward uncontrollably.
By the lakeside, where the shockwave had stirred up surging waves, Xie Chongyi stood there like a flagpole. His features were indistinct, but his blood-red eyes were unmistakably clear, unblinking.
He looked at Wu Heng, who was desperately protecting those three, and tilted his head.
“Chief!” one of the people behind Wen Yuan cried out in shock. Wen Yuan tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
Xie Chongyi calmly turned his gaze toward the person who had spoken.
A muffled groan escaped the man’s throat, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious.
Wu Heng didn’t wait any longer. He rushed forward, pulled out the syringe he always carried, and drove it straight toward Xie Chongyi’s neck.
But this time, Xie Chongyi didn’t stand still and let him inject it. Moving as fast as a ghost, he appeared behind Wu Heng.
Before Wu Heng could react, he felt a heavy blow strike his back, forcing him to stagger forward. One foot slipped into the pond, and immediately after, a hand as cold as iron gently rested on the back of his neck. Wu Heng dazed for a second—then his head was forced into the water.
“Lord!” someone behind Wen Yuan moved to help.
Wen Yuan yanked him back. “Do you want to die?”
The man didn’t understand.
Even underwater, Wu Heng kept his eyes open. He showed no resistance, no movement at all. Xie Chongyi seemed to think the same, gradually loosening his grip—after all, he wouldn’t truly kill his own mate. He only meant to teach him a lesson for being disobedient.
However, the moment that pressure eased, the aquatic weeds beneath the water and the reeds along the shore colluded, binding Xie Chongyi’s limbs tightly from all directions.
Wu Heng rose from the water. For the first time, he saw Xie Chongyi smile at him with a feral, almost savage expression—yet there was no hostility in it.
Something sharp seemed to stab into his chest.
But Wu Heng was too agitated to dwell on it. Before Xie Chongyi could dissolve the plants restraining him, Wu Heng walked up to him. He moved slowly—because both the ring and the earring were flooding his body with intense pain. With every step, the water rippled against him like countless blades sawing at his legs.
When he reached Xie Chongyi, Wu Heng took out the syringe again. Unexpectedly, Xie Chongyi tilted his neck slightly, exposing a pale stretch of skin—as if inviting him to inject it.
Fine. Then he would.
Wu Heng bit open the syringe cap and, without hesitation, plunged the needle into Xie Chongyi’s neck.
The blue energy fluid visibly diminished until every last drop was injected into Xie Chongyi’s body. Only then did Wu Heng pull the needle out. He stepped back and locked eyes with Xie Chongyi, who remained fully conscious.
“…”
Wu Heng raised his hand as if to caress Xie Chongyi’s cheek. The ferocity in Xie Chongyi’s eyes immediately softened a little. He lowered his head, docilely leaning into the touch.
In the next instant, Wu Heng’s arm suddenly exerted force—his palm struck sharply against Xie Chongyi’s neck, and Xie Chongyi was cleanly knocked unconscious.
Wen Yuan sent the other two back, warning them to keep their mouths shut, then accompanied Wu Heng in bringing Xie Chongyi home.
Seeing Wu Heng soaked through, water still dripping from his hair, Wen Yuan couldn’t help but say, “Dry yourself quickly, don’t get sick.” But as soon as he said it, he felt it was unnecessary—everyone in the world could fall ill and die, but Wu Heng never would.
After seeing Wen Yuan off, Wu Heng carried the unconscious Xie Chongyi from the sofa into the bathroom. He stripped off his wet clothes, crouched on the floor, and used the showerhead to rinse his hair and body.
Xie Chongyi was taller and more muscular than him; bathing him while he was unconscious wasn’t easy. So the poppy popped out as well, flusteredly helping—holding up the showerhead for Wu Heng, grabbing the body wash and shampoo. Once the hair was washed, it immediately seized a towel and vigorously dried Xie Chongyi’s hair, and after that, even wiped Wu Heng dry as well.
Half an hour later, Wu Heng pulled open the bathroom door. At the doorway, X and Shukui both stared up at him with wide, round eyes.
“Go to sleep,” Wu Heng said hoarsely.
The young man turned back into the bathroom, helped Xie Chongyi up, and hoisted him onto his back. X and Shukui followed behind them anxiously—each step Wu Heng took, they took one as well.
X was incredibly clever. At a moment like this, it deliberately softened and lowered its voice, repeatedly calling out, “Dad, Mom.”
Wu Heng’s nose suddenly stung. This time, he truly cried—large teardrops clung to the corners of his somewhat vacant eyes, trembling on the verge of falling, until his eyelids could no longer hold them back and they slipped down.
—
At this moment, Wu Mo was still in the research institute. The lights there were a bleak white. Sitting under them, he quietly stared at the test tube before him. Inside it was a drop of blood, so dark red it was nearly black. Wu Mo took out the final vial of reagent and dripped it in.
