No one in the real world had any way of knowing what was happening in the dream shared by the three of them.
At the Atavist hospital, several Tribunal Division staff members had come to investigate. They moved in and out of the surveillance room and tried several times to question Jing Pei about the assassin, only to find that she remained asleep. With no choice but to handle other matters first, the hospital carried on much as it did on any ordinary day.
Most of the doctors and nurses were absorbed in the news, just like the majority of ordinary people around the world. Even the trending topics about the earthquake in Mingbo City had been pushed aside.
The exposure of the Atavist Genetics Organization and the destruction of its headquarters had revealed the truth behind the ruin of several prosperous small nations. The crimes of several corrupt billionaires with worldwide influence had also come to light. Some had been arrested, while others were on the run. The consequences would reach far and wide, and no one knew whether the fallout would trigger a financial crisis.
Meanwhile, a United Nations spokesperson was already calling upon countries around the world to offer assistance, including helping the nations struck by genetic bombs develop medicines capable of curing the resulting diseases.
The entire world seemed caught in a flurry of activity.
The headquarters of the Atavist Genetics Control Organization, the bubble suspended above the cliff, had been placed under military supervision. There was no need to waste the Tribunal Division’s already limited personnel on guarding it.
Because the bubble contained so many buildings and objects, the authorities did not intend to remove everything. Instead, investigators and other staff members were sent inside to conduct their work on-site, saving both time and storage space.
It was already after working hours, and only a handful of employees who had volunteered to work overtime remained inside the bubble.
A man with naturally curly black hair and glasses was examining the organization’s finances. The farther he read, the deeper his frown became.
“Hey, you’re still here?” A colleague from another department passed by and knocked on the door.
“Ah… I’ll leave later. You go ahead.” He pushed up his glasses. The lenses reflected the computer screen before him, which was packed with rows of data.
“What’s wrong?”
Instead of leaving, his colleague stepped inside. He stared at the screen full of numbers but could make no sense of them.
“Something isn’t right,” the man said. “Look. The organization’s monthly employee expenses, raw-material purchases, research and development investments… Every category involved enormous sums. But as high as those expenses were, the profits and investments they received were even higher.”
“What’s wrong with that? The entire reason this organization existed was to make money. Why would they go to all this trouble if there were no profit in it?”
“Exactly. They wanted profit. And if they wanted profit, the money should have gone into certain people’s pockets so they could live in luxury, right? But look at this research expenditure. If you calculate it, it accounts for two-thirds of their profits and investments. In other words, apart from paying their subordinates’ salaries, they poured most of their monthly earnings into one particular research project. And over all these years… I mean, according to our findings, this organization existed for more than a century. Yet no one ever used its profits to enjoy a life of luxury.”
More than a hundred years had passed. Most of the original investors were probably dead by now. What kind of far-reaching plan or grand determination could persuade people to give so much without ever enjoying the rewards?
If he were being honest, he would never agree to invest a fortune if he could only reap the rewards after his death. Even if his descendants could enjoy the benefits, he himself would receive nothing.
“Oh, right. Making money wasn’t the organization’s only objective, was it?” his colleague said. “They also wanted to destroy the Atavist families. It was founded by people who hated them, so they could make money while destroying the pride of the Atavist families.”
“No, that isn’t it.” The man shook his head. His instincts warned him that something was wrong. “This money could not have been used to research ways of destroying the Atavist families. Its destination is important, and may have serious implications. This money must have gone somewhere very dangerous. I need to report this to…”
His hair was black, naturally curly and unkempt; his eyes were unfocused. Fresh blood trickled down the back of his head as his forehead slumped forward against the desk.
With an impassive expression, the colleague slipped the pencil sharpener— the very tool used to bludgeon him unconscious—into a bag. Then he dragged the man toward a laboratory, opened a large machine resembling a meat grinder, and tossed the still-living victim inside before switching the machine on without the slightest hesitation.
Amidst the sickening, grinding noise, a human being vanished from the world, leaving no trace. He was reduced to a pulpy mass of pink flesh, which emptied out into the enclosure behind the machine—feeding the massive crocodiles and piranhas kept there.
