Chapter 50 - 1#
Hua Yu#
Chu Chenli held back, barely suppressing a laugh.
In fact, it was Shen Xuanyi who had first suggested that Chu Chenli take Mu Yanshen along to handle some of the more troublesome tasks.
For one, the two were strong enough and complemented each other well, so the captain could rest easier with them working as a pair.
For another, it was to have Chu Chenli keep an eye on Mu Yanshen.
The real world was different from a game. Although laws had been on shaky ground ever since the calamity struck, a basic moral bottom line still had to be maintained.
Chu Chenli’s common sense about daily life might not have been much better than Mu Yanshen’s, but when it came to moral boundaries, the former was certainly far higher.
Most importantly, Chu Chenli was strong enough to rein Mu Yanshen in.
But saying all that outright might risk hurting Mu Yanshen’s pride, so Chu Chenli decided to keep that little secret for now.
“Then it depends on how you perform,” Chu Chenli said, following Mu Yanshen’s lead.
As he spoke, he turned and walked back.
As long as he turned quickly enough, he wouldn’t laugh right in Mu Yanshen’s face.
Mu Yanshen was taken aback for a moment, then quickly caught up, probing from the side.
“What kind of performance are we talking about? There should be some specific criteria, so I know what direction to work toward…”
Their footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
…
Two days later, in a laboratory within the Central Base headquarters.
The doctor came out with a fresh report, flipping through it as he heard a knock at the door.
He thought about who might be coming at this hour. “Come in.”
Shen Xuanyi pushed the door open and walked in with a smile.
This time, he wasn’t in a wheelchair but walking on his own. The doctor glanced toward the door; no one was following behind him.
Although there was still a slight limp, the speed of his recovery had far exceeded expectations.
“Hua Jin can cure this too?” The doctor rubbed his chin, somewhat surprised. “Tsk, this really puts the power of science to shame.”
After all, he had racked his brains, delayed several important research projects, and still seen little effect.
If he’d known Hua Jin could handle it, he wouldn’t have bothered.
Shen Xuanyi smiled without picking up that thread, his gaze falling on the report in the doctor’s hand. “Are Xi Yu’s test results ready?”
The doctor suppressed his dissatisfaction and handed over several reports together. “I was about to contact you. It’s hard to say about the others, but Xiao Fang should stay here for close observation.”
Shen Xuanyi half-sat, half-leaned against the corner of the desk, pausing at the remark. “Is there something wrong with his report?”
“There are chronic toxins in his body, with signs of further mutation,” the doctor said. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. To put it simply, his cell activity has been enhanced to a certain extent—still within a safe range for now. That means he’ll recover faster if injured, but there’s no guarantee it won’t escalate further and cause serious side effects.”
Shen Xuanyi flipped through the report. “Was it from the experiments at Yingchen Base?”
“Not sure yet—too short a time. But it’s highly likely,” the doctor replied. “That’s why I recommend keeping him close. Also, did Hua Jin treat Xiao Fang?”
“Yes, on the way back. Right after he woke up, Xi Yu was still a bit weak, but he said it was just lack of energy—no other discomfort.”
The doctor wouldn’t have brought up Hua Jin’s treatment for no reason. Shen Xuanyi thought for a moment, then asked, “Should I have Hua Jin come help you? He’d probably be happy to work with you.”
The doctor had his own name, and it was printed on his work badge. But even Shen Xuanyi was more accustomed to calling him simply “Doctor,” sometimes adding a surname—Doctor Lin.
At first it was a term of respect; later it just became habit.
As the only genuine doctor among the team—one who graduated from a proper medical school and had years of clinical and research experience—he was highly respected by his teammates.
However, due to his overly brutal methods and unpredictable temperament, most people felt more respect and reliance than casual familiarity.
Apart from Shen Xuanyi, only Hua Jin, the former veterinary intern, was somewhat close to him.
At first it was to learn; later, as they got to know each other, Hua Jin gradually found the doctor not so hard to get along with.
But it had been nearly two days since the reunited teammates arrived at Central Base, and aside from Fang Xiyu being dragged in for an examination, no one had specifically come to see the doctor.
Though the main reason might have been the sign hanging outside the research institute—“Experimental Area: No Admittance Without Authorization”—if they really wanted to visit, a backdoor could be arranged.
“Zi Yue is in the information department checking the system; she hasn’t come out since yesterday afternoon. Also, there are signs of a mutant riot in the east. A Li and Xiao Mu detoured there to investigate. If nothing unexpected happens, they should be back by tomorrow morning at the latest. Hua Jin is relatively free; he volunteered to treat the wounded at the training ground.”
