EDEH Chapter 21

[007 Diary Entry 10]

 

[Back then, Dr. Anya spent nearly a year getting the little evil dragon to trust humans again and be willing to transform back into human form—but Subject 002, after just a few days together, could already make the little evil dragon develop unconscious dependence.

 

Perhaps this isn’t a bad thing.]

 

·

 

Sang Jue also received the same phone call.

 

Hill gently consoled: “Very few infected can last three days. Mr. Karl did his best.”

 

Sang Jue made a muffled sound of acknowledgment: “Was he in pain when he died?”

 

“Much better compared to other infected. Mr. Karl didn’t undergo the aberration process, so he passed relatively peacefully.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

Although he knew the chances of saving Old Karl weren’t great, Sang Jue was still somewhat disappointed.

 

Hill didn’t mention the lingzhi mushrooms growing from Old Karl’s corpse: “Before passing, Mr. Karl left a written will, unconditionally bequeathing half of his treasured liquor collection to you.”

 

Sang Jue was stunned: “…To me?”

 

Hill made an affirmative sound: “When you return to the main city, you can apply for it at the Deceased’s Effects Management Office.”

 

Humans were really strange.

 

Some would hold knives to friends’ throats, while others would give their most treasured possessions to friends they’d known for less than a week.

 

Hmph.

 

Sang Jue held his breath, his cheeks puffing up like a pufferfish. When he released the breath, his face would return to normal, then puff up again—like plucking flower petals.

 

Forgive, don’t forgive, forgive, don’t forgive…

 

Hm?

 

Another set of footsteps was approaching his direction—a scent he’d smelled before.

 

Bao Cang lifted the partition curtain and entered: “Sang Jue, are you alright?”

 

The little evil dragon, interrupted from his counting, sighed: “You should have knocked before entering.”

 

“…” Bao Cang looked left and right at the simple partition curtain, helplessly backed out, and knocked on the nonexistent door, “Knock knock—may I come in?”

 

Sang Jue said: “No.”

 

Bao Cang: “…”

 

Sang Jue was joking. He needed to learn human behavioral patterns so Huo Yanji wouldn’t always suspect he wasn’t human.

 

Humans were creatures who liked to joke—he needed to work harder at it.

 

Sang Jue asked: “Are you also here to ask about Colonel Colin?”

 

Bao Cang came in, pulled over a stool and sat down, denying his purpose: “Although it’s not nice to say, but in that situation, Colonel Colin basically couldn’t have survived… That you’re safe is already shocking enough.”

 

Sang Jue asked puzzledly: “Then do you have some other matter?”

 

“Came to check on you.” Bao Cang hesitated. “Andre was arrested. Did you know?”

 

Sang Jue shook his head. Huo Yanji hadn’t told him about this.

 

“On what charges?”

 

“Insulting and slandering military personnel, verbal insult and sexual harassment of residents.”

 

“Sexual harassment?”

 

Sang Jue understood these three words. He frowned and carefully recalled what Andre had said, suddenly understanding: “He thought I was Huo Yanji’s, his…”

 

After stammering for a while, Sang Jue couldn’t find an appropriate descriptor.

 

“He thought you were General Huo’s—bed partner.” Bao Cang found a euphemistic term.

 

“But Huo Yanji and I are both male.” Sang Jue asked sincerely, “Is there something wrong with Andre’s brain?”

 

Bao Cang scratched his knee and made an “uh” sound: “You’ve never seen two men together?”

 

Sang Jue really hadn’t. Although the research institute on his home planet was large, it was still just a small corner of the world.

 

His researcher friends were busy every day with no time to emit spring-like scents.

 

Sang Jue fell into thought: “So how do two males mate?”

 

Bao Cang: “…”

 

Sang Jue’s word choice was somewhat strange, but he didn’t think much of it.

 

In Bao Cang’s eyes, Sang Jue was just a strange, pretty kid who easily made people feel fond of him.

 

Sang Jue decided to ask a certain someone when he returned.

