Chapter 9: High-Risk Experimental Subject  

“My God, what happened? His Mental Power is recovering incredibly fast.”  

626 slept until late morning. After examining Jue’s condition, he said to Jing Rong with astonishment, “His Stability Value has already reached 54%. I originally estimated it would take another week for his mental state to stabilize.”  

Jing Rong replied, “He seems like someone with remarkable recovery abilities.”  

626 nodded. “True. For someone at the SSS level, physical endurance and willpower are already extraordinary.”  

Before dawn, Jue had fallen into a deep sleep, leaving only the soft, steady sound of his breathing.  

After he dozed off, Jing Rong remained silent, flipping through the encyclopedia alone until daybreak.  

626, meanwhile, stayed tuned to the radio.  

Their tastes differed—Jing Rong was fascinated by biology, geography, and natural history, while 626 was more passionate about military and human history.  

The two of them occupied themselves with their interests in the outpost. At one point, Jing Rong got up to cook, heating canned food in a pot and simmering it with potatoes into a soup.  

As Jing Rong stirred the broth, 626 suddenly spoke up. “We’ve found Lienes.”  

Jing Rong raised an eyebrow, waiting for further details.  

626, who was monitoring multiple radio frequencies simultaneously, continued, “The medical team took a long time to locate him. Lienes was too impatient—he pushed ahead of his Adjudicator squad and got too close to Jue’s Mental Strength Domain alone. The extreme weapon he carried self-destructed, leaving him severely injured.”  

“He didn’t receive timely treatment… His Mental Power level may never fully recover to what it once was,” 626 added.  

Jing Rong listened, but his focus shifted elsewhere. “What weapon was he using?”  

626 hesitated briefly. “A Poison Mist Gun and Mental Needle—standard Adjudicator equipment.”  

Jing Rong watched the flickering flames but offered no further comment.  

“They might come looking for you,” 626 warned. “The news has spread throughout the city. The military and many generals are restless, eager to investigate.”  

“With the High-Risk Experimental Subject in your possession and your identity now public, they’re speculating that you could be the next Crown Prince.”  

Jing Rong seemed far less interested in these matters than the potatoes in his hands. “Noted.”  

The soup bubbled softly in the pot, the crackling of the fire barely audible.  

*  

In the depths of his restless sleep, Jue heard chaotic, indistinct noises.  

The sound of doors opening and closing, the muffled voices of people—some old, some young.  

They spoke with excitement or anticipation, murmuring incessantly.  

“Your influence is at its peak now… It wouldn’t be difficult… The entire military would follow your lead.”  

“If you hand over the High-Risk Experimental Subject… You could rise even higher—even the Crown Prince’s position could be yours… Yes, that’s exactly what we mean.”  

The voices were disorderly, and the cold wind howled against the outpost’s watchtower, its eerie wails straining the nerves.  

Then, one voice cut through the noise—one that Jue had grown familiar with even in his dreams.  

Calm yet firm, it declared, “That’s not my intention.”  

The blizzard itself seemed to quieten at the sound of those words.  

“I kept the High-Risk Experimental Subject purely for personal reasons.”

After these words were spoken, the outside world fell into complete silence.

Jue didn’t hear anything that happened afterward.

The sound of wind and snow was shut outside, and the quiet inside the room settled once more.

Jue opened his eyes.

For a moment, he thought he hadn’t slept at all.

Just like when he woke up yesterday, the fortress outpost had no distinction between day and night, with only the flickering glow of the campfire burning steadily.

The aroma of coffee that had filled the air was now replaced by another, more appetizing scent. The exhaust fan had been adjusted to its lowest setting.

Jing Rong still sat on the sofa across from him, neither too close nor too far away.

But the Adjudicator’s posture was more relaxed and casual than usual, his eyes closed as he slept.

The thick encyclopedia lay open and upside-down on his lap, his hand still resting on its spine. It was a very slender hand, pale in complexion. Without seeing it firsthand, it would be hard to imagine the surging, icy power wielded by such a hand.

“Awake?”

Jing Rong opened his eyes, rousing from his doze, and once again, those tranquil blue eyes met Jue’s.

Today, Jue could already manage short syllables, though his voice remained hoarse and unclear, tinged with the metallic taste of blood: “Mm.”

Jing Rong set the book aside and checked on Jue before asking, “Hungry?”

Today, Jue could handle some liquid food. Jing Rong had prepared canned goods and potato soup, saving a portion for him.

