Famine 138: The First Session

As Havana drew aside the clothes that covered him, his chest was revealed—a mass of blood, the ribs protruding sharply. All beneath his chest was mottled with bruises; his waist sagged unnaturally, grown alarmingly thin. Only because he wore loose clothing, and his spine was warped with a slight hunch, had it gone unnoticed until now.

His joints were broken and bent backwards; white bone jutted through torn flesh, leaving him soaked in blood.

The bloodfolk’s deformities were nothing like the fluid, painless transformations in cartoons; this was the twisting of a living person’s anatomy into a grotesque form.

As a doctor, Ye Xianqing was keenly sensitive to physiology. At a single glance, images of dislocated bones flashed through his mind, and as for the organs—he couldn’t even imagine what state they were in, compressed and crushed beyond recognition.

To think this was once the team’s eldest brother filled Ye Xianqing with resentment and anguish—his voice trembled, “Havana, doesn’t it hurt?”

“……”

Havana lowered his shirt and straightened his clothes in silence. He’d not felt such concern from their little doctor in ages; the feeling wasn’t pleasant to him, and he replied with a bitter smile, “Of course it hurts.”

“Well, not as much as it might. If every part was in the sharp agony of a real fracture, I wouldn’t be able to live at all. It’s more of a dull pain, coming in waves, everywhere and nowhere, ever-present. If I have something to do, I can bear it; if not, and my mind wanders, sometimes I wish I could saw my own legs off.”

“Most people in the Nest suffer from some degree of nervous exhaustion. That explains why so many have a short fuse. The pain is part of it.”

He ended on a heavy sigh, as if drawing a line under it all.

“In any case, I appreciate the kindness, but even if you gave me a bed, I couldn’t sleep.”

“…Captain, Sir, you and your companions can stay as long as you like. I won’t make you leave. But as for leaving with you…you should ask the rest of the brothers.”

Guan Wang, swirl-faced, leaned against the side, chin in hand, speaking softly, “Actually, it was only like this at the very beginning—if you’re unlucky, call it stage one.”
“When you’re more deeply assimilated, like I am, then it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“But there are plenty in the Nest like him. All those with lingering attachments are like this.”

He stretched and the vortex in his face twisted with a soft chuckle.

“Havana worries about you all the time, you know. Fears something bad happened, muttered until I got sick of it. [Friend] probably thinks his faith isn’t strong enough.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Havana scolded, tossing a cushion at him.

Yan Cheng pressed his lips, then gave Havana’s shoulder a heavy pat.

They’d parted on poor terms back then, each going their own way. Yan Cheng always worried about Havana and the others, and as life improved, he wanted to bring them to his side; while Havana and his group kept thinking about the stubborn old friends who’d defied everything and returned to the abyss.

Pushing up his glasses, Ye Xianqing was already rifling through his pack. “I have some painkillers here—take them.”

Havana shook his head. “It’s useless. It’s not a nerve or bone pain. The pain… it’s in the soul. Hard to describe, but painkillers have no effect.”

“Ah…” Ye Xianqing’s hand trembled very slightly.

“That’s why I can’t leave.” Havana spoke low, hugging HACK, his tone somber. “If I left now, with the assimilation halted at this stage, the pain would last the rest of my life.”

HACK nestled in his arms, licking him. The dog understood nothing, its tail spinning like a pinwheel—all warmth and affection.

Naive HACK had once thrown himself into the jaws of death to save Havana.
And Havana, in turn, had begun his deep assimilation with [Friend] to save HACK, gritting his teeth through the ordeal.

By the time he realized the problem, it was already too late.

“Captain, Xianqing, Farm Owner, thank you all.”
“But for me, there’s no turning back.”

The air froze for a moment.
Even Yan Cheng found nothing more to say.

Si Zhiyan lifted his head. “I see. Is that so?”

His gentle words caught everyone off guard.

In the darkness, the farm owner sat calmly in the corner, his expression kind and tranquil, his tone so offhand it was as if he spoke only of tonight’s weather.

