How had it gotten onto land? Could it be this area had been flooded by the sea at some point?

A tsunami, maybe.

Chen Ci walked up to the jellyfish. He lifted a hand and gently touched its mechanical shell.

Cold. Hard.

A creation made by humans, yet it had become part of a marine creature’s body.

Inside the mechanical frame, moss and slime mold had grown—sustained by the organic matter left behind as the jellyfish decomposed. Chen Ci stepped over the broken tendrils scattered across the ground and made his way to the back of the bell.

“Jiu Yue?” Fu Tianhe’s voice called from afar, filled with worry.

“I’m here,” Chen Ci replied. He crouched and picked up a round component half-buried in the dark stains on the ground.

The jellyfish’s mechanical core had long since stopped working, but it might still retain some residual energy.

Chen Ci tucked the core into his pocket, stepped back a few paces, and snapped a photo of the jellyfish.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows and the hole in the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the aquatic creature’s remains. The light passed through what was no longer flesh—perhaps, this was how it had evaporated all those years ago.

With that done, Chen Ci retraced his steps to the staircase.

When Fu Tianhe finally saw him, his eyes lit up. He reached out his arms. “Need help getting down?”

After Chen Ci had gone upstairs, the part of the floor he originally stepped on had collapsed. Now the distance between the floor and the staircase was even greater.

Getting down was much harder than going up.

Chen Ci judged the gap—it really wasn’t easy to cross. Jumping straight down would be too high and risk injury.

“Come on, I’ll catch you,” Fu Tianhe said earnestly, arms wide open.

Chen Ci nodded. He carefully lowered himself to the edge and sat down, both legs dangling in the air.

The cracks in the concrete groaned again.

He scooted forward, gradually shifting his center of gravity. At the moment more than half his body was hanging off the edge, he pushed off with both hands and jumped!

In that instant, the world seemed to slow.

Fu Tianhe’s hands slid cleanly under Chen Ci’s arms and caught him, the teen’s whole body falling into his embrace. The force made Fu Tianhe take a step back, planting his foot hard on the stair below to steady himself.

A faint fragrance swept over him—it smelled like some kind of flower.

Fu Tianhe couldn’t quite describe how he felt in that moment.

He and Jiu Yue had never even had skin contact before, but now, even through several layers of clothing, this was a real, full-on hug.

The teen’s breathing was fast, his breath brushing past Fu Tianhe’s neck. Soft strands of hair tickled his cheek. Fu Tianhe never thought of himself as a sensitive guy, but every small sensation made him want to shiver.

The risky jump had clearly made Jiu Yue tense. He clutched tightly at a bit of fabric on Fu Tianhe’s sleeve and only slowly let go once he was sure he’d landed safely.

The Omega was a full head shorter than him—just right to be completely held in his arms. If he so much as tilted his head, something inappropriate might happen… Fu Tianhe’s mind spiraled wildly as he listened to Chen Ci’s breathing gradually steady.

Chen Ci tried to find footing, but Fu Tianhe was standing too close. He misjudged and stepped on the Alpha’s foot.

“OW!”

All the dreamy fantasies popped like soap bubbles. Fu Tianhe quickly backed off while Chen Ci grabbed his solid arms to regain his balance.

A few seconds later, Chen Ci patted him—time to let go.

Fu Tianhe took a deep breath. His heart was pounding like mad.

That leap had sent his adrenaline skyrocketing, and now beads of sweat dotted Chen Ci’s smooth forehead. The extra heat released more of his scent, surrounding them both.

Omega pheromones.

Fu Tianhe couldn’t even identify the exact smell anymore—just that it was soft, and good, and made his brain turn into mush.

Chen Ci patted him again—this time harder.

Fu Tianhe finally snapped out of it and let go, flustered. With his limited vocabulary, the only phrase he could think of was something like “warm jade in his arms.”

Chen Ci lowered his head to straighten out the wrinkles in his clothes.

Fu Tianhe, standing this close, couldn’t look away. If his earlier sweat was from fright, now it was pure restlessness.

Moments ago, Jiu Yue had shown off his nimble strength climbing that building, and now he stood here with long lashes lowered, quiet and calm. The contrast hit Fu Tianhe right in the chest.

That’s just how Jiu Yue was—always giving him new surprises.

Chen Ci had no idea Fu Tianhe’s brain was currently flooded with pink bubbles. He walked down the stairs and sat on the lowest step.

Fu Tianhe took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and joined him. “What did you find up there?”

“A corpse. Of a primordial creature,” Chen Ci replied.

Fu Tianhe froze. “A primordial creature?”

“Brought in by the tsunami, most likely. It’s dead now.”

Fu Tianhe nodded, not thinking much of it. In today’s world, humans were more of a rarity than the creatures.

After all that, they were definitely tired. Fu Tianhe pulled out cooking tools and food from his pack. “Let’s have lunch.”

It was their first trip together—there was no way Fu Tianhe would let Chen Ci settle for anything basic. Most of his backpack’s weight came from food and water.

He fired up the vapor stove and made a pot of egg drop soup, served with three flavors of canned goods. It was a simple but hearty lunch.

After eating, the post-lunch drowsiness hit. If there was anything Chen Ci couldn’t resist, it was the biological rhythm he’d developed over the years.

His eyes drooped. Sensing it, Fu Tianhe quickly laid down a moisture-proof mat and unrolled a sleeping bag.

“Take a nap.”

