CHAPTER 120: BETWEEN HUNGER AND HOPE

A sudden, sharp gasp erupted from one of the figures—it was unmistakably Liang Zixuan, her breath hitching in a mix of surprise and fear. Jiao Liangchen’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock passing through them that he struggled to mask. Beside him, Lan Qisheng stood frozen, his body tense as he instinctively tightened his grip around the handle of his weapon. His heart raced violently within his chest, a wild thrum of dread for his reckless lover, leaving him utterly bewildered by Sian’s unpredictable maneuver.

But Sian paid no mind to their stares, nor to their fear. His entire focus was fixed on the child’s mouth, observing every twitch, every tiny movement.

He felt it—that resistance.

For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the child was resisting his outstretched hand, not with teeth bared in defiance, but with a profound, almost primal energy—a raw inner force stirring beneath the surface, eager to awaken and break free.

The child’s small frame quivered with violent intensity, his body wracked with tremors as hot, viscous saliva dripped uncontrollably from his trembling lips. Despite the overwhelming urge to sink his teeth into that delicate, pale hand—the very embodiment of beauty—he battled fiercely against the primal instinct that clawed at his mind.

He was determined to resist the dark legacy of his parents, haunted by the thought of becoming a creature of horror. The very idea of feasting on human flesh or unleashing disease upon the innocent filled him with revulsion. Each night, he shuddered at the nightmares of becoming a monster, driven by a primal hunger he desperately sought to suppress. He longed to carve out a path of compassion and humanity, one that stood in stark contrast to the twisted existence from which he came.

In truth, he had long wished for death—especially after the tragedy that had claimed his entire family, leaving nothing but echoes of laughter and memories in their wake. But despite his darkest desires, he found himself shackled by an unexpected cowardice. Even after the insidious virus had taken root within him, he fought fiercely for life, desperately resisting the encroaching shadows that threatened to consume him.

When he stumbled upon a formidable team, skillfully carving their way through relentless hordes of mutated zombies, he felt a flicker of something he thought long extinguished—hope. Silently, he slipped into their ranks, blending into their ranks like a ghost, concealing the grim truth of his condition behind a mask of courage. In their midst, he clung to his fragile existence, driven by an unspoken desire to survive, even as the darkness coiled around him like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

He never intended to cause anyone harm. His only goal was to find a haven, a safe haven where he could finally catch his breath and seek the help he desperately needed. But fate had other plans; his secret had been uncovered, and the virus had surged within him, spreading like wildfire, almost consuming him entirely. The struggle for control felt like a battle against an invisible foe, one that threatened to strip away his last vestiges of hope.

Even though he’d been bound like a criminal and treated like one, he bore no resentment. Only a day had passed since this nightmare began, and yet he’d learned enough to know that a single misstep meant certain death. He couldn’t blame anyone for their caution.

But when he sensed the subtle shift of footsteps drawing nearer, and suddenly felt a hand thrust forcefully into his mouth, a wave of panic crashed over him.

(What is he doing? Why is he putting his hand in my mouth? Doesn’t he know he’s putting himself in danger?)

Conflicted and rattled, he summoned every ounce of willpower to resist the overwhelming urge to bite down. Tremors coursed through every muscle in his body, leaving him unsteady. His blood surged like molten lava, igniting a primal fire within. His mouth, parched and raw, craved not the cool relief of water, but instead throbbed with an insatiable thirst for blood.

A moment passed... then another.

And nothing happened.

Sian stayed like that for two minutes before slowly pulling his hand out of the child’s mouth.

There were no bite marks to mar the delicate skin, no signs of infection lurking beneath the surface, and not even the faintest trace of tainted saliva. Instead, a peculiar warmth radiated from the child’s mouth, as if it were attempting to communicate not with words but through the gentle caress of touch, filling the air with an inexplicable sense of connection and longing.

