After Being Parasiticized By A Monster - Chapter 21
Chapter 21: “Let me see your memory.”
The pipes weren’t leaking, the switch wasn’t broken, and the water pressure was stable.
Cheng Ming checked the entire house but found no anomalies.
The sun had sunk to the edge where it could no longer shine through the windows. The second-story house, which hadn’t seen a living person in a long time, was like a forgotten tomb on a desolate island, haunted by invisible ghosts.
Finally, Cheng Ming stood at the bathroom doorway again. The twilight was darkening, and she stared at the remaining water marks on the floor, asking:
“If there are other types of monsters nearby, can you sense their presence?”
The materialistic scientific warrior didn’t believe in ghosts or gods; any haunting could only be the work of mutated organisms.
“I cannot confirm,” Little Ming replied with those same five words.
However, before Cheng Ming could turn to look at it, it quickly added: “If I could sense them, how would I know they exist?”
Cheng Ming: “…”
Fair enough. Survivorship bias.
She decided to put aside what couldn’t be resolved for now.
She stepped over the already half-dry anti-slip mat, turned off the bathroom exhaust fan, sealed the drain with a plug, and finally taped the door shut.
Only after doing all this did she return to the study to continue organizing the materials. Time was precious, and the workload was heavy.
She set aside the vast number of books for later, then skimmed through most of the papers that had handwriting on them. Taking advantage of the deepening night and poor visibility, she made one trip outside to move the two large moving boxes from the car into the house—she didn’t want the spectacle of the fungal threads running rampant to frighten any passersby.
The boxes mostly contained miscellaneous items from the lab or office: gloves, masks, potted plants, ornaments, souvenirs… Cheng Ming meticulously sorted them out one by one and put them back into her parents’ room.
Notebooks, journals, and storage devices must have been collected by the institute long ago. She could only hope there were a few that slipped through the cracks.
Even a few stray words would be helpful.
She didn’t hold much hope, but near the bottom of several thick stacks of certificates, she genuinely found a few pieces of paper with handwritten notes.
It was late. Cheng Ming didn’t have time for a proper meal, so she took out the instant food she brought. Mindlessly chewing on a biscuit, she held the papers up to the light, flipping through them one by one.
Having been stacked for so long, the hard leather covers were faded and sticky, dropping fine powder as she handled them, and a faint smell of mold filled her nostrils.
Most of the certificates documented Cheng Ran’s past scientific achievements. As she flipped through them, her mother’s life’s work seemed to materialize, slipping through her fingers and leaving an imprint on these thick and thin covers.
Cheng Ran’s original research field was not related to fungi.
She had stumbled upon the Floating Flower Seaweed Fungus while studying other marine organisms. Its discovery instantly changed the landscape of coastal defense stations worldwide.
Of course, Cheng Ming now knew that the most important contribution of the seaweed fungus to the defense center was likely that humanity gained the ability to create “monsters”.
But, in the initial experiments, what animal cells did Cheng Ran use to discover that the seaweed fungus possessed these reactions?
“Cheng Ming, there’s something in this one.”
Little Ming volunteered to help. Its fungal threads sensed an anomaly and coiled around a certificate she had already set aside.
Cheng Ming took it back. The cover read “Achievement Registration Certificate,” but the contents were blank.
She carefully felt the cover again and found a hidden detail on the back: a sticky note had been tucked inside.
The years had made the paper very brittle.
She cautiously pulled it out and saw a single, short line of handwriting: “2155.6.23, Commemorating the victory of fish and fungus.”
2155…
Fish… Fungus…
Extracting the keywords, Cheng Ming’s heart began to pound violently.
She stared at the date in disbelief, scanning it one digit at a time, her eyes gradually widening.
Her hand trembled so much that she couldn’t even hold the thin piece of paper. The note fluttered to the ground, but the noise in her ears was like an avalanche or a collapsing mountain.
2155, 18 years ago.
The year she woke up from a vegetative state.
The year her life officially rebooted after being in a coma for twelve years due to a high fever.
…
So, what did this mean?
The collapsing snowflakes turned into an overwhelming blanket of haze, blocking her five senses.
The fish-fungus monster in her body also seemed to have vanished, sinking into a prolonged silence.
After a long, long time, she laboriously drove her cold fingers into her hair, covering her forehead, and softly called it, “Little Ming.”
Likely anticipating what she would ask, it reiterated after the long silence, “I do not know more than you do.”
