Famine 175: Laboratory

The scene was silent for a few seconds.

Then, an unprecedented and intense, boiling clamor erupted.

Everyone was beside themselves with emotion. This time, not even Ye Xianqing could keep the crowd under control.

The young doctor took off his gown and stood in a corner of the tent, watching the wounded grow wild with excitement, then glanced at the silhouette of Si Zhiyan, the farm owner.

Just two days earlier, Si Zhiyan had stood at the very front lines, holding the farm’s flag aloft, its folds snapping in the wind, facing the Eye of the Main God and taking on the majority of its fire on behalf of everyone else.

Now, with the dust settled and dusk falling, under the warm light of the medical pods, the farm owner was here again.

He knelt by the injured, hair limned by a gentle halo, features soft and compassionate yet unwavering.
Near to everyone, but making them all the more reluctant to approach.

In that moment, a word suddenly leapt into Ye Xianqing’s mind.

Behind him, a deep voice gave voice to the thought: “Divinity.”

Ye Xianqing turned.

Yan Cheng was wounded too. Bandages wrapped his head, a half-lit cigarette for his cravings hung from his mouth, as he watched Si Zhiyan’s back, saying softly, “Sir has a kind of divinity about him.”

Every leader had a unique way of relating to their followers. Nie Du of the Bone Ferry was the spiritual saint carrying thorns, supporting the old and young to move onward together; Yan Cheng, more of a big brother, rallied those who resonated with him, sharing food, lodgings, and hardships.

But the farm owner was someone different to everyone.

Players watched him—or rather, humanity watched him. He bore the steps humanity made toward the future. He shouldered the responsibility openly, standing among the crowd, grasping the hands of those who went first, becoming the one the masses cheered for with tears in their eyes.

He seemed the epitome of compassion, never picking or choosing his followers. Anyone willing to live well was welcome at the farm; but if anyone defied the rules, his judgment was as cold and unmoved as death——many a player had perished under the farm’s Regulated Story Laws, and not once did sir spare them a second glance.

Before entering the air-raid shelter, Yan Cheng and Nie Du had stayed behind to cover the retreat. That last time they looked back, far away in the sky, the farm owner stood—too distant for even Yan Cheng’s chosen eyes to discern face or expression—apart from the storming wind before the giant eye, a slender, black figure standing firm, banners flying.

What happened after that? No one knew.
Some might harbor blind trust in their hero—but not Yan Cheng. He, along with so many, had worried intensely. Hiding in a corner of the underground, listening to the thunder above that seemed to shake the world, completely powerless.

What had the Main God done? Was the farm owner all right? Had he foreseen this? No one knew.

But when they emerged, humanity had won; the [Eye] had vanished. The farm owner smiled and told everyone, We were victorious.

The farm owner had never let them down.

He seemed removed from the people, a mysterious figure hovering above the world—yet he was there in every crisis, never missing a moment.
No one knew his innermost thoughts, yet all lived under his protection; no one could draw too near, yet all sought something from him, depended on him.

Ye Xianqing went and sat at Yan Cheng’s bedside, leaning shoulder to shoulder. With his brow finally easing a little, he said, “Yes.”

“To have met him is the luck of my life,” Yan Cheng said with a cigarette, smiling and bowing his head.

Ye Xianqing hesitated. “It’s just… sometimes, I can’t help but worry. Sir—”

“—Is he lonely?”

So distant from all those he’s saved, facing the wrath of the Main God alone.

Is he lonely? At times, does he wish someone could draw closer, stand by his side—shoulder to shoulder?

Yan Cheng couldn’t answer.

Suddenly, his gaze landed behind Sir.

Just a step away stood a stranger: a young man with black hair and red eyes, dressed in an outdoor jacket, just a little taller than Sir, with arms crossed and one shoulder against the wall behind him, watching everything with a gentle smile. Nothing remarkable in his features, but his eyes shimmered with light, filled to the brim with the farm owner, his expression impossibly tender.

Yan Cheng saw it all clearly.

When the farm owner stood up, a vine extended silently from under the youth’s jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles in the back of his coat behind everyone’s backs.

The gesture was practiced and intimate.
And Sir made no move to avoid it.

Noticing their attention, the young man turned his bright eyes slightly, smiled, and put a finger over his lips in a “shh” gesture.