As for April, they had already met, and she was usually elusive. The doctor wasn’t keen on turning around to find her face inches from his.
Fang Xiyu was still stuck in the medical area, chatting daily with other survivors.
“Counting you and me, that’s eight,” the doctor paused, then asked, “Is that everyone?”
Shen Xuanyi said, “Everyone we can find for now.”
They both fell silent for a moment.
Shen Xuanyi broke the silence first. “Zi Yue will handle this later. She’s better at finding people than we are.”
But in reality, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack, with slim hope.
The doctor asked, “No other way?”
Shen Xuanyi hesitated, then finally shook his head.
The doctor turned away, not showing too much grief. “Better than total annihilation.”
Shen Xuanyi couldn’t argue, so he just sighed helplessly and resumed flipping through the reports, his brow furrowing deeper.
The doctor could tell at a glance that his attention was no longer on the reports.
“About Su Xingyun—haven’t you told them yet?” the doctor asked. “And about Hua Yu—”
Shen Xuanyi snapped the report shut.
“Not yet,” he said. “Haven’t had a chance.”
“More like you don’t know how to bring it up,” the doctor said. “No wonder Hua Jin still has the energy to hang around the training ground.”
Shen Xuanyi gave a bitter smile.
The doctor asked without any mockery, “Need me to introduce you to a psychologist? An old classmate of mine—a proper PhD with plenty of experience. Might help take your mind off things.”
“So that’s why I came to ask if you wanted Hua Jin to help out. Keeping busy might make things a little easier,” Shen Xuanyi said.
“If he wants to help, he’s welcome anytime,” the doctor said.
“…I understand.” Shen Xuanyi took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I’ll find time to tell him about Hua Yu.”
…
Meanwhile.
As Shen Xuanyi had predicted, Chu Chenli and Mu Yanshen’s reconnaissance mission went smoothly.
In a certain dense forest, a mutant herd was gnawing on black stones. Overcharged with energy, they had begun a small-scale riot during evolution. If they all rushed toward a small base at the foot of the mountain, the consequences would be dire.
Fortunately, the greedy mutants, unwilling to leave before fully absorbing the energy, were wiped out in one fell swoop by Chu Chenli and Mu Yanshen, who had heard the commotion and come over.
Shen Xuanyi had left them maps and communication devices, but as dusk fell with no guide, it was hard to tell direction.
To avoid getting lost, they decided to stay overnight in the mountains and set out again at dawn.
Someone was supposed to meet them at the foot of the mountain in the morning.
Mu Yanshen had no complaints about this; in fact, he wished the dawn would come even later.
At night, a thin mist rose among the mountains, obscuring the stars in a hazy blur.
For a while, Chu Chenli felt a strong urge to climb to the treetops—no particular reason, just a sudden impulse.
But in the end, he stayed by the fire with Mu Yanshen, occasionally looking up through the gaps in the leaves at the night sky.
Chu Chenli said that as a child, he loved sitting in trees to watch the stars, sometimes lying on a hillside instead.
Mu Yanshen asked if anyone ever watched with him.
Chu Chenli shook his head, casually adding another piece of wood to the fire, then said, “I was alone.”
Mu Yanshen asked, “What’s the point of watching stars alone?”
Chu Chenli said, “No point. Because there was no point, no meaning—that’s why I liked it.”
Mu Yanshen let out a puzzled grunt, something like an animal’s call.
Chu Chenli couldn’t help but smile.
Ever since he started opening up to Mu Yanshen about the past, he found that talking about it wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined, nor did it stir up the emotional turbulence he’d expected.
In fact, most of the time in the past, it had been like this.
He remembered many faces of his clan—the playmates who often climbed over his wall to call him out, the elders whose eyes held hidden concern and love. Just as Shen Xuanyi said, in the short decades of his early life, there were many precious memories he couldn’t let go of.
But beyond that, there were endless, unspeakable dark nights. He also didn’t want to trouble his master by asking, “Who am I, really?”
The lengthy memories of his predecessors were not always detailed; many specifics were blurry. But the breadth and length of those memories—ranging from twenty years to a hundred—were far beyond what an immature child could match.
From some predecessor onward, the question “Who am I?” began to plague them constantly.
As time passed, the memories of the deceased converged into a turbulent river of history. Standing beside it, an individual seemed insignificant; even a single glance risked being swallowed.
When he was very young, his master had taught him the secret to facing those memories.
Try not to think about them.
But it was hard to quiet the mind while awake, and when asleep, he often fell into gray, hazy nightmares. Over time, A Li grew used to staying awake in the dead of night, staring blankly at the sky outside, letting his mind go empty.