Cheng Ming’s eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a startled insect. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, struggling to maintain the simple act of breathing.
It knew her mind was in turmoil, and those feelings of shock and fear were affecting it too.
“Actually… you could try asking Qu Ying,” it spoke again, unexpectedly uttering that name without warning.
“I have an impression of her,” it said. “She definitely knows more than we do.”
Cheng Ming suddenly looked up—
“What do you mean, ‘have an impression’?”
“I saw her a long time ago,” as it narrated each word, more unimaginable truths surfaced. “In my earliest memory, she was one of the people there. She connected to my nerves and issued a dormancy command. That’s why I was unconscious for a long time afterward.”
“No wonder, no wonder you’re afraid of her…” Cheng Ming murmured, her eyes distant, not knowing what she was thinking. After a while, a desolate, sarcastic laugh escaped her. “Isn’t that knowing more than I do?”
It must be like toothpaste, she thought; it wouldn’t speak unless squeezed.
“She wanted to kill me, and so did you,” Little Ming stated the fact calmly.
“…” Cheng Ming lowered her head, silent for a long time, then slowly said, “Didn’t you say you could let me see your memory?”
She still held reservations, worried it had malicious intent, worried that the so-called neural connection would damage her brain tissue… but she desperately needed to understand everything.
“Let’s try it,” she said.
There was no turning back now. Whatever the consequences, she accepted them.
Little Ming had no objection. The fungal threads slowly retracted, surrounding her. It only asked, “Are you ready?”
To make flipping through books easier, she had spread the dust sheet as a mat. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, closing her eyes. Unsure of what preparations to make, she gave a muffled “Mm.”
Losing her sight, her sense of touch remained. She could feel the fungal threads moving against her scalp, a rustling sound, which she didn’t understand.
Just as she wondered why nothing seemed to be changing, in the blink of an eye, darkness and bright light alternated, and stars exploded before her eyes.
Boom!
Her consciousness seemed to pierce the end of time, witnessing the Big Bang and the expansion of spacetime. Her body floated, losing all weight, and matter blurred its form of existence.
Microscopic particles formed a chaotic nebula and hazy images, like a jarring blend of dream and reality.
This was memory.
Her consciousness was awake yet suspended.
Cheng Ming knew that the scene before her was not real and could not be changed, yet she couldn’t help but open her eyes wide, trying to see more clearly.
A transparent barrier isolated the view. She vaguely felt like she was lying flat in some kind of glass container, with several indistinct figures gathered around.
The images were sometimes clear, sometimes blurred. Along with the scene, a burning, dizzy sensation—imprinted on the memory’s host—also invaded her.
Unable to shake the feeling of near-suffocation, she had to endure the discomfort and concentrate, following the “camera’s” movement to try and identify the vague, distorted figures.
The first person that caught her eye was a teenager who looked about sixteen or seventeen. There was no mistaking her; she was too distinct.
Wearing a dark denim jacket, with medium-length hair resting on her shoulders, her demeanor was identical to the present-day.
Qu Ying was there, as expected.
It was strange. Cheng Ming had never seen her this young, yet she recognized her instantly.
Perhaps influenced by the host’s current memory, the original memory was re-rendered and overlaid. Qu Ying’s image was much clearer than the others and closer to her current appearance.
Glancing past this conspicuous figure, her gaze shifted to the side.
In the blurred, watercolor-like gray background, Cheng Ming saw another familiar, prominent figure that captured her entire attention.
Despite being as blurry as a patch of mosaic, the only identifiable mark seemed to be the white lab coat. Yet, she recognized the person.
That was Cheng Ran.
Her mother, whom she had longed for through countless sleepless nights.
After five years, the chance to clearly see her face again was in this setting, so close yet so impossibly far.
Cheng Ming wanted to reach out.
She instinctively wanted to touch her, to explore more, but knew it was futile. This was all false; this was all just a memory. She wasn’t even the memory’s host.
Clap!
A silent sound, ringing directly in her brain.
A delicate, pale hand materialized out of nowhere in her vision. Its palm lines, woven with destiny, broke through the surrounding white mist, printing a pattern on the transparent barrier like a withered tree coming to life.
Then, with a crack, the glass shattered.
Crack, crack.
The memory shattered too.
All the illusions vanished.
Rumble—
A huge noise hummed in her brain. Time flowed backward, the universe collapsed, and all things returned to zero.
