The Savior’s Golden Gaze and Zhuo’s Peculiar Appetite

The low-risk differentiated individual was already secured in a straitjacket and strapped to a chair. The chair itself was welded to the floor—a precaution to ensure the subject wouldn’t suddenly erupt and fling both themselves and the furniture at the Savior.

The bound individual was a subspecies whose entire body was covered in silvery-white skin that shimmered with a metallic luster. If they remained perfectly still, they were indistinguishable from a silver statue.

A guard was meticulously checking the restraints. “I hear this Savior gets along quite well with Zhuo?”

After completing the inspection, the guard straightened up. “Do you think Zhuo could actually be influenced by the Savior?”

“Difficult to say,” Bai Tian replied, recalling Yuan Anqing’s impassive face with an involuntary sigh. “Though this Savior doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about his job either.”

The guard scoffed. “A hero’s passion won’t solve anything. If mere conversation could make these monsters change their minds, we wouldn’t need a Savior; we’d need more psychologists.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door to the isolation room swung open. Yuan Anqing and Zhuo were led inside by another guard.

Yuan Anqing had changed out of his suit, opting for a simple black shirt, his hair styled down. He looked like a scholarly, well-behaved campus heartthrob—which, in another life, he might very well have been.

As for Zhuo, he was in his usual clothes, but he was clutching… an ice pop?

“Is that a snack you specifically bought for him?” Bai Tian inquired, a hint of surprise in their voice. Yuan Anqing didn’t strike them as the thoughtful type.

“No, it’s an ‘ice pack’ to alleviate his pain,” Yuan Anqing explained, a touch of helplessness in his tone. The discomfort from the electric shock in Yuan’s own palm had long since vanished, yet Zhuo stubbornly insisted he was “critically injured,” clutching the half-melted ice pop to his hand.

Bai Tian understood. “Did he attack you?”

“Not exactly an attack, but the root of the problem certainly wasn’t with me.” Yuan Anqing preferred not to elaborate. The reason for the accidental injury—Zhuo trying to touch his groin—was simply too embarrassing to recount.

Zhuo likely shared the sentiment, as he merely followed silently behind Yuan Anqing, offering no rebuttal. However, his quietude didn’t last long. He quickly noticed the bound metallic individual.

“Is that a gift for me?” Zhuo’s red eyes widened instantly.

“No, no, no. That person hasn’t differentiated to an irreversible degree; they can still be saved,” Bai Tian interjected, their guard rising.

Zhuo’s smile faded into a pout.

Yuan Anqing observed the metallic-skinned prisoner. “What am I supposed to do? Encourage them with positive energy?”

Bai Tian shook their head. “This kind of differentiation isn’t as simple as mere depression. Once it begins, a negative thought that a person once harbored is infinitely amplified, becoming uncontrollable.”

“Antisocial tendencies?” Yuan asked.

“Not necessarily; it could also be a drive for self-destruction,” Bai Tian clarified. “It’s like when you stand on an overpass and have a fleeting impulse to jump. For most, it’s just a momentary flicker. But differentiation seizes that flicker and turns it into their sole purpose for living.”

Bai Tian gestured toward the metallic figure. “This one, for instance, has an overwhelming urge to use his hands to poke out other people’s eyeballs.”

Yuan Anqing walked closer to the figure.

“His urge is similar to the desire to pop bubble wrap,” Bai Tian added. “But he is much sicker and utterly incapable of controlling it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Yuan Anqing felt no special power awakening.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to feel it out yourself.”

Yuan Anqing only felt a slight warmth in the palm Zhuo had electrocuted, but that didn’t seem relevant. The metallic figure stared intently into Yuan’s eyes, growing increasingly agitated and struggling violently against the straps.

“Mr. Bai Tian,” Yuan Anqing said, looking back. “Surely your appeal to him is greater than mine.”

Bai Tian possessed one massive, prominent eye, yet the metallic figure seemed calm when facing them. Bai Tian didn’t answer. Instead, they stared at Yuan’s face. “Your eyes! They’ve turned gold!”

Yuan Anqing’s eyes had always had a golden undertone, but it was subtle. Now, he pulled out his phone. Even without opening the camera, the reflection on the black screen showed eyes that glowed like molten bullion.

He looked back at the prisoner. Only then did he realize the nature of the struggle had changed. The smooth metallic face was so indistinct he hadn’t realized that the agitation wasn’t excitement, but sheer, paralyzing fear.

After five or six seconds of struggling, the metallic figure quieted down. The expression on their face shifted from ferocity to a deathly, flat stillness. It was a look of total apathy—indistinguishable from Yuan Anqing’s own usual expression.

“Eh? Assimilation?” The ice pop in Zhuo’s hand had melted. He bit through the plastic and began slurping the sweet liquid.

“It’s just that their emotions have been temporarily… cleared,” Bai Tian said, sounding surprised. “Mr. Yuan, your ‘key’ is your gaze. That’s remarkably convenient.”

The metallic figure closed their eyes and fell into a deep sleep, appearing utterly exhausted.

Bai Tian asked, “How do you feel?”

