EDEH Chapter 140

The entire main city lay under oppressive black clouds, with violent storms ready to arrive at any moment. Gray skyscrapers disappeared into the clouds, being swallowed bit by bit.

The black clouds grew lower and lower, and the lighthouse’s beam grew dimmer and dimmer.

Occasionally one could see a neon light or two, flickering in the gloomy atmosphere.

“This world is really going to end.”

This was the phrase residents most often had on their lips these past two days.

But in fact, the world wouldn’t end—what might end was only humanity.

People had surprisingly little fear, instead feeling that “it was about time.”

They trampled on countless sacrificed corpses, dying in the collapsed world’s mire—perhaps the pain of living exceeded death.

When one person dies, it might breed unwillingness, but when an entire species faces extinction, it only makes people give up struggling.

The aftermath of Rift No. 2’s collapse wasn’t just contamination riots, but also internal unrest within safe zones, even collective strikes and protests under the banner of “we should peacefully spend our final time, stop exploiting bottom-tier residents.”

Their existence could even be considered strong—at least they still had energy to protest and fight for rights… while another portion of quiet people were in the most worrying condition, their nerves stretched to the limit under recent major events, ready to collapse at the slightest abnormality.

“Bang—”

A human figure leaped from a gray skyscraper, with the oppressive clouds becoming the most fitting backdrop.

He crashed onto the long street, shattered to pieces. Soon, blood seeped out from beneath him, appearing dark red under the dim lighting.

However, the surrounding people only calmly turned back, casting glances—even screams seemed precious.

A strange calm spread through the city. A burly man leaning against a pillar at the street corner glanced at the corpse and lit a cigarette; an old man sweeping the street corner bent down to pick up a food and water ticket soaked in blood, standing up expressionlessly to leave; a woman at the alley entrance was cut in half by dim light and dark shadows, stroking her red but chapped lips;

The noodle shop owner expressionlessly withdrew his gaze and said to the customer before him: “Three coins.”

“Beep”—transaction completed.

Sang Jue stood under the library eaves—the entire main city had only one library, and the books Huo Yanji had brought back from the windy ruins a few days ago were all stored here, extremely precious materials.

He was about thirty meters from the corpse, yet could still see the suicide victim’s expression clearly.

The suicide victim’s left cheek pressed against the ground, his sideways-opened pupil was a murky gray, but reflected some dark red bloody shadows. His mouth was slightly open, his expression calm. His body was in an arched state, tilted slightly left, appearing somewhat twisted.

Sang Jue withdrew his gaze and heard a security officer’s report through Huo Yanji’s earpiece: “Sir, this is already the thirteenth suicide incident today.”

Just as Huo Yanji lifted his leg, Sang Jue beside him said: “The old general said your task is to accompany me.”

“You¹Formal ‘you’?”

“Because you’re executing a mission, you’re still a human major general.” Sang Jue said without any sarcasm, “Only when you completely belong to me can I call you ‘you.'”

“…”

The old general hadn’t said anything about accompanying Sang Jue being a mission—he just told Huo Yanji to rest for a day before heading to the Waste Waters. He really hadn’t rested in too long, and had just been severely injured not long ago.

Resolving the Waste Waters contamination was a very dangerous task that required careful preparation.

Huo Yanji heard a “gurgle”—it came from Sang Jue’s stomach.

Sang Jue touched his abdomen. His lip color was paler than usual, making him look even more fragile.

Huo Yanji paused, then picked up Sang Jue: “Was the computer tasty?”

“Not tasty.” Sang Jue wrapped his arms around Huo Yanji’s neck and asked, “Will you choose me?”

Huo Yanji asked back: “What do you think?”

Sang Jue thought for a moment and answered: “Maybe this time yes, but not necessarily next time.”

Sang Jue was quite good at being cutting, successfully making a certain heart spasm as usual.

Huo Yanji’s face remained calm as he passed the maintenance squad that had rushed over after receiving communications, continuing to carry Sang Jue while looking for a restroom.

They moved away from the noise. Sang Jue rested his chin on Huo Yanji’s shoulder, watching through his back as the suicide victim was lifted onto a stretcher by the maintenance department and carried away.

His final destination would be the crematorium at 1000°C, leaving only a handful of ashes to become nutrients for the soil.

Night never fell tonight, but no one seemed to notice this.

The gray sky grew heavier and heavier, but the dim light never dissipated.

“We’re here, go in.”

Sang Jue was put down. He slowly walked into the public restroom, but turned back at the entrance: “Will you leave?”

Huo Yanji looked at him: “No.”

Sang Jue confirmed again: “You promise, you won’t move even one step.”

Huo Yanji gave him what he wanted: “I promise.”

Only then did Sang Jue enter the restroom, staying inside for a full thirty minutes before coming out.

Huo Yanji kept his word and hadn’t moved a step, still standing in the same place. Sang Jue’s complexion was even paler, his lips completely bloodless, his soft hair clinging to his cheeks. His small figure under the oppressive black clouds seemed ready to be blown away at any moment.

Theoretically, with Sang Jue’s powerful digestive ability, it shouldn’t have been this severe.

Huo Yanji didn’t expose Sang Jue’s deliberate act, just picked him up and wrapped him in his coat: “What do you want to do next?”

Sang Jue asked: “Does all your time belong to me now?”

Huo Yanji hummed and adjusted his position slightly.

“Then I haven’t decided yet.” For the first time, Sang Jue was Huo Yanji’s priority choice. “We can walk around the streets casually, and I can tell you a joke.”

Huo Yanji asked: “Where did you learn jokes?”

Sang Jue said: “Evelyn told me.”