Like her mother’s hand from years ago, silently yet deafeningly, it pushed her out of the memory.
Everything sounded so complex and prolonged, but a neuron could receive thousands of signals in a single second.
The actual time since she closed her eyes was only a few seconds.
The world turned upside down. With a dull “thump,” her hearing and sense of pain returned. Her head struck the floor, the shock transmitted to her central nervous system. Cheng Ming jolted back to consciousness in pain.
Clutching the back of her head, her brow furrowed into a knot. Dizzy and disoriented, it took four or five failed attempts before she regained control of her limbs.
“Cheng Ming? Cheng Ming?”
The voice of inquiry from within her was like an incessantly contracting and expanding variable star, making her feel nauseous.
As a symbiotic entity with shared consciousness, it was clearly not feeling well either.
Cheng Ming could detect its weakness. With a throbbing, pounding pain in her temples, she leaned against the bookshelf, panting for a while before slowly recovering. “You are rejecting me…”
Little Ming’s tone was somewhat listless. “It was not my subjective will.”
“…” Cheng Ming rubbed the pressure point on her temple. “I know.”
It truly wasn’t a pleasant experience.
But it was also good news. At least it proved that even if she actively cooperated and granted permission, it was still not easy for this parasite to devour her brain and occupy her body.
While the memory was still fresh, Cheng Ming forced herself to stand up and stumbled out of the study.
Besides people, she had also glimpsed some numbers on the transparent cover in front of her.
Although she couldn’t see clearly, she guessed they were vital signs and a date.
Little Ming lacked the relevant experience, but these scenes were far from unfamiliar to her—she was lying in a medical pod.
Earlier memories were lost due to her young age, but she remembered that as a sequela of her vegetative state, she was often sick as a child. In her early teens, a high fever even sent her to the ICU.
She remembered that time vividly. Her mother had cried in front of her, perhaps worried about a permanent farewell, and even left a video… When was that?
Turning on the light, Cheng Ming walked into her bedroom, pulled off the dust sheet, opened the miscellaneous cabinet, and endured the dizziness to search through the contents.
The mobile hard drive storing the video was nowhere to be found, but she found the photo albums.
Since they only contained her photos and none of her family, and she had no heart to review her growth trajectory after her parents went missing, these things had been sealed away.
Clutching the thick stack of memorial albums, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands still feeling a bit shaky and floating as she flipped through the pages one by one.
After choking on dust and sneezing a third time, she finally found the photo from that time.
Pulling out the laminated picture, the overall background was oppressive and starkly black and white: black equipment, white walls. The innocent-looking her was lying in the medical pod, wearing a breathing apparatus. Her cheeks and skin on her hands and feet were an abnormal red due to the high fever.
The date in the bottom left corner read 2163.7.16.
Ten years ago.
Flipping to the back, there was a small line of scribbled handwriting.
It was Cheng Ran’s handwriting, only four words: “My baby,” followed by a comma. The last word and punctuation were blurred, as if quickly wiped away after being dampened by a tear.
She had originally intended to write something more. Cheng Ming didn’t know what, nor did she know if she would ever have the chance to find out.
The hazy impression merged with the clear photograph.
The memories, forgotten in a corner, slowly resurfaced.
Her being parasitized was indeed related to her mother?
Was it to save her?
If so, why did she give her the red seashell?
Or, could it be a message to Little Ming… hinting that Little Ming was connected to the monster organization?
Countless questions, still like duckweed rolled up by the waves, completely covered the lake, making it impossible to see the bottom.
Her hand holding the photo dropped to her side. She leaned against the headboard, her body trembling slightly as she stared blankly into the void. Her vision was shaking.
Her eyes felt like degraded, old lenses, with countless blurry overlays. The ceiling felt heavy, as if it would crash down on her. The whole world was pressing in.
Cheng Ming increasingly felt suffocated.
For a second, a profound hatred surged up for the parasite. The disaster of that night five years ago was most likely inseparable from it.
But she immediately understood that if all this were true, and if it genuinely wasn’t lying or hiding anything more, the blame couldn’t be placed on its head.
It was likely more inseparable from herself.
Moreover, if the facts were true, this monster was actually an inheritance left to her by her mother… No, it couldn’t be an inheritance, it wouldn’t be an inheritance. Cheng Ming tried hard to breathe deeply, struggling to suppress her emotions.