This was the organization’s method of disposing of bodies they no longer needed. It was simple and quick.
The destination of those funds could not be allowed to attract attention. Amid such a vast sea of documents and information awaiting verification, there was a chance this small detail would remain buried.
Tang Woxue decided that he had to move the story forward. His position in the dragon’s heart had to change. He could not keep letting her treat him as a servant to order around and torment, or he really would die of rage.
Thus, many people from the nearby villages and towns suddenly appeared above the valley one day. Several of them were Taoist priests who looked highly respected.
They cast a spell together. The moment Jing Pei raised her head, an invisible force crashed down upon her and pinned her to the ground, pinning her to the ground.
At that moment, she resembled Sun Wukong trapped beneath Five-Finger Mountain.
Large quantities of alcohol were then poured into the valley.
One of the Taoist priests stroked his beard and nodded. “That’s right. Pour in more. The creature down there is no mountain god. It is a monster. Once you burn it to death, you will all be safe.”
“Hurry! Keep pouring!”
“Avenge our dead brothers and sisters!”
More jars of alcohol were brought over and emptied into the valley. Then a burning torch was placed in the priest’s hand. He walked to the edge of the cliff and threw it down.
The small flame descended into the deep mist. It vanished at first, leaving several seconds of silence. Then a vast blaze erupted as if from an explosion and spread at great speed.
Flames burned on every side. Scorching winds drove the fire forward with fierce force.
The dragon lay pinned to the ground without moving, as if she could not struggle free. Alcohol covered parts of her scales, and flames now burned across her body.
Tang Woxue rushed out of the burning forest in soaked clothes and ran to the dragon. He fought to put out the flames covering her. Before long, his hair smelled scorched and large blisters rose across his skin. He was in a terrible state, but seemed not to notice.
Tang Woxue could feel the dragon watching him the entire time.
How about this? This had to move her, right? A weak human was risking his life to save her! She ought to think about everything she had done to him before and feel the sting of guilt!
Lolita watched from the air while concealed from sight. This employer was ruthless toward himself. His burns were real and would all appear on his body in the real world. The pain within the dream was real as well, felt exactly the same as it did in reality.
Tang Woxue’s body had already caught fire, yet he continued beating out the flames on the dragon. His voice had grown hoarse from the smoke, but he still tried to comfort her.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll help you!”
At that moment, the dragon lying on the ground gathered her strength and surged to her feet. The invisible force pressing down on her shattered like glass.
One enormous dragon claw caught Tang Woxue. The dragon spiraled upward, carrying him out of the valley.
“A monster!”
The people above the valley panicked. Her body swept toward them and sent them sprawling. They screamed, scrambled to their feet, and fled.
Carrying the human through the sky, the dragon soon plunged into a lake. Every flame on her body went out.
Lolita pursed her lips. This woman was indeed more than one level stronger than she was.
Within a dream, Lolita could challenge someone one level above her, but she had little chance against anyone more than one level stronger. She could drag someone stronger than Jing Pei into the dream to kill her, but killing Jing Pei was not the objective of this mission. Besides, none of Lolita’s current companions was guaranteed to be stronger than Jing Pei.
Tang Woxue swallowed several mouthfuls of water before the dragon threw him onto the grass. His burns hurt beyond measure, but he no longer cared. He had prepared himself for suffering if it meant obtaining the dragon horns.
Only one thought filled his head.
Damn it. He had failed again. She did not need him at all!
Given her terrible personality, she might even be laughing at him inside.
“Aren’t you forbidden from leaving the valley?” he asked.
She had confined herself there for centuries because she had lost a bet. He did not know what the bet had been, but he had assumed she would refuse to leave under any circumstances.
“A dragon must know how to adapt.”
The dragon’s golden-green eyes narrowed, and that wicked air returned.
“Do I look stupid enough to let myself be roasted alive over a bet?”
Tang Woxue fell silent.
All right. He understood the dragon a little better now.
She was naive, malicious, and ruled by her whims. There was no chance she had imprisoned herself for centuries merely to keep a promise. She had probably done it because she found it amusing or had nothing better to do. The moment she changed her mind, she would abandon the agreement without hesitation.