“Very well. I’ll fix this.”

Havana almost thought he’d misheard.

“You… you’ll what? Fix what?”
He stammered.
“I know some foods can help dull pain, but this… this isn’t something painkillers can solve.”

Even Guan Wang’s swirling face stilled, staring blankly at him.

Si Zhiyan laughed quietly, “No, it’s not that.”

His gentle, serene face emerged and faded behind a veil of mist.

“Leave it to me. I’ll need to make some preparations. Tomorrow night at eight, right here.”

…………
……

Si Zhiyan let his phantom projection fade, his consciousness reeling. Beyond the window, waves lapped in endless blue.

He stood and returned to his farm.

“There is something I wish—”

His voice was calm and unhurried.

In the dappled jungle shadows, the hollow-eyed goddess and her son bowed slightly: [Your will is our command. There is no need for distance—please, speak your mind.]

In the orderly industrial sector, Overseer Liu looked up from the assembly line, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said with a smile, “No problem. Leave it to us.”

On the comm screen, the black-clad Nie Du responded briskly, “Is that all? Consider it done. I’ll have someone deliver it right away.”

In the little flower field by the outskirts of Utopia, young Li Yutong spun hand-in-hand with the disabled Yun Shengsheng, circling Si Zhiyan excitedly: “Really? We can really help the farm? Oh, oh! Hee-hee, okay, leave it to us!”

At some point, in Si Zhiyan’s farm, more and more people were eager to do things for him.

With just a word from him, countless people were willing to drop whatever they were doing, to carry out his wishes.

Each person he’d rescued on this journey was a treasure of his own.

In the end, the finished product appeared.
Quicker, and far better, than Si Zhiyan had hoped.

……

And so, the time for the next event arrived in no time at all.

[Next Day / 8:00 PM]
[8 Days Left Until the Appointment to Leave the Nest with the Cult Leader and Followers]

As Si Zhiyan expected, there were no real amusements in the [Nest]; regardless of allegiance, no one would miss such lively excitement.

Havana’s cabin sat in a prime spot, with a broad open space outside—perfect for Si Zhiyan’s use.
There stood a row of fifteen bulky objects, covered completely with red cloth, lightless and airtight, their contents unknown.

Bloodfolk from across the [Nest], by the thousands, teemed around the little house, packing the clearing from end to end.

Whispers, hushed and furtive, flowed through the crowd; countless pairs of warped eyes blinked, cautious and alert, fastened upon the center of the square.

“Is there anything good to eat today? Hm, doesn’t look like it.”
“No point pining for treats, really. Once in a while is enough…”
“I am kind of looking forward to it…”

“What’s under the cloth? Food? Doesn’t smell like it.”

There was a smaller knot of bloodfolk, their mutations particularly extreme—followers of the cult. They clustered together, arms folded, watching with frost in their eyes.
Leading them was the same little bloodfolk from before, barely a meter and a half tall.

“What sort of trick is this guy trying to pull? No one would abandon [Our Lord] for him!”

“Right. Our faith is stronger than that.”

“Let those with weaker faith stay stuck in stage one, then—let the pain drive them mad!”

……
……

As everyone waited, the clock struck eight. The mist began to rise.

Si Zhiyan’s figure emerged, bowing at either side.

He heard every whisper, but let them all pass unheard, making no comment. He only lifted his hand slightly, and as white mist billowed forth, the scarlet cloths unfurled.

Shhh!

Beneath the cloths, there appeared a row of pearly, smooth pods. Each gave off a gentle, white glow—the entire surface seamless, pristine, and streamlined, their curves radiating warmth and a gentle power.

A single glance called to mind the serene fragrance of an aromatherapy salon, the memory of spa massage beds… and countless other fantasy-like, romantic comforts. They simply could not belong to the post-apocalyptic abyss.

All at once, the bloodfolk’s eyes widened.

“Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s Inn Reception and Exhibition.”
“The theme for the first night: Healing Floatation Sleep Pods.”