She just, just still didn’t know where to find her…
Her retina seemed still branded with her mother’s lingering image, and she was swallowed by immense grief.
Her mother gave her life once, and life a second time, yet she couldn’t keep her either time, nor could she find her again.
“Little Ming…” she murmured, eyes open. “Do you think Mom and Dad are in danger? Do they need my help? But I, what should I actually do?”
Did what she was doing now truly matter? She was desperately chasing the truth because she wanted Cheng Ran back. But the closer she got, the more she realized everything was slipping out of her control. If, if the moment she uncovered the whole truth, it wasn’t the result she wanted at all, what would she do…
“Sleep,” Little Ming said.
The sound reached her ears, and Cheng Ming paused, a little stunned.
“Sleep,” it repeated. Its voice was very soft, yet carried an unquestionable resolve. “You are very tired. I feel it.”
Cheng Ming was taken aback. She raised her arm to cover her eyes, suddenly feeling a strong urge to cry.
She heavily suppressed her trembling breath. A simple “Okay” was caught in her throat. After a moment of silence, she said, “Goodnight.”
It was the first time she had said goodnight to it.
The bed hadn’t been made, but she was too exhausted to care. She rolled onto her side, curled up in a fetal position as if returning to her mother’s womb. As soon as she closed her eyes, her breathing gradually stabilized, and she fell into a deep, hazy sleep.
She even forgot to take off her clothes. But as the night was chilly, the fungal threads wandered around, trying to find a blanket to cover her.
They did find one, but dragging it out proved difficult. The closet door was locked. After several failed attempts, the wispy, black, thread-like “worms” had to settle for less, pulling a thin sheet out of the gap. One half was coiled around the head, the other around the tail, and together, they gently draped it over her.
…
Nighttime was indeed a time for emotional volatility.
Cheng Ming felt much better after waking up the next morning.
She sat up and rubbed her sore shoulder. The sheet and the fungal threads slid off her. Seeing the sunlight spread like gold to the bedside, her heart felt suddenly clear, like a mirror stand swept by a breeze.
Getting closer to the truth was something worth celebrating.
Except for the persistent pain in the back of her head…
She touched the swollen bump and hissed. “Why isn’t it better?”
Little Ming was also surprised. “Theoretically, it should have healed in three or four hours at most… Your emotional state was too poor last night, which affected your immune system.”
In other words, her body’s self-healing capacity was too busy healing her neurons, and this insignificant small bruise was naturally delayed.
Seriously… Cheng Ming had no choice but to get up and move around with the bump.
Remembering her to-do list, she first went to the master bedroom’s bathroom.
The door was properly shut. As she peeled off the sealing tape and pulled the door open, she wondered if the tub was still full of water, which would mean the entity had never left the bathroom, or if it was something that ignored physical barriers, which was terrifying…
Fortunately, her worries didn’t materialize. The glass door opened to reveal a clean, dry tile floor with no anomalies.
Unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed, Cheng Ming closed the door and returned to her room to tidy up.
Her bedroom and bathroom were separated by a walk-in closet and a short hallway. As she instinctively walked in, her footsteps suddenly halted.
She turned around. The partially open glass door reflected her shadow.
The master bathroom was fine because the problem this time was in her own bathroom—
A few meters away, a half-full tub of water stood silently in the unoccupied corner.
But since she hadn’t used the bathroom last night, she couldn’t be sure when it had been filled.
Cheng Ming stood there steadily for a moment.
Finally, she walked in nonchalantly, tightened the dripping faucet, drained the water from the tub, then turned back, grabbed the tape, and resealed the master bathroom first.
Returning again, she picked up her toiletries and cleaned herself up.
During this process, she propped her phone on the edge of the closed storage cabinet by the sink, connected the data cable to avoid the battery dying, and started video recording.
Then she returned to the study to work.
It took another full day.
She didn’t find much more useful information in the remaining items.
At most, she realized that none of the items in the boxes seemed to carry any radiation.
At the quarantine checkpoint, the staff said there were items in a Class C contamination state… The real situation was because “it” was in her car?
Moreover, the bathtub in her apartment building was also filled before she left yesterday. It was highly likely that the entity had followed her from the defense center to here.
The belated realization gave Cheng Ming goosebumps.
She was definitely being followed by something.
Did it slip ashore from the sea during the last monster riot? But why was it only following her, and why now?
Coincidence, or was it related to the purpose of her trip?
