EDEH Chapter 98

[007 Diary Twenty-Nine]

 

[The little evil dragon’s feelings for himself may far exceed the doctor’s expectations. He has given all the emotional feedback that a non-human being has learned in eighteen years.]

 

·

 

“Ah… yes, yes!”

 

Colin was completely stunned. Under everyone’s gaze, all skin exposed to the air began visibly turning red.

 

The half of his face that had looked somewhat terrifying due to disfigurement became endearing because of the blush.

 

Upon hearing his response, Wei Lan turned around decisively and left without looking back.

 

“I…” Colin stammered for a long time without getting a single word out, feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

 

Isaac, passing by, kicked him: “Are you playing the innocent young man here?”

 

Only then did Colin lift his numb legs and feet, intercepting the car door before Wei Lan got in, saying breathlessly: “I… I’m very happy.”

 

Wei Lan stopped: “So am I.”

 

Colin asked without thinking: “Hap-happy about what?”

 

Wei Lan looked at him for a moment, her gaze seeming to view him as mentally challenged.

 

Colin knew he was being foolish, his tongue nearly tying in knots: “I’m happy, my mind’s a bit chaotic… it’s been too long. I never really thought about having any kind of outcome before…”

 

His words were disjointed, but both understood what was in their hearts.

 

Under the apocalypse, wanting lasting romance was too difficult, especially with their positions. In what should have been their most reckless and willful years, restraining their nature, forcing maturity, full of ideals, sacrificing personal feelings—it was inherently against human nature.

 

Compared to others, Colin had no lofty ideals. He just went with the flow, doing what everyone around him was doing, rarely even thinking about humanity’s future.

 

He simply felt that if everyone could sacrifice, then he had nothing special to be noble about.

 

Wei Lan was the rare “dream” that spanned Colin’s teenage to young adult years. Dreams were meant to be dreamed about and imagined, not realized. In the past, he only relied on that subtle intuition that “Wei Lan also had some feelings for him,” so he would occasionally go over to joke around.

 

Later, after being disfigured in District Seven, he lost his previous carefree courage.

 

But now, unexpectedly, Wei Lan had actively pierced through this atmosphere of insufficient ambiguity with a direct bombshell.

 

Dreams coming true—saying he was happy was too stingy. It was like a dream; Colin’s fingertips were still numb even now.

 

“I… I want to hug you.”

 

Wei Lan didn’t agree, but she didn’t move either.

 

Colin finally shed his “cowardly” nature, reaching out to embrace Wei Lan. His heart’s agitation didn’t calm down but beat even more violently.

 

Though he had countless times jokingly or sincerely asked for hugs before, this was his first time getting his wish.

 

Hugging was probably the most mutually satisfying behavior between humans—chests rising and falling, hearts slowly changing rhythm, creating resonance.

 

“Wait for me to come back.” He was rarely firm, saying solemnly.

 

…

 

Late at night, the recruitment office was also packed with people.

 

An official shouted: “Registration closes soon! Those who came later don’t need to queue—staying in the city for post-disaster reconstruction is also important!!”

 

Every time other safe zones faced disasters, the main city would recruit mercenary teams to go together.

 

Today was the same as always, with countless mercenaries coming together in groups, the enthusiasm even greater than before.

 

Undeniably, many mercenaries were there for the subsidies. After all, going to the wilderness had risks, and supporting others just meant greater risks, but as long as they survived, the considerable subsidies would let them not worry about livelihood for the next two or three months.

 

But on this day, after the Dawn Plan’s exposure and having just ended a devastating battle, so many people were still willing to risk their lives for rescue that no one could say it was just for subsidies anymore.

 

Many among them had been registering every time for over a decade.

 

Disaster brought hearts together again. Someone nearby held a megaphone, shouting with a red face and thick neck: “We all need to do our part for the dawn!”

 

“We will be remembered forever!!”

 

All this positive celebration stemmed from the exposure of Huo Yanji’s manor.

 

The existence of the Dawn Plan negated the sacrifices and honor of deviants, but that manor filled with the names of the deceased acknowledged their existence.

 

When everything was still in the dark period, someone had tried their utmost to preserve their traces in history, even if tomorrow might not come.

 

How could this not excite people, fill them with passionate blood?

 

Someone shouted loudly: “Fight for General Huo’s ideals—!!”

 

“Struggle to the end for humanity’s future!”

 

…

 

The generals standing on the high walls had complex expressions. Someone murmured: “Huo Yanji is faintly becoming the new Huo Feng.”

 

Liao Te, who never liked to appear publicly, coldly mocked: “Isn’t this exactly what you all promoted?”

 

“People need a just spiritual pillar. I don’t think this is a bad thing.” Fu Xi said from a political administrator’s perspective: “Rather than saying Huo Feng was a spiritual pillar, it’s better to say he was an epitome of survivors’ ideals at that time, gathering all the restless hearts together. Though Huo Feng’s image originated from lies and deception, undeniably it also brought nearly a hundred years of positive influence.”

