PTGWD Chapter 83: Cracks

Fang Xingzhou seemed to understand why the egg had cried today.

But he said nothing.

He took a photo of the egg sitting in the rocking ride, pretending nothing had happened at the farm. Once it had its fill of fun, he carried it back inside, scrubbed it clean repeatedly, and placed it back into the incubator.

“Tired from crying? Get some good rest,” he said to the egg.

The egg seemed surprised that its father had let it off so easily.

It wobbled hesitantly, nuzzling Fang Xingzhou several times, confirming that no violent retribution was coming in the future.

Then, emboldened, it seized the opportunity—darting into Fang Xingzhou’s pocket at lightning speed, fleeing the incubator that had traumatized it, and pressing tightly against his skin.

Fang Xingzhou smiled, patting the shell. “Sleep,” he said.

The egg had expended a lot of energy today and was both exhausted and drowsy. Soon, lulled by its father’s body heat, it slowly drifted off to sleep.

That left just Lu Jianchuan and Fang Xingzhou. They exchanged a glance and instinctively lowered their voices.

Finally free for some intimacy, Lu Jianchuan wrapped an arm around his lover, leaning down to plant a brief kiss on his lips. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he murmured, “Did you learn anything useful at the farm today?”

Fang Xingzhou nodded. “The technician said incubation requires constant, uninterrupted warmth, along with specific humidity levels, and regular turning…”

Here, he paused slightly, brows furrowing. “…But I’m not sure it applies here. Maybe we should try placing the egg in a fish tank filled with seawater?”

Lu Jianchuan enthusiastically endorsed his wife’s idea. “Brilliant!”

A response that held zero practical value.

Fang Xingzhou sighed. “It seems to already have independent thoughts. Maybe we could just ask it directly.”

Lu Jianchuan buried his nose in Fang Xingzhou’s hair, inhaling deeply. “No, it doesn’t know how to hatch either. Its consciousness is hazy—sometimes clear, sometimes muddled.”

“Did it cry today because it thought it was a chicken egg? Or because it felt bad for the eggs at the farm?”

Lu Jianchuan: “A bit of both. It can faintly sense the trajectories of all things. Seeing so many identical fates at once overwhelmed it, and the backlash from its power made it uncomfortable.”

Fang Xingzhou listened, then said calmly, “We’ll need to compensate the farm tomorrow.”

Lu Jianchuan coughed lightly, his plans foiled before they’d even begun.

On behalf of the egg, he ventured cautiously, “Zhouzhou… you’re not angry, are you?”

“Why would I be angry?” Fang Xingzhou stroked the shell. “It’s adorable, like a blank slate—nothing like boring adults like us. Once it hatches, it might bring something entirely new to this world.”

Lu Jianchuan’s eyes lit up at this. Seizing the opportunity, he said, “If it’s this cute, let’s have another! I bought textured condoms—extra small, they can fit on a tentacle’s tongue. Tonight we could—”

Fang Xingzhou shot him a look. “The meat in the garage seems to have vanished.”

The intimate conversation came to an abrupt halt.

Lu Jianchuan broke into a nervous sweat. “Honey, I’ll cook dinner! Vegetables tonight!”

The giant monster vanished from the bedroom in a flash.

…

Thanks to Lu Jianchuan’s meticulous planning, the main dish at dinner was no longer chicken or pig trotters. For the first time in ages, they had vegetables.

Lu Jianchuan made himself tomato and egg noodles and, for the first time, discovered that tomatoes could actually taste so good.

After dinner, Fang Xingzhou remained preoccupied with the incubation problem, burying himself in the study to research more about oviparous species. Lu Jianchuan put the child to bed early, lying there and spinning the soundly sleeping egg, lost in thought.

Much later, Fang Xingzhou returned to the bedroom, still no closer to a solution. Without a word, he kissed both monsters goodnight and collapsed onto the pillow.

Lu Jianchuan hugged his wife and child contentedly. “Goodnight.”

Fang Xingzhou: “Goodnight.”

The room soon fell silent.

Lu Jianchuan didn’t close his eyes. He waited until Fang Xingzhou was deeply asleep, then quietly slipped the egg into his pocket, tucked the blankets around his wife, and crept out of bed.

He didn’t take the car. Instead, he leaped from the second floor and disappeared into the night.

Five minutes later, he and the egg were back at the farm. He shook the shell vigorously, rousing the slumbering little monster inside.

Bleary-eyed, the egg bumped his hand in protest before drowsily taking in its surroundings.

Outside the farm, staff were still searching for the escaped chickens with flashlights.

The bizarre yet logical sequence of events had been reconstructed: An intern had accidentally bumped the door switch while recording data and failed to notice, allowing the chickens to flee through the back door. Within half an hour, every last one had vanished.

To the egg, manipulating an insignificant intern and a trivial mistake was as easy as plucking a string.

But in just a few hours, the trajectories here had undergone drastic changes.

The egg jolted fully awake, staring in dumbfounded astonishment.