With no mood for anything else, Cheng Ming tidied up her files and quietly walked toward her bedroom bathroom to check the results.
It didn’t disappoint her. As soon as she approached, a whooshing sound came out, and the bathroom was filling with water again.
She opened the door and then closed it. Cheng Ming carefully surveyed the environment. There was no other presence. She walked forward and pressed the faucet switch off.
Picking up her phone, she hesitated to press play, feeling the anxiety one gets before watching a horror movie.
Fast-forwarding to the maximum speed, the footage from the defense center’s specialized electronic equipment was very clear.
The camera was facing the glass shower enclosure. Initially, everything was calm.
As the progress bar reached the latter half, the scene changed.
She watched the faucet being turned on, clear water flowing out, the water splashing and rippling in the tub… but she never saw what caused any of it.
It really was like a ghost movie.
Watching it sent a chill down her spine.
So, where was “it” now?
Cheng Ming glanced at the swing glass door.
It shouldn’t have left in such a short time, so was it watching her from a corner? Or perhaps, was it right beside her, right behind her?
…
“Little Ming, what range can your fungal threads cover right now?” Cheng Ming turned to the mirror and asked in a low voice.
It instantly understood her meaning.
“We’ll find out if we try.”
Then, the hair tie she used to gather her hair for work snapped. The image of the neat young woman in the mirror suddenly transformed into a long-haired ghost, her dark hair swirling.
Countless fungal threads poured out, like black seawater flooding the land with her as the epicenter. They swept over her ankles, submerged every tile, and outlined the contours of every obstacle they passed.
Cabinet legs, cabinet doors, bottles and jars, walls, mirror surfaces, metal racks…
Beneath the fungal thread coverage, all solid objects had nowhere to hide.
Like a black curtain pulled across all directions, it finally slowed down when it reached the white ceiling lamp above. Without Little Ming needing to speak, Cheng Ming understood that that area was anomalous.
There really was something!
The fungal curtain was completely airtight, plumply wrapping around something that was gently swaying.
“It’s transparent and very light.”
Little Ming nudged it, and the object moved, like a balloon floating in the air, with no obvious signs of life.
Most of the fungal threads had been retracted, leaving a single strand pulling the thing back and forth, seemingly having fun with it.
“Wait a minute,” Cheng Ming stopped it.
She rummaged through the adjacent shelf and found a bottle of charcoal facial cleanser that she hadn’t finished a long time ago.
Unscrewing the cap, she mixed it with water. She asked Little Ming to pull the object down, and using the fungal threads as a guide, she tilted the bottle and slowly poured the liquid onto it.
The unknown creature that had troubled her for two nights finally revealed its true form.
Black particles adhered to its surface, tracing the object’s outline like spray paint.
It was less than half the size of a fist, generally a smooth oval shape like a water droplet. The surface was covered with fine cilia that gently vibrated. Even under the chemical irritation of the cleanser, it didn’t struggle violently, only shaking off a few drops of water, like a hairball toy for a cat.
What animal was this?
Cheng Ming was stunned.
…
Fear stemmed from the unknown.
She took a picture and tried to identify the image.
No match was found.
Cheng Ming gave up the search and pocketed her phone.
Watching the little monster, now free from the fungal thread’s pull, demonstrate again how it turned on the faucet and took a bath, she didn’t feel much fear anymore, only that it was absurd.
Since it would turn transparent if washed with water, Cheng Ming held down the switch and asked Little Ming to lift it out.
It looked more like a sea urchin this way, but its “body” was clearly very soft, floating in the air as if suspended in water.
Since she couldn’t identify what it was, she couldn’t rely on Little Ming.
The fungal threads were poking the object’s cilia intermittently, practically treating it like a toy.
“Don’t you want to eat it?” she asked Little Ming.
“It doesn’t smell like anything,” Little Ming said pickily, meaning it wasn’t tasty. “But if you want me to, I can try to eat it.”
It didn’t seem aggressive, and it hadn’t harmed her all this time, only silently wasting her water… Cheng Ming pondered for a moment and asked:
“Can your conidia parasitize it?”
For safety, it was best not to blindly try to eat it.
A segment of the fungal thread, with a swollen end, extended out toward the “sea urchin,” climbing and coiling around it. The movement of the cilia accelerated.
Cheng Ming’s heart leaped, worried that this stimulation might cause some change, but in the end, nothing happened.
