Chapter 12: High-Risk Experimental Subject  

There was actually no one else present that day. Jue was straddling him, and even though Jing Rong’s gaze remained steady, it was inevitable that he might have seen something.  

626 said, “That was close. You almost got assassinated just now.”  

Jing Rong turned to look at Jue, who had already regained his usual calm and expressionless demeanor.  

Jue reached out, downed the cup of red tea on the table, and said, “Alright, let’s go home.”  

He stood up and walked out with Jing Rong.  

The plainclothes officers on the street immediately moved further away.  

Jue walked beside Jing Rong, gazing at the snow-covered streets, still silent.  

The carriage Jing Rong had arranged was waiting at the end of the street. Before they reached it, Jing Rong said, “Wait a moment. I’ll go buy some biscuits and coffee.”  

Jue was slightly surprised. “For the road?”  

Jing Rong replied, “For the road.”  

A flicker of surprise passed through Jue’s eyes.  

He had assumed the journey would be arduous, with luggage kept to a bare minimum. But clearly, Jing Rong had no such intention—not only had he packed plenty of clothes, but he also seemed to have the leisure to buy snacks.  

Jing Rong entered the store to purchase supplies.  

The essential items had already been prepared in advance; what remained were just some miscellaneous daily necessities.  

He bought very little, sticking to simple, practical tools. The only items that didn’t quite match his usual demeanor were the candied biscuits and a sewing kit.  

As Jing Rong went to pay, his gaze landed on Jue waiting outside the store.  

Jue hadn’t come in—he disliked interacting with the Auerke People. Instead, he stood with his hands in his pockets outside the glass door, staring intently at something.  

It was a beautiful gem-encrusted sleeve dagger, its colors luminous, its design elegant and antique.  

However, due to its exorbitant price, it had remained on display in the showcase as a decorative piece.  

Jing Rong glanced at it and asked the shopkeeper, “Is that sleeve dagger for sale?”  

The shopkeeper replied, “If Your Highness likes it, I would gladly gift it to you. But if you intend to buy it for that lowly, wretched Sin Island man, I must refuse.”  

The shopkeeper met Jing Rong’s eyes, his sharp gaze making his defiance unmistakable.  

The fact that an SSS-level High-Risk Experimental Subject was still alive was already testing the limits of the capital’s citizens.  

A common and familiar conflict in the grand scheme of things.  

Jing Rong’s expression remained unchanged. “That’s understandable. However, everything I buy now will be shared with the gentleman outside. If that bothers you, I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.”  

His tone was so matter-of-fact that the shopkeeper was momentarily stunned, caught off guard.  

Jing Rong returned the selected items to their places, gave the shopkeeper a slight nod, and stepped out of the store.  

By the time he exited, Jue was no longer looking at the display.  

He glanced at Jing Rong’s empty hands and asked, “Couldn’t get what you wanted?”  

Jing Rong tucked his hands into his coat pockets and nodded. “They offered me a biscuit to try. I didn’t like it, so let’s try another place.”  

Jue said, “You really don’t have to mind. The conflict between the Auerke People and the Sin Island People has existed for a long time, and only an armistice can resolve it.”  

Jing Rong knew he had overheard the conversation inside. “Your hearing is excellent.”  

A faint smile tugged at Jue’s lips. “Of course. I am SSS-level, after all.”  

Jing Rong praised, “Your taste is also excellent. That dagger really is beautiful.”  

Jue nodded, though not with desire—just calm acknowledgment. “Yes.”  

The two continued walking through the snow.

Jing Rong finally bought several large boxes of gingerbread from a shop near the outpost.

By the time he returned, 626 had already calculated the optimal arrangement for the luggage and quietly packed everything away without a trace.

Jing Rong stuffed the gingerbread into the back of the carriage, climbed in to check the details, and confirmed the condition of the horses.

He turned to ask Jue, “Is it alright if we set off before dark?”

Jue had no objections.

Jing Rong opened the outpost door, glanced around inside, then latched it shut.

They had spent a brief and simple few days within those walls—like a hastily taken photograph that never developed, leaving only a blank white impression, yet some memories lingered.

Hot coffee, the whirring of a ceiling fan, potato soup, the scent of blood, the rustle of turning pages.

Holding the horsewhip, Jing Rong stood by the carriage door and beckoned to Jue, “Get in.”

Jue eyed Jing Rong’s coachman-style windproof coat. “You’re driving alone?”

Jing Rong nodded calmly. “Yes. Get in. It’s just you and me here.”

Jue glanced at him, then climbed into the carriage.

Warmth gently enveloped him.

The interior was cramped and, unlike the ornate exterior, was simply a sealed-off space—luggage piled in the back, with just enough room for two people to squeeze in side by side at the front. A small window allowed conversation with the driver.

Jing Rong’s voice drifted from the front, muffled as if veiled in fog: “Try to rest. This stretch will be the most comfortable part of our journey.”

Jue replied, “Alright. I’ll take over at night. I can handle the reins too.”

Jing Rong, studying the map, said, “No need. The horses also need rest at night. Trust me, we’ll reach the checkpoint before the snow blocks the mountain pass.”

Jue said, “Alright.”

He trusted Jing Rong deeply.

