The Vortex of Desire

“Zhuo hasn’t been acting quite right lately, has he?” Bai Tian opened Zhuo’s social media profile on his phone, showing it to his colleagues. “He’s been posting a bit too much.”

The human lady across from him took a sip of tea. “Not just that. Seventy-five percent of his posts are photos of the Savior.”

The chubby Arian gentleman beside them added, “And the remaining twenty-five percent are staged photos of food, which he apparently cooked himself.”

The three exchanged bewildered glances in the breakroom.

“He must be in love,” the Arian gentleman concluded.

“Not necessarily,” the lady countered, shaking her head. “Zhuo’s behavior can’t be judged by normal standards; typical social conventions don’t apply to him.”

Zhuo had virtually zero normal social interactions prior to this, so perhaps this was merely his stunted way of expressing affection. It was much like a small child who, upon making their very first friend, wants the whole world to know.

The Arian frowned. “But the photos he takes are just… strange. That vibe, you know?” His hands gesticulated wildly, yet he couldn’t quite articulate it.

“The Savior looks very captivating in Zhuo’s photos,” Bai Tian added softly.

The Arian slapped his forehead. “Yes! Exactly! Very captivating!”

Yuan Anqing was objectively handsome, but he always exuded an impenetrable sense of professional distance. Yet, in Zhuo’s candid photos, Yuan Anqing always appeared focused, quiet, and oddly gentle.

The Arian took Bai Tian’s phone and scrolled back. “Look closely. Zhuo has even taken photos like this.”

The picture was a candid shot: Yuan Anqing, mid-meal, had noticed Zhuo’s movement and instinctively looked up at the camera. The scene brimmed with domestic life. The lighting was warm yellow, Yuan Anqing wore soft pajamas, and the dishes on the table were clearly made by Zhuo, as he had proudly tagged them in a previous post.

“This looks exactly like a girl taking pictures of her boyfriend!” the Arian exclaimed, raising his voice.

“Not necessarily. Zhuo cannot be judged by normal standards,” the human lady stubbornly reiterated.

Bai Tian sighed. “Even if it’s not real now, following this trend, it will eventually become real.”

This time, the human lady agreed. “That much is true.”

Zhuo was completely unaware that the monitoring staff had already decided he was heading down a path of romantic no return. He simply felt that these past few days had been incredibly comfortable. Everything seemed pleasant, and his cooking skills were indeed far superior to Yuan Anqing’s.

“Zhuo, show me those CAD operations I taught you yesterday. Just once more,” Yuan Anqing said, sitting beside him. It was their lunch hour, giving them private time at their desks.

“Okay,” Zhuo replied, scooting his chair closer to the screen. Then, quite naturally, he rested his heavy head on Yuan Anqing’s shoulder while he navigated the mouse.

Yuan Anqing had grown accustomed to Zhuo’s invasive gestures.

Zhuo’s actions were entirely spontaneous; when he was happy, he liked to physically cling to people. Zhuo had been quite happy these past few days, and Yuan Anqing felt his dress shirt was probably wrinkled from Zhuo’s constant rubbing.

“Are we still buying snacks when we go home later?” Zhuo suddenly asked.

“Do you want to?” Yuan Anqing asked, watching Zhuo’s hands expertly click through the software.

“Tomorrow’s the weekend, you know? I think we could go out and explore the city together this afternoon after work,” Zhuo said.

“We can,” Yuan Anqing agreed.

Zhuo squeezed closer to Yuan Anqing again. “I thought you’d refuse.”

“A walk might be good,” Yuan Anqing admitted. He had to concede that Zhuo was an excellent companion, even if the monster still wouldn’t allow him to smoke.

Just as Zhuo’s tail began to lift happily, the office door swung open.

Yang Shu entered, his many eyes blinking anxiously. “Savior, sir. You need to attend to your duties now.”

Zhuo’s tail stiffened.

“What’s wrong? Another inferior Differentiated Being needs handling?” Yuan Anqing had long been mentally prepared for his corporate life to be disrupted at any moment.

“You could say that. However, this particular anomaly is a Vortex.” Yang Shu pulled a chair over and sat beside Yuan Anqing.

Zhuo’s expression darkened significantly.

“A Vortex?” Yuan Anqing didn’t quite understand the term.

“A Vortex is like me, you see,” Zhuo interjected smoothly. “I can control my abilities. But those ‘Vortexes’ are beings whose brains are entirely consumed by their dark desires. They recklessly project their desires onto those around them, causing mass inferior differentiation.”

Zhuo paused, then added haughtily, “Though they aren’t nearly as powerful as I am.”

Yuan Anqing understood. “Inferior differentiation can be contagious, then. So, is it possible that all inferior differentiations share a common ‘pathogen’?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Yang Shu nodded. “However, it’s very difficult to ascertain. We Arians also differentiated during a past anomaly.”

A ‘great hole’ had torn through their world long ago, making many things impossible to explain by conventional reasoning.

“So, where is this Vortex?” Yuan Anqing asked.

“We detected it in Yuzhang Town, but we don’t know who the specific trigger is,” Yang Shu explained. “The energy is massive. We can sense it, but only pinpoint a general direction.”

Yuan Anqing and Yang Shu exchanged a long look. “Yuzhang Town?”

“About an hour by plane, then you’ll need to transfer to a rural bus line,” Yang Shu immediately replied.

“What does that mean?!” Zhuo bristled, standing up. “Are we going on a business trip?! We’ve already planned our activities for today!”

Yang Shu clasped his hands together in apology. “My sincerest apologies. This is an absolute emergency. We didn’t anticipate it either.”

“You’re being unreasonable!” Zhuo’s two-meter height exuded a terrifying, oppressive pressure over the manager.

“Enough,” Yuan Anqing said, pulling Zhuo back by his sleeve. “Anger won’t solve the problem.”

