Chapter 48#

Release#

Among those present at the time, excluding herself and the captain, there were He Ziyue, A Li, and Mu Yanshen.

Fang Xiyu had just woken up, and Hua Jin had also been troubled for a long time because his abilities couldn’t play a role in battle, and both of them weren’t there at the time.

Among the remaining people, He Ziyue was naturally flashy and ostentatious, so if she had gained a new ability, she would definitely have flaunted it in front of her teammates.

Not flaunting probably meant she didn’t have one—she used to envy the captain’s ability the most.

As for A Li himself… in April’s eyes, he was one of the hardest people among her companions to see through.

Because he was too detached and “obedient,” it was impossible to tell what lay beneath the surface layer of ice.

Even if one day he suddenly jumped out and said that he had actually known how to save the world all along but had to keep it hidden from everyone for some reason, she wouldn’t find it strange.

But that kind of concealment and silence was usually limited to harmless secrets or past experiences, and every time he stood in front of his teammates to protect them, he always gave it his all.

Moreover, A Li already had two types of abilities, and it seemed unlikely that he would develop a third.

After eliminating these candidates, only Mu Yanshen remained.

Looking back carefully on their interactions, Mu Yanshen had actually never truly admitted that his ability was mind-reading and controlling others’ consciousness. Others had inferred it from clues, and he had chosen to remain silent.

But back then, everyone more or less kept some details about their abilities to themselves, so no one found it strange.

Later, they had become trusted companions, and subconsciously they started treating Mu Yanshen as one of their own, naturally reasoning about his behavior based on normal thinking patterns.

Mu Yanshen was indeed very good at blending into a group, and the companions unconsciously ignored his original identity—a villain NPC in the game.

Such an identity wouldn’t be unusual even if he had some special hidden ability.

But these logical deductions came later, even hidden as subconscious reasoning. If asked how April guessed, her answer would only be two words: “Instinct.”

April stared at Shen Xuanyi’s face. The dim night didn’t affect her vision.

Shen Xuanyi asked her, “If it is, what do you think we should do?”

“Nothing much.” April thought for a moment, then added, “Curious.”

Shen Xuanyi studied her a few times. The only thing about her that showed even a hint of curiosity might have been her eyes; an outsider might think she was just brushing him off.

But in fact, this was her true feeling.

For a teammate she had already accepted, she wouldn’t question anything. Even if she discovered some new ability, it was just a harmless little secret. She wouldn’t even consider whether hiding that ability might have bad consequences or involving some unspeakable difficulty.

She wouldn’t dig into the cause and effect behind it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about the ability itself.

However, in their team, “normal” people were a minority, so this kind of strange focus wasn’t unusual at all.

Unfortunately, most of the freaks were forever left behind in that game…

Seeing Shen Xuanyi silent, April couldn’t help but ask, “Can’t say?”

Shen Xuanyi shook his head, pondered for a moment, and then said slowly, “Probably the ‘permission’ of the ’living.’ After obtaining ‘permission,’ one can freely use the abilities of the ’living’—but these are all my wild guesses, not necessarily accurate.”

But that was enough to satisfy April’s curiosity.

She nodded thoughtfully, then turned and left, her steps even lighter than when she came.

The rusty iron door creaked a couple of times before closing again, leaving only Shen Xuanyi alone on the rooftop.

He stared at the iron door for a while before looking away, muttering to the empty space, “Cataclysm… at least it’s not all bad.”

For most people, the cataclysm was painful, sad, and desperate, something they hoped never to encounter in their lifetime.

But for a very few others, it was a kind of release, perhaps the only moment in their lives that could be called “lucky” or “happy.”

Because of the specific people they met, because of the duties and burdens that finally ended.

For people like April and Mu Yanshen, the arrival of the cataclysm was the end of their suffering.

Shen Xuanyi couldn’t help but continue thinking, did it count for Chu Chenli as well?

He recalled the only time during the game that he and Chu Chenli had privately talked about the past, shortly after they had reunited.

Just as their first meeting was full of guidance and reminders, Chu Chenli hadn’t hidden anything from him that time, including when Shen Xuanyi asked him why he chose to stay in place of another person.

If he had left with his clan, he might have been able to use his abilities to greater effect.

Unlike the old world where the cataclysm had struck, even though it had turned into ruins, one could still see some familiar shadows. The other end of the passage was a completely unfamiliar world—perhaps a perfect paradise, or perhaps filled with hellfire, even more terrifying and difficult than the apocalypse.

Chu Chenli said that his precognitive ability stopped at the moment before the cataclysm.

When the passage opened, he could no longer see the shape of the future, and the dreams he once had became shrouded in a hazy mist. Only when he encountered specific people or things could he see the original appearance of his memories.

Shen Xuanyi had thought he would feel anxious and uneasy about this, but in fact, he was relieved, feeling an unprecedented lightness.

The weight behind being a “Precognitor” was far beyond what ordinary people could imagine.

Chu Chenli said that when he first met Shen Xuanyi, he was gradually beginning to see his master’s memories.