Jue nodded without hesitation.

Jing Rong went to ladle the soup. The pot on the stove was too hot, so he stepped outside to grab a handful of snow, briefly cooling the bottom of the pot in it.

When he returned, he found Jue had already propped himself up against the headboard—no easy feat for him. He sat with his head slightly bowed, breathing unevenly.

Jing Rong handed him the soup, now at a suitable temperature.

Jue reached out, but before his fingers could even touch the bowl, his hand trembled violently.

Jing Rong sat by the bed, glanced at him, then picked up the spoon and held it to his lips, his voice steady. “Take it slow.”

Jue was ravenous. He leaned forward, practically gulping down the spoonful of soup, his breath ragged.

Jing Rong waited a moment before offering another spoonful.

The bowl took over forty minutes to finish, and only when Jue rasped out a quiet, “Enough,” did Jing Rong set the spoon and bowl aside.

After putting the bowl down and returning, Jue looked at him and slowly said, “I want to bathe.”

Jing Rong, who had just picked up his coffee cup, paused for two seconds before replying, “Alright,” as if it were no trouble at all.

He opened his case, rummaged through it, and pulled out a spray bottle, handing it to Jue. “Medicated waterproof spray. Apply it to your wounds to prevent infection while bathing.”

“There’s some distilled hot water in the can. I’ll get you a towel.”

Jing Rong’s movements were brisk and efficient, revealing a deeply ingrained discipline. His tall, lean frame carried an unmistakable sharpness—every line of his body spoke of someone who, like Jue, had weathered the storms of battle.

But Jue had no memory of Adjudicator No. 11. He had never seen him on the battlefield, nor had any of his subordinates encountered this designation.

Slowly, Jue draped his coat over himself, laboriously turning to prop himself up with his hands.

Jing Rong dragged over a simple wooden basin and hung several clean towels by his bedside.

After finishing all this last night, Jing Rong looked into his eyes and asked, “Can you manage on your own?”  

Jue nodded without speaking.  

Jing Rong nodded as well, then sat sideways on the edge of the sofa, picking up the unfinished encyclopedia without leaving.  

The outpost itself was very small—just a guard hall and a restroom—but it was clear Jing Rong still intended to stay with him.  

Jue glanced at him and began unbuttoning his clothes.  

He wasn’t the type to be shy or overly sentimental. Having faced life and death many times, he could disregard even mortality, let alone undressing to bathe in front of another man.  

What gave him pause was Jing Rong himself.  

This black-haired, black-eyed youth was unlike anyone he had ever met. Though Jing Rong merely sat there sideways, quietly reading, it stirred a strange sensation in Jue.  

A feeling he had never experienced before—a faint, unfamiliar palpitation from deep within his heart.  

Jue hesitated only for a moment before continuing to undress.  

His cloak had already been removed, and the inner lining, torn and bloodied for easier wound treatment, had been cut away, leaving only a tattered undergarment.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jue dipped a towel in water and slowly began wiping himself down.  

The steam stung his wounds, the pain sharpening his mind.  

Dried blood dissolved into the water, tinting it a pale red. Jue made no sound, and the room was silent except for the sound of water.  

Suddenly, as Jue wiped his collarbone, his fingertips brushed empty air.  

The moment he realized something was missing, in an instant, he pinned Jing Rong firmly against the sofa.  

Jing Rong was forced backward, yet the coffee cup and book in his hands remained steady, unspilled.  

Gazing into those deep, tranquil, distant blue eyes, his body showed no tension. He carefully set the coffee cup on the windowsill beside the sofa.  

Jue’s lips were pale as paper, his eyes blazing with unmistakable fury and ferocity, though his body still trembled from pain.  

“My sample. Give it back.”  

Clad only in Jing Rong’s coat, his red hair damp and hanging down, Jue glared at him.  

Jing Rong studied him, his gaze lingering on his eyes, his hair—colors like the depths of an icy plain, molten gold at sunset, and flowing clouds. Now, tinged with anger, they seemed even more vivid and alive.  

These were two colors that had nearly vanished, a name that had almost turned to ashes.  

A will on the verge of being buried by history, never opened to anyone.  

“It’s with me.”  

Pinned beneath him, Jing Rong lifted a hand, catching a strand of the fallen red hair between his fingers, his eyes reflecting Jue’s image.  

His voice unexpectedly softened, as if coaxing an injured wolf: “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”