“I feel a slight urge to poke someone’s eyes,” Yuan Anqing answered truthfully.

Bai Tian, with their single massive eye, silently took two steps back.

“It was just a momentary thought; it’s gone now.” Yuan Anqing found it miraculous—like an insignificant blank space in his mind had been filled with a drop of ink. It didn’t change him, but he knew it was there.

“I told you, your eyes are the most delicious part,” Zhuo reminded him.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the wall next door. Something heavy had struck the concrete.

“Next door is a high-tier differentiated individual,” the guard explained. “They have undergone differentiation over seventeen hundred times.”

Yuan Anqing pointed in the direction of the sound. “Do I need to help them too?”

“No. That level of differentiation is a symbol of complete madness. They are no longer human; they are an aggregate of desires. Specifically, the desire to slaughter.” Bai Tian looked at Zhuo. “In fact, we are certain they cannot be reversed. We were hoping Zhuo could lend a hand.”

Zhuo refused immediately. “I don’t want to. They taste awful.”

“Eat?” Yuan Anqing was astonished. “I thought you said he never ate people?”

“They aren’t people anymore, Savior.” Zhuo walked over to Yuan Anqing, bending down to meet his gaze. “They’re just garbage. If not dealt with, they rot and infect everything around them.”

“You eat them often?”

“Occasionally.” Zhuo pursed his lips. “They’re nutritious, but they taste like bitter melon. I hate bitter melon.”

Bai Tian interjected. “We can compensate you with hard candies. Ten pounds of them.”

Zhuo raised an eyebrow. “Deal. It’ll be a good chance for Mr. Savior to see what kind of bodyguard he’s stuck with.”

Yuan Anqing felt Zhuo was behaving more and more like a child.

“You really should observe carefully, Mr. Yuan,” Bai Tian warned gravely. “Zhuo’s danger level is off the charts.”

The differentiator in the adjacent room was tossed onto the floor like a white caterpillar, bound tightly. Zhuo and Yuan Anqing entered alone; Bai Tian and the guard stayed behind the reinforced glass.

“We would be affected by Zhuo’s presence, but you won’t,” Bai Tian’s voice came over the intercom.

Affected? Yuan wondered.

Zhuo walked up to the monster, crouched down, and began unfastening the straitjacket. Behind the glass, Bai Tian’s pupil dilated. They swiftly sealed the isolation door.

Zhuo began to hum a pleasant tune. Yuan Anqing watched as Zhuo’s body began to stretch and warp. His skin shifted from a tan hue to a deep, bruised crimson. His size expanded rapidly, far beyond human limits. Countless arms erupted from his back, stretching toward the prisoner, though they didn’t attack yet.

Zhuo was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual grin. It was an alluring, magnetic smile—an expression that should have been impossible on such a monstrous being.

Behind that false allure was a profound, bottomless greed. He looked like a glowing lure in a dark abyss, hiding a maw of razor-sharp teeth. He was a malevolent entity mimicking the divine to consume its devotees.

The differentiated monster watched Zhuo, its eyes filled with a strange, hypnotic longing.

Zhuo rested a hand on the creature’s head. He asked softly, “It’s very painful, isn’t it?”

Tears streamed from the monster’s eyes.

“How pitiful,” Zhuo whispered. The feigned tenderness in his voice made Yuan Anqing’s skin crawl.

Zhuo’s dozens of arms spread wide. “Come to me. You don’t have to think anymore. You don’t have to feel.”

The monster stared blankly at Zhuo, walking mechanically into his embrace. Once inside, layers of arms folded over the creature like a Venus flytrap. Zhuo’s expression remained gentle, as if he were truly comforting a child.

But Yuan Anqing could hear the sizzling sound of flesh being corroded and the muffled screams coming from within the mass of arms.

Thirty seconds later, Zhuo spread his arms. There was nothing left but air.

Zhuo turned to look at Yuan Anqing. Before he could speak, a massive, echoing burp escaped him. He covered his mouth, but another one followed immediately.

Yuan Anqing blinked, the tension breaking. “Did you eat too quickly?”

“Savoring such awful things… hiccup… is just asking for trouble,” Zhuo frowned. “I hate… hiccup… bitter gourd.”

Yuan Anqing craned his neck to look up. “How tall are you now?”

“Over four meters… hiccup… I think,” Zhuo said casually.

His clothes had shredded. He was pressed against the ceiling of the isolation room—this was the room’s limit, not his.

Yuan Anqing stared at the dozens of arms, wondering if Zhuo had multiple shoulder blades or if they were purely magical constructs.

The loudspeaker crackled. “Mr. Yuan? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Yuan Anqing replied. “But Zhuo isn’t doing so well. He has the hiccups.”

“What… hiccup… do you mean ‘not well’?” Zhuo grumbled.

“It means you won’t stop making that noise,” Yuan explained.

“Hiccup… Oh.”

Behind the glass, Bai Tian was speechless. They scratched their head, lost in thought. These two were surprisingly peaceful together. Even after witnessing a humanoid being dissolved and eaten, Yuan Anqing showed no discomfort, no nausea, and no fear.

Is this Savior simply devoid of empathy? Bai Tian wondered.