Eaten Ch.51

Chapter 51: “Can you stop lying from now on?”

When Wu Zhi called Shen Ping’an and Chen Meng outside, the former was completely confused, while the latter already knew it was mealtime—and assumed his meal was Wu Zhi.

“My brother told me to call you to eat. These,” Wu Zhi pointed to the side, “are all for you.”

Dr. Chen didn’t bother asking further. The moment he smelled blood, he pounced straight over, not even caring which part he was biting into—he grabbed a massive wolf’s head and started gnawing.

Shen Ping’an thought a bit more carefully. He asked Wu Zhi, “This is… a wolf? Where did it come from?”

Wu Zhi wasn’t sure whether to answer. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

After Wu Zhi left, Shen Ping’an slowly turned around. What surrounded them was a stretch of snow-covered ground—something that looked like a Siberian forest—yet this was supposed to be just north of Hanzhou, where the seasons were distinct.

He forced his frozen legs to move and walked over to the remaining carcasses of the mutant wolves. The smell of fresh meat instantly reawakened his sense of taste.

In his mind appeared the image of Wu Heng’s pale, fragile face, and a sense of gratitude and reverence rose within him—something only a devout believer might feel toward their god.

After biting into his first mouthful of raw meat, Shen Ping’an finally understood why some people held thanksgiving rituals before meals.

Inside the bus, the passengers who had been sitting down one after another collapsed from exhaustion, leaving only those assigned to keep watch. They decided that ability users would take turns on night duty—each person guarding for two hours.

Wu Heng’s shift came right after Xie Chongyi’s.

Xie Chongyi didn’t stay a minute longer than necessary. When the time came, he shook Wu Heng awake.

Wu Heng was half-asleep, curled up tightly. “Cold,” he murmured.

Xie Chongyi patted his face. “Get up. It’s your turn.”

Wu Heng finally sat up, glanced out the bus window, and froze.

“…Is it almost dawn?”

The heavy snow had stopped at some point. The snowfield stretched on in soft, undulating waves—fluffy and endless, like a sea of white cotton. At the distant horizon where the snow met the sky, a faint orange-red streak brushed across it, like a painter’s gentle stroke—layer upon layer, deep and shallow.

Wu Heng sat down in his seat, wrapped in a blanket. He looked out the window. He had once said that he liked the world as it was now.

Xie Chongyi hadn’t gone back to sleep. Instead, he sat in Wu Zhi’s seat, leaned forward on the chair back, and looked at Wu Heng.

“What were you doing last night?”

“Going to the bathroom,” Wu Heng replied innocently.

Xie Chongyi reached out and tugged at Wu Heng’s collar. “That’s not the coat you were wearing when you got off the bus.”

“Isn’t it?” Wu Heng shrank his neck a little, lowering his head to glance at the light blue down jacket he was wearing, trying to remember what color he’d had on before getting off.

Xie Chongyi raised a brow. “That jacket on you costs four digits. The rest of us are wearing the cheap old-town styles. Don’t you think you should explain that?”

Wu Heng dodged the question. “If you want to wear it, I’ll trade with you.”

Xie Chongyi’s hand clamped around Wu Heng’s neck, yanking him forward. He tilted Wu Heng’s chin upward with his thumb, casually wiping across it—then held his fingertip up before Wu Heng’s eyes.

“What’s this?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Don’t want to drink the toast? Then you’ll have to drink the penalty,” Xie Chongyi said coldly.

Before Wu Heng could react, his body lifted from the seat—Xie Chongyi had grabbed him and thrown him straight out of the bus.

It was freezing outside.

“Class Monitor…” The temperature, over ten degrees below zero, was lethal for a poppy-type plant like him.

Xie Chongyi crouched down between Wu Heng’s legs, keeping him from getting up. His gaze lowered slowly, calmly.

“You’re always lying,” he said. “I don’t like that.”

Wu Heng’s palms sank into the snow. His body heat couldn’t melt it—but the snow could freeze him solid. He shivered violently.

“I don’t lie,” he muttered. “If I didn’t, would you like me then?”

