Eaten Ch.72

Chapter 72: The Snow Melted

“Is that so?” Xie Chongyi lifted the corner of his mouth, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Wu Heng let out a soft “mm,” then asked, “So why did you come back so late?”

“In low temperatures, most animals choose to hibernate. Food becomes scarce, and any creature that’s still out and about—if it’s not a mutant—will basically be starving and skin-and-bones. I circled several mountain ridges before I finally found it.” Xie Chongyi stretched out his long legs, his tone loose and cool.

Wu Heng held up a bone and crunched it apart section by section. “You’re useless.”

Xie Chongyi didn’t indulge him. “Then why don’t you go?”

Wu Heng shook his head. “I’m not going.”

Xie Chongyi let out an ambiguous chuckle and didn’t say anything else.

All that was left around them was the sound of Wu Heng eating. He ate in large bites, and his jaw strength had long surpassed what a human could possibly possess—one bite, and a stag’s leg bone snapped clean through.

Even after removing the organs and skull, the stag still weighed at least two hundred kilos. Wu Heng had split it open from the belly at the very start, dividing it in half. The neck and head were set aside, though he tore off and ate the ears first. Then he detached the four legs—thick with muscle and fat—and finished all four in under twenty minutes. Next was the torso, and then an entire slab of breast meat.

Finally, his blood-soaked fingers pinched a slightly raised piece of flesh. He tossed it several meters away, and Poppy hurried over, grabbed it, and ate it.

Xie Chongyi asked, “What was that?”

“The butt.” After answering, Wu Heng went to the kitchen to wash his hands and rinse his mouth. When he came back, he stood behind Xie Chongyi. “I’m going to sleep.”

Xie Chongyi pointed at the stag’s head and its long neck by the wall. “You’re not eating that?”

“I already brushed my teeth.” Wu Heng frowned, and a vine slipped out from inside his sleeve.

Just one vine extended forward. Its tip probed into the stag’s eye socket, weaving in and out through the skull’s interior. Soon, one pale bone after another emerged clearly into view.

Poppy didn’t even need half a minute to lick that bit of food completely clean.

The sound of footsteps behind Xie Chongyi appeared, then faded. He knew Wu Heng must have gone upstairs to sleep.

Propping his chin in his hand, he watched the fire in front of him—once warm and lively—gradually weaken.

Compared with the icy, snow-covered world outside, this small handful of flame indoors seemed especially precious and warm.

But Xie Chongyi vaguely sensed that the warmth he felt did not come from the fire.

Because not long ago, he had still been outside—in a forest hung with icicles, on a windswept mountain ridge—and as he moved through it, not only had he not felt the piercing cold, he had even found it… interesting. It was as if he had never run around like this for anyone before. Even during those two unbearable years, he had always been fed and clothed without needing to lift a finger.

After the fire burned out completely, Xie Chongyi sat for a while longer before heading upstairs.

His steps paused inexplicably when he passed by Wu Heng’s room. Then he quietly pushed open the tightly closed door beside him.

On the not-so-big bed lay a bear, a bird, and sandwiched between them—a person.

And the person squeezed between the bear and the bird was Lin Mengzhi.

Xie Chongyi narrowed his eyes and looked around before finally spotting Wu Heng sleeping in the corner against the wall.

Thankfully, the kid wasn’t completely clueless—he had laid a fluffy wolf pelt underneath himself and pulled another over the top.

Xie Chongyi kept his hand on the doorknob for quite a while. The door inched closed then open, open then closed, silently repeating several times. Finally, his shadow stretched across the room as he walked inside and crouched beside Wu Heng.

“Wu Heng?”

Once Wu Heng was full, he got sleepy. He didn’t care where he slept. Back home, he could sleep just fine under the staircase.

Suddenly awakened, he only lifted his eyelids a little, then tried to burrow deeper into the pelts.

Xie Chongyi simply scooped him up sideways into his arms.

As he left, the boy lazily lifted a leg and kicked the half-open door.

With a creak, the door swung fully open, letting the wind from the balcony pour into the room. The sleeping bear, bird, and person all shivered in unison.

—

A dreamless night.

The oldest person in the household—and the earliest to rise—was Shen She’s mother, Ji Zhelan. Every morning she would carefully and solemnly wipe down Shen She’s violin out on the balcony. And she was anxious to go to Nansu: the violin body needed polishing wax, and the bow needed rosin, none of which could be provided here.

“Ah! So much of the snow has melted!”

Her exclamation brought several people out of their rooms.

Standing on the balcony, they looked out to see the snowy forest shining with a dazzling golden sheen. The vegetation and treetops buried under snow for many days had begun to re-emerge after just one night. They showed no sign of withering—still lush and green. Beneath the eaves, large sheets of melting snow dripped down in slabs.

With a loud thump, a massive chunk of snow slid off the roof.