“…”
Yan Cheng’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

……

It was a long while before Yan Cheng and Ye Xianqing came back to themselves.

They exchanged glances.

Yan Cheng asked, “Who was that?”
“No, never heard of him before…” Ye Xianqing stammered. “ Didn’t see him at the pre-battle meeting either…”

They looked at each other, then both burst into quiet laughter.

Whoever he was, it seemed that the worry they’d just discussed… maybe, wasn’t a worry at all.

……

In this way, Si Zhiyan made his rounds throughout the farm, inspecting, comforting, tying up loose ends. Once all was in order, he returned to the farm owner’s cottage and glanced at his watch.

The time: six in the evening.

Si Zhiyan could already sense the—

He took off his coat and hung it in the entry—

Thunk!!

In the very next instant, a flash of gold shot across the room—vines colliding, pinning him against the entryway wall!

“Ugh… My whole head and back hurt,” he gasped, tilting his head back to breathe, “Let’s—go to the bed—ah!”

Fangs stopped millimeters above his soft skin, just barely breaking the surface.

“…Ha…ah…”
Bian Xu’s ragged breath washed over Si Zhiyan’s ear, burning and trembling.

Eight hours since leaving the house. Right on time.

The wall was hard and rough, hurting Si Zhiyan’s back. He lowered his lashes, shifting uncomfortably.

…But Bian Xu must be at his absolute limit.

So be it; here, then, let it be here. In any case… no one else was around.

Bian Xu buried his face in Si Zhiyan’s neck, trembling, inhaling his scent like a drowning man surfacing for breath.

After a moment, he summoned his will and… actually, truly, pulled away a fraction.

He opened his mouth, lips and teeth trembling, the fangs etched with trailing lines of blood, carefully withdrawing from Si Zhiyan’s skin.

The vines tightened around Si Zhiyan, yanking him up and half-carrying, half-dragging him up the stairs into the bedroom.

Then, both of them tumbled onto the soft bed.

Thud.

Si Zhiyan’s head tilted back, his pupils fluttering.

Bian Xu was leaning over him.

Face pressed into the curve of Si Zhiyan’s neck, as if suppressing something with tremendous effort—his hot, solid body quivering faintly, arms locked tightly around Si Zhiyan’s waist as if to merge their very bones and blood together.

Through the thin fabric of their shirts, their chests met—transmitting that steady, pounding heat.

It was his heartbeat.

That realization made Si Zhiyan shiver—his face flushing, heating rapidly.

This… really was like a hug.

[…]

Bian Xu’s mind was no longer clear, but he hadn’t lost control; his nose pressed to the crook of Si Zhiyan’s neck, vines flailing behind him, but never tearing Si Zhiyan apart. His sweat-damp gold hair draped across Si Zhiyan’s cheek.

[…sir…sir…I…]

…He was holding back.

Bian Xu was fighting, fighting desperately to restrain himself; he had taken Si Zhiyan’s words to heart, striving so hard to improve.

It made Si Zhiyan’s chest burn.

He took a deep breath. Their breaths mingled, entwined, unbroken, as they embraced tightly.

He stared at Bian Xu’s trembling, tear-bright lips, which looked impossibly soft, impossibly gentle… and Si Zhiyan’s heart ached with feverish heat.

But Si Zhiyan just breathed deeply—he dared nothing further.

Instead, he lifted his arms, wrapped them around Bian Xu’s shaking body in return.
Crimson-stained fingertips gently stroked his sweat-damp gold hair.

“Good boy…”

His voice was low, half-sigh, half-murmur.
As though in a sacrifice, he slowly arched his slender pale neck, offering it up to Bian Xu’s lips.

“…You did very well.”

“It’s all right. Now… you may.”

Something inside Bian Xu’s mind snapped completely.

For reasons he could not understand, a rush of wild emotion crashed through his chest, making his eyes burn, his heart searing.
He bit down, nearly breaking apart in the desperate act. He might have been crying, or not, his breaths shuddering and ragged.

The curtains fell in silence, shrouding their small, private world.

His god was now in his arms—this thin, sweet figure, held close and utterly his.

……

Si Zhiyan was dreaming again.

Every night after being consumed by Bian Xu, he’d find himself in this floating, bubble-filled world.

