EDEH Chapter 138

Was this request excessive?

 

It didn’t seem excessive—one person’s life could never override collective interests, as humans were after all beings that survived by depending on the collective.

 

Yet it also seemed very excessive.

 

This person was Huo Yanji, the Huo Yanji who had countless achievements and great deeds for today’s survivors over the past decade or more.

 

Pushing him into the fire pit at this final moment seemed too contrary to morality.

 

“You can refuse me and directly take action—that’s your freedom.” Sang Jue stood there, more slender than most men present, yet very calm. “But in that case, I guarantee that even if you catch me, I will definitely kill you before that happens—and everyone else who tries to attack me.”

 

Beneath the fabric of his clothes, hard cold scales clung to his skin, forming natural armor. A finger hidden in his sleeve had already liquefied, merging with his flesh-colored palm, ready to shoot out at any moment and pierce through Ling Gen’s nose and mouth.

 

Sang Jue was executing what Huo Yanji had once told him—

 

Don’t forgive those who try to harm you. Strike back immediately, without the need for tolerance.

 

“If one day I also do something harmful to you, you should kill me too.”

 

Sang Jue was momentarily dazed.

 

His memory was excellent—he clearly remembered every word Huo Yanji had said. When Huo Yanji hypothesized about harming him, he didn’t say “you can kill me,” but “you should kill me.”

 

He had said it so definitively—you need to do this.

 

Long ago, before everything happened, Huo Yanji might have already anticipated—

 

Or rather, “anticipated” wasn’t accurate. Given their species differences, he should have envisioned all their possible endings and told him the most effective way to handle the worst outcome.

 

But Sang Jue didn’t want to kill him—he wanted Huo Yanji to suffer.

 

Even if he would suffer too.

 

The sandstorm grew stronger. The sunset’s afterglow enveloped the thousands of troops, their upper bodies in the light, so dazzling one couldn’t see clearly, their lower bodies cut by light into shadows, clearly visible.

 

Sang Jue’s expression was calm, but his eyes were red. He gently pressed his lips together—perhaps the sand had gotten in his eyes.

 

“This isn’t something I can decide.” After a long silence and consideration, Ling Gen knew Sang Jue made sense. If Sang Jue really was the so-called “door,” who could guarantee Sang Jue wouldn’t leave a second time?

 

But even if they agreed to Sang Jue’s terms, who could guarantee Sang Jue wouldn’t go back on his word after getting Huo Yanji?

 

After all, humans spared no effort in applying all negative labels to “enemies.”

 

Treacherous, cunning, despicable.

 

“So go ask the people of the safe zone.” Sang Jue tilted his head slightly, saying softly, “Maybe they’ll agree.”

 

Ling Gen felt an inexplicable pang in his heart.

 

He thought of the billion-plus compatriots abandoned over a century ago, of Bo Qing who died from comprehensive judgment over a decade ago, of the deviants forced to sacrifice themselves…

 

He didn’t need to ask—he already knew the answer.

 

…

 

“General.”

 

“Mm.” Huo Yanji asked, “How’s the situation?”

 

“Rescue hopes are too slim.” Tang Bai frowned. “Rift No. 2 collapsed very thoroughly. The horizon dropped several hundred meters, leaving only a massive crater. The people who went down probably…”

 

Seven days had passed since the rift collapse.

 

The main city’s communications building had tried countless times to contact Deputy Leon at the rift base, but there was never a response. Although they continued various rescue operations, everyone knew the survival chances for the thousand people who went down were minimal.

 

But they still had to make the effort—

 

The rift collapse also led to city residents learning about the restart of the “Dawn 2” project. Some residents were indignant, but after learning that everyone had signed agreements to voluntarily execute the plan, the commotion died down considerably.

 

Simply put, who didn’t hope someone would end this disaster? Who didn’t hope for more people as powerful as Huo Feng to lead the survivors in battle, expand territory, and march toward a bright future?

 

Unlike the “Dawn” project that continuously harmed half of humanity, “Dawn 2” would only persecute a very small portion of people’s interests. So at this time, whether deviants or ordinary people, they all closed their mouths and stopped speaking, taking the stance of uninvolved observers.

 

The voices of the last few protesters were too small to cause any ripples.

 

Some even said that with so many unresolved issues in the city, why spend so much energy rescuing a group of people who couldn’t possibly be saved?

 

After all, they couldn’t hollow out the rift and fish out the disaster victims from underground.

 

Huo Yanji said: “Leave one team, have the rest return.”

 

Tang Bai paused: “Won’t this cause public outrage?”

 

Huo Yanji turned and left, leaving behind a cold remark: “Don’t waste time on meaningless things.”

