Chapter 15 – He directly scooped Ying Xize up in a bridal carry

In the midst of a dim and shadowy world, a tall and slender figure moved silently, barely discernible through the haze.

They say there’s a whole new world behind the Chen Mountain Cave, and that claim wasn’t without reason.

Under the boundless heavens, there were no stars to light the sky, no rising or setting sun like the outside world. Instead, the sky remained in a perpetual twilight, thick with gloom and a suffocating pressure that never seemed to lift, as if time itself had forgotten to pass in this forsaken place, where a gloom and oppression nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Only the faintest, most meager light seeped through the swirling chaos, dim and distant, yet it was the sole beacon those aliens within could depend on.

It was a world drowned in silence and gloom.

A stifling, oppressive atmosphere pressed in from all sides.

The kind of place that could push someone to the brink of madness at any given moment.

Not far from the outermost edge of the Chen Mountain Cave, a river of murky, yellow water churned sluggishly, its surface glimmering dully beneath the sickly light.

No one knew where the river began, nor where it ended.

Yet rivers like this flowed through every Chen Mountain Cave, as if marking a boundary set by some unseen force. They weren’t deep, just enough to wade across, but they carried a weight beyond their murky waters. A silent, symbolic divide, cutting the cavern’s eerie inner world off from the human realm outside.

There was no proof, no hard evidence, but those who had witnessed the river with their own eyes often carried an unshakable premonition deep in their bones. If one day those aliens were to cross that river… it would herald the true end of the world.

And should that day ever come, the lookout posts stationed at the mouth of the Chen Mountain Cave would stand as humanity’s first line of defense, holding the front line in a battle for survival.

Ying Xize had no idea what names the foreign underground caves went by. He only knew that here, this river was called Wangchuan[T/N: “忘川” (Wangchuan) refers to a mythical river in Chinese folklore that souls must cross to forget their past lives.].

The legendary river of forgetfulness.

And beyond this so-called Wangchuan lay the Gate of Ghosts, a silent threshold that, at any moment, could plunge all of humanity into ruin.

At this moment, he was moving at a steady pace along the edge of the roaring river, each step swallowed by the sound of rushing water.

A red indicator light on his waist had been blinking wildly for some time now.

Though no signal from the outside world could pierce this isolated realm, the internal landmark devices within the Chen Mountain Cave were already highly advanced. And now, they were flashing with increasing urgency, warning him that he had veered far from the main route of the current training mission’s designated zone.

Ying Xize paid it no mind, strolling forward with an air of nonchalance, as if merely out for a leisurely walk. Every so often, his gaze drifted across the river toward the far side of Wangchuan.

Though only a river separated them, the jagged, contorted vegetation on the opposite bank already painted a picture of an entirely different world—a realm steeped in ghostly stillness and silent menace.

Fortunately, the aliens lingering near the outskirts had long since been cleansed, mainly by the Defense Force, easing some of the ever-present tension that came with moving through such a shadowed and oppressive environment.

The choice to part ways with the F33365 Squad hadn’t been made on impulse; it was triggered by a subtle discovery from his portable detection device.

A faint glow.

A nearly imperceptible flicker of green fluorescence, glimmering like a ghost’s breath in the dark.

Because the tissue wasn’t fully developed, nobody else would have been able to notice it, except for the specialized detection device Ying Xize carried with him.

That barely-there glow, faint as mist under moonlight, continued to appear as he pressed forward, scattered and sparse, then suddenly dense again, forming an irregular, flickering trail that stretched along the path ahead like a whisper leading the way.

The setup had been executed with such painstaking care and precision that Ying Xize could practically see the other party meticulously arranging every detail, step by cautious step.

At first, he’d assumed it was nothing more than a ploy, a calculated trick to lure him into a meeting. But the further he followed the trail, the more he began to understand. With Zero’s paranoid and hypersensitive temperament, there was no way it would ever risk making contact so close to a human lookout post.

Maybe all of this, every faint glimmer, every carefully placed clue, wasn’t a trap at all. Maybe, it just wanted him to see, to understand the kind of world it had been surviving in all these years.

A world it revealed with a mix of careful probing and silent accusation.

In this cavern, there was no signal, no ticking clock, only endless darkness and the soft, relentless blink of the indicator light urging him to turn back. Beyond that, Ying Xize had no way of knowing how long he had been walking… only that the deeper he went, the more distant the outside world began to feel.

At last, the faint glowing cursor that traced the edge of Wangchuan shifted ever so slightly.

Adjusting his path by about thirty degrees, Ying Xize moved forward, step by cautious step, until a scattered cluster of stone mounds came into view.

The area bore unmistakable traces of an old battle. When he swept his flashlight across the scene, the beam revealed something chilling. Patches upon patches of dried blood, caked deep into the ground like old scars, silent witnesses to whatever had unfolded here years ago.

There were remnants of aliens, and among them were the fallen bodies of Defense Force members, although it was impossible to determine which squad they had once belonged to.

Dark green and crimson had long since dried into grotesque stains, tangled together in a disturbingly vivid pattern, like a silent struggle frozen in time.