Chen Ci didn’t object. He understood his body well enough—if he forced himself to stay awake now, he’d be out of it for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

He took off his jacket and climbed into the sleeping bag fully clothed. A few seconds later, he sat up again, pulled out a black sleep mask from his bag, and put it on under Fu Tianhe’s watchful gaze.

It was the one Fu Tianhe had given him. The Alpha’s face instantly turned red.

Chen Ci lay back down, put on the mask, and fell asleep.

Fu Tianhe didn’t even dare breathe too loud, afraid any sound might disturb him. The boy’s nonchalance was beyond his expectations—he didn’t seem to think sleeping in front of an unbonded Alpha was dangerous at all.

Should he feel honored? Or disheartened?

Honored that Jiu Yue trusted him, yet disappointed that he didn’t see him as a “threatening” Alpha at all.

Fu Tianhe quietly watched Chen Ci sleep. He leaned back against the stair railing, heart finally at ease.

There was nothing left he needed to think about—no fate, no illness, no future. He could just let his mind go blank and sit here, in this small pocket of overgrown ruins.

He waited—for the sun to tilt, for the heat to pass, and for Chen Ci to wake.

Chen Ci woke at 3 PM.

It was exactly when Fu Tianhe had said the heat would ease. With the harshest sun behind them, they could continue their journey.

They pressed on toward the edge of the Suburbs. Chen Ci now carried the handgun that Fu Tianhe had left on the desk.

More and more remnants of primordial creatures littered the ruins—flesh long gone, leaving only pale bones and twisted black machinery, scattered like macabre sculptures.

But none as massive as the jellyfish from the second floor.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Chen Ci finally reached the destination he had been seeking.

The Abandoned Suburbs had an end.

And at that end—was the sea.

Waves foamed and rolled, a white line endlessly surging forward, the rushing sound filling their ears.

There was far more here than they expected.

Above the CPU east wing was a recycling station. Trash often fell from there and scattered throughout the Suburbs.

Bones, machines, garbage, ruins, plants.

Fu Tianhe even found a worn-out paperback book.

Paper was rare.

The pages were too blurred to read. The moment he picked it up, the whole thing fell apart. Startled, Fu Tianhe grabbed quickly.

Loose sheets spun through the air like pale butterflies.

He gathered them one by one and, on a whim, folded a paper boat. Walking to the water’s edge, he crouched and set it afloat.

The setting sun cast a silhouette over the Alpha, dark against the golden light.

The sky was like an overturned palette, smeared with colors—dark blue fading to violet, finally melting into a brilliant pink where the sea met the horizon.

The ruins were slowly being overtaken by plant life. Chen Ci sat atop a short wall, backpack beside him.

He swung his legs like a child perched on a too-tall lab stool. But this time, the blank page before him wasn’t stained with dull ink.

The boy gazed out at the endless ocean, surrounded by plants, gravel, and waves.

The moon emerged faintly in the sky. With the sun no longer bright enough to hide it, it appeared round and impossibly close.

The little paper boat bobbed on the waves, floating farther and farther out with the receding tide.

Would it reach the moon?

The sun dropped below the horizon.

It sank faster than expected, changing the sky’s colors in just a few short minutes. And as the final ray of light disappeared beneath the sea, a mist began to rise over the water.

The distance blurred. A shadow emerged—massive, towering, oppressive.

Chen Ci held his breath.

Fu Tianhe straightened as well, water dripping from his fingers, soaking the shore.

In just a few seconds, the vision became clearer—it was floating in the sky.

Snow began to fall.

On a vast icy plain, a colossal structure lay in ruins. Its architecture was incredibly complex, with countless levels, pipes winding around the exterior, curtain walls etched with marks from ice and snow.

Collapsed matrixes. Twisted metal. Fallen supports.

What had once been the strongest steel fortress now lay shattered. Waves pounded its base, blizzards blanketed its shell. Blue and white swallowed the details.

And yet, it still loomed. Majestic. As if it had descended from the heavens.

The moon hung coldly above its peak.

In that moment, even the crashing of waves vanished. All Chen Ci could hear was the howling of snow and wind.

As if the image had truly descended upon the world.

Vast. Bleak. With a despair so final it could not be undone.

He couldn’t look away. His heartbeat, always steady at 75 beats per minute, now stuttered and raced.

“What is that?” Chen Ci heard himself ask.

“A mirage,” Fu Tianhe replied. “It happens often near the coast.”

“It’s a light phenomenon, caused by atmospheric refraction. Which means—every mirage is something that really exists in the world.”

He studied the details of the structure in the clouds. The snow-covered ruins were too easy to identify.

It was a place he could never forget. One he could never forgive.

“What we’re seeing now is probably the sixth signal beacon on the Greenland Ice Plateau—Moonlight, which collapsed more than a decade ago.”

Moonlight.

The word left Fu Tianhe’s mouth, and something surged in Chen Ci’s chest—an unprecedented urgency, as if fate itself had taken hold of his body.

Yes. He knew now. That’s where he needed to go.

To the moon.

Behind them, the jellyfish’s mechanical husk flickered faintly with red light. In its hollow, microbe-eaten eye socket, a component vibrated and then quickly broke apart—reassembling into a teardrop-shaped camera lens.

It turned, pointing straight at Chen Ci and Fu Tianhe, recording every detail.

Chen Ci pulled his feet up and shifted into a crouch before standing.

He stood on the short wall, as if that would help him see the mirage more clearly.

Raising a hand, he pointed to the illusion of Moonlight in the sky. His voice remained calm, like he was simply stating the most certain truth—for himself, and for Fu Tianhe on the shore.

“I’m going there.”