By now, he had gradually come to see that this peculiar Adjudicator possessed abilities and insights few in the world shared. Since Jing Rong had said they would go to Oakvilleke together, there was no longer any hesitation about the journey.

They left the capital of Oakvilleke after sunset, following the tracks of the War Train.

This stretch was relatively easy to navigate, as the direction was straightforward.

The horses Jing Rong had chosen rarely needed whipping or guidance, instinctively following the railway line.

As the carriage jolted along, Jue sat leaning against the wall, watching the sun slowly sink in the distance while snowflakes brushed past the window.

Jing Rong said, “There are some books in the carriage if you get bored.”

Jue replied, “Alright.”

The War Train roared past them, time and again, its noise scraping against their ears.

When Jing Rong stopped to check the horseshoes, he saw Jue sprawled inside the carriage, reading his geography book.

After traveling a while longer and guiding the horses to graze in an open patch of shallow grassland, Jing Rong noticed Jue had placed the book on the luggage rack and curled up to sleep in a corner, wrapped in his cloak.

Thinking Jue was already asleep, he was surprised to see him stir as he stepped down from the carriage. Jue sat up, clutching the cloak, and peered outside. “It’s already dark.”

“Aren’t you resting?”

Jing Rong stretched, eyeing the distant snow. “We’ll rest after crossing this plain. There might be a blizzard later tonight, and there’s no shelter on the open plain.”

Jue nodded thoughtfully.

Jing Rong let the horses graze on their own and returned to the carriage, saying, “Since you’re awake, let’s eat. I’m opening the door—mind the wind.”

Jue pulled the carriage door open directly. “I’m not that delicate.”

Jing Rong smiled faintly, leaning in to retrieve the portable stove.

Jue followed him out, but this time he didn’t insist on his cloak, instead wearing the hunting jacket they’d bought together.

Before them stretched a frozen shallow marsh where the horses were grazing.

Jing Rong said, “I’m going to gather some dried wild horse dung for fuel. Want to come?”

Jue replied, “Sure.”

He followed him, stepping carefully through the broken ice, and asked, “How did you know there’d be wild horse dung here?”

A leader raised amid the flames of war within a laboratory lacked much real-world experience.

Jing Rong explained, “In winter, water sources are harder to find, so wild horses gather and graze in shallow marshes. We just passed a pastoral area—wealthy herders don’t burn dung, so we can collect plenty of fuel.”

Jue mused, “What do wealthy herders burn instead?”

“Leftover grain stalks after harvest, or firewood,” Jing Rong said. “And coal. I imagine the people of the Isle of Blazing Fire burn coal since your glaciers hide rich deposits of coal and gas.”

Jue had never heard of this. “Really?”

Jing Rong admitted, “I’m just speculating based on entries. Generally, that’s how resource distribution works.”

Jue silently filed the information away.

Once they’d gathered enough, the two washed their hands and returned to the carriage to light the stove.

Jue had watched Jing Rong cook many times by now and had grown accustomed to not interrupting.

Jing Rong clearly had long experience cooking alone—his methods were straightforward yet meticulous. He simmered canned meat with vegetables, opening the pot midway to add seasoning.

The cold was biting, so he added turmeric and pepper.

Once done, Jing Rong handed Jue a cupful and watched him take a sip. “Too spicy?”

After swallowing, Jue said, “A little, but it’s good.”

Keeping gear minimal, Jue ate slowly from Jing Rong’s aluminum cup while Jing Rong stayed by the pot.

After the meal, Jing Rong melted snow to wash the utensils, then stood. “Let’s go.”

Jue remained in the snow, asking, “How much longer will we travel tonight?”

Jing Rong said, “Hard to say. If the snow comes early, we might need to dig a windbreak.”

He leapt effortlessly onto the carriage seat, took the reins, and waited for Jue to climb inside before urging the horses onward.

As Jing Rong gazed at the snowy landscape, Jue’s voice came from within: “The snow’s heavy out there. Aren’t you cold?”

Jing Rong replied, “No.”

He truly wasn’t.

This was a man who could single-handedly chase a mermaid across polar ice for three days and nights—his physical endurance was formidable. Driving a carriage through the snow was practically comfortable by comparison.

After this exchange, Jue fell silent for a while.

Then he said, “I want to learn to drive the carriage.”

Jing Rong answered, “Sure, driving a carriage—”

He’d meant to say it wasn’t hard to learn, though controlling it in the dark would be tricky, but his words were cut short.

The carriage raced forward, the snowy scenery receding around them as the sound of Jue opening the door was swallowed by the wind.

The next moment, Jue appeared beside Jing Rong, his long legs resting on the carriage frame ahead.  

He had brought his large white cloak, draping it over both of them.  

Jing Rong lowered his gaze and saw Jue as if emerging from the cloak, pressing close to his side, fingers covering his hand to share warmth.  

Jue felt Jing Rong’s hand was warm, his voice carrying a hint of careless surprise: “It’s warm. You really aren’t cold.”  

Jing Rong said nothing.  

Crimson hair brushed against Jing Rong’s neck as those calm, azure eyes looked up at him from below. In the snowy night, this was the only bright spot.  

Jue slowly curved his lips into a smile.  

“Master Adjudicator.”  

He leaned in closer. “Have you never been in love before?”