“Mm?”

“This is a story about the desert.” Sang Jue slowly began, “A traveler riding a camel in the desert met a priest praying for rain. The traveler mocked: ‘It’s impossible for rain to fall in the desert.’ The priest argued that there’s hope only with prayer. The traveler disagreed and continued searching for possible water sources in the desert.”

“After walking for three days and nights, they finally discovered an oasis. The traveler thought his correct judgment had led them to find the water source, while the priest believed his prayers had received God’s gift. While they were arguing endlessly, the camel they were riding suddenly spoke: ‘You’re so noisy! If you’re not thirsty, let me drink first!'”

Sang Jue’s tone while telling the story was more interesting than the story itself.

Huo Yanji asked: “And then?”

They happened to pass by the main city’s prayer hall. The doors were wide open, with believers inside and outside, eyes closed, devoutly praying for divine forgiveness and gifts—

Hoping this disaster would end soon, or just be destroyed completely.

Long-unseen Lilian was in the crowd. She looked thinner, the wind blowing her cloak high, but unlike before, she wasn’t praying—instead, her eyes were wide open, surveying the surroundings.

Prayer was the only way for people trapped in unknown fear to escape that fear, even if only briefly.

But Lilian had already escaped fear and returned to her reality.

She no longer needed to pray.

As if sensing the gaze upon her, she turned back to look. In the distance were two blurry, overlapping figures—one of them was Sang Jue.

A trace of sorrow colored her eyes as she unconsciously murmured: “You must return to your rightful place…”

In recent days, the same scene had frequently appeared in her dreams—

The setting was just like today: dark sky, gray buildings… dark red blood was the world’s only decoration, even the auroras had lost their color.

Sang Jue held Huo Yanji’s corpse, crying silently.

The entire world had fallen into voiceless silence.

“Then, the priest asked the traveler in confusion: ‘How can a camel talk?’ The traveler shook his head—he couldn’t answer this question either. At this moment, a third person appeared before them, in tattered clothes with disheveled hair. He said, ‘I know why the camel can talk—because I’m mentally ill. You, the oasis, and the camel are all figments of my imagination—'”

Sang Jue continued: “The traveler immediately sighed in relief and said: ‘That’s good, I thought I was going crazy.'”

Huo Yanji said: “Is it over?”

“Mm, that’s the end.” After waiting a moment, Sang Jue asked, “Why aren’t you laughing?”

“Did you laugh after Evelyn finished telling it?”

“…No.” Sang Jue paused. “But I don’t like Evelyn.”

“What does this have to do with liking someone?”

“Because Evelyn said that although this cold joke isn’t funny, people who like you will definitely give you face after hearing it.”

“Whether I like you or not, can’t you smell it?”

“Now I’m not so sure.” Sang Jue looked at the dim street that seemed to stretch endlessly, “Every time you choose humans, your scent is one of loving me. When you stabbed me with needles and abandoned me, it was also loving me—

“But is that real love?”

Previously, Sang Jue didn’t need to confirm Huo Yanji’s affection through other means, but now he did.

Huo Yanji looked in the opposite direction from him, asking indifferently: “Would you feel sad because of me?”

“…Yes.”

“Then it’s not real love.” His heart felt like it was being continuously pricked by sharp thin needles, the wounds almost numb. Huo Yanji’s voice was barely rippling: “A partner who makes you feel sad wouldn’t be a suitable partner.”

“…” Sang Jue stopped talking, his face pressed against Huo Yanji’s shoulder, staring blankly behind them.

After a while, he said: “It doesn’t matter.”

·

In the research institute, researchers gathered together with grave expressions.

The director took a deep breath and said: “Harlow.”

The researcher named Harlow said: “I’ll state the conclusion first. Through monitoring, the surface magnetic field has undergone changes we can’t directly describe, and it’s definitely related to the dispersive aurora from Eye of Paradise—reports from the Second District Research Institute show that the closer to Eye of Paradise, the more severe the magnetic field imbalance, and various dragon species in the valley, who previously had very low contamination desires, suddenly began killing each other or attacking safe zones, even exhibiting repetitive cliff-jumping behavior.”

“The repetitive cliff-jumping can be understood as self-destructive behavior.”

Eugene was silent for a while, then said: “The magnetic field affected their brain waves, causing these strange behaviors?”

“But other contaminated creatures, besides being particularly agitated and attacking safe zones, haven’t shown the stereotypical behavior you mentioned.”

Hill’s slender but rough fingers held a pen, lightly tapping the table. He suddenly brought up a seemingly unrelated topic: “According to Dr. Anya’s past research, the creatures with brain waves most similar to humans aren’t primates, but new organisms—dragons.”

Someone asked: “What does this have to do with our topic today?”

The director said heavily: “This IS our topic today—according to data from the Second District, one-tenth of the humans in the city are exhibiting stereotypical behavior. Yesterday, the number of resident suicides reached 412, and that’s only what’s been discovered.”

He opened a video recording from the Second District—

Under an extremely low-pixel dim sky, gray human figures fell from high buildings, appearing almost every two minutes. They showed no hesitation, no fear, unhesitatingly tilting their bodies and falling freely—it was chilling.

The director continued: “In our city, as of just now today, thirteen self-destructors with common characteristics have appeared.”

Everyone suddenly looked up, suddenly having a bone-chilling association.

“Previous recordings from underground, as well as Dr. Millie and Lilian, all mentioned that they were mentally contaminated—” Hill took a deep breath, speaking slowly and clearly, “Perhaps this isn’t the effect of fear as we assumed, but actual contamination. We’re being affected to varying degrees without realizing it.”

***

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  Formal ‘you’