She was certainly not righteous, but she was not entirely evil either. She existed somewhere between the two.
That night, Tang Woxue built a large fire. Without expression, he chewed medicinal herbs and applied them to his burns. Before long, strips of cloth covered his face, arms, and legs.
The dragon lay nearby, watching everything he did. Tang Woxue did not look at her, but he had the feeling that the words “so weak” were written in her left eye, while “foolish” was written in her right.
After a while, she spoke in her usual slow pace.
“I only just noticed how quickly you humans multiply. You crawl everywhere like ants.”
“…I wouldn’t say we crawl everywhere.”
“What is your name?”
It was the first time she had asked.
Tang Woxue thought little of it. “Tang Woxue.”
“What does it mean? Why did your parents give you that name?”
“Humans have an idiom, ‘like pouring hot water over snow.’ It describes something that is very easy to resolve. My parents probably hoped my existence would help them solve many of their problems.”
Firelight danced in Tang Woxue’s deep-set eyes. The shifting firelight made his face look cold and somber.
“How do humans write?” the dragon asked.
Tang Woxue froze. Sensing that something was different, he turned toward her.
“Why do you want to know how to write?”
“You humans multiply so quickly and in such numbers that you cover the ground like ants. If I do not remember your full name, what it means, and how it is written, I fear I may not be able to distinguish you from all the other humans, my friend.”
The dragon’s golden-green eyes narrowed. As the firelight flickered, her vertical pupils shifted with it.
Her words came with the same slow pace as always, carrying traces of innocence and mischief. Yet there was something open and sincere within them.
Her life was long and her power immense, yet she intended to remember one weak and short-lived friend. To ensure that she never forgot him, she was even willing to learn how to write his name.
Tang Woxue’s hands stopped in the middle of tending his wounds. He stared at her without moving.
Perhaps it was because several years of changing seasons had passed inside the dream. Perhaps he had failed so many times and suffered so much disappointment that he had expected no progress at all today.
Was that why, at this moment, he felt as though a small place within his heart had caved in?
“If you die one day and I do not know how your name is written, I won’t be able to tell which gravestone belongs to you.”
“…Thank you in advance. What an honor that you’re already thinking about what happens after I die.”
The dragon nodded. It was indeed an honor.
“After all, you humans are as fragile and short-lived as ants. Sleep farther away from me. I might crush you by accident.”
Tang Woxue was speechless.
How did this dragon manage to make someone love and hate her at the same time?
The dragon fell asleep again and began to snore.
Tang Woxue sat beside the fire after it had burned itself out and looked at the enormous creature beside him.
This time, his plan had succeeded, but not completely. His status had risen from servant to friend, but what he wanted was love.
As he understood it, between two people who shared no blood relation, only love could drive one person to the point of sacrificing everything for another, just as he would for Yan Jinhua.
What friends were willing to give each other had limits. Friendship could also contain all sorts of complicated feelings, such as envy and jealousy. It was difficult for such a bond to remain pure.
Yet although he had not obtained what he wanted, something unfamiliar and warm flowed through his heart.
In the real world, Yan Jinhua had also seen the news online.
The reports described Long Jin, the Long family’s young heir, as the main hero responsible for destroying the criminal organization. Tang Woxue was mentioned briefly as well, but compared with the Long family’s young heir, an ordinary doctor attracted little attention.
“You’ve worked so hard for me,” Yan Jinhua murmured. “Choosing you was the best decision I ever made.”
She did not have long left to live.
Every member of the Yan family older than her had already died after the onset of the disease. She was now the oldest remaining member of the family, which meant her turn would come soon.
Yet she was no longer afraid.
When the few younger members of the Yan family came to visit, they saw a faint flush on her pale face. She appeared to be in a good mood, though her excitement surrounded by gloomy from her sickness.
“Aunt, is this a final burst of energy before death?” her nephew asked without expression.
Like every member of the Yan family, he had known from an early age that death awaited him. His face had long since gone numb.
The only difference was that the Yan family had already fallen. Its younger members now came from ordinary households, so they could not spend their lives indulging in luxuries and pleasures as previous generations of the Yan family had done.
