A Monster’s Nightmare: The Lifeless Savior

Zhuo reveled in the sight of humans being seduced by their desires.

He would often tease his handlers—the “keepers”—initially using his abilities, but eventually discerning a pattern: language alone could sway people. He truly enjoyed this form of entertainment. Unfortunately, his keepers were replaced as soon as they showed any signs of being compromised.

Zhuo didn’t mind; each new keeper was merely a fresh toy, allowing him to unearth novel sources of amusement.

However, for a monster like him—one utterly captivated by depravity and chaos—his current living situation was nothing short of a nightmare.

Yuan Anqing seemed to have already reached the absolute bottom of depravity. Yet, he wasn’t world-weary, nor did he harbor any destructive impulses. He displayed no desire to resist his fate, nor did he ever show a hint of genuine anger. He was merely a breathing corpse. A freak utterly devoid of desire.

Zhuo suppressed his irritation, spending three days cooped up at home with Yuan Anqing. Finally, he could bear it no longer.

Over breakfast, he challenged Yuan Anqing: “Don’t you want to go out for a walk, Savior?”

Yuan Anqing pondered for about two seconds, then shook his head.

“What do you plan to do today?” Zhuo pressed.

“Sleep.” The answer was utterly unsurprising.

Zhuo slammed the table. “All you do is sleep! Sleep after breakfast! Sleep after lunch! Sleep after dinner, after a drink, and after a bath! You don’t even have a single friend to talk to!”

Yuan Anqing stared at Zhuo over the rim of his bowl.

Zhuo quickly added, “I am not your friend!”

“Don’t say that,” Yuan Anqing said softly, sipping his porridge. “It makes my life sound so empty.”

“And what else is it? Do you think your life is fulfilling?!” Zhuo countered.

Yuan Anqing silently finished his porridge, then slowly stated, “I believe whether life is fulfilling should not be defined by worldly standards. If, to me, my life is fulfilling, then it is fulfilling.”

“A fulfilling life brings joy,” Zhuo argued, dismissing Yuan Anqing’s twisted, apathetic logic. “You’ve never even smiled.”

“There’s nothing worth being happy about,” Yuan Anqing replied truthfully. “If you would allow me to smoke, then I might be able to offer you a sincere smile.”

Zhuo fell silent. Then, he abruptly bypassed the topic of cigarettes and demanded, “I want to go out and have fun. Today.”

“What’s so fun about going out? There are many people smoking outside; you won’t like that smell,” Yuan Anqing reminded him.

“I need desires! I need to see people consumed by want! I am a psychologically sound differentiated monster! I cannot stay cooped up with a breathing corpse for long periods!” Zhuo grew increasingly agitated with each word.

Yuan Anqing slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin. “‘Corpse’ is a rather hurtful descriptor.”

“Are you hurt by it?”

“No.”

Zhuo snapped. “I’m going to kill you! I absolutely will kill you! And I won’t let you die painlessly!”

Yuan Anqing sighed, looking helpless. “Then what do you want to do for fun?”

“Just wander around! Watch a movie! Anything at all! I just don’t want to stay in this house!”

Yuan Anqing actually wanted to ask what the difference was between watching a movie at home and in a cinema, aside from the price. However, seeing Zhuo on the verge of an explosive outburst, he decided it wasn’t worth the calories to provoke him.

“Alright. Let’s go out, then.”

Inside the dim cinema, Zhuo pursed his lips, glaring at Yuan Anqing, whose head was leaning precariously toward Zhuo’s shoulder.

Yuan Anqing was an excellent sleeper; he didn’t fidget or snore. He was as quiet as a dead man.

Zhuo took a deep breath, then raised a hand to shake Yuan Anqing awake.

“Hm? Is the movie over?” Yuan Anqing mumbled, adjusting his glasses.

“Only twelve minutes have passed,” Zhuo hissed through gritted teeth. “You are not allowed to sleep!”

