Chapter 57.1

The iron cage prevented the leopard from attacking the mutant beast trapped inside.

The mutant rabbit screamed incessantly, forcing the leopard to try clawing at it. However, its paws were too large—barely halfway through the bars, its pads got stuck.

Frustrated, the leopard sniffed intensely at the cage while roaring furiously, “Roar! Roar!”

Mu Ling seized the opportunity to address the soldier holding the rope, “Please, pull the cage away.”

Though confused, the soldier dragged the cage aside.

The moment the cage moved, the leopard pressed down on it again, preventing its movement.

“Pull harder,” Mu Ling instructed. “Drag the cage along to lead Ji Xiang around. Make him take a few more steps.”

The soldier obeyed, forcefully pulling the cage with the mutant beast about five steps away from the leopard.

The leopard immediately followed.

But just as it caught up, the cage moved again.

It had no choice but to keep pursuing.

After two or three rounds of this, the leopard’s pitiful state softened everyone’s hearts. Major General Mark’s face darkened as he asked coldly, “Why are you doing this?”

Keeping her eyes fixed on the leopard, Mu Ling explained firmly, “Right now, it’s running on pure adrenaline and willpower. If it catches the mutant beast immediately, the sudden relief would cause severe neural damage. Just as humans can collapse from extreme emotional shifts, too much stimulation could be fatal.”

She continued, “I’m extending its focus, using its inability to catch the prey to foster a positive mindset. I want it to believe it absolutely cannot die—because if it does, that creature will escape. This psychological drive strengthens its will to live. When it’s too focused to dwell on depression, its deterioration slows. That’s how we can temporarily stabilize its condition.”

Mu Ling’s reasoning seemed sound, but Major General Mark remained skeptical. Frowning, he glanced at the other specialists in white coats nearby.

Dr. John pondered briefly before nodding solemnly. “In theory, it could work.”

But theory was one thing—reality another. If not handled carefully, too much stimulation might cause Ji Xiang to die on the spot.

Only now did Dr. John understand what Mu Ling had meant earlier: “I have a method we can try, but it might make things worse, faster.”

It was a risky gambit.

But at death’s door, hope and risk always walked hand in hand.

With Mu Ling’s explanation, the objections ceased. Even the soldier pulling the cage suddenly felt the weight of responsibility and increased his pace.

After five minutes of pursuit, the leopard finally began to falter.

Its hind legs weakened, and it sank to the ground, exhausted. Soon after, its upper body gave out, and it collapsed, panting heavily.

“Oxygen machine!” Mu Ling called out sharply.

Everyone sprang into action. Some rushed to fetch the oxygen machine from the ICU, while others searched for outlets and adjusted the settings.

Mu Ling retrieved the oxygen mask from the ground, adjusted her protective suit, and crouched beside the leopard.

Though exhausted and struggling to breathe, the leopard’s eyes remained fixed on the cage just steps away.

“It’s ready!” Dr. John announced.

Mu Ling immediately steadied the leopard’s head with one hand while pressing the oxygen mask over its muzzle with the other.

The leopard instinctively resisted, but as fresh oxygen flowed in, it began breathing greedily.

Feeling its resistance fade, Mu Ling released its head. She sat cross-legged on the ground, letting the leopard lean against her while she held the mask and gently stroked its fur. “Good boy, Ji Xiang,” she murmured soothingly. “It’s okay. It won’t escape. Let’s rest a bit, then we’ll catch it together.”

Supporting itself had indeed become too exhausting, and the leopard gradually shifted its weight against the human beside it. Under her gentle touch, its head lowered, finding instinctive comfort that made its eyes drift half-closed.

Animals naturally loved being petted on the head—it reminded them of their mothers’ grooming in infancy. The same principle applied to the scruff of their necks; many animals became docile when held there, remembering how their mothers had carried them.

Of course, this didn’t apply to cases where the mother-child bond had been broken.

Mu Ling turned to Director Ge. “Do you have a tranquilizer gun? A pistol would work.”

“Yes, yes,” Director Ge responded quickly. “I’ll have someone bring one.”

His subordinate rushed off, returning ten minutes later with a tranquilizer pistol.