 

Despite all their inner resentment, everyone understood that without Huo Feng and the Dawn Plan behind him, humanity might not have lasted until today. Perhaps they would have fallen apart long ago, only occasionally glimpsing one or two concentrated fleeing figures in the broken, absurd city ruins.

 

Right and wrong were always hard to judge. By essence, results, or process? Each seemed to yield different answers.

 

·

 

Sang Jue had been dreaming frequently lately. This time the protagonist in his dream was Dr. Anya.

 

He dreamed back to the night before leaving his home planet, when he asked the doctor: “Will you wait for me to come home on the home planet?”

 

The doctor didn’t answer but asked if he wanted to hear a bedtime story.

 

But humans didn’t understand—evil dragons didn’t actually like bedtime stories, nor did they love hearing bedtime stories read by just anyone. For instance, the evil dragon had no desire to hear his wife read bedtime stories.

 

Perhaps it was because every human he encountered stood in their own position, each only able to accompany a certain segment of human life… dragon life.

 

A cool voice reached his ears: “Lying on your stomach won’t lower your temperature.”

 

On the bed, Sang Jue, who had been sleeping alone, sensed Huo Yanji’s presence and immediately climbed onto him using both hands and feet, like both a koala and an octopus.

 

Huo Yanji held an ice pack in his hand. When he returned and found Sang Jue still burning at thirty-nine degrees, he prepared for physical cooling. Though with Sang Jue’s constitution, even burning at forty degrees probably wouldn’t cause problems.

 

“Don’t cool it down…”

 

Habits indulged truly were hard to change. Sang Jue really liked the sleeping position of lying on top, burying his head in the neck hollow, with the distant heartbeat sounds from the nearby chest cavity, and some exclusive frequencies belonging to his human.

 

Listening to these sounds, he could sleep very soundly.

 

This time Huo Yanji didn’t indulge him, turning sideways to put him down, placing the ice pack wrapped in a towel on his forehead, and stuffing two slightly cool metal pieces under his arms.

 

Sang Jue opened his eyes a crack and mumbled: “It’s already two o’clock, you weren’t on time.”

 

Huo Yanji apologized: “The meeting ran a bit long.”

 

Sang Jue scooted closer to him: “Breaking your word, that’s one gem penalty.”

 

Huo Yanji said: “Who made that rule?”

 

Sang Jue didn’t like having something pressed on his forehead and kept trying to pull it off: “The evil dragon’s personal rule.”

 

“…”

 

This conversation felt strangely familiar.

 

After half an hour of fussing, Sang Jue’s temperature finally dropped a bit, but he still wasn’t sure what had infected him. He was like a person with superpowers who couldn’t control himself and didn’t know what his new abilities were, relying entirely on instinct in confusion.

 

Huo Yanji’s body was also quite cold, having obviously been rushing around in the night for a long time.

 

The underground city itself had very low temperatures. The warmth during the day relied entirely on massive energy supply, and to save resources, the underground city at night was basically at zero degrees.

 

Actually, surface resources weren’t scarce now—they were quite abundant—but without technology or manpower, many resources couldn’t be utilized by humans.

 

Sang Jue threw away the ice pack and flopped into Huo Yanji’s embrace: “Take off your clothes, sleep.”

 

Huo Yanji hadn’t planned to sleep tonight. It was already past two, and he’d have to go out again around five for business—closing his eyes would only be for a moment.

 

But the evil dragon didn’t reason with humans, directly forcing his wife’s clothes off, then pressing his entire dragon body on top.

 

Huo Yanji didn’t feel very sleepy. He absentmindedly played with Sang Jue’s tail: “Let me see your horns.”

 

“They’re so heavy.” Sang Jue said this but still obediently let out his horns: “Haven’t polished them in a long time, they’re rough and heavy.”

 

“They need polishing?”

 

Sang Jue huffed: “Of course.”

 

He was a refined evil dragon who cared about his appearance—horns needed grinding, teeth needed cleaning, claws needed trimming.

 

Huo Yanji had a sudden realization: “The rectangular black stone that Dr. Spruce took from the aircraft’s rest room in District Seven before, couldn’t it be—”

 

Sang Jue continued: “It’s the stone the doctor uses to grind my horns every month.”

 

Huo Yanji asked: “…And that thick rope?”

 

Sang Jue blinked and answered: “For grinding dragon teeth. I’ve used it for a long time, it has the best texture.”

 

Huo Yanji let out a sigh: “Dr. Spruce has practically enshrined those two items. He firmly believes they must have special meaning on another civilized planet.”

 

“…” Sang Jue blinked: “It’s just an ordinary grinding stone and an ordinary thick rope.”

 

Huo Yanji asked: “Did you not say anything on purpose then?”

 

Sang Jue huffed with displeasure: “You said I looked like a wolf-dog then!”

