Chapter 94: A Bug
“Is someone calling me from outside?” Ying Liuquan fumbled at the bedside table, grabbed his glasses, put them on, rolled off the bed, and scrambled to open the door. He closed it gently behind him and soon found himself standing in front of Wu Heng’s room.
To make a teacher do such an utterly shameless thing… Ying Liuquan stood outside the door of a student who bore a strangely similar aura to his own. He was ready to exchange his life for the student’s—but how could he still call himself a teacher after this?
But being a teacher was just a profession. A teacher, a shi, imparts knowledge and resolves doubts. He had to stay alive to continue his noble work: to teach, guide, and enlighten.
Words alone are no match for leading by example. This time, he intended to demonstrate personally to his student: life is as light as a feather, yet as heavy as a mountain.
Ying Liuquan raised his hand to knock, but the door opened on its own.
Wu Heng’s pale, somber face was etched with exhaustion. He looked quietly at Ying Liuquan outside the door. “Teacher Ying.”
“Y-you… um… I…” Ying Liuquan blushed, sweat pouring down his face. “I mean… how come… you… opened the door all of a sudden?”
Wu Heng glanced back at Lin Mengzhi, who had just stopped complaining about a headache, then returned his gaze to Ying Liuquan. “I should be asking you why you aren’t sleeping in the middle of the night and are using… mental pressure… outside our door.”
Ying Liuquan’s body trembled. Stammering, he curled his fingers and gestured pointedly toward his own room. “Xie Chongyi doesn’t seem to be feeling well. You should go check on him.”
“Why me?” Wu Heng closed his eyes, drowsy. “I want to sleep.”
The teacher dragged Wu Heng to his own room’s door, and Wu Heng didn’t resist.
By the time he realized it, Ying Liuquan had vanished.
After hesitating for a moment, Wu Heng silently pushed open the door.
A faint smell of blood met him—the distinct metallic tang of an animal, cold and raw.
Wu Heng groped for the light switch and turned it on.
Xie Chongyi was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his eyes glowing deep purple. When the door opened, his lashes fluttered twice, and he looked toward the doorway.
The boy sensed danger—an unknown danger.
Ying Liuquan!!!
He had no time to think, no time for anything. He spun around and ran.
Cracks split the ceiling above with a sharp krak. In the corridor, a black shadow landed heavily. A human-sized black beetle twisted its head, covered in dozens of tiny red eyes. Its uneven, hulking body was a creature unlike anything the boy had ever seen.
Its head hovered above Wu Heng. Of its six pairs of legs, four clung to the corridor walls. As it moved, its ventral mouthparts made a faint rustling sound.
Green vines swept up toward its underside. Wu Heng intended to jab straight into its mouthparts.
But unlike other insects with pincers or jaw-like mandibles, this one’s mouth could open freely, swallowing the vines whole—like an abyss.
It advanced slowly. Its tiny eyes rotated, finally all locking on the boy’s face.
It cornered him inside a room, its body merging with the doorframe.
Bang!
The door slammed shut. Wu Heng pulled with all his strength, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What are you doing?” Xie Chongyi’s puzzled voice came from behind. “Why are you running?”
Wu Heng’s sleepiness had vanished. His eyes were calm, but his mind churned. He was analyzing why Xie Chongyi was acting so abnormally—it had to be related to his ability evolution or that creature.
Program updates take time, so Xie Chongyi’s current state must be stuck at an intermediate node.
Wu Heng wasn’t scared. He just knew that if he and Xie Chongyi fought, it would damage their already fragile relationship. His emotional resources were scarce, and he was not skilled at maintaining or repairing bonds.
“Teacher Ying told me you’re not feeling well,” Wu Heng said, clutching his sleeve. A thought struck him. “Should I release Doctor Chen?”
Xie Chongyi stood in front of him, gripping Wu Heng’s wrist tightly. “Don’t.”
After two seconds of ferocity, he suddenly leapt forward and hugged Wu Heng. “I want you.”