Ying Xize shifted his gaze slightly.

In one shadowed corner, several skeletal remains lay piled together, long forgotten.

These remains, once clearly human, now bore twisted, unnatural forms, the bones bent at impossible angles, warped into monstrous shapes that no longer resembled anything living.

The skull had a clean bullet hole through it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened. Some horrific mutation had taken hold, and in the chaos, a comrade had been forced to pull the trigger. The kind of decision born from desperation, carved into memory with pain.

Ying Xize’s eyes drifted over the scene, lingering at last on a lone rock. Weathered and rough, it carried the faded traces of something long past, scars etched deep into its surface, like the echoes of a forgotten moment.

The scattered traces of green fluorescence had begun to drift in the same direction, gradually and steadily, until they converged, pointing as one toward a single location.

Ying Xize paused, just for a moment.

Then he stepped forward.

The rock before him was covered in a thick layer of ash, dull and undisturbed.

Had it not been for the faint difference in the soil’s texture, only barely distinguishable from its surroundings, it would’ve been nearly impossible to notice with a casual glance.

Ying Xize’s foot accidentally landed on a nearby skeleton.

Crack—

The sound was sharp, crisp, echoing unnaturally loud in the quietness.

But he didn’t so much as flinch. As if he hadn’t heard it at all, he reached calmly into his pocket, pulled out a pair of protective gloves, and put them on with slow, deliberate movements.

Only then did he begin to brush the thick ash from the surface of the rock. His eyes narrowed slightly as he located a small, raised mark along the side, almost invisible to the untrained eye.

The stone crumbled, stirring up a thick cloud of dust that made Ying Xize cough softly, twice.

He squinted slightly, then lifted his eyes.

Between the crevice of two rocks, a worn-out syringe was wedged tightly. Its surface aged and weathered, yet it was visible in the narrow gap.

It was a syringe model familiar to many in the Research Department, one that had been discontinued years ago. The only thing that stood out was the dried smear of dark green at its tip, eerily blending in with the alien blood scattered across the ground.

It looked like a glaring signal, cold and jarring, stabbing straight into the eyes.

Ying Xize’s pupils widened almost instinctively. A wave of weakness swept over him, and he nearly collapsed on the spot.

A chill rose from deep within his bones, and the narrow crevice before him seemed to stretch and expand under some unseen force, growing broader and more profound, gradually morphing into a sealed, claustrophobic space.

The stark white walls loomed around him, heavy and suffocating.

And yet, Ying Xize’s face at that very moment was even paler than all of it.

In a daze, something surged up from the depths of his memory.

The clatter of the syringe hitting the ground was laced with startled cries. In his dazed state, it felt as though a panicked crowd was sweeping him along, pushed forward, step by step, until he was finally forced into an even colder, deathly white room.

Blinding lights beamed down, piercing into his unfocused eyes.

“From now on, only the path we walk together will be the same. Isn’t that… wonderful…”

Shrill laughter echoed through the air, sometimes near, sometimes far.

Countless tubes and medical instruments coiled around him, entangling his body.

It was as if some invisible force had taken hold, dragging him downward, pulling him into an endless fall, deeper and deeper, with no end in sight.

As the intense feeling of suffocation surged up, Ying Xize shut his eyes tightly and drew in several deep breaths. Only then did he manage to pull himself out of that icy, detached state that had gripped his whole body.

He took a moment to steady his breath, trying to calm the violent rise and fall of his chest, forcing his hand to stay as steady as possible. He reached out and placed the syringe into his pocket.

And just like that, he stood there in silence for a long time.

Only after some time did Ying Xize slowly begin to feel the warmth returning to his body.

Rather than dwelling on the discomfort caused by the sudden surge of conflicting memories, what he understood more clearly was that he needed to return to a stable state as quickly as possible.

Although he had separated from the squad shortly after entering the Chen Mountain Cave, the path he had taken since then had already carried him farther and farther from the main entrance.

According to the coordinates displayed on the device, returning to the lookout post without any transportation would undoubtedly demand a considerable amount of physical strength.

Still shaken, even his breathing felt unnaturally loud in the surrounding silence.

Deep within the concealed pocket, Ying Xize’s hand gripped the syringe tightly, so tightly that his fingers had turned slightly pale from the strain.

Only after a long while did he finally loosen his grip. The trembling that had been present a moment ago had disappeared entirely.

All awareness had finally pulled back from the briefly fallen state of mind, and it was only then that Ying Xize noticed. The flashlight had somehow dropped to the ground and shattered. The dim, murky light from the sky had become the only source of illumination around him.

For an ordinary human inside the Chen Mountain Cave, losing a strong light source was undoubtedly an extremely troublesome situation.

Fortunately, although there was no bright light shining from above, the dim surroundings weren’t so pitch-dark that one couldn’t even see one’s hand in front of one’s face.

Ying Xize bent down to pick up the flashlight lying on the ground.

At the faintest sound, his movement subtly paused mid-motion.