The transmission of memories and warnings was the meaning of existence for “Precognitors” like them; when the previous Precognitor died, the new one would fully receive the predecessor’s memories.

This process was usually a long and persistent manifestation of death.

What was even more painful was the reverse causal relationship between memory transmission and death.

It wasn’t that because death was approaching, memories were passed on. Rather, when the next “Precognitor” grew strong enough to bear all the memory transmission, the predecessor would be gradually stripped of all memories and slowly head toward death.

This cycle repeated endlessly, generation after generation, a seemingly infinite reincarnation .

By Chu Chenli’s generation, whether it was luck or misfortune, he had been exceptionally gifted since childhood, growing at an astonishing speed. By the time he was just over ten years old, he could easily bear the past and see the future. His master also declined rapidly at that time.

Choosing to stay in place of the young chief was a decision Chu Chenli had made back then.

He stayed; his master left with the clan for a different world isolated from energy influences, possibly surviving.

But until the moment of parting, he had told no one.

No one knew the secret of the cycle and transmission. Perhaps some chiefs from previous generations had guessed it, but no one had ever spoken this cruel secret aloud.

Only his master might have glimpsed something from the “future” and tacitly approved of A Li’s decision.

Even if he died in the unknown otherworld, it would be far gentler than dying in front of A Li.

A Li, forever left behind in the apocalyptic world, could deceive himself into believing that his master was living well in another world.

Other than that, only Shen Xuanyi, who knew they would meet again in the future, had been given a major spoiler in advance.

It was only at that moment that Shen Xuanyi truly understood why Mr. Chu had privately pulled him aside and repeatedly pleaded with him.

Regarding the reasons for staying, Chu Chenli could list many; his master was just one of them. Others included personality and leadership issues: the chief was growing old, the young chief was a born leader, capable of inspiring the clan just by standing before them, while A Li himself fell far short in that regard.

What people feared and respected about him was his precognitive ability; aside from that, he had no talent for leading and inspiring the clan.

When he foresaw his ability disappearing, it would be even harder for him to play any role.

In short, A Li’s decision to stay in the apocalypse in place of the young chief was all benefit and no harm.

As for whether he would feel lonely and isolated…

It was more like truly being released from a long and painful curse.

Compared to that, loneliness and isolation were trivial matters.

Back then, Shen Xuanyi wasn’t as mature as he later became. Chu Chenli’s calm, almost indifferent narration had a significant impact on him, so much so that for a long time afterward, he listed topics related to the “past” as forbidden words when talking with A Li.

Later, Shen Xuanyi wanted to ask him whether meeting new companions with whom he could share life and death had made him feel lighter and happier.

But as those teammates successively sacrificed themselves midway through the game, he never got the chance to ask.

Now, having returned to the real world after barely escaping death, with only a few left, he found it even harder to bring up.

Shen Xuanyi stared down at his palm, slightly spreading his fingers and lifting his wrist. The evening wind passed between his fingers, and the sudden drop in temperature at night seemed to weave fine needles into the wind, stinging his knuckles slightly.

But when he turned his palm over, everything was normal—not even a trace of redness.

“There will be an end to it.” Shen Xuanyi murmured to the cold wind, “—I promise you.”

…

The next morning.

Mu Yanshen walked out of his room, rubbing his sore arm. In the nascent sunlight, he noticed an open balcony at the end of the corridor, facing the distant mountains beyond the base.

The morning mist had not yet cleared, revealing only hazy shadows.

As he walked over, Mu Yanshen realized April was standing in the corner, her clothes blending with the color of the wall, almost melting into the shadows.

When April wasn’t actively thinking about anything, her mind was blank; even the elusive Mu Yanshen rarely heard her thoughts.

When she turned her face, Mu Yanshen was startled.

“What are you doing here?” Mu Yanshen touched the ends of his hair, a little hurt by the strands he’d accidentally pulled out. “Training some new camouflage technique? I have to say, it’s pretty successful.”

April glanced behind him: “Where’s A Li?”

Mu Yanshen made a pained expression: “Gone to see the captain.”

April nodded, then turned her face back, continuing to be part of the shadow in the corner.

Mu Yanshen looked down and realized she was watching an inconspicuous entrance and exit at the corner of the temporary base.

It was probably out of her own habit, or maybe at the captain’s request.

But Mu Yanshen had no interest in keeping watch with her; after greeting her, he was about to leave.

“Xiao Mu.” April turned to call him again.

“What is it?” Mu Yanshen rubbed his neck and turned back. “Please be clear, or think clearly. Mind-reading can’t read fragments either.”

April looked at him seriously for a long time; someone unfamiliar wouldn’t realize she was spending time organizing her words.

“I permit you to use my ability,” April said slowly.

Her cool voice was flat and devoid of inflection; an outsider would only find it cold and arrogant.

Listening, Mu Yanshen understood how much effort she had put into phrasing it. Not to mention the noisy rushing thoughts in her mind—repeatedly deliberating how to say it properly—that practically flooded his ears in an instant.