Xie Chongyi thought about it for a moment. “Not necessarily.”

“?” Wu Heng frowned, then, without hesitation, shoved him hard. Xie Chongyi fell backward into the snow.

Before he could even react, the boy had already scrambled up—one swift motion, and he straddled Xie Chongyi’s waist. With a sharp sound, he drew the knife from the back of his belt.

The blade sliced through the air and stabbed straight into the frozen earth beside Xie Chongyi’s ear.

Xie Chongyi looked up at him with a faint smile. His hand shot out, grabbed Wu Heng’s wrist, and twisted. The knife was wrenched away and flung aside.

Wu Heng tried to slap him instead.

The man’s long leg hooked upward; their positions flipped in an instant. Wu Heng was pinned beneath him, his eyes turning a vivid, blood-red.

“Love turning into hate,” Xie Chongyi said, tugging at his collar. Their breaths collided in the cold air, blurring both their faces.

Wu Heng’s hair spread across the snow like satin, a few snowflakes clinging to his pale cheeks. Usually, in a crowd, he seemed invisible—but once you looked at him, you could never look away again.

His jaw tightened. He could smell Xie Chongyi’s scent—he wasn’t hungry, not truly, but the urge that rose in him was primal, violent. He wanted to sink his teeth into him, to drive every vine into the man’s body, to devour his flesh, drink his blood, crush his bones—leave nothing of him wasted, bury even his empty shell beneath his roots as nourishment.

So when Xie Chongyi said it was love turning into hate, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“So,” Xie Chongyi pressed, “what did you do last night?”

“I was hungry,” Wu Heng rasped, voice hoarse.

“If you were hungry, why didn’t you come to me?” Xie Chongyi leaned down, pressing closer.

“Not that kind of hunger.”

“What did you eat?”

“Meat.”

“What kind of meat?”

“Wolf. Mutated.”

At that, the faint amusement on Xie Chongyi’s face finally faded. “Your symbiotic body is still in recovery—how did you get your hands on a mutant wolf?”

He thought of the metallic scent of blood he’d caught in the air last night. He’d assumed it came from some animal… but now—

That thought barely formed before his hand moved. He grabbed Wu Heng’s collar and pulled it open, pushing aside the fabric at his shoulder. On the boy’s delicate, pale skin, two blood-sealed puncture wounds stood out starkly against the white.

Wu Heng fumbled to pull his clothes closed again. “Cold.”

Xie Chongyi said nothing. He grabbed him by the arm and hauled him upright. “Let’s go back to the bus.”

His tone was flat, indifferent—and it made Wu Heng’s heart clench tight.

He wasn’t… going to eat anymore, was he?

The dawn light deepened in color, and when Xie Chongyi realized the person behind him hadn’t followed, he forced down the violent surge that threatened to break free in his chest. Turning back, he said coolly, “Wu Heng, you never listen, do you know that?”

Wu Heng, afraid Xie Chongyi would leave, nodded quickly. “I know.”

“…” Xie Chongyi felt as though they were speaking different languages.

“Can you stop lying from now on?”

“Can the others lie?” Wu Heng shot back immediately.

“I don’t care to know their private matters. So in some cases, yes—they can.”

“But I can’t?”

Xie Chongyi didn’t answer for a long moment. His gaze dropped to the marks in the snow where they’d struggled earlier. Finally, his voice came out quiet and even.

“The smell of blood on you will attract unknown predators. Next time something like this happens—clean yourself up before you get back on the bus.”

“You can have secrets,” Xie Chongyi said, lifting his eyes to meet Wu Heng’s. That single glance made the back of Wu Heng’s neck prickle. “But you need to show the team at least the bare minimum of respect. If the wolf pack comes back for revenge and we’re all kept in the dark because of you, you’re putting every single one of us in danger.”

“Don’t forget—your Mengzhi, and Wu Zhi, are both part of this team too.”

He looked away after saying that.

Xie Chongyi was the first to return to the bus.

Wu Heng remained standing there in the snow, his breath freezing in the icy air.

