Chapter 13: High-Risk Experimental Subject  

The carriage moved steadily forward.  

Jing Rong lowered his gaze to meet those blue eyes, his expression largely unchanged, lost in thought.  

Did this question really require contemplation?  

After a few seconds, Jing Rong replied, “No.”  

“Never encountered one?”  

Jue still looked up at him with those blue eyes. The two of them were wrapped in cloaks, warmth gradually passing between them.  

Jing Rong said, “I’ve met some… or rather, many. But none I particularly liked.”  

He had cycled through the great world too many times. Even counting those the Execution Bureau had set him up with, every face had blurred into indistinctness, leaving no deeper impression.  

If anything, the ugly mermaid beneath the glacier had left a more lasting mark.  

The wind howled outside.  

Jue nodded without a verbal response, his azure eyes cooling into something more contemplative.  

After a moment, he retreated further into the cloak and said calmly, “Oh.”  

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he nestled even closer into Jing Rong’s embrace, his fingers tightening around Jing Rong’s hand.  

There was nothing suggestive or ambiguous about it—just the cold, perhaps, or as if he had returned to his six-year-old self on that battlefield beneath a crimson sun, leaning against the shoulder of a fallen comrade.  

He studied this Adjudicator before him the way one might examine a weapon kept for company, like admiring a beautiful dagger displayed in a shop window. He didn’t mock Jing Rong for his lack of romantic sensibility, because he, too, had seen very few people in his life.  

Things and people that belonged to the name “Jue” were exceedingly rare—so rare that merely having seen them was enough.  

Jing Rong noticed Jue had already rested his head against his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing steady.  

His fingers twitched slightly before gently encircling him, allowing him to sleep soundly in his arms.  

He recalled those vivid blue eyes he had just seen.  

The affection in them had shimmered as clearly as water in a cup, unwavering, refusing to fade.  

This was unusual. Given the severity of his prosopagnosia, deciphering the complex emotions, expressions, and micro-expressions of ordinary people usually took him considerable time.  

But the gaze in Jue’s eyes was too simple, too direct.  

Jue never concealed anything. Scrutiny was scrutiny, anger was anger—like the blue sky over a glacier, forever free of clouds.  

And affection was simply affection: a single, beautiful cloud drifting through that glacial blue.  

Jing Rong had seen the way Jue looked at things he liked, so he knew Jue liked him, too.  

626: “That was close. You almost got yourself a partner just now.”  

Jing Rong: “.”  

626: “Aren’t you planning to take him home and make him your wife?”  

Jing Rong said, “I am considering it.”  

626 fell silent for a moment before rapidly scanning its database for romantic advice: “Though I’m a single system myself, if you have any doubts, I can help troubleshoot.”  

Jing Rong was quiet for a long time before finally murmuring, “I want someone who will always belong to me.”  

626 said, “I can’t detect his brainwaves, but I also can’t provide a solution to your proposition.”  

“I know.”  

Jing Rong said, “I’ll ask him myself. But right now, this question isn’t that important.”  

626: “…”  

Damn it, this guy’s insane!  

*  

In the dead of night, Jue began coughing violently.

His body wasn’t as strong as he had thought. Though his mobility had recovered quickly, the long-standing ailments flared up under the sudden shifts between cold and heat, and he coughed himself awake in Jing Rong’s arms.

He realized the carriage had stopped, the world outside shrouded in darkness.

The violent, metallic taste of blood surged up his throat in waves, and he forced it back down each time, fingers gripping tightly at the edge of his cloak.

Jing Rong reached out to help him sit up, leaning over to brighten the lamp. The flickering light illuminated his face.

Jue’s voice was unusually hoarse, his words soft and quick: “I’m fine. Let’s keep resting. Is there a blizzard outside?”

If the blizzard had arrived early, he could go out to help dig trenches—and cough up the blood.

Jing Rong looked at him, his expression more serious than usual.

Though he usually wore no expression at all, like a carefree young master who had wandered into this world by mistake, even Jue rarely saw him like this.

Jing Rong asked 626, “What’s going on?”

626 replied, “His tissues have all been regenerated, but he endured too much torment as a child. His mental resilience is extreme, but his physical foundation has long been hollowed out. Today, he was exposed to the wind for too long.”

626 continued, “Don’t worry. This is normal. He just needs to cough up the stagnant blood—”

626’s voice trailed off.

Because Jue’s expression was tightly strained, his jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists, fine beads of sweat breaking out across his skin—clearly unwilling to let it out.

Jing Rong said, “There’s no blizzard outside. We’re just taking a normal rest.”

He recognized the look in those eyes and softened his voice. “The journey to Oakvilleke won’t be delayed. The wind has already shifted today—the icebound period won’t come so soon.”

Jue nodded to show he understood, but still refused to speak.

“Don’t hold it in,” Jing Rong said, though he realized he didn’t actually know how to help.

Jue had clearly been unaware that his condition wasn’t as good as he’d assumed. He wanted to reach Oakvilleke too badly—he wouldn’t allow the journey to be delayed or interrupted because of his own health.

Jue mustered a faint smile for him, as carefree as ever, fragile and beautiful under the lamplight.

Jing Rong lowered his gaze and gently cupped Jue’s chin.

Jue instinctively tensed, teeth clenched—a conditioned reflex from his days as an Experiment. In the lab, whenever someone did this to him, it was always followed by a forced dose of Mental Torture Agent poured down his throat.

He didn’t distrust Jing Rong. His body just reacted this way.

Jue wanted to apologize but stopped before speaking.

Jing Rong’s lips pressed against his.

They were slightly cool, carrying the faint fragrance of black tea—subtle yet intoxicating.

Jing Rong deepened the kiss, parting Jue’s clenched teeth, one hand cradling the back of his head as he tilted Jue’s face up, forcing him to yield and open his tightly sealed airway.

Jue shoved him away violently—then his throat spasmed, and he vomited a mouthful of blood.

The droplets splattered across the snow-white cloak and Jing Rong’s clothes.

Instead, a faint trace of amusement flickered in Jing Rong’s eyes as he patted Jue’s back.

Jue breathed slowly, steadying himself.

“Thank you,” he said.

Jing Rong watched him, then replied after a pause, “I wanted to tell you after you woke up. But you’re already awake.”

Jue wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at him in a daze.  

“I’ve never met someone I liked before.”  

Jing Rong’s expression was the same as when he first saw him—gazing at him intently, calm yet earnest. “But I like you very much.”  

Jue averted his gaze, momentarily unsure how to react.  

But Jing Rong didn’t give him much time to respond.  

Jing Rong licked his lips.  

The taste of Jue’s blood lingered between his teeth—a subtle blend of sweetness and metallic rust, much like the molten gold of the sunset and the fiery hues of his hair, or those deep blue eyes. It stirred in him an intense desire to explore further.  

Jue noticed Jing Rong was still staring at his lips.  

That gaze was unwavering, fixed unrelentingly on the corner of his mouth, the wild excitement in his eyes leaving one’s throat inexplicably dry.