They still had to go. Moreover, inferior differentiation was fundamentally uncontrollable, so there was no such thing as advance notice for emergencies.

Zhuo understood that, but he was just incredibly displeased that his weekend plans had been ruined by work.

“Only Zhuo and I are going?” Yuan Anqing asked.

Yang Shu nodded grimly. “Having Zhuo as a bodyguard is sufficient. We ordinary staff cannot offer any practical help.”

“But I’m very dangerous. I want to eat him,” Zhuo said, wrapping a massive arm around Yuan Anqing’s shoulders and glaring at Yang Shu.

“Please don’t do that,” Yang Shu said nervously, observing Zhuo’s tail curling securely around Yuan Anqing’s waist. He didn’t believe Zhuo actually intended to devour Yuan Anqing at that moment.

Zhuo’s half-hearted resistance, naturally, had no effect. The emergence of a “Vortex” was a catastrophic event, and the Savior needed to reach the scene as quickly as possible.

Zhuo and Yuan Anqing departed at 1:30 PM. They traveled in economy class, where Zhuo, squeezed into the tiny seat, felt particularly suffocated and enraged. After landing, they had to take a shuttle to the station to transfer to a rural bus. Throughout the journey, Zhuo’s mood visibly soured; he even stopped speaking to Yuan Anqing.

Yuan Anqing remained silent as well. The sudden corporate trip had left him utterly exhausted, yet he couldn’t fall asleep.

As they neared their destination, Yuan Anqing looked out the window and was utterly horrified.

It was a grayish-white monstrosity, a swirling blend of the sickly colors of human desire. The mist formed a colossal vortex, which, from Yuan Anqing’s perspective, appeared as an immensely thick, sluggish tornado engulfing the entire rural town.

It blotted out the sky and devoured everything it touched. Arcs of crimson lightning crackled amidst the swirling air currents. Ordinary humans, however, could not perceive its true, apocalyptic appearance.

Their rural bus was now driving directly toward that “tornado,” as if heading straight into the end of the world.

Only Yuan Anqing and Zhuo on the bus could see it.

“This is the Vortex.” Zhuo placed his tail heavily on Yuan Anqing’s lap, speaking in a low voice. “It looks like a tornado, but it won’t physically blow your body away.”

“The name ‘Vortex’ is very apt.” Yuan Anqing took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “How did the organization usually deal with situations like this in the past?”

“They didn’t,” Zhuo’s answer surprised Yuan Anqing. “Didn’t Yang Shu say he couldn’t help? He truly can’t, because once inside a Vortex, anyone without immunity will be corrupted.”

“Before you appeared, their only solution was to physically quarantine the Vortex to prevent outsiders from entering. As for the people trapped inside the town… well, they’re playing a killing game.” Zhuo glanced at the oblivious, chatting passengers on their bus. “Stay within the Vortex’s range for about seven days, and you’ll undergo inferior differentiation. Whether they survive depends purely on their own willpower.”

Yuan Anqing silently adjusted his glasses. “I feel a bit of stomach pain.”

“Eh? Are you sick?” Zhuo reached out and placed a large, warm hand directly over Yuan Anqing’s abdomen.

“No, I’m just finally realizing what it means to be the Savior,” Yuan Anqing said dryly.

He hadn’t really understood the scope of his role. It wasn’t as if he could simply sit in an office and have every differentiated person brought before him one by one. If he couldn’t solve the problem at its root, then after Yuan Anqing died, the world would remain exactly as broken as it was.

It turned out the world’s problems were far greater than he had imagined.

“Actually, you don’t need to be afraid of this thing,” Zhuo comforted Yuan Anqing softly. “If I truly gained my freedom, the world would face a true natural disaster.”

Zhuo wasn’t boasting; his dark comfort was genuinely earnest.

In Zhuo’s eyes, this desire-laden Vortex was weak and pathetic. Zhuo understood his own strength; the vortexes he naturally created were true chaos. They were crushing flows of desire whose shapes couldn’t even be observed by the naked eye, leaving victims lost in a mist, unable to distinguish heaven from earth. That was the despair that could tear reality apart.

So Zhuo believed that with a monster like himself by his side, Yuan Anqing shouldn’t fear such a weakling’s storm.

The bus drove directly into the currents of desire while Zhuo was speaking.

In that instant, Yuan Anqing’s eyes flared a brilliant, molten gold.

“Are you stressed?” Zhuo was startled by Yuan Anqing’s sudden, passive “lighting up.”

“A little,” Yuan Anqing admitted, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Take a moment to recover.” Zhuo reached up and touched Yuan Anqing’s forehead, finding his skin somewhat clammy and cool.

“I feel very strange,” Yuan Anqing said, rubbing his chest. “My heart is racing.”

“Your heartbeat is normal. You’re just being actively rejected by the Vortex’s energy. After all, you are the Savior.” Zhuo glanced out the window at the approaching town. “When we get off the bus, we need to find a place to eat first.”

Yuan Anqing looked at Zhuo with some surprise. Eat? Now?

“Although your heartbeat is normal, you do have stomach cramps because of the rejection,” Zhuo stated matter-of-factly. “This Vortex just formed; the townsfolk won’t be in immediate danger of mutating. What’s wrong with eating? Your stomach isn’t healthy. If you don’t eat, you’re in more danger than they are.”

Zhuo remembered Yuan Anqing had a history of gastric ulcers. He genuinely thought that if Yuan Anqing didn’t eat his fill, he would vomit blood and die on the spot, and how could he be the Savior then?

Thinking of this, Zhuo pouted pitifully. “Don’t die so quickly…”

“It’s not that dramatic,” Yuan Anqing said, suddenly feeling his apocalyptic nervousness dissipate into exasperation.