“I won’t die. Even after all of you are dead, I’ll still be alive,” Yan Jinhua said with a smile. “This is Heaven’s reward for those who refuse to yield. Failures like you, who bow your heads to fate, could never understand.”
“What? Did Tang Woxue really find a way to save you?” her nephew asked.
They all knew of Tang Woxue’s existence. After the Yan family’s decline, Yan Jinhua had lived off his support. The other members of the family envied her for it.
Why had none of them managed to find such a capable and loyal hound?
“He will offer me his heart,” Yan Jinhua said with pride.
“Impossible!”
“The operation will be arranged soon.”
Naturally, it could not be performed in this hospital because such an operation was illegal. Tang Woxue would make the arrangements elsewhere.
“Why? Why would he do that?”
At that moment, jealousy stirred in her nephew. If everyone was destined to die, so be it. But seeing that one of them might escape death made it difficult for him to remain calm.
“He has more money than we do now. He’s talented, and women loves him. Why would he still give you his heart?”
Most members of the Yan family knew what Yan Jinhua had planned, but no one had taken it seriously.
What fool in modern society would do such a thing? Most people might refuse to donate even a kidney, let alone their heart.
That was especially true of a successful man like Tang Woxue. Was it not said that the richer someone became, the more they valued their life? Even if Yan Jinhua had once helped him, surely he would not give his life to repay her.
Was it love?
Yet Tang Woxue’s feelings for Yan Jinhua did not seems to be romantic.
“I’m going to tell him the truth!” her nephew said, consumed by envy and resentment.
Whatever the details, all of this had to be the result of the performance Yan Jinhua had staged to tame him during his childhood. Once Tang Woxue learned the truth, she could forget about obtaining his heart.
Yan Jinhua looked even more pleased. The smile on her face grew more twisted.
“Go ahead. Tell him.”
“You aren’t afraid?”
“Hah. How could a promise made in a burst of emotion during one’s youth be trusted?”
Yan Jinhua recalled Chu Xusheng’s declaration of loyalty to Jing Pei on the sports field. The scene soon overlapped with her own memories of Tang Woxue.
After Tang Woxue’s parents were arrested, they lost custody of him for abusing a child and were imprisoned for numerous crimes. Yan Jinhua then brought him back to the Yan family.
He lived in the Yan household from then on, occupying a position much like that of her personal steward.
It went without saying that Tang Woxue was very grateful to her. He followed her around every day like a puppy, loyal and diligent, obeying her alone.
She had also taken care to control him, keeping him from making any real friends.
Because of the Yan family’s disease, he promised Yan Jinhua that he would find a cure for her. To accomplish that, he overcame the hatred of medicine his parents had instilled in him and chose to become a doctor.
His parents had both been medical researchers, brilliant madmen with exceptional intelligence. Tang Woxue possessed even greater talent. In medicine, he was a genius among geniuses.
“I believe you can do it.”
“I’ll leave my illness in your hands, then.”
“I’m entrusting my life to you.”
“…”
In truth, Yan Jinhua had never believed that Tang Woxue could solve the problem.
It would only be possible if someone overcame the barrier preventing Atavist genes from being cloned. However, both the Atavist families and the government prohibited such research and suppressed it with great force.
The only other possibility would be to reverse time, return to the Great Cosmic Convergence, and stop the ancestor of their bloodline from mating with a nonhuman creature.
That was nothing more than a fantasy.
From the beginning, Yan Jinhua’s only true objective had been Tang Woxue’s heart.
What she had not expected was the decline of the Yan family. It reversed their positions and left her dependent on Tang Woxue for survival. That made her uneasy, and she had not dared ask for his heart until the last possible moment.
That was why she had waited until now.
His plan to steal the Dragon Clan’s horns in Yunjin Prefecture had failed, while he was still lose hope by the failure. She had seized that moment to make her request, and just as expected, he agreed.
His answer convinced her that her backup plan had been the correct choice.
A selfish and cold smile appeared on Yan Jinhua’s face.
“Promises are fragile, so I placed a lock on him as safekeeping. Even if you tell him the truth, that lock will still drive him to sacrifice everything for me.”
