CHAPTER 131: THE CHILD’S SUFFERING, THE SCIENTISTS’ CRUELTY, AND THE SWORD OF FURY

Lan Qíshēng looked at the boy—the child they had rescued—who had seemed fine only a few days ago.

Back then, when the boy had traveled with them, he had indeed been thin, his frame almost birdlike, and his cheeks gaunt enough to make him look younger than his true age. But at least then, he had been living. His breath had been steady, his skin carried a faint blush of warmth, and his eyes—though timid—had still contained a spark. A shy smile now and then, a hesitant word when coaxed, the way his little hand clung to Sīān’s sleeve whenever strangers approached—all of it had been proof of a boy still capable of hope.

Now, in Sīān’s arms, that fragile hope was gone.

The boy was thinner—noticeably thinner than before. His collarbones jutted sharply beneath his shirt, the angles of his shoulders sharper, as though the fabric itself weighed too much for his body.

But it was not his body that stabbed Lan Qíshēng in the heart.

It was his eyes.

Those dark, timid eyes had lost every trace of light. They no longer belonged to a child. Not even to a frightened child. These were the eyes of someone who had already tasted hatred, who had been abandoned to despair, who had been swallowed by the world’s darkness and found nothing left to cling to.

And he was barely ten years old.

Lan Qíshēng’s jaw tightened. He forced himself to look closer, to steady his gaze, because part of him already dreaded what he might see.

That was when he noticed them.

Red and blue dots were scattered along both of the boy’s thin arms.

Needle marks. Many of them.

Not once or twice. Dozens.

Blood. They had been taking his blood.

A hot, violent surge of fury thundered through Lan Qíshēng’s veins. It was rare for his control to falter—he was, after all, the one who tempered Sīān’s storms, who thought carefully before acting, who weighed consequences. But now... his vision trembled at the edges.

Never—not even in his worst imagination—had he thought the scientists would dare treat the child this way. He had personally entrusted the boy to them. He had told them to take care of him. He had spoken with the officials, with the institute’s heads, ensuring the boy’s safety would be prioritized.

And this was how they "cared"?

His chest burned, but before he could speak, before his rage could find words, something shifted beside him.

Sīān.

The man sat down with a heavy, deliberate motion. His expression was shadowed, unreadable, but his eyes—those burning eyes—were another story entirely. Cold, sharp, murderous.

Lan Qíshēng felt his breath catch.

If eyes could kill, Sīān’s gaze would have already ended the human race.

And in that instant, he understood—Sīān was furious.

Not the kind of anger one could reason with. Not the frustration that could be calmed. This was the raw, merciless rage of a man betrayed, of a man who had already seen too much cruelty in his lifetime, and who had sworn never to forgive it again.

Sīān knelt in front of the boy. His teeth clenched hard enough that the line of his jaw looked cut from stone. Slowly, he lifted the child’s shirt.

Lan Qíshēng felt his stomach twist.

More marks. Needle punctures. And worse—dark bruises blotched the boy’s stomach, strange discolorations spreading across his skin as though his very blood had turned against him.

The boy’s eyes flickered, nervous, wet with tears. He flinched at the movement, but Sīān did not hesitate.

He pressed his hand against the boy’s frail chest.

The boy gasped at the sudden warmth. Sīān’s palm lingered there for a moment, and then began to move—slowly, deliberately—across the child’s torso and stomach.

And then—like a miracle—the marks vanished.

Yes. Vanished.

As though they had never been there.

Lan Qíshēng froze. His mind tried to make sense of what his eyes were telling him, but sense had no place here.

It was the first time he had ever seen something like this. Yet the faint glow that radiated from Sīān’s fingers... it was not completely unfamiliar.

He had witnessed it before—back when Sīān had touched the man in the silver mask. But that had been different. The man’s injuries had not been physical, but internal, driven by a berserk energy that ate at him from within. The light had been there then, too, but muted, faint, less overwhelming.

This time, the glow spread like threads of living fire, weaving across the child’s body, sinking into his skin, erasing the cruelty carved upon it.

Lan Qíshēng’s heart thundered in his chest.

So... Sīān’s power could heal.

Not just suppress, not just contain—but heal.

Heal others?

It sounded absurd. Impossible. And yet, here it was before his very eyes.