“What do I do if I don’t sleep?” Yuan Anqing whispered back.

“Watch the movie!” Zhuo gestured toward the big screen.

“I am watching, but I can’t control my drowsiness.” Yuan Anqing didn’t want to sleep, but he genuinely had no interest in the film. Moreover, Zhuo had inexplicably chosen a slow-paced, gentle romantic art film. The visuals were beautiful and soothing, making it, for Yuan Anqing, the perfect white noise for a nap.

“I’ll help you solve this problem.” Zhuo’s large hands clamped onto either side of Yuan Anqing’s head, physically forcing him to face the screen. “The moment you get sleepy, I’ll release you, letting your head slump forward to startle you awake.”

Yuan Anqing’s emotions finally showed a flicker of change; he suddenly harbored a strong urge to beat this stitched-up monster. The creature had invaded his life and destroyed the meager comfort of unconsciousness he possessed.

However, Yuan Anqing’s anger came and went quickly. He soon felt drowsy again. True to his word, Zhuo released his grip. The unsettling sensation of his head falling quickly roused Yuan Anqing. He hastily sat up and adjusted his glasses.

Zhuo was quite pleased; his actions hadn’t triggered the contract ring, meaning they hadn’t been deemed an “attack.” So, he re-secured his grip on Yuan Anqing’s head, eagerly awaiting the next bout of drowsiness.

An hour and forty minutes later, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo exited the cinema with the departing audience. Yuan Anqing rubbed his neck and took a deep breath. “What was that movie about again?”

Despite being repeatedly ‘dropped’ by Zhuo, he had still managed to catch several micro-naps.

“I don’t know.” Zhuo’s mood was foul. He had spent the entire time observing Yuan Anqing’s reactions, only realizing he had missed the film entirely when the cinema lights came on.

Yuan Anqing noticed Zhuo’s resentful expression and realized he had likely ruined the atmosphere again. However, strictly speaking, it wasn’t his fault; his sleeping didn’t affect Zhuo’s ability to watch the screen.

“It must have been a beautiful film,” Yuan Anqing offered by way of comfort. “I noticed the couples in our row were in tears.”

“They cry at anything because their partners are beside them,” Zhuo scoffed.

“They empathized,” Yuan Anqing concluded.

Zhuo denied it. “They merely imagined some self-moving nonsense. They were crying for themselves, not out of deep love for their partners.”

This, Yuan Anqing didn’t understand.

Zhuo, however, clearly understood desire better than Yuan Anqing. “Eighty percent of what humans call romantic love comes from imagination, not from the actual person standing in front of them.”

“Oh.” Yuan Anqing still didn’t quite grasp it.

“Take you, for example. You’re boring, rigid, and utterly lifeless. But if there’s enough distance between us…” Zhuo reached out and plucked Yuan Anqing’s glasses from his face. “…You’d probably transform into a captivating, aloof, and ascetic handsome man in someone’s mind.”

“Alright. Give me back my glasses,” Yuan Anqing said, extending his hand flatly.

Zhuo dropped the glasses into Yuan Anqing’s palm. He knew that even if he teased Yuan Anqing by holding onto them, the man wouldn’t fight for them.

Yuan Anqing didn’t even bother with the escalator to check out the lower floors; he headed straight for the box-style elevator to leave. This time, Zhuo offered no objection. Objections were useless; Yuan Anqing possessed an uncanny ability to make everything utterly boring.

The box elevator was empty. Yuan Anqing visibly sighed in relief, disliking being squeezed in crowds.

However, his relief was premature. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, a hand slipped between them.

Yuan Anqing could see a dense, sickly purple mist emanating from that hand.

It was a Differentiated.

The elevator doors opened again, and the figure stepped in. It was a pure-blood human appearing to be a middle school student, around thirteen years old. Yet the purple mist rolling off the child filled almost every corner of the small space.

