Chapter 11: Crimson Under the Setting Sun

Mo Yan had not slept this deeply in a very long time.

Ever since entering the Academy of the Investigation Unit, his days had been filled with endless training and study. He had little in the way of entertainment—even on weekends, the hours spent in the library and stadium far exceeded those devoted to rest.

Though Mo Yan was keenly aware that he was a genius, one far beyond the ordinary, what took others interminable hours to barely grasp, he could master with a morning’s effort in the library.

Yet, still, he worked tirelessly each day, almost mechanically, because he knew his adversaries were never ordinary. In fact, they were not even human.

Thus, Mo Yan had to exert himself beyond normal limits, or else, when disaster struck, he would be powerless to act—forced to watch those around him die one by one, while he cowered in a corner, praying the next to be beheaded was not himself.

He still remembered his mother’s gaze as she looked at him before her death. There was no resentment for being chosen, nor any fear of death, but rather, relief that Mo Yan would survive.

The woman who used to stroke his cheek and coax him to eat would, under the moonlight, collapse in front of him, her blood splattering across his body.

Many times, time and again, Mo Yan would awaken in terror in the middle of the night, eyes shut tight, as if she sat beside his bed, comforting him from his nightmare. Only at dawn, when the academy’s bell tower rang out the first bell, would he open his eyes.

In the pale morning light, there was nothing but silence and emptiness.

Even after graduation, even after joining the Investigation Unit, with blood of both kin and other beings on his hands, this never changed. His hand, so accustomed to gripping a gun, would still tremble uncontrollably upon waking.

But this time, he had not dreamed at all.

It was as if he had returned to childhood, when his mother would sit by his bed, hold his hand, and stay with him gently until he fell asleep. As a child, he had never had nightmares, for he believed that even in dreams, his mother would watch over him.

Feeling the warm hand he grasped tightly in his own, Mo Yan wondered if he was still dreaming. The dream was so sweet that he did not want to open his eyes, did not wish to wake.

Unfortunately, the noise around him grew louder—a gusting wind, the murmur of voices, and Mu Yu shouting in exaggerated pain.

Wait, Mu Yu?

Mo Yan’s eyes snapped open. He wanted to see how this man had managed to appear in his dream.

What he saw was a large, hairy hand gripped tightly in his own.

He froze, unable to process it for a moment. Had his mother in his dream become a household matron who could wrangle tigers and preside over the halls?

Damn it, what a ridiculous dream.

His mood instantly grew chaotic, but he still followed the arm upward, curious to see just how absurd his dream-mother’s appearance had become.

Then he caught sight of Mu Yu’s conflicted, constipated expression, and the crowd that had surged to his bedside as he woke, including several familiar colleagues.

Mo Yan quickly withdrew his hand, turned his head away in silence, and closed his eyes.

He wished he were dead.

“Doctor! Doctor! The patient’s fainted again!” Mu Yu shouted, rubbing his reddened hand. Who knew what was wrong with Mo Yan? Ever since he had dragged him out of the elevator, Mo Yan had been holding his hand.

Not just holding, but gripping tightly, to the point where Mu Yu had nearly thought his hand would be crushed.

The commotion attracted the doctor, who frowned at Mu Yu’s yelling, his tone impatient.

“Out of the way, out of the way. With all this noise, even a healthy patient would get sick.”

The crowd by the bed exchanged looks and parted, leaving a path for the doctor.

The doctor placed his stethoscope, listened to Mo Yan’s heart, glanced at the faint flush on Mo Yan’s pale face, then shifted his gaze to Mu Yu, who looked innocent and bewildered. He tutted twice.

“Doctor, how is he? Is it serious?” Liu Hui’s voice was anxious; the doctor’s manner made it seem as if Mo Yan had an incurable disease. Was it possible Mo Yan had been gravely wounded during the incident, his injuries concealed and fatal?

The doctor rolled his eyes, muttering inwardly, “Serious? Of course it’s serious—social death, a terminal illness, nothing to be done. Just wait for the end.”

But on his face he wore the benevolent mask of a healer. After all, Mo Yan was his patient, and if anything happened, he would be held accountable.

“It’s nothing serious. The patient just needs rest. Only one close relative should stay; everyone else, please leave.”

He put his stethoscope away and walked out first.

The others glanced at each other and had no choice but to follow, since the doctor had spoken. Only Liu Hui remained by the bedside.

By both relationship and seniority, Liu Hui was the only one who could pass as family.

He watched as Mu Yu, trying to appear part of their circle, trailed after the others and thoughtfully closed the door. Liu Hui shook his head with a helpless smile.

“All right, everyone’s gone. You can stop pretending now.”

Liu Hui had been anxious at first, but the doctor’s veiled words soon made the cause for Mo Yan’s “fainting” clear.

Mo Yan was usually so cold and detached, and his abilities and position so far above the rest, that people often forgot he was barely in his twenties.