He gazed toward the distant mountains, where the morning light was turning dazzlingly red, and remembered those pairs of crimson eyes that had flashed in the dark the night before.

He thought to himself—he didn’t really care. Not even about Lin Mengzhi or Wu Zhi.

—

Two hours later, everyone began waking up one by one.

After a quick breakfast of a few biscuits, they set off again.

“The fuel tank won’t ignite,” Shen Ping’an said after several failed attempts. He looked back toward the bus interior. “Lin Mengzhi, come here.”

Lin Mengzhi tugged his coat on and walked over, muttering, “What am I, your human lighter?”

“But I produce open flame,” he hesitated. “What if I blow up the fuel tank?”

Xue Shen gave him a few pointers. “Try not to use open fire—just warm the engine. I think you can do that. If a fire-type user can only make fire, that’d be way too—”

Lin Mengzhi puffed up, unwilling to lose face. He pressed his palm against the steering wheel.

A moment later, Dou Lu suddenly jumped up from her seat. “Damn it, stop! The seat’s burning my butt!”

When Shen Ping’an turned the key again, the engine finally roared to life.

Lin Mengzhi returned to his seat, smug and triumphant—only to glance over and see Wu Heng slumped listlessly in his chair.

If he didn’t already know that Wu Heng was utterly clueless about emotional matters—so innocent he didn’t even watch dirty movies—then judging by his current expression, Lin Mengzhi might’ve thought the guy had just suffered heartbreak.

“The road’s buried under the snow. Drive slower.”

“I’m worried about skidding. Should’ve thought to grab some tire chains back in town—didn’t cross my mind then.”

“Good thing the road signs are still standing. The quake didn’t hit this area too hard.”

The bus crawled forward like a snail. Along the way, they ran into a few zombies. Before anyone even had time to react, Wu Heng had already climbed out through the window and taken care of them. His strikes were swift, precise, and merciless—he didn’t even blink. Those who had thought he was the fragile, harmless type could only stare, dumbfounded.

“What’s the big deal, just killing a few zombies…”

“Shen Ping’an’s wood-type too, right? So is Wu Heng—how come Shen Ping’an’s fighting looks so strong in comparison?”

Wu Heng quietly wiped his blade with a towel, saying nothing.

After some time on the road, it was already noon when Shen Ping’an called out, “Looks like there’s someone ahead.”

Lin Mengzhi opened the window and leaned out. “There’s smoke rising—it looks like a village!”

Xue Shen lifted his crude, hand-drawn map. “Without a proper map this is a pain. Who knows what village that even is.”

Xue Qi said, “Then let’s just go ask.”

The bus rocked and swayed for a few dozen meters before Shen Ping’an suddenly hit the brakes. “Can’t go any farther—there’s a river ahead.”

He turned back to the others. “We’ll park here, cross the bridge into the village, and drive again when we head out.”

Du Yaoyuan glanced out at the vast white snow. “How do you even know it’s a river up there?”

Shen Ping’an snorted. “You think I’m relying on my eyes to tell where the road is?”

Overnight, the snowfall had covered everything—road, forest, even the rock walls—blurring every boundary. He’d been using his vines to probe ahead of the bus, confirming the path before driving forward.

“Let’s get out first,” Xue Shen said, hoisting his pack. “We can also see if we can barter for some supplies.”

The moment he leapt down from the bus—he vanished right before their eyes.

“—?”

Everyone snapped to full alert immediately. Lin Mengzhi leaned out to look, scanning around—only to find their class rep, Xue Shen, lying flat on the ground directly beneath them.

Xue Shen was sprawled there, too sore to move. “Stone slabs… real slippery. Watch your step.”

Xue Qi was being carried down carefully by Shen She. With his arms looped around Shen She’s neck, he murmured, “If you fall, you better cushion me.”

Xie Chongyi was in the front passenger seat that day—the “tour guide” spot. He unbuckled his seatbelt and looked over at Wu Heng. Wu Heng was looking right back at him, gaze steady and intent, as if studying him seriously.

But the moment Xie Chongyi stood up, Wu Heng immediately rose too—and climbed straight out the window.

“…”

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