Following the child was a woman who didn’t look very old. However, humans here lived long lives; unless they were over 550, time left no marks. Judging by her protective stance, the woman’s role was the young middle schooler’s mother.

Both the child and the woman were smiling, their eyes locked onto Yuan Anqing.

The woman even whispered a pleasant warning: “Don’t try to escape, Savior, or many people in this mall will die.”

Yuan Anqing calmly met the woman’s gaze. The elevator doors slowly clicked shut.

“Hey,” the child chuckled, the whites of their eyes suddenly consumed by pitch black.

The moment the last sliver of the elevator door vanished, the child lunged.

And then, there was nothing.

The air in the elevator instantly cleared; the purple mist vanished completely, leaving only the sound of Zhuo letting out a small burp.

The woman was still standing, her hand outstretched, but the child was nowhere to be seen.

Yuan Anqing glanced at Zhuo, then turned back to the woman. “Please don’t resist. Someone will come to take you away for investigation shortly.”

“Huh?” The woman clearly hadn’t processed what just happened. She looked frantically between the empty space where the child had stood and Yuan Anqing. Finally, she took a terrified step back, pressing against the wall. “What… what did you do?!”

Her terrified gaze was fixed entirely on Yuan Anqing, leaving him somewhat bewildered.

Did she not suspect the two-meter-tall monster at all?

Yuan Anqing offered no explanation. “Madam, you’d best not run, or I don’t know if you’ll meet the same fate as your companion.”

Zhuo let out a soft, amused chuckle.

Yuan Anqing looked at Zhuo, but Zhuo quickly turned his head away the moment their eyes met. It was as if… he was sulking. Yuan Anqing couldn’t directly ask if he was upset, as Zhuo would undoubtedly deny it.

He glanced at the empty spot on the floor. Well, one thing Yuan Anqing could confirm: Zhuo was indeed a rather efficient bodyguard.

“Should we catch the next showing?” Yuan Anqing asked.

Zhuo remained silent.

Yuan Anqing reached out and poked Zhuo’s solid bicep.

“Are you talking to me?” Zhuo seemed surprised. Yuan Anqing rarely initiated conversations.

“Yes. I wanted to ask if we should catch the next showing of the movie from earlier,” Yuan Anqing inquired. He wanted to express his gratitude, but he couldn’t say it directly. Since Zhuo hadn’t corrected the woman, it meant Zhuo didn’t want to expose his identity or abilities to the public.

Zhuo, of course, understood Yuan Anqing’s attempt at an olive branch, but he wasn’t interested. “Forget it. You’ll just fall asleep again.”

“I’ll try my best not to. This time, before we go in, we can buy some popcorn and drinks. I usually don’t fall asleep while eating,” Yuan Anqing offered. “Besides, the recent incident was quite invigorating. I’m awake now.”

“The snacks outside aren’t clean,” Zhuo said, still refusing.

“You’ll only be able to eat my cooking in the future,” Yuan Anqing reminded him.

Zhuo: “…”

“You’re familiar with my culinary skills. If you refuse all outside food, then for a long time, your taste buds will only experience those lifeless flavors.” Yuan Anqing was nothing if not self-aware. Describing his food as ‘lifeless’ was accurate: not inedible, yet utterly uninspired. “Taking some risks for delicious things is worthwhile.”

Yuan Anqing poked Zhuo’s arm again.

Zhuo stared at him. He felt that Yuan Anqing was more like a demon luring one into depravity than he was.

Yuan Anqing added, “Besides, we don’t know when our actual 9-to-5 work will start. It’ll be hard to watch movies once I have to commute.”

Zhuo glanced at the bewildered, terrified woman cowering in the corner of the elevator. “Then tell Bai Tian to hurry up and arrest her so we can go.”

“So, the next showing?” Yuan Anqing asked.

“Whatever you want,” Zhuo muttered, avoiding Yuan Anqing’s gaze and staring intently at his own shoes.