Liu Hui sighed, studying Mo Yan’s open eyes, and broke the awkward silence.

“How’s your body?”

“I’m fine. It was probably just blood loss.”

Mo Yan moved his arm slightly, feeling a wave of weakness, but nothing unusual. The medical team’s treatments were clearly beyond the likes of Mu Yu, who only knew the basics—Mo Yan couldn’t even feel the wound anymore.

“What happened while I was unconscious?”

He finally had a moment to look around—clearly, this was not the medical center. The equipment and room were both quite shabby, a makeshift treatment point at best.

Liu Hui looked at Mo Yan in confusion.

“I was about to ask you the same. I’d already brought the supplies into the hospital when I saw that… that contaminated person dragging you out. Both of you were covered in blood—it scared me half to death.”

Liu Hui was unsure what to call Mu Yu. By rights, as a contaminated person, he should have been quarantined for observation. But Mu Yu had saved Mo Yan, so it hardly seemed right to isolate him. Thus, Mu Yu had simply joined their group, perfectly blending in with the Investigation Unit.

Of course, the fact that Mo Yan kept holding Mu Yu’s hand was another reason.

“The rescue team then received orders from higher up: all contaminated individuals across the region had fallen into a coma, the incident was apparently resolved, and they stopped me from entering further to prevent escalation.”

“Luckily, they had emergency equipment; otherwise, you might not have lasted until the medical team arrived.”

Liu Hui still felt a lingering fear. Mo Yan’s condition had been dire—massive blood loss, his body on the verge of collapse.

If the rescue team had barely managed to keep him alive, the wound on his shoulder was truly beyond them. No matter what they tried, the wound seemed forced open by some power and simply would not close. All they could do was keep transfusing blood to keep Mo Yan alive.

Only when the medical team arrived with special items did they pull Mo Yan back from death.

“The incident is resolved?” Mo Yan stared at Liu Hui in surprise, sitting up abruptly, confusion in his eyes.

He had to admit, the medical team’s items defied logic—a few hours ago he’d had one foot in the grave, and now he could jump out of bed.

Liu Hui, both marveling and worried, quickly helped Mo Yan lie back down.

“Don’t get excited. Lie down—you’re not fully recovered.”

“Yes, all contaminated individuals at every incident site fell back into a coma in an instant. When the combat teams re-entered, they were not attacked.”

“And according to the headquarters’ monitoring item, the disturbances at all sites had vanished. Although the stationed forces still need to observe for a while, it’s effectively resolved.”

Mo Yan rubbed his brow, feeling instinctively that something was off. He had already lost consciousness on the way; how had the incident resolved itself?

“Mu Yu—has he been examined?”

“He has. No disturbances detected. His physical stats are a bit off from the records, but still within control.”

Liu Hui, though puzzled by Mo Yan’s question, answered patiently.

“You suspect Mu Yu?”

“…No, just asking.”

Mo Yan hesitated, then dropped the subject.

“How are the casualties in the Investigation Unit?”

Liu Hui’s expression grew complicated. He did not answer immediately.

“You should rest. We’ll talk about it when you’re better—”

“It’s fine. Tell me. I’m prepared,” Mo Yan interrupted, his face grim. He knew well that if even his teacher was reluctant to speak, the death toll must be far worse than he imagined.

Liu Hui gazed at Mo Yan in silence, but in the end, he could not resist his student’s steady, resolute gaze. He looked away.

“Fengzhou Investigation Unit: 68 confirmed dead at Level 6, 12 at Level 7, Level 8… Qing Wei survived, but his mind has been wiped by the item. We can’t bring him back. The other two… confirmed dead.”

Mo Yan closed his eyes. Though he had been prepared, the reality of the losses still sent a pang through his chest.

Eighty-three people—he had led them into the hospital.

In the end, only he had survived.

In that blood-soaked room, Qing Wei’s mutterings seemed to linger by his ear. Mo Yan had no idea how that usually silent man had held out until he arrived, nor how much pain and despair he had borne.

Nor did he know how to face their families.

Mo Yan turned his head toward the window. The sunset cast its afterglow over his pale face, obscuring his expression from Liu Hui.

Outside, the clouds shone with a blood-red hue, blazing and bold in the evening light.

Just like those young lives.

But they would remain forever in that hospital.

No one would ever know why they died, and there would be no grand ceremony to mark their sacrifice.

Only a single, thin piece of paper would reach the hands of their parents, wives, and children.

Their lives, like those brilliant clouds, would flash and fade, leaving no trace behind.

Mu Yu, exhausted, sat by the balcony, idly watching the clouds. Everyone around him seemed busy with their own affairs, rushing to and fro, not sparing a glance for this idle soul.

“Tomorrow will probably be a sunny day,” Mu Yu thought, gazing at the blood-red, defiant sunset.