 

“Did you come for Andre? I won’t speak for him, and Huo Yanji wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” Sang Jue added dramatically, “He doesn’t like me at all and is super, super mean to me.”

 

Bao Cang said: “I mainly came to report mercenary casualties to the officers.”

 

Then incidentally check on how Sang Jue was doing, and if he could help Andre, that would be even better.

 

He joked: “If he’s so mean, why do you still follow him? Come with me instead?”

 

Sang Jue thought about it: “Because he’s good-looking and smells nice.”

 

Bao Cang: “You can’t just look at faces.”

 

“Faces are very important.” Sang Jue said seriously, “If it were an ugly person being that mean to me, I would have cut ties with him already.”

 

“…” Bao Cang touched his own face and smiled wryly, “Anyway, I apologize again for Andre. You probably won’t have any more contact in the future, so don’t take his words to heart. He’s a good person with no bad intentions, just a foul mouth.”

 

He was a bit worried that those insulting words had left Sang Jue traumatized.

 

Sang Jue retorted: “Andre is not a good person.”

 

Bao Cang was stunned: “Hm?”

 

“I understood the principle that people die in wars when I was seven, but Andre doesn’t understand.” Sang Jue said, “His friends and spouse were all killed by monsters. The supervisors just ended their suffering early, but he repaid kindness with resentment, was ungrateful, turned the tables, and repaid virtue with grievance…”

 

…He ran out of words.

 

Bao Cang couldn’t help but smile: “You’re right about everything, but not everyone can think rationally.”

 

“When important people around you encounter this kind of thing, you always think, what if they’re that one-in-a-thousand lucky one who won’t lose control from infection?”

 

“In countless nights of longing afterward, you gradually forget the fact that they died because of monsters, only remembering the moment they were shot, and then a certain thought takes root and grows into a towering tree—that the supervisors robbed them of the possibility of survival.”

 

Sang Jue pursed his lips: “Humans are so strange. They always find others to vent on but never take it out on themselves.”

 

Bao Cang laughed heartily, finding this kid more and more interesting.

 

“Those born under the collapse are all helpless people…”

 

Bao Cang pressed his rough knuckles. From years of fighting with his fists, his fingers had become deformed: “Knowing this situation isn’t anyone’s fault, but still needing to find an outlet for emotions—otherwise, after friends, family, and lovers all die one after another, how do you keep living?”

 

Bao Cang was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, looking robust even while sitting, but when saying these words, his voice was so light it seemed like it would scatter with the wind.

 

He smiled and said: “You must have never lost anyone.”

 

Only this way could one live so purely in this environment.

 

“I have.”

 

Sang Jue had lost a friend—back at the laboratory on his home planet, when a researcher had died of illness.

 

The doctor told him that birth, aging, sickness, and death were humanity’s eternal laws, and he needed to learn to face them with a smile.

 

There was also his new friend Old Karl.

 

Although Old Karl never said so, Sang Jue had seen the photo covered on his table—a family of three, happy and harmonious.

 

He was a smart and considerate little evil dragon who wouldn’t poke at others’ wounds.

 

Old Karl’s family must be gone, yet he still lived tolerantly without blaming anyone.

 

People are different from each other, Sang Jue thought.

 

Colin looked handsome and refined but had a carefree personality. Bao Cang looked rough but had many delicate thoughts.

 

Human diversity.

 

Bao Cang asked: “Do you know who I’m most jealous of?”

 

Sang Jue shook his head.

 

This was a difficult question to answer. Even though humans were few, there were still too many to count on fingers.

 

He felt a bit uncomfortable, as if his body had suddenly been brought to a boil—very hot, with his head slowly sinking.

 

“Do you have any memories of the underground city?”

 

Sang Jue wasn’t hearing about the underground city for the first time: “I wasn’t born in the underground city.”

 

Bao Cang made a surprised sound. He couldn’t sense any crisis awareness from Sang Jue and had been wondering if Sang Jue was an older child who had been sent to the surface.