 

Huo Yanji’s brow moved slightly. He remembered he hadn’t said that about Sang Jue, but about a palm-sized sculpture found in the aircraft—

 

A human life form and his mount.

 

Huo Yanji curved his lips slightly, as if unable to suppress a laugh: “So the mount is you? Who’s the human?”

 

The little evil dragon gave up and covered Huo Yanji’s mouth: “No one! It’s a stinking human, and I’m not a mount!”

 

Huo Yanji pinched the base of his tail and turned his head to move Sang Jue’s hand away: “Tell me, who?”

 

Sang Jue huffed quietly: “The evil dragon’s prince.”

 

Huo Yanji’s eyes darkened: “Who is the prince?”

 

Sang Jue said: “The prince is the prince.”

 

Huo Yanji applied more pressure: “Really won’t say?”

 

With his tail tip being firmly pinched and his cheeks flushed red, Sang Jue still wouldn’t compromise, taking a bite of Huo Yanji’s chin and grinding his teeth: “It’s the human prince who’s supposed to save the world together with the evil dragon.”

 

Huo Yanji, being such an extreme realist, really couldn’t follow Sang Jue’s train of thought: “The prince from fairy tales?”

 

Sang Jue hummed and carefully licked Huo Yanji’s lips.

 

Neither was very accustomed to kissing—Huo Yanji had been single for over thirty years, and Sang Jue had no idea how to kiss—yet they still instinctively enjoyed intimate moments.

 

No longer dwelling on the prince matter, Huo Yanji caressed Sang Jue’s slender waist and asked casually: “If someone very important to you deceived you, what would you do?”

 

Sang Jue looked up alertly: “What did you deceive me about?”

 

Huo Yanji: “…”

 

He didn’t know whether to feel honored.

 

For the little evil dragon, there were currently only two very important people: the doctor and Ji Ji.

 

The doctor wouldn’t lie to him, so it could only be Ji Ji who had deceived him about something, or was preparing to deceive him about something.

 

Huo Yanji said: “It’s just a hypothesis, for example the doctor—”

 

Sang Jue denied: “Impossible, the doctor has never lied to me.”

 

Huo Yanji smoothed the slightly ruffled scales on his tail and continued asking: “What if?”

 

Sang Jue lifted his head slightly, looking at Huo Yanji as if examining his purpose for asking this.

 

Huo Yanji met his gaze, and after a long while finally heard Sang Jue say: “I don’t know, I might forgive her.”

 

“—She’s the best human I’ve ever met.”

 

 

Over the course of growing up for more than ten years, Dr. Anya had given the evil dragon much love and patience.

 

During the year he was six and unwilling to change back to human form, she would patiently brush the teeth of dragon-form Sang Jue every day and wipe his scales. As his horns grew heavier, the doctor would use a grinding stone every month to grind away the excess keratin.

 

Later, as he gradually grew up, it was also the doctor who taught him to read and how to live among humans without feeling so wronged.

 

If the doctor had deceived him, regardless of what it was about, it seemed there was only one choice: forgiveness.

 

Huo Yanji said casually: “What if I lied to you?”

 

Sang Jue replied without thinking: “I’d eat you.”

 

Huo Yanji let out a breathy laugh from his nasal cavity, his chest vibrating: “Different treatment?”

 

“I’ve known the doctor for eighteen years, but I’ve only known you for—” Sang Jue counted, couldn’t count clearly, “only known you for about three or four months.”

 

Seeing Huo Yanji not speaking, the little evil dragon seriously added: “There’s no comparison.”

 

Huo Yanji: “Is that how you use that phrase?”

 

Sang Jue asked back: “Isn’t it?”

 

“…I suppose.” Following his words, Huo Yanji asked: “How long would we need to know each other before I could get forgiveness after lying to you?”

 

This time Sang Jue’s mind caught on and didn’t fall into the trap: “Don’t even think about lying to me.”

 

Huo Yanji chuckled softly, flipping him underneath and capturing two slender wrists: “Can’t sleep. I have to go out before five-thirty, let’s have a midnight snack.”

 

“Eat what?” Sang Jue was still very interested in delicious food. “No cilantro paste… mmph.”

 

With his mouth blocked and his tail pinched until his whole body went soft, Sang Jue finally realized the midnight snack was himself.

 

How awful.

 

Humans would eat anything except other humans.

 

…

 

The underground city’s night was peaceful and tranquil, with colorful neon lights complementing each other, skyscrapers layered upon layers, as if dreaming back to the most glorious period of prehistoric civilization.

 

Residents had grown accustomed to the safety here, never having to worry about danger, able to walk freely on the streets even at night.

 

Until a not-too-urgent unfamiliar alarm sounded, causing people walking on the roadside, just awakened from sleep, or swaying to music rhythms in brightly lit bars to stop and look up at the sky in confusion.

 

Having never experienced the pain of disaster, even hearing the alarm, they didn’t panic but remained as calm as before.

 

**

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