Lan Qisheng took a step closer, the fabric of the cloth soft and yielding in his hands. As he carefully wrapped it around Sian’s hand, his touch was tender and deliberate, ensuring that the cloth enveloped her skin gently. With a practiced motion, he began to wipe away the translucent saliva, each stroke light and soothing, as if he were erasing a trace of discomfort with utmost care.

Sian didn’t react. He simply offered his hand obediently, allowing him to do as he pleased.

"He’s conscious," Sian said quietly, almost like a verdict rather than a statement.

The others exchanged uneasy glances. Some stepped back. Others looked on with pleading eyes. The child before them... wasn’t a full-fledged monster. He wasn’t a mindless zombie.

"Are you sure?" Lan Qisheng asked, his blue eyes filled with hesitation. Everyone knew that one mistake in Sian’s judgment could cost them their lives.

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. It was just too unbelievable. They had seen what the infected could do—the nightmare that unfolded once someone was claimed by the virus. This child... with his bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and trembling limbs—he looked like a ticking time bomb.

"I’m sure," Sian murmured, rising to his feet, his amber eyes still locked on the child. "This boy has a natural resistance to the virus. He’s not just an anomaly... he’s a rarity."

Sian had encountered people like this before in his world. In fact, all those selected for experiments had some degree of viral resistance. But the boy’s body seemed to be on the brink of collapse—only his willpower keeping the infection at bay.

Jiao Liangchen stepped forward slowly, voice hushed. "Do you... Do you think he might be the key? That maybe the infected can be cured?"

Sian shook his head. He didn’t want to offer them false hope. Yes, some could resist the virus—but that didn’t guarantee salvation. They were like ticking bombs; no one knew when they’d detonate. And those who had already turned, who had tasted human flesh—there was no saving them. Once transformed, they became hollow shells—worse than beasts—driven by a single instinct: to devour.

Sian’s lashes lowered, hiding the look in his eyes. He was thinking. Something flickered in his expression... not doubt, but a desire to confirm something.

Lan Qisheng stepped closer, hesitantly. "What are you going to do with the boy?"

"We’re taking him with us," Sian replied simply.

Everyone froze. Even the child, stunned as he was, stopped trembling. His crimson-stained eyes quivered—not from illness... but from a tear.

He had no hope of surviving in their hands. And yet the young man before him—the one with the tied-back hair, who looked like the angel his mother once spoke of in bedtime stories—was offering him salvation.

The others glanced at Sian with suspicion, disapproval even. But, as always, no one dared voice it. Not with the oppressive aura surrounding him.

Of course, Sian knew what they were thinking.

"I said I know what I’m doing," Sian said calmly—but his voice carried weight. Unshakable certainty. It was a tone that brooked no argument.

He didn’t speak further. He walked up to the boy again—this time not to place his hand in the child’s mouth, but gently atop his head.

Sian closed his eyes and kept his hand there for a long moment. Gradually, the boy’s blood-red eyes began to clear, his skin recovering slightly—though not fully.

Then Sian stood up once more and, with a firmer voice, asked, "Are you feeling better now?"

He didn’t glance at anyone. His attention was solely on the child before him.

The boy said nothing. He didn’t run. Didn’t bite. Didn’t scream.

Instead, he darted forward—faster than lightning—and threw his arms around Sian’s neck, holding him tightly.

Sian froze.

But only for a moment.

Then he placed a hand on the child’s head and gently patted it.

Even in both this world and the brutal one he came from, Sian hadn’t lost all feeling. His eyes could still see through people. And it was obvious to him... this boy had suffered greatly in such a short time.

"What’s your name?" he asked softly.

The child didn’t respond with his voice, but his lips moved. A whisper, barely audible.

But Sian heard it clearly.

"... Xiao Zhu."

A slow smile tugged at Sian’s lips. "Alright, Xiao Zhu... from today on, you’re under my protection."

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Erato-san says hiiiiiii Angels, love you

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