A Monster’s Game and a Forgotten Child

Yuan Anqing had initially expected Bai Tian to flatly refuse Zhuo’s request for vengeance.

Instead, Bai Tian directly provided Zhuo with the names and workplaces of the extremists. He only requested that Zhuo not devour them entirely, but leave their mangled bodies behind for the police.

After all, the official agency had already planned to severely reprimand that rogue organization for deliberately instigating panic with the corrupted meat.

“It’s about ‘killing the chicken to scare the monkeys,’ isn’t it? Since Zhuo has the inclination, let him handle it,” Bai Tian stated over the phone. He continued, “Our official, legal procedures mean the deterrent effect is actually quite limited against zealots. Besides, Zhuo is currently a free agent.”

Zhuo was thoroughly pleased by this validation, and his smile grew increasingly unsettling.

“Zhuo,” Yuan Anqing called out to him.

“What is it?” Zhuo turned to Yuan Anqing, his narrowed, predatory eyes instantly widening into innocent, perfect circles. “You don’t like it?”

“No. It’s just that your expression just now was quite dashing,” Yuan Anqing complimented smoothly.

“Really?!” Zhuo instantly brightened. He tried to mimic his previous demeanor, but this deliberately imitated smile lacked the earlier eerie, murderous quality, appearing rather foolish instead.

Excellent. He’s back to the familiar, dumb Zhuo.

Yuan Anqing reached out and gently pinched Zhuo’s cheek. “Are you sure you want to bite them to death?” He always felt the domesticated Zhuo wasn’t truly that fierce anymore.

Of course, Yuan Anqing was well aware he viewed Zhuo through a heavy romantic filter. After all, Zhuo’s demeanor in front of him was far too gentle—not at all like a dangerous monster, but more like an oversized decorative pillow that was outwardly strong but inwardly soft.

“You haven’t bitten a true person with self-awareness to death before, have you?” Yuan Anqing recalled that Zhuo had only ever consumed mindless, inferior Differentiated Beings.

Zhuo understood Yuan Anqing’s meaning. “Are you worried I’ll have a psychological burden? You’re so kind.” Yuan Anqing always considered his feelings.

Zhuo’s past environment had been relatively singular. He believed he could easily bear the psychological burden of slaughtering them, but sometimes, the true weight of guilt could only be understood once it actually fell upon oneself.

“If we hadn’t been incredibly vigilant all these years, Zhuo would have broken his vows long ago,” Bai Tian reassured Yuan Anqing over the line. “He’s different from those chuunibyou kids who only shout empty threats. He’s a predator.”

Zhuo, at present, could probably only slightly perceive the weight of a human life, and he had only been socializing for half a year. For Zhuo, raising a human was like a person raising a cat or a dog.

No, that wasn’t quite right. His way of viewing people was probably more akin to someone raising chickens, ducks, or geese—he genuinely intended to eat them if they annoyed him.

Bai Tian wasn’t sure what Zhuo’s specific “dream” for the future was. He only knew that if something ever happened to Yuan Anqing, Zhuo would revert to his old self and wipe the city off the map. Zhuo’s perspective on the world would always differ from ordinary people. He could utilize emotions, but from his lofty vantage point, he was incapable of truly empathizing with the masses.

“I’ll send you the information on those targets. Unleash your fury, Zhuo. And once you’re done, can you please dispose of their bodies at the designated drop-off location?” Bai Tian asked.

Zhuo rested his heavy head on Yuan Anqing’s shoulder. “Your demands are really high, you know.”

“We can’t just scare ordinary people. We must ensure that the scattered, rebellious organizations learn of this event as widely as possible,” Bai Tian said, looking at Zhuo through the camera feed. “Please. I implore you to maximize your deterrent power as a monster of desire.”

Yuan Anqing embraced Zhuo. “If Zhuo’s emotions are unstable, then the mission will be aborted.” He never once mentioned the specific targets; Zhuo’s well-being was the only priority.

“Of course,” Bai Tian agreed. “If Zhuo adapts well, then we hope this problem can be resolved today.”

“So… Zheng Xiao’an will temporarily stay with Chen Jiao?” Yuan Anqing asked. They weren’t just a couple at the moment; they also had a teenager staying with them.

Zheng Xiao’an, being highly inconvenient for their adult discussions of mass murder, had been dropped off at the hospital ward under Chen Jiao’s care.

He was currently doing homework alongside the captured assassin, Qin Xiao. Because the older Breeding Body’s foundational knowledge was abysmal, the teenager finally got to experience the thrill of being a top-tier math student.

