In the seventh year after the great fog dispersed, humanity returned to the surface and rebuilt their homes upon the wasteland.
As the Base’s population recovered, it began to expand outward from the first city, constructing new urban districts. The energy-intensive underground city base was temporarily sealed away by humanity to serve as an emergency shelter.
If possible, humanity hoped the day would never come when that shelter had to be reopened.
Time always rushes by. The people who once said they would stay together for a lifetime gradually found their own separate lives in the day-to-day passage of time.
Xiang Hongfei went to work as a head chef at the new shop You Lan opened, occasionally moonlighting as a security guard when someone caused trouble.
Don’t be fooled by the fact that he was nearly fifty; having spent half his life fighting mutated beasts on the surface, he could now easily wring tears out of a few troublemaking punks with his bare hands.
In his own words: “Don’t you dare challenge these hands that have dismantled who knows how many kinds of mutated beasts with that scrawny body of yours.”
Ren Dong had been fascinated by biology since she was a child. Through an introduction from Chai Yuening, she fulfilled her wish to contribute her own efforts to the compilation of the New World Species Overview alongside Dr. Yi Shuyun.
The book series was now on its third volume, and humanity’s research into unknown creatures was still ongoing. She remained tirelessly devoted to it.
Her only regret, perhaps, was that having lost her legs, she was unable to join teams for fieldwork to observe various species firsthand, and could only analyze and record known data in the Base’s research institute.
The world outside was fraught with danger, but it was also vibrant and colorful, and Du Xia wanted to see it for Ren Dong.
For that reason, Du Xia joined an exploratory team for biological research. Every time she returned from an expedition, she would meticulously describe everything she had seen and heard to Ren Dong.
The exploration team was originally composed of residents from the Fog Zone Base. Inspired by Mr. Shi Wenlin, they possessed a wealth of wilderness survival experience, feared no danger, and were as united as one. Everyone felt at ease with Du Xia joining them.
As for Lu Qi, he ultimately didn’t listen to his brother-in-law and settle down to be an ordinary person.
He joined the military. Perhaps trying to prove something to someone, the moment he put on the uniform, the childish temperament that would get him into fistfights over a few cross words seemed to vanish.
The little brat who understood responsibility the least seemed to have grown up overnight, no longer needing others to worry about him.
As for Chai Yuening, she still took on odd jobs from the Base, but now her only teammate was Chu Ci.
Everyone said that what they couldn’t do, no other mercenary team could either. They were the best partners in the Base.
One more person would be too many, one less would be too few.
The Thirteenth Mercenary Team was no more, but they all still gathered from time to time to talk about the old days and the present.
Nothing in this world stays the same, but thankfully, none of them ever regretted the changes they’d gradually undergone.
Last autumn, Chai Yuening brought home an earthy-yellow, snake-tailed, long-haired, raccoon-headed rat.
The little fellow was a tyrant at home but a total wimp outside. If it encountered its own kind and got snapped at, it would only dare to hide behind its owner and bark defiantly, leaving everyone torn between laughter and tears every time.
When she first brought it home, it wasn’t even as big as a pillow. Now, only half a year later, it had already grown to the height of Chu Ci’s knee.
Research determined that this creature, much like the dogs of the Old World, had the intelligence of a three-to-five-year-old human child. It was not particularly aggressive, was empathetic and loyal, and grew to a maximum height of an adult’s chest, making it very suitable to be kept as a pet.
Chu Ci was especially fond of the little guy. She played with it for a long time every day and even gave it a name: Ah Chai.
Chai Yuening was ten thousand percent dissatisfied with this, but she discovered that in the face of the impervious Chu Ci, her dissatisfaction was like punching cotton—she couldn’t find any purchase at all.
And so, every day after that, she would hear Chu Ci at home, calling out in a gentle or cheerful tone she had never used before, “Ah Chai~ Ah Chai~”
Then, immediately after, she would turn and call out her full name, saying, “Chai Yuening, Ah Chai is almost out of bones. Go buy some.”
Just like that, a certain renowned elite mercenary experienced what was known as differential treatment in the face of a mutated beast.
But Chai Yuening didn’t mind. She was quite fond of the fluffy little creature herself.
Its arrival had made Chu Ci much more lively.
She and Chu Ci would watch it grow up, perhaps until it was as tall as an adult’s chest, and then it would no longer be scared into hiding behind Chu Ci by the neighbor’s big dog.
…
In mid-May, the roses in the Base bloomed.
But Chu Ci, for the first time ever, fell ill. She was listless, curled up in her quilt, resisting the bitter pills like a child.
Chai Yuening was wracked with guilt. She had been the one to get sick first due to the change of seasons, and having never seen Chu Ci ill, she hadn’t paid it any mind. As a result, she had passed it on to the always-healthy Chu Ci.
In the following days, while taking care of the sickly Chu Ci, she pulled some strings, just as she had in previous years, to buy a bouquet at the earliest opportunity, placing it in the old vase on the living room coffee table.
Ah Chai, who had never seen a rose before, stretched its neck out by the coffee table, its little blackberry-like nose sniffing for a long time, its long tail swaying left and right on the floor.
Just as it opened its large mouth and flicked out its forked tongue, a vine wrapped around its two hind legs and dragged it back half a meter.
“Ah Chai, you can’t eat this.” The vine retracted, and Chu Ci crouched down to rub its head.
The little fellow whimpered and rolled over on the floor, its four paws in the air to show its displeasure. It only stopped sulking after a good long belly rub.
But in the end, the bouquet of roses didn’t survive the second day.
The two of them had only slept for a night before Ah Chai secretly chewed the flowers in the vase to pieces.
The water from the vase wet the floor, and shredded red rose petals were scattered everywhere. Ah Chai hid under the sofa, its pair of big, dark eyes peeking out timidly, its nose letting out low whimpers as if offering a cowardly apology.
Chu Ci wasn’t angry. She simply bent down and cleaned up the mess.
She smiled at Chai Yuening and said she didn’t need to give her roses again next year.
Chai Yuening said, “Don’t you like them? If you like them, I want to give them to you.”
Chu Ci’s eyes curved into crescents. “It’s not the flowers I like.”
She thought to herself that she just liked a person, and she liked everything this person gave her.
All those years ago, when she took that leap, her greatest regret was not having had the time to become a being that could be with that person forever, inseparable.
Roses have their season, but the black vines never wither, all year round.
She studied the knowledge of the human world, striving to understand everything about it, yet she was always missing something she didn’t know how to learn.
Always slow to perceive this world, she finally understood, at the moment the rose petals shattered across the floor, what it was she truly wanted.
Roses have their season, and so do humans.
She didn’t need the robust health that was beyond human comprehension; she just wanted to become a real human being.
Now, she had finally been thoroughly infected by the person she cared about most.
She would grow old, get sick, and die alongside the one she loves.
Like every rose in the world, blooming and withering in its own proper season.
The End
Author’s Notes:
The epilogue is finished. To be honest, I’m a little sad to see it go, but it’s best to let the story stop where it should.
Thank you all again for your companionship. If it weren’t for you, I might not have been able to persevere and finish this last book.
To have written my favorite novel of the past few years before leaving is, even with its poor stats, a complete and satisfying conclusion for me. I have no regrets.
A thousand words are not enough to say everything, so perhaps it’s better not to say them at all. I’ll say my goodbyes here. I wish you all happiness and success every day.