Not far behind him, there seemed to be the faint trace of footsteps.

Soft and quiet, inching closer, little by little.

Ying Xize lowered his gaze slightly.

As if he had sensed nothing, Ying Xize maintained his posture, continuing to pick up the flashlight. At the same time, his left hand silently tightened around the dagger hidden in his pocket.

Whatever was behind him was getting closer.

Without the slightest warning, he drew his hand, and in the same motion, the blade swept out, stabbing straight ahead without hesitation.

But there was no sensation of the blade tearing through flesh.

As a shadow flashed by, Ying Xize came to his senses, only to realize that his wrist had already been firmly caught.

A voice, hovering between a laugh and a tease, came from only inches away. “Yo, Teacher Ying. Didn’t expect that from you. Not bad at all.”

Ying Xize’s breathing grew slightly heavier. “…Su Fengzhou?”

Su Fengzhou’s gaze landed meaningfully on the dagger. “I came all this way into the cave to find you, even pulled some unpaid overtime, and this is the thanks I get?”

Ying Xize said nothing.

He had only regained some composure, and right now, he was forcing himself to move on sheer will alone. But the moment he got a clear look at the man’s features in front of him, for some reason, all the strength in his body suddenly drained away.

Su Fengzhou had tracked Ying Xize all the way here and had initially wanted to tease this trouble-loving scientific researcher a bit more.

However, before he could get the words out, the figure who had been striking back so sharply a moment ago suddenly buckled. Su Fengzhou’s heart skipped a beat, and he reacted instantly, quickly reaching out to catch him into his arms. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?

Ying Xize wanted to say, “It’s your fault for scaring me,” but his lips only twitched slightly, and in the end, he stayed silent.

After a brief moment, he finally reached out and gently pushed the man away from his overly warm embrace. “If you’re going to look for someone, fine, but would it kill you to turn on a light first?”

The tone, which should have been cold and distant, perhaps even Ying Xize himself didn’t notice that in his current state, it came out sounding more like a quiet, sulky complaint.

Su Fengzhou froze for a second before responding.
“…I’ve done a lot of missions in the caves before, so I’m pretty used to the lighting conditions. Got into the habit of not carrying things like flashlights. They just feel like dead weight.”

Only then did Ying Xize remember. Su Fengzhou was formerly part of the Defense Force. 

Not that he was looking for an answer anyway. After a short pause, he tried to pull himself out of Su Fengzhou’s arms, but before he could get far, the man pressed him right back down, firmly and without a word.

Ying Xize: “?”

“Alright, great researcher, just stay put. I’ll escort you back myself.” As Su Fengzhou spoke, he directly scooped Ying Xize up in a bridal carry and started walking without hesitation.

“I brought the patrol vehicle. It’s parked not far from here. We’ll be there soon.”

Ying Xize wanted to struggle, but as a delicate, educated Guide, there was no way he could overpower a top-level Sentinel like Su Fengzhou.

And this time, there was no way he could use spiritual power to knock the other person out again. He didn’t believe he had the strength left to drag another body back. The exhaustion weighing down his entire body was already unmistakable. Ultimately, Ying Xize chose to compromise.

On the way back, silence enveloped everything around them.

Their heartbeats, separated only by the thin layers of fabric, seemed to intertwine, soft and steady, in slow motion.

After a long silence, Ying Xize suddenly asked, “How did you find me?”

“Footprints.” Su Fengzhou, still carrying him with ease, showed no sign of strain in his breathing. His tone was light, almost offhand. “Got lucky, I guess. I followed your squad’s planned mission route for a while, and before long, I spotted your footprints.”

Ying Xize: “…Oh.”

No one said anything after that. Silence fell over the surroundings once again.

Ying Xize had never been someone who enjoyed talking much to begin with, and right now, he was too tired. Whether it was his body or his mind, everything felt exhausted.

There was a quiet, inexplicable sense of security in Su Fengzhou’s firm embrace. Without even realizing it, Ying Xize gradually began to let his guard down, his tense nerves easing bit by bit.

As his thoughts grew more and more blurred, a subconscious thought drifted through his mind—wasn’t the car supposed to be nearby? Why aren’t we there yet…

It wasn’t until they reached the patrol vehicle that Su Fengzhou realized the person in his arms had actually fallen asleep.

His gaze lingered for a long time on that face, clearly several shades paler than usual. He frowned slightly, then looked away. Instead of casually tossing him onto the back seat, he carefully and quietly laid him down, with a deliberate and light movement.

Su Fengzhou rarely handled things this cautiously, which made his movements feel a bit awkward and clumsy.

As he was pulling his hand back, he accidentally brushed against something, causing it to fall from a pocket.

He bent down to pick it up, only to find that it was an old syringe.

Su Fengzhou’s gaze swept over the batch number, now worn and faint—SE77780.

He cast a thoughtful glance at Ying Xize, then quietly returned the syringe to its place. After that, he took off his jacket and gently draped it over the sleeping figure.

The patrol vehicle stirred up a cloud of dust as it sped toward the entrance of the Chen Mountain Cave.