Sīān had never used this ability carelessly.

In his original world, it had only been used a handful of times, on a handful of people.

People who could be counted on one hand.

He Jìnyún had been one of them.

And now... this boy.

The boy’s breath steadied. The color of his skin warmed slightly. His trembling stopped. Slowly, his tear-filled eyes widened—not with despair this time, but with the faintest spark of wonder.

Lan Qíshēng felt the sting of tears at the corners of his own eyes.

But the moment was short-lived.

Because Sīān rose.

He stood, steady and resolute, gripping the boy’s small hand in his own.

And for the first time since entering this cursed room, he spoke.

"Let’s go."

The boy blinked, confused, but Lan Qíshēng understood immediately. His blood turned to ice.

Sīān intended to take the boy away.

Out of the institute.

Out of the state’s hands.

But this was no ordinary building. This was the State’s special research institute—guarded day and night by the military.

And this boy—the child clinging to Sīān—carried within his veins a virus so deadly, so terrifying, that entire cities could fall if it escaped.

Lan Qíshēng’s thoughts raced. Could Sīān really walk out with him so easily? Yes, what the boy had endured was inhumane, unforgivable. But still—

"Sīān, you can’t just take him," Lan Qíshēng said, his voice tight, urgent. "I know they haven’t cared for him properly, but I’ll speak with the institute, with the officials. I’ll—"

His words froze mid-breath.

Because Sīān looked at him.

A look unlike any he had ever received.

Clear. Sharp. Lethal.

One more word, that gaze warned, and you will regret it.

Lan Qíshēng’s heart stuttered. This was not the casual scuffle of fists or kicks that Sīān sometimes threw when irritated. Those had always been reckless, harmless bursts of energy.

This was different.

This was war.

For the first time, Lan Qíshēng felt that Sīān would treat him as a true enemy.

His breath hitched.

His chest ached.

Why?

Was it so wrong to want to protect him from recklessness?

To stop him from stepping into ruin?

But Sīān’s eyes told him—he would not understand. Even if Sīān explained, he still would not understand.

Because some truths could only be lived. Some pain could only be understood if it were yours.

Sīān had not come to hate scientists without reason. He had wanted to give them another chance—not to judge them by the crimes of those from his original world.

But they had failed.

And now... they would pay the price.

Word by word, without hesitation, Sīān spoke:

"Lan Qíshēng, if you take even a single step to stop me, you will be my enemy. And you know very well what I do to my enemies. Get out of my way."

The words fell heavy, final.

Lan Qíshēng’s throat tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The man he loved stood before him like a stranger.

Yet those eyes... those eyes were not lying.

Sīān was at the height of his fury. He despised this place. He despised everything about it.

Government.

State.

Army.

None of it mattered to him.

Originally, Sīān had been willing to leave the boy in their care. As long as they treated him well, as long as their research was careful, as long as their purpose was just, then even Sīān could have agreed.

But trust had been shattered.

Now, he would take the boy.

He would leave this accursed place—whether they allowed it or not.

And if anyone dared to stand in his way?

Then Sīān would erase the entire institute and everyone in it.

The consequences?

He didn’t care.

At worst, he would become a wanted criminal. He had lived hunted before; he could do so again. And this time, he had He Jìnyún—someone who could shelter him, someone who would not abandon him.

Sīān’s fingers tightened around the boy’s hand. His steps echoed on the sterile floor as he moved toward the door.

Lan Qíshēng stood frozen, torn between love and loyalty, fear and fury. His mind screamed at him to stop Sīān, to pull him back from the brink.

But his heart... his heart whispered otherwise.

Because in Sīān’s eyes burned a fire that could not be extinguished.

And in the silence of that sterile room, Lan Qíshēng realized the truth.

If he tried to stop him now...

He would lose Sīān forever.

---

The door handle rattled under Sīān’s grip. The boy’s small hand trembled in his.

Behind them, Lan Qíshēng whispered the only word left in his throat.

"Sīān..."

But Sīān did not turn back.

Not once.

And as the door cracked open, alarms already beginning to hum faintly in the distance, the weight of what was about to happen settled upon them all.

The institute would not let them go so easily.

And blood—perhaps a great deal of it—was about to be spilled.