Mu Ling nodded and glanced at the leopard resting against her. After ten minutes of oxygen, it seemed to have regained some strength. Stumbling to its feet, it attempted to charge at the mutant beast once more.

“Kick the cage over here,” Mu Ling called out.

The soldier complied immediately.

Seeing its chance, the leopard lunged—finally reaching the cage.

But the same problem remained: it couldn’t reach the mutant beast through the bars.

Major General Mark frowned, considering whether to simply release the mutant beast and let the dying war beast finish it off.

Suddenly—BANG!

The gunshot froze everyone in place.

They turned to see Mu Ling had fired, the tranquilizer gun aimed precisely through the cage bars at the mutant rabbit.

The mutant rabbit fell silent, and the leopard tensed momentarily.

No one dared break the silence.

Mu Ling calmly returned the gun with a quiet “thank you,” then stroked Ji Xiang’s head. “Well done, Ji Xiang. If you hadn’t held it still, I couldn’t have made that shot.”

The dazed war beast seemed to slowly process what had happened.

This mimicked their normal operations: a war beast would spot a mutant beast, but before it could engage, its owner would neutralize the threat, preventing unnecessary combat and potential injuries.

Understanding dawning, the leopard released its grip on the cage. It sniffed at the now-unconscious rabbit, then turned to Mu Ling with a puzzled expression.

She rubbed its head again. “Ji Xiang, you’re amazing. Such a good boy. When we get back, I’ll get you a special treat—how about a chicken drumstick?”

The leopard tilted its head, round ears twitching.

War beasts understood praise words like “amazing” and “good boy,” especially when delivered in the gentle tones that conveyed genuine affection.

Realizing it was being praised, the leopard moved closer, breathing warmly.

“Is there any water?” Mu Ling asked. “Preferably nutritional water.”

Everyone scrambled to help, and soon a water bowl appeared.

The leopard drank deeply, finishing most of it. After licking its nose, it settled beside Mu Ling.

She continued stroking its head, offering gentle praise until she felt its spirits had fully lifted. Then she turned to Dr. John. “Your assessment?”

Dr. John’s expression was complex. While Ji Xiang appeared unchanged physically, it had undergone a profound internal transformation in just thirty minutes.

Its eyes, once devoid of life, now sparkled with vitality.

If it maintained this mental state while receiving proper treatment and care, its condition could improve within a month.

Ji Xiang’s illness wasn’t physical—no injury or organ failure. It was purely psychological.

Now, its mind had found temporary healing.

Dr. John studied the young zoo director before him and, after a thoughtful pause, asked, “Would you mind taking it back to the ward? It seems to trust you most.”

Mu Ling stood and called softly, “Ji Xiang, let’s go inside.”

The leopard remained still at first, only rising slowly to follow when she took a step.

Its movements were unsteady, so Mu Ling gently supported it back to the ICU.

However, when she tried to leave, the leopard followed her out.

Nurse Wang, preparing to reattach the monitoring equipment, could only watch helplessly.

After several failed attempts to leave, Mu Ling looked at the nurse inside, then at the others gathered outside, and sighed.

Director Ge wiped his face, asking awkwardly, “Ji Xiang seems quite attached to you. How do you handle clingy animals at your facility?”

Mu Ling gestured helplessly toward the white fox sleeping in her backpack. “If I knew how to stop them, I wouldn’t be traveling with a fox in my bag.”

Everyone: “…”

She continued, somewhat embarrassed, “Usually when they get this attached, I end up sleeping with them at night. Both our animal dormitory and vet station have beds reserved for me now.”

The group fell silent, suddenly understanding why the zoo director had such remarkable rapport with war beasts—Direct assimilation, huh…

While they strategized how to settle Ji Xiang for treatment, Major General Mark observed from a distance. After a moment’s contemplation, he turned to Director Zhou. “Do you think her method could work with other war beasts?”

Every day, countless war beasts faced death, their declining health and unstable temperaments weighing heavily on their owners, rehabilitation centers, and owners.

If this technique of rekindling survival instincts through controlled encounters with mutant beasts proved successful, it might offer hope for countless retired war beasts.