“Yes,” Little Ming concluded. “But it has a jelly-like hollow cavity inside, no internal organs, and no cerebral nerves.”
Diploblastic? It was a very primitive life form.
It didn’t even have a brain, yet it could rely on instinct to turn the faucet on and off… Mutated organisms truly offered surprises everywhere.
Cheng Ming mused for a moment, then cautiously decided, “Take it alive. You monitor its movements.”
She wouldn’t try anything rash without the guarantee of being able to kill it. She turned to clean up the room.
Her holiday was over; tomorrow was a workday, and she had to return.
She sent a message to Qu Ying, who had been out of contact for a while, hoping to confirm the events of that year face-to-face and show her this uninvited monster.
If necessary, she would simply hand it over to the Security Department for disposal.
She had come with a trunk full of old belongings, but she was leaving empty-handed.
Water and electricity turned off, the front door closed. Cheng Ming took one last look back. The orange light of the sunset clouds condensed into a tiny spot on the roof. The wind rustled the courtyard leaves, seeming to eagerly wave goodbye to her.
She turned and walked alone down to the garage.
“Is it coming?” Entering the driver’s seat, she confirmed the status of the new member with Little Ming.
Worried that it might float away if she didn’t watch it, she had allowed it to be washed clean. At least a transparent object wouldn’t frighten anyone.
“It’s in the car.”
Confirming its location, she asked Little Ming to cover it with a wet towel and place it under the corrugated box. Then she started the engine and drove away from the talent community.
The car got onto the main road.
Dusk darkened. The coastal buildings became sparse, and there was a true sense of the vast, primitive wilderness. Accompanied by the setting sun, she merged into the sparse traffic, driving toward the row of enormous barricades that stood against the coast like trapped beasts.
There was a check upon entry, too.
But this time seemed far less strict than before. The speed of passage surprised Cheng Ming. She had specifically brought the box to deal with the inspection, but they didn’t even measure the radiation value upon return?
The wilderness ended, and the shadow of the defense center swallowed the sunset.
The car drove into the institute’s underground garage and braked.
She wasn’t sure if Jiang Dexin was still working late, but since she had borrowed her car, Cheng Ming called to inform her and said she would bring the key to her office tomorrow morning.
After hanging up, she was about to open the trunk when a voice abruptly sounded, “Cheng Ming, it’s gone.”
Click, the lock popped open, and Cheng Ming froze.
The linear light overhead cast a chilly glow. The lid of the cardboard box was slightly ajar, and the contents were empty.
The item had vanished.
…
Late that night, a fierce fire raged on the bottom floor of the defense center’s central warehouse.
This area was a large distribution center. It held all kinds of things and was accessible to all kinds of people, making it the most complex and easily infiltrated area of the entire defense center.
Thus, it was the easiest place for external forces to penetrate. A driver could get through the border checkpoint with a document proving they worked for a logistics company, making the difficulty of disguise much lower than other channels.
The Security Department’s External Operations Team safely evacuated the building. Police lights flashed continuously outside the building, mirroring the bright firelight in the night. Fire trucks continuously sprayed jets of water.
Five or six team members in combat gear held two battered lawbreakers in the open area.
Facing the dense smoke pouring out dozens of meters away, one of them took off his gas mask, heavily took a couple of breaths, and cursed. “Damn it, good thing this thing is afraid of fire.”
“Masks on!” The team leader, Yan Li (whose name meant “strict”), sternly rebuked. “Don’t slack off. We don’t know if there are other monsters.”
She switched her helmet’s communication channel and reported to higher command, “Coastal coordinates 32.11, 7. MR-level mutated organism, 1 dead.”
MR meant Medium-Risk, usually non-sentient monsters but aggressive towards humans.
They had initially come to investigate a group of alleged rebels who had infiltrated the area.
After the marine pollution, a certain degree of social unrest gave these fringe factions an opportunity to grow.
Some were pessimists, believing that the money spent by various countries each year on fighting the ocean was futile, the world would eventually be destroyed, and everyone would perish, so they might as well enjoy life while they could. Others were conspiracy theorists, suspecting that the so-called marine crisis didn’t exist, and everything was a ploy by the elite to consolidate wealth and power, inciting the public to resist the hegemony. Still others were extremists, arguing that humans, as a part of nature, should accept natural transformation, and radiation was a means of evolution…
In short, their common refrain was that the defense center should not exist.