 

“Then you must not know what the environment there is like. Very safe and cozy. Although we had no parents, we were assigned to the same class with children from the same period. One class was like one big family, with teachers as our ‘parents.’ A whole bunch of kids playing and growing up together, just like family.”

 

Bao Cang reminisced, clearly having deep memories of those days: “From birth, we were instilled with one concept—we were born to continue civilization. Teachers would constantly show us two types of films: one showing the harsh survival environment on the surface, full of death and sacrifice… and another showing the peaceful glory of prehistoric civilization from hundreds of years ago.”

 

Then the teachers would tell the children—you are a generation bearing a mission. You must forever remember humanity’s past glory and recreate that glory.

 

“Around age ten, most boys would be sent to the surface, with only a very few able to pass tests and stay underground to become teachers or staff.”

 

Bao Cang’s voice was like a lullaby. Sang Jue grew drowsier but remained very interested in this topic.

 

He asked: “What about the girls?”

 

Bao Cang said: “Girls had some choice. They could choose to go to the dangerous surface like the boys, or stay in the peaceful underground for life, but at a certain cost.”

 

Sang Jue understood: “For reproduction.”

 

For any species not wanting extinction, reproduction was the primary necessity.

 

What Bao Cang didn’t say was that the so-called girls’ choice was actually just another form of having no choice.

 

Before age ten, all children’s thoughts were puppets, manipulable.

 

Sang Jue made an “mm” sound: “Are you jealous of those girls who could stay underground?”

 

“Of course not.” Bao Cang laughed, then said sincerely, “I’m jealous of those people in the historical films who lived in prehistoric civilization.”

 

Especially after coming to the surface and experiencing the cruelty of survival.

 

On one side was the beautiful civilization in historical films, on the other were countless monsters right in front of them.

 

Too jarring.

 

Sang Jue didn’t understand: “They’ve been dead for many years.”

 

“But they really are worth envying… They lived so freely, had so many choices.”

 

They could live absurdly decadent, mediocre lives, or study hard and shine in their areas of expertise, or perhaps be ordinary, average people living plain lives.

 

But people born under the collapse only had two options: survival or death.

 

Sang Jue didn’t know what jealousy felt like, nor why one would envy people who had been dead for many years.

 

Humans were really too complex. The humans on this planet were much more complex than his friends at the laboratory on his home planet.

 

Torrential rain pounded the windowsill with crackling sounds, but even such fierce rain couldn’t mask certain sounds.

 

“Do you hear those gunshots outside…” Bao Cang couldn’t help lighting a cigarette. “So loud.”

 

“…But infected people have to be dealt with.” Dizzy, Sang Jue’s speech became slow and soft. “Without supervisors, when you encounter infected people, would you just ignore them and not shoot?”

 

“Who knows.” Bao Cang smiled. “Killing monsters is simple, but killing people is hard to do without psychological burden, even if it’s someone already infected. That’s why everyone gets angry—supervisors’ guns are born to aim at compatriots. They’re all like killing machines without any emotion.”

 

Sang Jue rubbed his burning face: “Shouldn’t you be more grateful then? Why be angry and curse?”

 

Bao Cang: “?”

 

“You said killing people creates burden. The existence of supervisors exactly prevents you from having that burden.”

 

Bao Cang was stunned.

 

Sang Jue always said “you all,” as if excluding himself.

 

But perhaps it was precisely this detachment that allowed him to see at a glance what those involved could never understand.

 

“Your argument is hard to refute.” Bao Cang stubbed out his cigarette and smiled. “But having anger is a good thing.”

 

Sang Jue didn’t understand. He felt very uncomfortable now.

 

He decided to send his guest away: “You should go. I want to sleep.”

 

Facing Sang Jue’s face, even being dismissed couldn’t make one angry.

 

Bao Cang stood up and smiled: “I really should go. We might not have a chance to meet again… I hope we can all live well until natural death.”

 

He lifted the curtain, his footsteps gradually fading.

 

Sang Jue hugged his knees. Humans really were creatures who feared death. Even when saying goodbye, they hoped you could live well.