“He’s having a lot of fun, so leaving him here is fine,” Bai Tian decided, not considering Zheng Xiao’an an issue. After all, the teenager had been particularly enthusiastic about doing test papers today, occasionally glancing at the crying assassin’s homework, which only seemed to invigorate him further.

“Are you truly capable of this?” Yuan Anqing looked at Zhuo again, who was idly sucking on a strawberry lollipop.

Yuan Anqing suspected that the increasing number of snacks in Bai Tian’s office were specifically for Zhuo. Yet, no matter how many were added, Zhuo would always consume more than half the stash each time they visited. Yuan Anqing knew Zhuo actually disliked Bai Tian. Zhuo was vying with Bai Tian for dominance, and a Zhuo who contended over lollipops in this childish manner seemed utterly incapable of killing people without batting an eye.

“I can do it. I’m very powerful,” Zhuo smiled around the lollipop, his grin exceptionally bright and innocent.

Beside them, Bai Tian sighed, propping his head up. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Yuan Anqing was deliberately overlooking the fact that Zhuo was going to sadistically bite those people to death of his own volition.

A black sedan sped along the highway. The man in the driver’s seat listened with a somber expression to the report coming through his earpiece.

“The alert state has been lifted?! How could it be lifted?!” The man clicked his tongue. “Was it the officials, or the new Savior?”

The person on the other end of the line expressed uncertainty.

The man took a deep breath. “What have you found out so far?”

“The police station took those infected people back, but they only questioned them, and then they drank…” The call was abruptly cut off, the signal seemingly glitching into static.

The man said, “Hello? Hello?!” a few times.

After a brief crackle from the Bluetooth earpiece, a soft chuckle emerged—a man’s voice, impossibly deep and full of mockery.

“?!”

“Oops. My mistake. A bit too cheerful.”

And as the mocking words faded, the voice that had been reporting to the man earlier seamlessly resumed. “Those people drank tea at the police station. It might have had the cure in it.”

The driver’s eyes twitched slightly. The interruption was so smooth he forgot the abrupt, mocking voice entirely, only asking, “What’s the origin of the tea?”

“They’re still investigating,” the person said. “We should have accurate news by this afternoon.”

“Good,” the man nodded. “I’m heading back to the city immediately. We’ll try to meet up again this afternoon.”

The person agreed.

The call ended, but the man’s brows furrowed even deeper. He inexplicably felt a sharp pain in his ankle.

It’s that damned illness again.

Thinking this, the man slammed his hand on the steering wheel. He was only 126 years old—not even considered middle-aged in this world. When he had been diagnosed with a malignant tumor in his spine, the absurdity and terror had lingered ever since.

The man, whose name was Ren Anli, had always possessed a gentle disposition since he could remember. He was always the one overlooked, whether in school or at work. He was a pure human, nothing special. He wasn’t particularly handsome, nor was he tall. Campus romance seemed like something unrelated to him. Ren Anli yearned for beautiful things, but he also knew that such affections could never involve him.

He had lived over a hundred years in this semi-transparent manner, until that inexplicable transgression more than two decades ago. He fought with all his might and actually carved out a name for himself in the corporate world.

After that, people suddenly seemed to notice him. Relatives and friends no longer ignored him; instead, they eagerly showered him with warmth and concern. It seemed more people liked him, and the “love” he once thought was beyond him now frequently appeared in his life.

Ren Anli began to indulge. He played out the risqué fantasies he’d harbored since adolescence with various partners. He had once thought he could never accept men, but when power truly rested in his hands, he discovered himself to be quite a “tolerant” person. He had choices, so why not explore them?

However, this indulgence was abruptly ended by a diagnosis report.

Fate seemed to have played a terrible joke on him. He had lived over a hundred years in obscurity, unremarkable and safe. But just as he acquired his own assets and career, he was doomed to die. At this point, Ren Anli suddenly regretted no longer having the opportunity to build a family.

On the day the diagnosis came down, someone sought him out at his home. He knew the person; it was the vice president of a partner company, a fortunate fellow like himself. The man, his face wreathed in smiles, pushed aside the scattered wine bottles on the table and asked him, “Do you know the legend of the Savior?”

That conversation irrevocably drew Ren Anli into an unfamiliar domain of extremism.

Ren Anli wasn’t a clever man. His journey to this point was almost eighty percent due to luck. So he pondered alone for a long time until the man explicitly told him, “Inferior differentiation may not be inferior at all. It could very well be a form of evolution. The Saviors’ flesh holds the key. If the experiment succeeds, you and I will be the first to transcend humanity.”