The Investigation Department was arguably the busiest branch under the Security Department, having to deal with internal conflicts in addition to external threats.
Worried that the rioters would bomb the warehouse, they had prepared various facilities beforehand.
But clearly, they hadn’t prepared enough.
The criminals had indeed planned to install a bomb. When they saw the official forces arrive, they were still arrogant. One man clutching the detonation button even showed a twisted smile, yelling “Nature is innocent—” with great ceremony.
He was suddenly shot in the head.
It wasn’t the Security Department’s doing.
As white and red brain matter splattered, painting the area with fresh “pigment,” everyone finally saw: it was a tentacle.
Several tentacles, over a meter long, had shot out of the back of his accomplice’s head. The elongated, cylindrical head looked like an alien creature from a sci-fi movie.
No, “shot out” was inaccurate.
The cylindrical shell and the tentacles at the top had been growing on the person’s head all along, but they were completely transparent, making them extremely easy for the human eye to overlook.
It was a very primitive multi-celled animal with no thermoregulation system. Its temperature blended with the environment, and infrared imaging equipment couldn’t detect it.
Only by observing very carefully could one spot the subtle clues in the shifting light and shadows.
Yan Li led External Operations Team 1, and she had a rookie fresh out of military school on her team. The rookie froze in shock.
The mission to capture internal criminals then temporarily turned into a monster extermination plan.
In the end, Yan Li grabbed the detonation button and personally pressed it—the consequences of a monster escaping were far more severe than the loss of materials.
The rookie, Han Xuhua, who had joined the team less than half a month ago, was crouched on the ground, half-dead. “They should let all those people who don’t believe in radiation or who want to be radiated see this. What a disgusting thing—Gag!”
External media would report on “monsters” to remind the public to stay away from the coastline but wouldn’t overly sensationalize to avoid panic.
Yan Li had a softer side for her own team. She bent down and patted the rookie’s shoulder, then walked to the side and said into the radio channel, “Call the Biology Department.”
The remaining team members were examining the two barely breathing men.
One had already started foaming at the mouth and rolling his eyes. A broken, slender tentacle was embedded in his chest, still twitching slightly.
“Leader, what is this thing?” the team members asked in unison when Yan Li returned. Even veterans who had served in the Investigation Department for over a decade were astonished.
The marine environment was constantly changing. Every riot brought new surprises, and the mutated organisms that came ashore were never the same.
“It’s a Hydra mutant,” Yan Li sighed mysteriously. “It looks like we’ll be busy. Team 2’s Lu Qian said they encountered one too, but it was a planula larva.”
“Huh?” The biologically illiterate Han Xuhua looked up in bewilderment.
“It’s the larva of the Hydra,” a nearby teammate kindly explained. “This thing floats in the sea, eating bacteria and fungi. It usually enters the next stage, becoming a Hydra, in about ten days.”
Yan Li said, “Correct. According to Team 2, the planula larva mutant floats in the air, feeding on microorganisms…”
“Ah!” Han Xuhua dramatically covered her nose.
“You can’t inhale something this big,” even the serious Yan Li couldn’t help but be amused, her mouth slightly curved behind the mask. She brought her index finger and thumb together to show the size. “The bigger problem is that it’s also transparent and very hard to spot. We’ll probably have to wait for the higher-ups to develop new technology.”
“This stage is fine; it’s non-aggressive for now. But as you saw, once they reach the Hydra stage, they grow a basal disc to attach to the human body and use their tentacles to hunt…”
Looking at the still-burning warehouse, her expression was grave.
…
Cheng Ming didn’t know how close she had come to great danger.
A week passed. The inexplicable opening of the water valve no longer occurred in her apartment, which left her somewhat disappointed.
She also noticed that the institute’s control had become much stricter, requiring her wristband to collect vital signs along with the access control key, making even a simple entry or exit take two or three minutes.
Qu Ying, who had been unreachable for a while, finally got back in touch.
As soon as she entered the apartment, Cheng Ming asked, “Did any new monsters slip in after the defense wall was damaged last time?”
“I’ve been busy with other things, so I haven’t paid attention,” Qu Ying had bags in her hands again. She walked toward the sofa as if returning to her own home, dropped her things, collapsed onto it, and picked up a water glass. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I encountered one…” Cheng Ming honestly recounted everything.
As Qu Ying listened, she immediately tensed up. She put down the glass, sat up straight, and asked sternly, “You didn’t touch it, did you?”