 

He had once treated Sang Jue with this same attitude—

 

That time when he was dragged into the seventh district sewers by green fungi.

 

Even though he had already felt attraction then, he still ruthlessly abandoned it. Not only did others treat Huo Yanji as a weapon, but sometimes he himself only saw himself as a tool to lead humanity forward in the apocalypse.

 

Tang Bai watched Huo Yanji’s still upright figure. After so many events, Huo Yanji remained calm and indifferent, as if he hadn’t been hurt at all.

 

But he could feel that Huo Yanji had changed greatly.

 

Without Sang Jue, Huo Yanji had completely cast aside personal emotions, only doing “correct” things, regardless of whether these things aligned with public sentiment or whether others agreed.

 

None of it mattered.

 

The current Huo Yanji didn’t need results—like a programmed routine, once it completed its tasks, the program could be destroyed.

 

In the city, complaints were equally rampant.

 

In a street-side tavern, a mercenary just returned from outside complained: “The rift collapsed, and all those monsters seem more agitated. I nearly didn’t make it back alive!”

 

“This life isn’t even fit for dogs.”

 

“Right, didn’t dogs go extinct?”

 

“Let everything be destroyed. I’m really fed up. Another wave of meteors, everyone dies together, and we’d all be free.”

 

“If you want to die, go by yourself. Some people still want to live.”

 

Someone at a nearby table chimed in: “We’re still doing well. Rift No. 2 is full of tentacles that can’t get out. Some rifts, affected by No. 2’s collapse, have monsters inside going berserk and attacking nearby safe zones. Feels like it won’t be long before we all go meet God.”

 

“Things won’t be peaceful from now on. In two days at most, we’ll probably have to mobilize militia to support other districts.”

 

“Mobilize my ass! We’re already a complete mess ourselves!”

 

“Then what do we do, just watch them die? We’re compatriots after all…”

 

Such voices were everywhere, along with pessimists spreading negative thoughts about humanity’s impending extinction—hundreds had been arrested just for this.

 

You couldn’t blame them for thinking this way. Whether it was due to Rift No. 2’s collapse or not, all monsters outside the safe zone had begun to become agitated, with particularly intense desires to attack and contaminate.

 

Most critically, other rifts were also affected by Rift No. 2, with monsters emerging in groups and beginning to launch wave attacks on nearby safe zones.

 

Even residents eating in the cafeteria couldn’t eat in peace. They ate quickly—either they had to leave the city in the afternoon or throw themselves into construction work.

 

Only during these brief moments of eating could they vent the frustration in their hearts.

 

“Just let whatever’s coming come quickly and give us a quick end…”

 

“The sky’s been wrong these past few days—the whole day looks like dusk, and at night we can actually see those damn auroras!”

 

“What color did you see? I saw green, but Third Brother insists it was blue. He’s probably colorblind, haha!”

 

His friend looked at him strangely: “Bullshit, it was clearly purple!”

 

Huo Yanji, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, took in all these conversations.

 

There had indeed been auroras these past nights, very beautiful.

 

But strangely, each person seemed to see different colors, while he saw multicolored… the kind of multicolored that couldn’t be described in words, containing many colors that couldn’t even be named, beyond human cognitive understanding.

 

He lowered his eyes and picked up a piece of beef brisket, unconsciously grinding it with his left molars. After pausing for a second, he realized—he wasn’t the one with fangs.

 

Sang Jue loved to chew with his left fang. Sometimes Huo Yanji would tell him to switch sides to avoid asymmetrical facial development.

 

But habit was helpless—even if Sang Jue obediently switched sides, he would quickly switch back and continue grinding food with his left teeth.

 

Occasionally, when Huo Yanji watched for a while, he would press his knuckles against Sang Jue’s lips and then kiss him.

 

For the first time, Huo Yanji wasted food. He had only taken one bite of his ordered dish before standing up. He carried the full plate to the recycling station, said “sorry” to the staff, and paid a 100-coin fine.

 

In the safe zone, wasting food was extremely shameful, so even if the food was only worth a few coins, the fine was still one hundred.

 

The staff member recognized him and, though puzzled why the major general wasn’t eating at the military cafeteria, didn’t ask. They expressed understanding for his waste: “Are you suddenly busy? That’s understandable, no need for the fine—”

 

Before they could finish, Huo Yanji waved his hand and turned to leave.

 

His body wasn’t giving much feedback about hunger. Huo Yanji headed straight for the central building.

 

Passing soldiers saluted properly: “Major General!”

 

Huo Yanji entered the elevator alone and went to the top floor.

 

“Knock knock—”

 

The old general looked up and sighed slightly upon seeing who it was: “Why don’t you rest a few more days? You need to recover your health before you have the energy for other things…”

 

“Any news from the Second District?”