A few seconds later, it was still the same result—the sample was completely devoured.
Wu Mo took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the hundreds of reagent tubes beside him, then put his glasses back on, picked up the chart from the table, and marked a red “X” after the last reagent number.
“Director, you should get some rest,” the assistant said gently as he walked over.
Wu Mo sighed.
“What happened back then was my fault. So now, I should be the one to make up for it.”
“But the outcome is already decided. The energy impurities simply can’t be removed—they’ll only become a source of contamination. The Chief sacrificing himself is the most correct choice. All of humanity will remember him.”
Wu Mo said nothing. From the gleaming tabletop, he saw a reflection of his own face—so similar to Wu Dian’s. This year, he had just turned forty. His experimental achievements were countless, and his contributions to humanity even more so. But no one is a saint. Along the way, he had made mistakes. A rigorous scientist must always have the courage to admit them. So he also knew that some experiments, even if repeated a thousand times, would never succeed. And yet, science itself is about finding possibility within the impossible.
Knock, knock.
Hearing the sound, Wu Mo waved his hand. “Go open the door.”
The assistant quickly went to open it. With a soft click, the door unlocked—and behind Wu Mo, there was suddenly no sound at all.
Sensing something strange, Wu Mo turned back to look. The moment he did, he involuntarily held his breath and stood up.
A young man with cold, refined features stood there, holding a revolver. Beneath slightly damp hair tips were eyes as icy as if tempered in frost. The gun barrel extended inward like a black hole, pressed against the assistant’s forehead.
“Lo… Lord…” the assistant stammered, his legs going weak.
Wu Heng shoved him aside and strode toward Wu Mo. Wu Mo was an ability user too, but far inferior in level to the man before him, so he knew better than to resist. He allowed the gun barrel to press against his own forehead.
“Any results?” Wu Heng asked flatly.
“I’m afraid… I…”
Wu Heng said nothing. His gaze stayed fixed on the other man’s face without shifting at all. But his hand holding the gun suddenly swept to the right—not carefully aimed, just a casual swing, as if it didn’t matter where it hit.
The assistant, struck in the right leg, screamed and collapsed to the ground.
The gun barrel, still carrying a thick smell of gunpowder, returned to Wu Mo’s forehead.
“You know this is my territory. If you dared to come in, then you already know what I want.”
Wu Mo looked at Wu Heng calmly, saying nothing.
“Do you think the director doesn’t want to save the Chief? The director was also working for humanity from the beginning. If not for him, humanity might already be wiped out!” the assistant on the ground shouted recklessly.
Wu Heng, expressionless, shot the assistant in the other leg.
“Aaah! Aaaah!”
“I’ll give you three more months,” Wu Heng said as he holstered the gun. “The final time.”
After speaking, the young man turned away.
“There are no three months left,” Wu Mo’s voice stopped him. “At most, two.”
Wu Heng didn’t respond. He didn’t even look back, simply walking out.
The research institute was under heavy workload; every aspect of food, clothing, housing, and transportation had ongoing projects. The building was still brightly lit. Wu Heng put away his gun and shoved both hands into the pockets of his coat. Around him, scattered voices called out “Lord” again and again, but he was someone with very little sense of anything—standing above tens of thousands meant little to him.
To him, only two things mattered: eating and love. Eating kept people from dying. Love kept people alive.
After leaving the institute, Wu Heng returned home again. Xie Chongyi was still not awake.
The communicator on the bedside table rang.
“The survivors from Kuhuang have arrived.”
Wu Heng sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, then looked toward Shukui. “Stay home and watch over the class monitor.”
Shukui immediately jumped onto the bed and crouched at the foot of it like a soldier on guard duty.
Wu Heng smiled slightly and stood up. X flew onto his shoulder at once.
Outside the door, Shen Ping’an’s car was already parked by the roadside not far away.
After Wu Heng got in, Shen Ping’an drove for a while before asking, “You didn’t sleep?”
Wu Heng leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed and nodded slightly.
“Then I’ll turn off the lights. Get some sleep,” Shen Ping’an said, and without another word switched off the interior lights.
It was still some time before dawn. The car sank into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the dashboard.
Along the way, Shen Ping’an glanced back several times. He still didn’t know why Wu Heng wasn’t sleeping, nor why his complexion looked so poor. The cold, refined face had a certain bleakness to it—like a stray animal left out in the rain.
And then, Wu Heng actually fell asleep in the car, leaning against the window, long eyelashes lowered.
Watching this, Shen Ping’an felt a subtle sense of relief, even a faint, private satisfaction. It seemed Wu Heng only felt safe enough to sleep properly around them.