“Why is it still so cold?” Xue Qi leaned on the window for a while, then retreated back into his blankets.

“It’s coldest when the snow melts,” Ruan Silian murmured absently. “I’m going to make breakfast. You all sleep a bit longer.”

Everyone slipped back into a second round of sleep—and the more they slept, the hotter they felt.

While Ruan Silian cooked, her light film of sweat turned into large beads. At first she didn’t notice anything unusual, but gradually her whole body became drenched. She had no choice but to take off her outer jacket, but then her back began to sting from the sunlight pouring through the window behind her. She turned to close the blinds—yet the moment her fingers brushed the pull cord, her pupils contracted sharply.

She shut the window, closed the nearby door, and locked it. Then she hurried to the adjacent rooms, checking all first-floor windows and the door leading outside. After locking everything, she ran upstairs.

A large bird—its wings fully spread—was diving toward the balcony from above.

Ruan Silian’s heart leapt into her throat. She rushed forward at the fastest speed she could manage. Bang! The sliding door slammed into the frame with a resounding crash.

After locking the door, she stumbled back two steps. The mutant bird raked its sharp webbed talons wildly against the door, its wings beating furiously.

Behind it, brilliant sunlight, green mountains, lush forests—everything was revived. The world had completely awakened from its frozen slumber.

After confirming that the creature couldn’t get in, Ruan Silian patted the door lightly, then quickly moved to check the third floor.

But the moment she stepped onto the landing at the corner, her footsteps froze, and she switched to moving slowly and silently upward. Her only goal was to close the door just a few steps ahead—because the staircase on the second floor led up to the rooftop terrace, but above the rooftop there was actually a storage room. They had searched that storage room before while looking for supplies, but found only discarded farm tools, an old sofa, and broken chairs and tables.

Now, in Ruan Silian’s line of sight, the storage room was packed tight with creatures, their bodies crowding and writhing. She couldn’t even begin to guess what they were—because at this point, anything was possible.

While the creatures still hadn’t noticed her, Ruan Silian quietly closed the door. She turned to go back downstairs—but something cold and slick poked the top of her head.

She looked up. The forked tongue of a black snake, flicking out of its mouth, brushed right between her eyebrows. Its tail—thick as an adult’s wrist—dangled beside its triangular head.

Ruan Silian tightened her grip on the handrail. She knew she couldn’t move. But move or not, death was already right at her throat.

At that moment, a door suddenly opened.

The black snake’s eyes instantly shifted into alertness. Its body, coiled around the beam, slid rapidly.

But Xie Chongyi was faster. The snake’s head burst like a watermelon, sending only a few thin streaks of blood onto the wall and stairs. The head rolled away; the body hung limp.

The commotion woke the others one after another.

“Th-th-th—snake, snake, snake—I’m scared of snakes, snakes are my biggest fear!” Lin Mengzhi hid behind the little bear.

The little bear dropped to all fours, ran up the stairs, then stood and jumped, trying to reach the dead black snake still dangling there.

X—winged and sharp-minded—flew over first and snatched the snake with its talons before the bear could. The bear roared and chased after it. The house exploded into chaos—bird flapping, bear bounding.

Wu Heng was being driven insane by the noise. He didn’t even realize at first that he had slept in Xie Chongyi’s room. He stepped out, ignored the group starting to gather for discussion, and went straight to the balcony, pulling the door open.

He and the giant bird on the other side locked eyes.

However, the giant bird didn’t even have half a second to stay excited at the sight of its prey. With several sharp thwip-thwip sounds, vines shot through its body like arrows. Wu Heng’s irritation at being woken was so intense that the vines even slammed the bird again and again against the cement balcony railing. Blood-flecked feathers scattered everywhere.

On the branches of several tall poplar trees not far away, a few more of its kind perched. Seeing their vanguard fail and die, they wisely chose to stay put and keep watching.

Bang—

Wu Heng slammed the door shut. He stood motionless, a few strands of his dark hair still sticking up. Though his expression wasn’t particularly aggressive, the usual gloom in his eyes had deepened into something genuinely eerie.

In the corner, the little bear and X were still wrestling over the black snake, eventually turning it into a tug-of-war—each pulling on one end of the snake.

The boy approached them silently. One punch at the bird, one kick at the bear—then a vine lashed out. The snake’s body vanished instantly.

“?”

The little bear spun in circles sniffing for it.

X cackled twice, cursing “idiot, idiot,” practically broadcasting I hate this new guy from head to toe.

Once all the noise finally quieted, Wu Heng walked past everyone and went straight back to the room.

Xie Chongyi leaned over to look—Wu Heng had already sprawled back onto Xie Chongyi’s bed and fallen asleep again.

Xue Shen clapped his hands. “Young Master Wu has quite the temper.”

