After Being Parasiticized By A Monster - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: “Then take it off.”

“No,” Little Ming answered succinctly.

It was an unsurprising reply.

Unable to figure out the correlation, Cheng Ming finally gave up for the moment and placed the notebook on the bedside table.

The institute resumed normal work two days later.

No one knew the full extent of the damage the defense center had suffered.

Cheng Ming was responsible for her own area and only knew that two tanks of algae-fungus had died because they hadn’t been divided and propagated in time and had over-proliferated.

Other research groups were undoubtedly worse off; most involving living organisms couldn’t be left alone. A mere three days of absence meant ten days, half a month, or even longer of cleaning up the mess and compensating for losses.

After just a few busy days, new work was assigned.

Taking the elevator, she arrived at the 126th floor, unlocking a new section.

Cheng Ming passed through the corridor’s access control and walked all the way to the large instrument laboratory at the end, pushing the door open—

“Professor Jiang.”

Jiang Dexin stood in front of the electron microscope operating table, her hair tied up and wearing a white lab coat, a look that was both professional and aesthetically pleasing. Seeing Cheng Ming, she took off her glasses. “Xiao Cheng, come here.”

The image capturing process mainly relied on visual observation and judgment, which was quite taxing on the eyes.

“The proliferation rate of the Floating Flower Seaweed Fungus is accelerating. I plan to re-sequence the samples at different growth stages to check for mutations, and also take surface and internal images to compare with previous data. The task is quite heavy, so you only need to be responsible for a portion.”

Presumably for security reasons, Cheng Ming didn’t have much contact with her current colleagues, unlike when she was in the lower-floor laboratory. Tasks were assigned directly by the research team leader, Jiang Dexin.

Hearing the mention of sequencing, Cheng Ming’s heart stirred.

She actually wanted to know exactly what the parasite in her body was. If she could extract its DNA, perform a sequence alignment and construct a phylogenetic tree, she would surely get some results. No matter how much it had mutated, she could find the organism closest to it genetically.

However, the key instruments at the institute were strictly controlled, and usage was always recorded. It would be difficult for her to pull off a covert operation.

Unless she had higher authority and could independently manage the project and the laboratory.

She had to take things one step at a time.

Putting these momentarily out-of-reach thoughts aside, Cheng Ming focused on the current task, communicated the details with Jiang Dexin, and then dedicated more than half a month to it.

During the day, she was busy running back and forth at the institute. Sometimes the workload was heavy, and she couldn’t finish, so she would bring the data back to her apartment and stay up late processing images on her bed.

It was getting cold, and sometimes she genuinely wanted to be lazy.

She pushed herself past 1 AM. After packing the last image of the day into the organized folder, she pressed the laptop lid shut with a snap, rolled over, and burrowed herself into the covers.

Little Ming unexpectedly spoke: “You haven’t showered yet.”

“I know,” Cheng Ming said resentfully.

The issue wasn’t the actual cleaning; it was that the fish-fungus inside her preferred a moist environment, and her skin was extremely thirsty for water. Every shower was followed by a long process of rehydration and moisturizing.

She scrambled up messily, walking toward the bathroom while resignedly taking off her clothes.

Although it was winter, this area was located in the south, and coastal temperatures were generally higher. She was wearing a thin inner shirt.

As she weakly undid her buttons, she belatedly realized her chest felt a little sore. She reached up to touch it, glancing into the mirror she passed. The soreness was caused by the necklace having pressed an imprint into her chest from lying down for so long.

Picking up the heavy pendant, Cheng Ming suddenly froze, staring at the small patch of shallow, varied marks on her smooth skin, as if struck by lightning.

Her eyes widened, her breathing became ragged, and she called out hoarsely, “Little Ming!”

“What is it?” Her parasite roommate was accustomed to disappearing when she showered, but hearing the trembling voice, it immediately responded, not understanding what was happening.

Without time to button up her shirt, Cheng Ming rushed out of the bathroom, frantically searching for any usable pigment.

However, she wasn’t Cheng Ran; she didn’t have the habit of doodling when stressed, nor had she moved her mother’s belongings to the staff apartment.

Finally, she grabbed her own notebook and pen, forcefully broke the pen, spilling ink onto the floor, where it formed a shallow puddle on the tiles. She tore off the pendant, and her trembling hand rolled the seashell in the ink, then pressed it onto the flyleaf of the notebook.

The convex and concave surface of the shell left lines with slight curves, gradually forming a complete pattern.

She frantically tore off the page and flipped to the other side, looking at the symbol she had been pondering over countless times. Her bloodshot eyes darted back and forth between the two, her breathing heavy, like she was suffering from severe pulmonary failure and could die from lack of oxygen at any moment.

Although the only practical difference between the two images was that one was hand-drawn and the other was an imprint, she still couldn’t be certain.

She grabbed her phone, opened the encrypted document, found the blurry picture she had taken at the time, and compared them one-to-one. Aside from the color, the curvature of the bends, the spacing of the lines, the length and size… there was absolutely no difference.

The pendant she had worn for years, the imprint it left, was identical to the symbol Qu Ying had shown her, which was supposedly the monster organization’s logo.