Did asking Little Ming to release conidia count… Cheng Ming opened her mouth but couldn’t speak for a moment.
“You can’t even get close!” Seeing her reaction, Qu Ying stood up, emphasizing, “You have no experience; you don’t know what abilities they might have.”
“I understand,” she lowered her head and admitted her mistake with a good attitude.
Qu Ying pulled her over and inspected her meticulously.
Cheng Ming cooperated but couldn’t help but say, “I’m not hurt… With Little Ming here, there shouldn’t be any serious consequences.”
“You trust it now, do you?” Qu Ying cupped her palm behind Cheng Ming’s ear, feeling from her crown to her occiput, and scoffed, lifting an eyebrow.
Cheng Ming was silent for a moment, then looked up, staring directly at her with clear, dark eyes. “Sister Yingying, you actually know Little Ming’s origin, don’t you?”
“…”
The question came suddenly. Qu Ying put down her hands and watched her for a long time without saying a word.
Cheng Ming met her gaze, refusing to back down. “Ten years ago, when I was hospitalized with a high fever, you were in Little Ming’s memory.”
She directly confessed, cutting off any path for the other party to conceal the truth.
The air seemed encased in sticky glue; the atmosphere solidified.
After a long time, the latter finally relented, retreating to the sofa. “Oh, you…”
“Sister Yingying.” Cheng Ming’s voice was very soft. She knelt in front of her in a pleading posture, her eyes practically glistening with moisture.
“Cheng Ming… Sigh. I don’t know too much, and honestly, I don’t want you to delve too deeply,” she sighed three times in one sentence. “All I know is that when you were hospitalized in an emergency, your mother called me. At that time, the one who was conscious was no longer you.”
It matched up, after all.
“I asked your mother, but she refused to say more. She just asked for my help, hoping I would suppress this extra consciousness…”
She looked at Cheng Ming, yet she was probably not looking at her.
Through the host’s eyes, Qu Ying was staring at the parasite, stating clearly, word for word, “I asked her why she couldn’t just eliminate this monster. She didn’t say she couldn’t, but she said, ‘You need it.'”
You need it, Cheng Ming.
This is the amulet your mother left for you.
…
Cheng Ming’s eyes slightly lost focus.
She understood the implicit meaning.
The myocardial cells in her left chest contracted and relaxed at its rhythm, resonating in sync. It was impossible to tell whose heartbeat it was.
“Then do you know…” she opened her mouth, her lips trembling. She pulled the necklace out from under her shirt. “Why she gave me this?”
The shell swayed gently on the delicate chain, the red and silver reflecting light that was soft or sharp.
“Sister Yingying, do you know that this is the symbol you mentioned that represents the monster organization?”
Qu Ying opened her mouth, a look of shock on her face, as if doubting her own ears. “I didn’t know—”
She suddenly remembered something, grabbed Cheng Ming’s arm, and hurried into the room. She slammed the door shut, her chest heaving with her breathing. She lowered her voice. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”
Cheng Ming shook her head. “No.”
She had no one else to tell, nor did she have anyone she could trust enough.
Qu Ying frowned, picking up the shell, examining and caressing it repeatedly, her disbelief mirroring Cheng Ming’s. “How could this happen…”
The force behind this symbol had always been a major headache for the Security Department. If anyone were to discover this, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Cheng Ming thought of a question.
“When did the defense center first discover that such an organization existed?”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Qu Ying’s hand paused.
“The earliest record can be traced back to…” The outer corners of her eyes, which usually tilted up, now looked heavy. “The year 2168.”
Cheng Ming’s pupils dilated.
That was the year Cheng Ran and Cheng Jin went missing.
…
Late that night, Cheng Ming lay in bed, suffering from insomnia, as expected.
She held the shell in her hand, gently turning it over and studying it. The deep crimson glowed with a mesmerizing color under the nightlight.
She used to think this was her everything, like a warm, beating heart that could pump out bl00d and give her strength. Now, it felt like she was holding a cold bomb, unsure when it would go off with a boom, shattering her to pieces.
Cheng Ran, what was her connection to the monster organization, and could Cheng Ming herself be a part of it?
Cheng Ming closed her eyes and placed the shell back over her heart, her breaths slow and deep.
She repeatedly told herself that nothing was clear yet, and she couldn’t assume the worst…
She couldn’t doubt her mother.