“You will live forever.”

To live…

Ren Anli gripped the steering wheel. No matter what, he had to seize this chance to survive.

Just then, another call came in.

Ren Anli glanced at the screen. “Han Zhong? Didn’t you say the news wouldn’t be so quick?”

What did that person just say earlier? When was it supposed to be?

Ren Anli pressed ‘answer’.

Han Zhong’s voice on the other end was excited. “The research has yielded results! Come quickly!”

Results already?

Ren Anli’s heart surged with exhilaration, and his pupils dilated.

“Come! To our research results! Cheers!” Han Zhong suddenly shouted from the speaker.

Ren Anli, suddenly holding a wine glass, stood up and echoed, “Cheers!”

Everyone in the luxurious private room was beaming with smiles.

Ren Anli looked around, and a question suddenly popped into his head: How did I get from the highway into this private room? But he quickly forgot about it in the excitement.

A middle-aged woman beside him, a sub-human, turned to Ren Anli. “Mr. Ren, your illness is cured.”

My illness is cured? Ren Anli frowned slightly, then remembered the joy. “Yes! My illness is cured!”

He clinked glasses with her.

Han Zhong, who had been sitting opposite him, walked around the round table to stand before him. Han Zhong moved with a limp, raising his glass to Ren Anli. “Congratulations, Boss Ren!”

Ren Anli smiled, yet he felt something was deeply amiss.

When did Han Zhong’s leg become problematic?

Ren Anli looked down at Han Zhong’s foot. “Huh?”

“What’s wrong?” Han Zhong asked him.

“A normal person’s foot should face forward, right?” Ren Anli’s pupils trembled violently. “But… but why is your toe… pointing backward?”

Han Zhong looked down. Upon seeing his own foot, eerily twisted 180 degrees, terror slowly crept onto his face. He looked as if he had seen something utterly horrifying. “Ah… Ah!”

He let out two short screams, followed by the sickening sound of bones shattering. Han Zhong’s entire body seemed to have been violently twisted by a pair of invisible hands, distorted beyond human recognition. Blood flowed from his seven orifices and pores, not a single bone remained intact.

All of this happened in an instant.

Inside the private room, screams erupted.

Everyone scrambled to run out the door. Ren Anli also tried to flee, but his legs were unsteady, and he limped, falling behind the group.

Huh? Why do my legs hurt?

The chaotic crowd fleeing before him gradually blurred. Ren Anli blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw a colossal red sheep’s head looming over him.

Was that a sheep? The creature was covered in scarlet scales, its body immense, and Ren Anli’s severed legs and head were currently clutched in its massive hands.

My legs?

Excruciating pain finally struck. Ren Anli looked down and realized both of his physical legs had been twisted off his torso.

“AH!! HELP! AHHHH!!!” Ren Anli howled in pure agony.

“Why ask for help? I’ve already fulfilled your wish,” the demon’s head mocked smoothly. “And the one before you, they also died immediately after their wish was fulfilled.”

Ren Anli continued to scream in pain, a colossal sense of panic swirling in his heart.

“Alright, shh. Don’t disturb the others,” the scarlet sheep’s head commanded gently.

Then, intense pain accompanied by the sound of a neck cracking erupted.

Ren Anli’s severed head was lifted up. His dying gaze shifted downward.

He saw more than a dozen scarlet, scale-covered hands emerging from the void, each grasping a person—all individuals Ren Anli knew from the organization. These people stared with hollow eyes, their expressions briefly terrified before once again turning joyful, as if they had witnessed the most beautiful things in the world.

The fulfillment of dreams. The completion of ideals. Becoming an existence admired by all.

Everything could be realized in the illusion.

But what awaited them upon waking was endless, visceral terror. Everything was merely a monster’s game.

Scarlet blood dripped from Ren Anli’s severed eyes, landing precisely on the forehead of someone twitching beneath him. His pupils slowly dilated, eventually fading into a deathly gray.

Zhuo’s game time was short, yet those immersed in the dream had lived nearly a century of joy before the agonizing twist. When they awoke to their physical bodies being ripped apart, mental breakdown and physical pain caused their faces to contort in their final moments. They died in extreme terror.

Zhuo then neatly hung these twisted human forms in an abandoned warehouse they had set up in the suburbs as a message.