 

“…Yes.” The old general paused, “Eye of Paradise has indeed shown abnormalities. The team the Second District sent to investigate saw aurora-like dispersed matter in the eye socket. The magnetic field is very strong—when approaching, it not only affects electronics but seems to affect people’s minds as well—

 

“What do you think?”

 

That Sang Jue was connected to Eye of Paradise and the rifts was practically a foregone conclusion. They just weren’t clear whether the recent abnormal phenomena caused by Rift No. 2’s collapse were related to Sang Jue.

 

Huo Yanji’s expression remained unchanged as he asked: “What about the research institute?”

 

The old general said: “Many theories, but none with actual evidence. However, one researcher spent a long time going through materials and brought up a theory from a mad physicist long ago—”

 

Planets were born from an explosion, initially just a mass of extremely compressed energy matter that continuously attracted passing debris or meteors, finally forming their current appearance after thousands of years of refinement. That initial mass was called the ‘origin point.’ All living matter on the planet came from the ‘origin point,’ and living on this planet weren’t just the life forms humans recognized.

 

Everything was relative—positive and negative, high and low. Space might also be divided into positive and negative poles. The world humans inhabited stood in the light, and in the darkness there must be another world humans couldn’t comprehend.

 

Over a thousand years ago, this theory was only considered a madman’s baseless fantasy. When people today dug it up, it actually seemed somewhat credible.

 

The old general hesitated to speak.

 

Huo Yanji raised his eyelids: “What, you want to say Sang Jue is that ‘origin point’?”

 

The old general smiled bitterly: “I’m not the one saying this—it’s a bold guess from the research institute. After all, no material life in this world can freely replicate other organisms’ genes, or even freely transform while coexisting.”

 

“Come talk to me about this after they’ve proven it.” Huo Yanji suddenly changed topics, “How do you plan to handle Major General Ling?”

 

The old general was silent for a while: “How do you want to handle it?”

 

Huo Yanji’s tone was indifferent: “Let’s see how you handle it first. If I’m not satisfied, I’ll naturally help.”

 

“…” The old general’s eyelid twitched, and a subtle sense of alienation arose.

 

He suddenly felt that everyone together had forced away the last bit of Huo Yanji’s “humanity.”

 

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he heard knocking.

 

The old general’s eyes flickered slightly. Before he could speak, Huo Yanji beside him had already identified the visitor’s footsteps. He strode forward and pulled open the office door.

 

Ling Gen was restraining the handcuffed Sang Jue, his knocking hand still raised, when he met Huo Yanji’s cold eyes.

 

“You…”

 

Sang Jue’s hands were cuffed in front of him, looking harmless. With the same pure expression as always, he said to Huo Yanji: “I came back to find you.”

 

“…” Huo Yanji closed his eyes briefly. “The key.”

 

Ling Gen was stunned: “What?”

 

Huo Yanji repeated: “The handcuff key.”

 

Ling Gen frowned: “This…”

 

“Is he a criminal?”

 

“…No.”

 

Of course Sang Jue wasn’t a criminal. His hands weren’t even stained with much human blood—cleaner than any mercenary or soldier.

 

Huo Yanji’s gaze moved away from Sang Jue’s face, coldly raising his eyes: “Then don’t make me say it twice.”

 

“Give it to him, Ling Gen.” The old general said.

 

Ling Gen’s brow furrowed tightly. After consideration, he still took out the key. Just as he handed it over, he heard Huo Yanji say: “Everyone out.”

 

“…” Ling Gen suppressed his anger and complied. He and the old general had things to discuss anyway.

 

As soon as the door closed, only the low-pressure Huo Yanji and the seemingly unperturbed Sang Jue remained in the office.

 

The handcuffs weren’t unlocked immediately. Huo Yanji turned his back to Sang Jue and walked a few steps into the office. Suddenly, he turned around and raised his hand to grip Sang Jue’s slender, fragile neck—

 

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Sang Jue didn’t even react.

 

He stared straight at Huo Yanji. The hands gripping his neck didn’t apply force—he felt no suffocation, only the long-missed warmth of those palms.

 

Huo Yanji looked down at him, his cold gaze seemingly devoid of emotion: “Why didn’t you resist?”

 

“Are you going to hurt me a second time?” Sang Jue answered irrelevantly, using words he’d just learned to describe: “Ji Zhen died, and Evelyn died for love too. They can’t accompany me to see the sea anymore.”

 

The muscles in Huo Yanji’s jaw were tense. He asked word by word: “I’m asking you, why did you come back?”

 

Sang Jue still couldn’t manage many expressions. His face was very calm. He thought for a moment and said: “Because I want you, and I also want to make you as sad as I am.”

 

***

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