In an endless void, fragments of memory drifted.

Si Zhiyan slowly reached out, trying to touch one.

The bubbles seemed to dodge him. As before, the barriers that existed last time were still there—but, they seemed a little thinner. The membrane of the bubble was more delicate, its resistance somewhat less firm.

A thought arose within Si Zhiyan.

—As Bian Xu took from him, perhaps he was also taking from Bian Xu.

Si Zhiyan was using Bian Xu’s power—the bond between them and his past self—to break through these bubbles that blocked the scenes of the past.

The idea made him smile, face flushed. Yet now, there was no one to share it with. People became used to comfort too quickly; a solitude that once felt natural was suddenly hard to bear.

He wanted to wake—and wanted to see him.

Si Zhiyan floated in the void, smiling for a while, then lowered his head, patted his face, and looked up again.

All right, time to pick a bubble.

He began to think.

This time, he had some freedom of choice.

He remembered what Nidhogg had said about the [Incident 326: The Fallen Star].

Ten years before the Hunger Games began, a meteorite crashed to Earth. Humans dragged it away for study, kept it in a desert laboratory, created Nidhogg with it—and saved Bian Xu. The lab was destroyed in a mysterious fire, during which Nidhogg saw Si Zhiyan.

Somewhere in the void, there was a bubble showing a murky image of a laboratory.

Si Zhiyan reached out, flailing a little, finally managing to grab it.

Pop.
The bubble burst.

……

It was a cold, sterile laboratory, walls lined with complicated equipment.
Huge sheets of reinforced glass formed the walls, looking out on endless, desolate desert.

This time, Si Zhiyan wasn’t in his own body.

He felt like a god observing all—seated high above, watching dozens of lab-coated figures coming and going, taking everything in.

If this wasn’t his memory, what did the vision mean?

At the center was a sharp-featured woman in a white coat, thin and severe.

A crowd gathered around her, mouths opening and closing:

“We’ve tried everything. Still no progress with the subject…”
“Its properties are unnervingly stable…”
“The cloning attempts failed—major rejection. There’s no difference from the clone mothers.”
“Director, we’re really out of ideas…”

The woman shook her head, crouched over her paperwork, not even glancing up. “No, I have one last option.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, as if everyone sensed something.

The “director” spoke calmly:

“—Remove all restrictions on the meteorite. This time, I want to hear its own voice.”

The room exploded in disbelief.

Next came a chorus of anxious debate:
“No way, director! That’s far too great a risk!”
“If it goes wrong, we’ll be guilty of crimes against humanity…”

“It’s all right. I’ll take full responsibility. You just focus on the research.” The woman tied up her hair with cool indifference. “No one needs to sign today’s log. Let everyone remember: if this goes wrong, I alone am to blame.”

The others fell silent, reverent, retreating a step. She dug her hands in her pockets and strode forward, pressing a button.

Buzz. The reinforced glass vibrated twice, and then slid down.

—

The image wavered, flickered, and suddenly shifted.

Huh. Si Zhiyan frowned slightly—this bubble held two scenes?
Was it because of his godlike perspective?

—

This was a city center.

On a night of pouring rain, a young blond man lay soaked in blood, a short knife embedded in his belly, sprawled in a muddy puddle.

It was Bian Xu. Even younger than in Si Zhiyan’s memories, just a teenager with the last traces of childish innocence, clothes drenched, lying in a pool of blood and water.

Next to him, a distraught girl knelt, frantically pressing his wound while shouting into a phone.

Suddenly Si Zhiyan recalled Nidhogg’s words—

“That kid was a brave college student, an orphan… He’d just finished his exams and arrived at university, only to be stabbed seven or eight times saving a little girl from a mugger.”

Si Zhiyan’s heart wrenched.

In an era before the Hunger Games—before enhancements, before chosen ones—Bian Xu was just an ordinary boy. Orphaned, struggling alone through years of school, enduring so much… only to fall right here.

He never even got to see what university life was like.

In the vision, Bian Xu was still breathing weakly, his blood staining the water. In the puddle’s reflection, the city’s neon glow flickered—behind every single light, a group of happy people.

Traffic rushed by as crowds screamed and gathered, but he could hear nothing.

He only muttered over and over, in a voice as soft as breathing—

“…”