 

Perhaps human life was too fragile, like Old Karl and Colin.

 

Sang Jue felt an indescribable stuffiness. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and hesitantly called Huo Yanji.

 

The other side quickly connected, with chaotic gunfire in the background: “Sang Jue?”

 

Sang Jue made an “mm” sound: “Old Karl died.”

 

“I already know.”

 

Sang Jue made an “oh” sound.

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Uncle Bao Cang just came and talked about many things I didn’t understand.”

 

Huo Yanji’s voice paused, misunderstanding: “He wanted to… make friends with you?”

 

“No.” Sang Jue said. “He found many reasons for Andre’s cursing.”

 

“Then ignore him and keep your distance.”

 

“Mm, I made him leave.” Sang Jue asked, “When will you come back?”

 

“Not angry anymore?”

 

“Still a bit angry, but you’re my best,” Sang Jue felt dizzy and spoke slowly, “—best-looking friend. There’s an idiom… things don’t go past three times. I’ll forgive you this once.”

 

Huo Yanji being mean to him wasn’t entirely wrong, after all, he really wasn’t human.

 

“Things don’t go past three times?” Huo Yanji caught the loophole and said flatly, “So you’re saying I can be mean two more times?”

 

“…”

 

This logic seemed fine, but also seemed a bit problematic.

 

His forehead grew hotter and hotter. Sang Jue felt dizzy and rambled incoherently: “If you’re mean to me again, I’ll go find a new prince and won’t want you anymore…”

 

“…Prince?”

 

Sang Jue mumbled unconsciously: “When will you come back… so hot, my brain is going to boil, my body aches everywhere, my arms and tail can’t lift up, and I’m so hungry.”

 

Tail?

 

Huo Yanji suddenly paused. Before he could speak, he heard a dull sound from Sang Jue’s side: “Bang thud—”

 

Like something heavy falling to the ground.

 

…

 

A breeze came, and Sang Jue felt refreshed all over.

 

He wanted to spread his wings, raise his tail, and show his evil dragon horns, but found his body couldn’t move.

 

He couldn’t see what he looked like now, but he must be very, very short—so short he could see the petal patterns of surrounding wildflowers clearly.

 

After an unknown amount of time, suddenly a huge creature landed in front of him, blocking out all sunlight.

 

He struggled to look up—it was an evil dragon, a majestic evil dragon covered entirely in cold scales.

 

The evil dragon picked him up in its mouth and flew toward the sky, but suddenly released its grip halfway…

 

“Ha—”

 

The heart-stopping sensation of weightlessness woke Sang Jue up.

 

He remembered now.

 

The evil dragon was the first species gene he had digested… Later, researcher Millie brought him back to the laboratory, and then he consumed Millie’s child’s genes, growing up in the form of a human baby.

 

But no matter how he called “mama,” Dr. Millie was always so terrible to him.

 

So after the ‘accident’ when he was six, he didn’t want to be human anymore. That’s how he could differentiate into an evil dragon without digesting any genes.

 

His true form really wasn’t an evil dragon.

 

Then what was his real true form?

 

Sang Jue was a bit troubled… thinking about it gave him a headache.

 

His head really did hurt.

 

Sang Jue touched the painful spot and was startled—how did he get a bump on his head!

 

“Awake?”

 

Rain still poured outside the window. Huo Yanji had returned at some point and was just a few meters away.

 

His appearance wasn’t perfect right now—hair disheveled, several wet strands sticking to his forehead, his outer coat marked with many bloodstains.

 

Saiya approached, placing a tray on the table: “Sir, the hot water and eggs you requested.”

 

Huo Yanji removed his coat stained with infected blood, wearing only a slightly damp white shirt underneath. The rain had made the shirt somewhat transparent, clinging to Huo Yanji’s powerful waistline.

 

A bit good-looking—Sang Jue secretly touched himself and stole another glance.