Wu Heng rested his chin on Xie Chongyi’s shoulder, his expression slightly dazed, but he still returned the embrace.
But something was wrong—
Wu Heng’s eyes suddenly cleared.
Beneath his fingertips, the skin that should have been smooth and warm was instead raised and icy.
He remained calm, his fingers gliding over the cold area, casually touching both sides—those felt normal. Then he moved his hands up and down…
Wu Heng swallowed, tightening his hold around Xie Chongyi in a gesture of goodwill, while silently extending a vine from his left eye. It wrapped around Xie Chongyi’s back, hovering in midair, revealing every inch of his spine.
From the neck to the tailbone, Xie Chongyi’s entire spine protruded from beneath the skin. But it wasn’t shaped like a human spine; instead, it was jagged and sharply ridged. Even stranger, it was entirely black.
A… bug.
The vine retracted back into Wu Heng’s eye. He freed himself from Xie Chongyi’s embrace, raised his hand, and lightly tapped Xie Chongyi’s face twice. “Who am I?”
?
Xie Chongyi laughed and leaned in as if to kiss him. “Wu Heng.”
Wu Heng tilted his head to avoid it. “Where are we?”
Xie Chongyi adjusted Wu Heng’s head. “Kuhuang.”
“Class Monitor, do you know… you’re almost turning into a bug?” Wu Heng’s lip was bitten, drawing blood, only to be licked clean by Xie Chongyi.
Wu Heng’s neck was gently held, and Xie Chongyi lifted his face with the edge of his palm. He was fully alert. “You’re the first person, besides Jingzhou, to know my secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… I’ve always been a bug,” Xie Chongyi said with a faint smile. Then he lifted Wu Heng’s right hand and placed it on top of his own head, slipping it through his hair. Wu Heng frowned, sensing something unlike normal hair beneath his fingers. Xie Chongyi guided his hand down to the nape of his neck.
Strange, impossible structures continued appearing on Xie Chongyi’s body—things no human body could naturally have. But perhaps that wasn’t the full truth. Perhaps these things had always existed within him.
Xie Chongyi guided Wu Heng’s hand to touch a pair of black-feathered antennae that had risen.
Wu Heng was silent for a long moment. He slowly raised his hand, and Xie Chongyi lowered his head correspondingly.
The antennae were soft and cold, but the feathers were very short—no longer than a third of a finger’s length.
“Why is it like this? Because of that experiment when you were a child? Would Wu Dian and the others also turn into bugs?” Wu Heng lowered his arm, curious.
Xie Chongyi shook his head, retracting the antennae. “The direction of mutation varies depending on individual physiology. When the experiment ended, everyone else gradually weakened because there was no substance to supply the energy their bodies needed. But the biological factor in me can enter an endless hibernation.”
Wu Heng asked, “And now?”
The bugs had already awakened.
“When the apocalypse comes, every living thing on Earth will experience a catastrophic material eruption after near-total destruction. Do you remember the thing Wu Dian gave me back at Meili Base?”
Wu Heng remembered. “The box of blue syringes?”
“Although I lost contact with them afterward, that box of stuff was definitely researched only after the apocalypse began. With it, we wouldn’t die so quickly.”
Xie Chongyi’s fingernails were faintly blackened. He glanced at them, his expression calm.
“I feel terrible right now,” Xie Chongyi said, lowering his head and biting Wu Heng’s earlobe, licking it. “I feel something crawling inside me.”
Wu Heng blinked. “Isn’t it a bug?”
“This time, it’s not a bug.” Xie Chongyi denied it, then tilted his head and kissed Wu Heng.
Wu Heng heard a flapping sound from somewhere, more terrifying than the insect swarms or X’s wings he had heard before. It wasn’t loud, but subtle and immense.
He was momentarily distracted. Xie Chongyi didn’t seem to mind, until he was pressed to the floor, and the kiss traced down to his neck.
On the ceiling, the outline of a massive black insect appeared, its lines flickering in and out of sight. Its long legs spread out like a cage, looming over Wu Heng from above.