Xue Qi, sitting in his wheelchair, said, “Bro, maybe don’t say that. He’ll beat you up next.”

“Does Wu Heng get morning temper?” Xie Chongyi looked toward Lin Mengzhi, who had frozen up.

Lin Mengzhi had been staring at the horribly mangled mutant bird on the balcony. Hearing Xie Chongyi’s voice snapped him out of it. He shook his head frantically. “No, no! Wu Heng doesn’t have morning temper.”

“Then…” Dou Lu had just started to say that’s so strange, when she heard a sharp hiss beside her.

Everyone turned to look at Xue Qi.

Xue Shen crouched next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat burst out across Xue Qi’s forehead almost instantly. His calves suddenly throbbed with sharp pain. He doubled over, gasping. “It’s nothing.”

“Shen Ping’an! You—” Lin Mengzhi pointed at Shen Ping’an, who was leaning against the opposite wall, but he couldn’t even find words for what he was seeing.

But everyone had eyes—they could all see it. Even Shen Ping’an turned to look behind himself.

Climbing up the entire wall behind him were vines. No one knew when they had grown there, and compared to the smooth vines he had before—those with only a few tiny stipules—these looked completely different. The layer of soft white fuzz on their surface had turned black, the vines no longer their bright green. Beside the stipules, tender yellow leaves had sprouted, spreading all along the vines. The vines themselves were vigorous, climbing from that one wall toward the ceiling.

Ying Liuquan watched for a moment, then withdrew his gaze and murmured, “It’s most likely because of the sudden climate shift. Winter ended abruptly, spring arrived, and this is the time when organisms are most active.”

“No wonder…” Lin Mengzhi rubbed his chin, suddenly understanding but also feeling bewildered. “But isn’t it a little too fast? I’m not ready for this!”

Shen Ping’an’s vines spread onto the balcony. They devoured the corpse of the mutant bird until not even a bone was left. Bathed in sunlight, they grew faster than ever, quickly covering the entire second floor. The house darkened as though night had fallen.

“…Something feels off.” Lin Mengzhi reached out. “Can’t you let a little light through? We can’t see anything.”

Shen Ping’an seemed to be asleep. Vines were even growing out of his head, trailing down onto the floor.

Xue Qi, face pale with pain, turned to look at Shen Ping’an and still had the energy to mutter, “Damn… is this what they mean by seaweed hair?”

Xue Shen frowned. “If it hurts, stop talking.”

Dou Lu turned on the lightbulb and rested her chin on her hand. “So… are we leaving today?”

Ying Liuquan said, “The sooner, the better.”

“What’s the temperature now?”

Dou Lu concentrated for a moment. “Around… 28 degrees.”

Ruan Silian spoke with worry in her voice. “At this temperature, even if it doesn’t rise any further, the meat we stored will probably spoil before we can bring it with us. Everything will go bad in less than a day. The instant food in the car will definitely last longer, though.”

“What a pity.” Dou Lu sighed, then suddenly her expression shifted. She turned her head toward the little bear, who was rolling around with the gray parrot. If she and Lin Mengzhi had known things would be like this today, they would never have attacked the mother bear. The little bear wouldn’t have lost its mother so young.

Thinking of this, she quickly lowered her head. The lightbulb above her flicked off for a moment. In the darkness, she wiped her tears, then immediately turned the light back on.

“It’s 7:20 now,” Xie Chongyi said, bracing his hands behind him. “Get ready—we leave at eight.”

No one objected.

“Wait—do you guys remember those three people from before? Zhang Jinya left, Zhang Jinnan died, but what about the last one? Should we go tell him we’re leaving?” Lin Mengzhi scratched his head. That guy had been pretty well-behaved, never bothered them, and never stole anything afterward.

“I checked on him with Shen Ping’an. He left the afternoon Zhang Jinnan died,” Ruan Silian said softly.

“Oh, I see.”

After making the decision, everyone sat quietly with tacit understanding. In each other’s eyes, they saw the same emotion—the same thoughts—and only the slightest differences in confusion.

During their month in the village, their lives had been steady and predictable. Even though the cold was always with them, they lived each day with purpose. Xue Shen had created personalized training plans for them. But what were they training for? What was the point of becoming strong? They didn’t know. Yet having a clear plan grounded their drifting hearts, even dispelled the boundless anxiety brought by the unknown.

Now, they were about to set out again—toward a new destination.

With everything in the world coming back to life, they understood all too well that countless dangers awaited them along the way. And in the fear and helplessness creeping back into their hearts, they suddenly realized just how blessed they had been in these past few weeks.

Until the approaching footsteps from Xie Chongyi’s room interrupted their tangled thoughts.

Wu Heng stepped lightly into the doorway, his pair of eyes—now somehow glowing green—sweeping across the room. They finally settled on Ruan Silian’s face.

“I’m hungry.”

<< _ >>