 

Saiya kept his eyes straight ahead, taking the coat and about to retreat when Huo Yanji called out: “Find a pair of small-sized shoes.”

 

Sang Jue looked at his feet—he wasn’t even wearing socks, let alone shoes.

 

Saiya looked troubled: “The smallest size is 43.”

 

Sang Jue: “Size 43 is fine… You’re all too big, it’s not that I’m too small.”

 

Saiya: “…”

 

What nonsense was the little thing saying?

 

Huo Yanji took a nearby towel, dampened it in water, and methodically wiped his fingers and neck, then switched to a clean towel soaked in another basin of hot water.

 

When he bent over, the flesh color under Huo Yanji’s shirt became more obvious. While everything below the belt was neat and dignified, above the belt, the half-wet shirt made him look particularly, particularly…

 

The little evil dragon’s vocabulary was really lacking—he couldn’t think of appropriate descriptive words.

 

Sang Jue stared in fascination, even forgetting about the bump on his head.

 

Want to eat him up.

 

This thought came suddenly—life was so fragile, only by being eaten by him would it exist forever…

 

Like Millie’s child, like the dying evil dragon he first encountered, and maybe even the green fungal clusters that Huo Yanji had burned up.

 

If infection could also let him simulate that creature’s appearance, then he had been infected on the first day he landed—the spore infection zone in the city ruins’ sewers.

 

So his dream of becoming a lingzhi mushroom wasn’t without reason, because he really could simulate the form of lingzhi.

 

When he came back to his senses, Huo Yanji had already peeled the egg. As the last piece of shell fell away, he approached Sang Jue with the wrung-out hot towel.

 

When Huo Yanji raised his hand, Sang Jue instinctively dodged.

 

Huo Yanji said meaningfully: “You’re not a lingzhi mushroom, and I won’t pick you to take home and make soup. What are you afraid of?”

 

Sang Jue: “…”

 

He really wasn’t a lingzhi mushroom, but he could become one.

 

Huo Yanji used the hot towel to wipe the sweat from his face. Sang Jue felt comfortable and actively nuzzled the towel: “Am I running a fever again?”

 

“Not only are you running a fever, you fell down again too.”

 

“…”

 

Sang Jue touched the bump on his forehead… so it was from falling to the ground.

 

He seemed to have some memory of it. His head had been very dizzy, he was talking to Huo Yanji on the phone, and while talking, his body swayed and he fell to the ground.

 

After wiping away the sweat, Huo Yanji used the peeled egg to massage the bump on Sang Jue’s forehead.

 

“What did you dream about this time?” he asked flatly. “Or did I scare you in your dream again?”

 

“No…” Sang Jue was sitting, his line of sight level with Huo Yanji’s waist. His abs looked so beautiful…

 

“Are you done with your work?”

 

Huo Yanji said: “There are still many things to hand over with District Seven.”

 

Sang Jue: “When are we going back to the main city?”

 

Huo Yanji: “In a few days.”

 

Sang Jue: “Alright.”

 

“In a hurry to go back?”

 

“Not really, but Old Karl left me his liquor collection. I want to go back and see it.”

 

“The Deceased’s Effects Management Office will store them properly, no need to worry.” Huo Yanji’s fingers holding the egg occasionally touched Sang Jue’s forehead—cool and very comfortable.

 

“Does it still hurt?”

 

“Much better.”

 

Huo Yanji turned around, placed the towel back on the tray, and quite casually ate the egg in his hand.

 

Sang Jue immediately widened his eyes: “It rubbed against my head.”

 

“Otherwise throw it away? Waste of resources.”

 

His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed the food. Huo Yanji asked nonchalantly: “Where’s your tail?”

 

“My tail it…”

 

Sang Jue almost continued the conversation, immediately startled, his tongue nearly tying itself: “I, I don’t have a tail…”

 

Huo Yanji finished the last bit of egg, came over and pinched Sang Jue’s chin, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze: “Sang Jue, don’t lie to me.”

 

“And don’t use acting spoiled to escape.”

 

“…I didn’t.”

 

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