Wu Heng’s eyelid twitched. He shoved Xie Chongyi away and scrambled to his feet, but as soon as his knees touched the ground, his ankles were seized and he was dragged back down.
Xie Chongyi pinned him from behind, his palm sliding up Wu Heng’s back, circling halfway around until it reached the front.
Wu Heng’s eyes flickered, his body instinctively curling into a ball.
Beneath the wall, several finger-like vines emerged, standing in a row, trembling.
“So you think it’s okay to bother me in the middle of the night?” Xie Chongyi lifted Wu Heng. “I’m giving you pleasure, and you’re still unhappy?”
Wu Heng thought for a moment. “Not exactly.”
Once persuaded, he actively bit down on Xie Chongyi’s Adam’s apple, his hands resting on Xie Chongyi’s waist.
Xie Chongyi tilted his head back slightly, fingers tracing the nape of Wu Heng’s neck. Wu Heng’s licks and bites were light, his tongue cool—like being licked by a snake.
“I’ll handle this myself.” Xie Chongyi pushed Wu Heng away, yanked down his pants, and steered him backward.
The youth’s body was cool, yet his passage was warm and wet, far more adept at sucking than a mouth could ever be.
Xie Chongyi hoisted Wu Heng onto his lap, taking him from both ends.
His light-colored jeans were soaked through in a large patch.
Wu Heng found this more pleasurable than mere stroking, the sensation tingling his scalp.
The youth was open and uninhibited. Panting, he cupped Xie Chongyi’s face, his eyes hazy. “Class Monitor, I’ll help you later too.”
Xie Chongyi bit his cheek. “That won’t be necessary. Your hands will suffice.”
“With my hands? Just like you?”
“…It’s not the same thing.” Xie Chongyi flicked him lightly with his fingertip. Satisfied by Wu Heng’s startled gasp, he added, “Just focus on getting f*cked.”
Wu Heng’s hair was damp with sweat, his eyes reddened, his clothes soaked through. True to his nature, even when sensations became unbearably intense, he wouldn’t drown them out with cries—just soft moans. Only when penetrated hard, even painfully, would he let out a quiet “Ah,” making the veins on Xie Chongyi’s forehead throb violently.
After catching a handful of lukewarm liquid in his palm, Xie Chongyi smeared it all over Wu Heng’s chest.
He gripped Wu Heng’s wrist. “My turn.”
Recalling the bruise left on his lower abdomen last time, Wu Heng shot Xie Chong a glance and rasped, “Don’t thrust into me.”
Xie Chongyi nodded, but ultimately couldn’t resist.
Because he loved Wu Heng—he couldn’t hold Wu Heng’s waist and do nothing.
Wu Heng’s expression, as serious as if doing homework, was too much of a downer. He wanted to see Wu Heng lose control too.
Wu Heng’s wrists ached and throbbed as he finally finished the battle. Vines sprouted from his wrists, devouring everything in his palms clean, sparing him the need to wash or wipe his hands.
Xie Chongyi pulled up his pants, the waistband catching slightly as it passed over his semi-erect state. He picked up his clothes and dressed, saying, “I’m going to buy water.”
On a sweltering summer night, one needed to sleep feeling fresh and clean.
While Wu Heng showered, Xie Chongyi smoothed out the corners of the bed, flattened the quilt, and fluffed the pillows.
Wu Heng emerged dripping with moisture, yawning as he walked straight toward Ying Liuquan’s bed.
Xie Chongyi’s eyes darkened instantly. “Where are you sleeping?”
Wu Heng had already settled down obediently. “Here.”
Xie Chongyi sat down. “Sleep with me.”
Wu Heng shook his head. He rolled over, hugged the corner of the quilt against his chest, closed his eyes, and spoke in a distant, sleepy voice, “I won’t sleep in a bug nest. It’s too dangerous.”
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author’s Note:
Xie Chongyi: Say that again while touching my d*ck.
Wu Heng nodded and reached down: I won’t sleep in a bug nest. I only sleep with bugs.