Cheng Ming slumped by the bed, her ice-cold hands tightly clutching the seashell, staring motionless at the stark black and white imprint, feeling as though she faced a mysterious magic circle that had summoned a demon, her soul drained.

The necklace was made by Cheng Ran, the shell had been re-polished and processed, and her mother had personally brought it back and put it around her neck.

She recalled the night of that birthday, the night that had divided the two halves of her life. But her mother’s face was blurry, her expression blurry, her words blurry, everything was blurry… The memory felt so strange and unreal, like a behemoth lurking in the darkness that would devour her if she came close.

She took long, heavy breaths, muttering, “Little Ming, did you see it?”

The red shell symbolizing the monster organization, Cheng Ran discovering the Floating Flower Seaweed Fungus, the fungus’s ability to promote fusion between humans and monsters, Cheng Ran recommending Qu Ying to the Security Department, the Security Department having a secret sector that artificially created monsters to resist mutated organisms… all the facts, intertwined and complex, like threads stringing beads, converged and spread, forming a long, bewildering chain.

Why did Cheng Ran give her this shell? Why did she take her away from home? What exactly happened that night—was it an accident, or was it, was it…

Was it what? What was Cheng Ran’s identity? What role did she play between humans and monsters? And what role had Cheng Ming herself, unknowingly, played in all of it?

Did Little Ming have anything to do with this? What exactly was it, and where did it come from…

A myriad of questions, endless mysteries, like a bottomless whirlpool, harshly, relentlessly dragging her down, down into the lightless deep sea, the boundless abyss.

“Cheng Ming!”

Until a voice suddenly rang out, like bubbles surging up to the surface, enveloping and lifting her. Cheng Ming shuddered violently, waking up from the misty seabed, drenched in sweat.

She heard the other voice in her body ask, “Could it be that it actually has nothing to do with Cheng Ran, and the problem occurred during the process of making this necklace?”

Her symbiotic partner was helping her analyze the situation.

Cheng Ming raised her other hand to press against her forehead, breathing deeply, squeezing her eyes shut hard, unable to deceive herself.

“But I have definitely seen this pattern, in some draft, some painting, or something else of hers… I can’t remember,” she said incoherently, clutching her head.

That’s why she felt familiar when she first saw it; now she recalled it was because of Cheng Ran.

The Cheng Ran she remembered was enthusiastic about biology, had her own interests and hobbies, painting and drawing, decorating, weaving the colors of life. She was a scientist and an artist.

Her mother formed all her initial impressions of women: wisdom and sharpness, rationality and sensibility, determination and composure—countless beautiful qualities.

This was her mother.

Her closest family member, her most familiar stranger.

“Memories can be deceiving. The truth cannot be pieced together merely from a few patches of pattern,” Little Ming said.

The flat, clear vocal line seemed to lack human empathy but had a strangely soothing and calming effect.

Why did it suddenly sound so cultured… Cheng Ming almost laughed, but didn’t.

The fungal threads wrapped around her wrist, slowly extending along the pale blue veins on her skin into her palm, reminding her to let go. Feeling a bit ticklish, Cheng Ming obediently released the pendant, and the shell slid onto her lap. She slumped against the bed frame. She had gripped it too tightly, and the red marks indented in her pale palm looked as though they would bleed.

Lifting her hand to cover her eyes, her fingertips were still trembling, but she was gradually calming down. She whispered, “You are right.”

At the very least, she needed more evidence. At the very least, there were still too many secrets for her to uncover.

“Perhaps, did Mom secretly take on some tasks for the defense center, researching this organization?” she murmured to herself. “But, why would she give me this, and moreover…”

Moreover, the night she gave her this shell, that baffling incident occurred, and subsequently, both she and Cheng Jin vanished from her life.

“Your analysis is very reasonable,” Little Ming said, completely unmoved. “But I think what you should be doing right now is putting on your clothes.”

Cheng Ming froze.

Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted. She mentally focused on her current appearance, and, unsurprisingly, saw the wide-open collar of her shirt, her legs completely exposed—pale and glaringly visible under the light. The chill from the floor seeped into her skin, thread by thread.

Belatedly, she curled her legs up from the cold, quickly grabbing the bedsheet nearby and wrapping herself tightly.

The body was hers; it should be the uninvited guest feeling uncomfortable. Yet, the other party lacked this self-awareness, and Cheng Ming’s cheeks flushed, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

Moreover, regardless of the fact that this fish-fungus wasn’t human, if they were to be technically categorized, they should be considered the same s3x.

But, even though she was reluctant to admit it, ever since they opened up to each other, and as her understanding of it deepened, it seemed to have genuinely become a friend who could accompany her. And she couldn’t disregard her image in front of a friend.

“I disagree,” bl00d rushed to her head, Cheng Ming’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and she protested through gritted teeth. “It should be you restraining yourself from looking, not constantly forcing me to dress properly.”

“…” Little Ming was silent for a long moment. “Fine, I respect your right to be naked. Then take it off.”

It sounded as if it had made a great resolution, its tone almost sounding like it was facing death bravely.

Cheng Ming: “…”