…The intern, on the verge of a promotion, would lose his job over this. The ensuing negativity would trigger a fight with his girlfriend, ending their relationship and costing him his chance at marriage. The brilliant child he was meant to have would never be born, depriving the scientific community of a gifted physicist. Certain research would stall, and countless other fate lines would ripple outward…

…The chickens, starving all day, found the outside world far harsher than imagined. Autumn offered little food, and the cold was relentless. Some had already fallen prey to predators, while the rest milled about in panic, destined for the same grim end…

Staff members called out, shaking buckets of feed and clucking to lure the chickens back.

Hearing the familiar sounds, the escaped chickens immediately came running, desperate to return to the warm coops.

Only a handful, blessed with exceptional resilience and strength, had ventured deep into the wilderness—a place both freer and far more perilous. There, they would thrive, forming a small population of wild fowl…

The egg was spellbound.

Lu Jianchuan couldn’t see what it saw but could feel its intense emotional turmoil.

He patted the shell. “Still upset?”

The egg shook, then nodded—understanding, yet not quite.

Lu Jianchuan grew tired of standing and sat beneath a tree.

A stray chicken scurried past, paused, and clucked at him. Catching a whiff of something, it suddenly pecked him hard before darting back into the darkness.

Lu Jianchuan: “…Tch.”

He propped the egg on his knee. “What do you see?”

The egg erupted into a stream of excited gibberish. Lu Jianchuan listened intently but couldn’t decipher a single syllable.

Communication would have to be nonverbal.

Lu Jianchuan’s pupils vanished, his eyes flooding crimson as a third eye split open on his forehead—all fixed on the egg, tracing the currents of its divine power.

…The little one, still struggling to control its abilities, was clumsily trying to mend the fate lines it had disrupted.

But even the god of fortune couldn’t turn back time.

It bestowed luck upon the intern, sparing him dismissal, but unavoidably extended his probation. His wedding would be delayed, and the child meant to arrive on schedule would instead be born five years late.

The chickens had already chosen their paths. Independent of human society, their trajectories couldn’t be adjusted by altering other lines. At best, the egg could help some of the escapees survive longer.

As for the farm? Well, it could always visit Grandpa in his dreams tonight, share its woes, and have him compensate the farm generously.

Having done all it could, the egg sat bathed in moonlight, gazing at the farm under the night sky. Though still unhatched, its silhouette seemed oddly profound.

Humanity and divinity had found perfect equilibrium.

Lu Jianchuan noticed the shell had thinned slightly.

Smiling, he didn’t disturb this precious moment of the egg’s first true understanding of the world. Instead, he plucked a wildflower, nibbled its nectar, and savored the sweetness.

It reminded him of his own early days in human society—far more naive and arrogant than this egg, disdainful of everyone and everything except Fang Xingzhou, whom he’d regarded as insignificant ants to be crushed at will.

Somehow, over twenty years had passed, yet those memories remained vivid.

He picked another flower, dripping nectar onto the egg’s melancholic shell so it could taste the sweetness too.

“Zhouzhou once told me,” he said to the egg, “that this world operates by its own rules. Even gods should abide by life’s natural cycles—birth, aging, sickness, death—or risk unforeseen backlash.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand now—” Lu Jianchuan felt a flicker of superiority over his 0.024-year-old child. “—but that’s alright. Just remember it. You’ll grasp it in time.”

The egg didn’t understand, but that didn’t stop it from feeling lost and sorrowful. It knew it had done wrong but didn’t know how to truly make amends. So it kept crying, tears streaming down its shell.

Leaning against its father’s knee, it wept until the moon dipped and dawn tinged the horizon. Finally, drained, it collapsed into Lu Jianchuan’s arms, its damp shell heaving as it fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

Only then did Lu Jianchuan carry it away from the farm, returning to their bedroom on Xiangxing Street.

Fang Xingzhou was still lost in sweet dreams, not having stirred once.

Since the troublesome pregnancy had ended, his sleep had improved dramatically—now undisturbed until morning.

Lu Jianchuan gazed at his lover’s sleeping face, overwhelmed by happiness. Unable to resist, he bent down, pressing his dew- and flower-scented lips to Fang Xingzhou’s cheek in a tender kiss before inhaling his familiar scent with relish.

Fang Xingzhou mumbled something in his sleep, reaching out instinctively for his bedmate. Lu Jianchuan hastily shed his grass-stained clothes and slipped naked under the covers like a freshly transformed spirit, using his divine power to radiate warmth as he enveloped his partner in a snug embrace.

Fang Xingzhou settled back into peace.

Lu Jianchuan smiled too.

He luxuriated in the hug for a long while before finally tending to the sorrowful egg. Placing it between their pillows, he picked off bits of grass stuck to its shell and kissed it gently.

“Hatch soon, little one,” he whispered. “You’ll be the most adorable God of Fate in all of eternity.”

“Goodnight.”

The egg nuzzled Fang Xingzhou, then Lu Jianchuan, before flopping onto the bed.

…

The next morning, Fang Xingzhou woke up refreshed—only for his pupils to constrict in shock the moment he looked at the egg beside him.

A crack had appeared on the shell.