Zhuo’s true form was unsettling, and after breaking free from his ring restraints, he had completely transcended the rules of physics. Despite Zhuo transporting so many corpses, not a single person on the street saw the enormous being. Calling it invisibility wasn’t quite accurate, as Zhuo didn’t even leave footprints in the mud; it was more as if he existed in another dimension overlapping their own.

After completing all of this, Zhuo felt immensely satisfied. He returned to the apartment, regurgitated Yuan Anqing from his stomach domain, then took a shower and changed clothes, feeling utterly comfortable.

As for Yuan Anqing…

Yuan Anqing, to prevent any psychological issues for Zhuo, had requested to observe the entire execution process from within the domain.

From the moment Zhuo released him onto the living room floor, he had been in a daze.

After changing clothes and ensuring he no longer smelled of blood, Zhuo eagerly tried to open his arms for a hug with Yuan Anqing, but Yuan Anqing instinctively dodged him.

Zhuo’s red eyes widened in hurt.

Yuan Anqing finally reacted. “Wait, no, that’s not it,” Yuan Anqing quickly said, realizing his mistake.

However, it was too late; Zhuo’s tears had already begun to fall. “You’re scared of me! Boo-hoo!”

“Don’t cry,” Yuan Anqing reached out and cupped Zhuo’s cheeks. “I just didn’t realize you were that powerful and brutal.”

“That’s not it,” Zhuo choked out. “You’re afraid I’ll attack you! You think I would attack you!” He had always been powerful; why had Yuan Anqing never dodged him before?!

“No, I just feel a bit… strange. If this were when we first met, I wouldn’t be shocked by what you did.” Yuan Anqing’s initial assessment of Zhuo as an apex predator was identical to his current actions. “But now, I feel like my own well-behaved, clingy pet is actually a powerful mob boss on the streets.”

“You don’t like it?” Zhuo asked him, sniffing.

“It’s not that I dislike it; I’m just still processing it right now.” Yuan Anqing hadn’t quite recovered yet. “Does tormenting them bring you pleasure?”

“No pleasure. I simply chose the most efficient way to make them feel maximum fear as a deterrent,” Zhuo slowly squatted down in front of him.

“I might need some time to fully adapt,” Yuan Anqing admitted honestly. “I’ve never seen such… What are you doing?”

Zhuo’s freshly donned shirt was already lifted again. He looked up at Yuan Anqing with teary eyes. “I’m helping you relieve your negative emotions.”

Yuan Anqing raised an eyebrow.

Zhuo then asked him, “Do you want to grab my horns like yesterday?”

Yuan Anqing temporarily put aside his unsettling feelings of witnessing a massacre. “No, I don’t.”

Zhuo showed no disappointment or sadness. He rubbed his face affectionately against Yuan Anqing’s lower abdomen. “Then I’ll just have to try hard myself to distract you, won’t I?”

Yuan Anqing’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but the golden glow in his eyes betrayed his rising emotions.

The rational Savior temporarily abandoned serious thought.

The two of them fooled around until midnight. If they hadn’t been severely sleep-deprived from the previous night, they likely would have continued for longer.

“Ugh. My stomach feels so bloated.” This was Zhuo’s first time experiencing the sensation of being overly full in this manner.

Yuan Anqing reached over to rub Zhuo’s stomach gently. “I keep feeling like something isn’t quite right.” His rationality was slowly returning.

“I was deliberately trying to entice you so you wouldn’t think about those dead people, you know,” Zhuo admitted candidly.

“I know, I’m not talking about that.” Yuan Anqing closed his eyes while rubbing Zhuo’s stomach. “I just feel like I’ve forgotten something.”

“Forgotten what? What else is there to do? Haven’t all the bad people been dealt with cleanly?” Zhuo also closed his eyes in bliss.

The two of them nestled their heads together, ready to sleep.

Just as they were about to drift into slumber, they both opened their eyes simultaneously and exclaimed in unison, “ZHENG XIAO’AN!!”

Meanwhile, in Chen Jiao’s hospital room, the pitiful teenager, sleeping on a makeshift cot on the floor, asked the darkness, “Did something happen to them?”

Chen Jiao had lost count of how many times she’d heard that question today. As before, her answer was just three dry words: “They’ll be fine.”

She figured the young couple was probably just wrapped up in their own domestic world and had completely forgotten they had a kid to pick up.

“Something definitely happened,” Zheng Xiao’an mumbled softly, clutching their blanket.

Chen Jiao: “…”

Damn it. I’m a retired teacher in my fifties. Why can’t I even sleep peacefully in a hospital?!