He couldn’t help but rub his ear, still somewhat surprised inside.

“Wow, congratulations to our classmate April for being able to say so many words in one sentence. Major breakthrough, awesome.” He clapped without emotion.

“I’m not joking,” April said seriously.

Mu Yanshen paused, grabbed his hair again (which was practically sticking straight up), and asked, “The captain told you?”

April nodded.

Mu Yanshen asked, “You didn’t go spreading it to He Ziyue overnight, did you?”

April shook her head: “Secret.”

She wouldn’t casually disclose such a secret about her ability.

She liked He Ziyue a lot, but she also knew the other was a big mouth, especially with acquaintances—unrestrained, saying anything when emotional or distracted.

If an enemy learned such a secret, it wouldn’t be good.

Though she wasn’t sure what bad consequences would come if others knew.

But the captain had only told her, probably because he trusted her tight lips and dislike for gossip.

Mu Yanshen looked up at the sky, unsure whether to say this “permission” was a bit redundant.

In the end, he couldn’t bear to dampen his teammate’s kind intentions. After taking two steps, he turned back and said to April, “Thank you.”

April replied seriously, “You’re welcome.”

Mu Yanshen turned and left, hand over his heart.

He hadn’t gone two steps when he saw He Ziyue rushing toward him, barely braking in time to avoid a collision.

“Xiao Mu?” He Ziyue instinctively looked behind him. “Where’s A Li?”

“Gone to see the captain.” Mu Yanshen gritted his molars and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he repeated the answer.

“Oh, discussing some little secrets you can’t hear.” He Ziyue habitually taunted.

“Then guess how much key plot you’ve missed without knowing?” Mu Yanshen asked with a fake smile.

He Ziyue choked, waved her hand: “Not gonna banter with you. Did you see A Jin? He’s not in his room.”

Mu Yanshen: “Also gone to see the captain. Just a bit after Brother Li.”

“Oh, is it about Zhong—” He Ziyue instinctively lowered her voice halfway through, rubbed her nose, and changed the subject: “Whatever, since the captain’s handling it, call me when it’s time to go. I’ll go back for a nice lie-in.”

Saying so, she yawned and turned back.

It was indeed very early; before coming out, Mu Yanshen had checked the clock on the wall—it was probably only around six in the morning.

“April’s on the balcony,” Mu Yanshen reminded. “Not going to catch up with her?”

“Already caught up all night.” He Ziyue pointed at her dark circles and muttered, “Otherwise how do you think I got these… I don’t have their freakish stamina.”

And basically, it had been one-sided output from her side.

He Ziyue couldn’t help but clear her throat; her voice was still a bit hoarse, clearly not just from just waking up.

Mu Yanshen looked back; April’s gaze followed them until they turned the corner, then slowly withdrew.

“I thought you girls always have endless whispered conversations.”

“Eh, there’s plenty of time, plenty of time.” He Ziyue stretched in front of her door, then slammed it shut in Mu Yanshen’s face.

Mu Yanshen: “…”

Don’t think he didn’t hear her cursing him in her mind just because she closed the door fast.

“Grown-up, yet so childish.” A familiar voice came from behind.

Along with a crisp crunching sound.

Mu Yanshen glanced back and wasn’t surprised to see Fang Xiyu standing behind him. He was still wearing hospital clothes, clearly having snuck over from the medical area.

He was holding two biscuits, nibbling and watching the drama.

Originally, he could have stayed with A Li and the others, or been sent back to the central base for a thorough check-up to ensure the experiment hadn’t had any adverse effects, so they could find a way to deal with it.

But he insisted that such special treatment was too conspicuous and that he would rather return with the other rescued survivors.

Everyone knew it was just an excuse.

However, Shen Xuanyi had agreed, so no one said anything. After all, once they met up, Hua Jin had treated him immediately, so at least his life was out of danger.

At most, it was just a day or two difference, so they let it be.

“You’re sneaking out so openly—aren’t you afraid of affecting your ‘undercover’ career?” Mu Yanshen glanced at him, rather disgustedly avoiding the scattered biscuit crumbs.

“That nurse last night was new; she had no sense of dosage for injections.” Fang Xiyu explained with a smile. “She’s still unconscious.”

The survivors had all been through a lot of shock. During the day, they barely maintained composure and reason, but once night fell and they closed their eyes, they were like birds startled by the mere twang of a bowstring. None slept well; not only did they wake up in the middle of the night, but tossing, turning, and screaming were the norm. Some even got into fights because of nightmares.

To help them rest properly and prevent them from tearing open their wounds while struggling in their sleep, the nurses had to inject them with some medication.

Fang Xiyu, as the least troublesome one, had (fortunately or unfortunately) been spared for now.

Mu Yanshen expressed deep regret about this.

Fang Xiyu, who considered himself the elder, didn’t bother arguing with kids. He withdrew his gaze from He Ziyue’s door and looked behind Mu Yanshen. “Where’s A Li?”

Mu Yanshen forced out a somewhat ferocious fake smile: “Gone to see the captain.”