Chapter 23: High-Risk Experimental Subject  

The mountaintop was bitterly cold.  

626 said, “I thought you didn’t like children.”  

Jing Rong sat on a rocky outcrop at the peak of the snow-covered mountain, his voice calm. “I don’t like most people.”  

The main peak of this mountain wasn’t snowing, and the wind and air were crisp and clear.  

From the rock where Jing Rong sat, he could see the children of Jieke Town lined up in formation, diligently climbing the mountain using the method he had taught them.  

626 remarked, “Perhaps my description wasn’t precise enough. It’s true you don’t have much interest in humans, but from what I’ve observed, you treat the things you dislike far better than most people do.”  

Jing Rong asked, “Is that so?”  

626 replied, “Yes. For example, people who dislike children usually don’t have the patience to take them climbing on snowy mountains.”  

Jing Rong said, “I don’t dislike children. I’m just not particularly interested in them most of the time.”  

It was like comparing an apple to a banana—the one he didn’t prefer simply didn’t cross his mind.  

When he didn’t interfere, he would watch them follow their destined paths.  

But occasionally, he would take a liking to one of them.  

The Executor only ever chose the ones he favored.  

The short stretch of path took the red-haired children over twenty minutes to climb.  

Yet once they reached the summit, the view before them left them utterly awestruck.  

The adults in their town had never allowed them to climb the snowy mountain, especially after winter set in. This was the first time they had ever seen the snow-covered peak.  

The valley stretched out, vast and serene, crystal-clear and pristine. At last, they beheld the “miracle” the adults had spoken of—a section of the mountain range severed as if by divine craftsmanship, leaving a gap that defied explanation, rendering them speechless for a long while.  

Jing Rong stood up, his voice steady. “Come and eat.”  

Earlier, he had hunted a deer on the side of the mountain and entrusted the children with preparing it. A bonfire crackled to life, and everyone obediently gathered around him to sit.  

“Sir, what exactly are you?” one child asked as he accepted a portion of roasted venison, chewing thoughtfully, his curiosity boundless. “Are you a celestial being who descended from the heavens? How do you know so many incredible things?”  

Jing Rong replied, “Yes, I came from the sky.”  

The children exchanged glances, deeply convinced by his words.  

If he had come from the heavens, then it was only natural that he could do anything.  

They had long lost their expectations for fairy tales and fantasies—until this day, when a miracle unfolded before their eyes.  

“Sir, is there anything you don’t know?” the child pressed boldly, emboldened by the sense of safety and magnetic allure they felt from this adult, compelling them to ask more.  

“I’d like to know…” Jing Rong skewered the remaining meat on a stick, roasting it over the fire until it sizzled. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke solemnly, “I’d like to hear some stories about your leader.”  

“I know! I know!”  

Someone immediately betrayed Jue. A little girl raised her hand excitedly. “I’ve read my mother’s notes from when she was a liaison officer. She worked as the leader’s subordinate contact for a long time—I know everything about him after he turned twelve…”  

The other children chimed in eagerly.  

“Me too! Me too!”  

“My father and his comrades once infiltrated the capital’s laboratory. He met the leader before…”  

Far below, in the small town at the foot of the mountain.  

Jue suddenly sneezed.  

His guard, meticulous as ever, asked, “Leader, are you feeling unwell?”  

Jue waved a hand dismissively. “No.”

After speaking, he suddenly seemed to sense something and looked toward the snow-shrouded distance. His heartbeat quickly grew intense again.

He raised a hand and lightly pressed it against his chest.

He had no control over it—when it came to matters concerning Jing Rong, his calm and self-restraint shattered repeatedly. Just a few hours without seeing him, or even briefly thinking of him, made his soul feel as though it would follow after him.

*

Jing Rong returned to the camp very late.

Before that, he had taught the children many things—deer-hunting techniques, how to identify medicinal herbs, ways to adapt to different weather conditions… Any knowledge that could be useful in wartime was eagerly absorbed by the children.

Only after the children dispersed did Jing Rong return to the tent.

Jue’s cot had been moved and folded away for the meeting, leaving only a rough linen rug on the ground.

Jing Rong didn’t mind. He lay down, resting his head on his arm, and held up a crystal he had polished, studying it.

This was the sight that greeted Jue when he returned.

Pushing aside the tent flap, he saw his Adjudicator lying on the ground, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, one leg crossed over the other, his gaze deep and focused as he examined the crystal.

Jing Rong often looked at his eyes, saying they were beautiful, yet in this world, black eyes were exceedingly rare.

Whenever those dark eyes calmly turned toward him, it felt as though they could pierce through all worldly matters, reaching straight into the depths of one’s heart and stirring endless ripples.

Jue stepped inside, let the flap fall shut, and began undoing his buttons.

Clothes slipped off one by one, and his skin gradually flushed.

Throughout this, Jing Rong’s gaze had already shifted toward him, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Jue remained silent, tiptoeing over to press against him, burying his face in Jing Rong’s neck before whispering softly, “Brother. I won’t disturb your work.”

Jing Rong shivered at the cool touch of his tongue and couldn’t help but laugh, setting the crystal aside and pulling him closer.

In the darkness, Jue’s blue eyes gleamed like a wolf’s on the icy plains, filled with both rationality and unmistakable longing and love.

Jing Rong ran his fingers through Jue’s long hair, combing and smoothing it repeatedly.

After a moment, Jing Rong asked, “Are you alright?”

Jue, covered in a sheen of sweat, lay beside him with his eyes closed. “I thought I was going to die just now, Brother.”

“Eat something.”

Jing Rong sat up, picked something up, then reached out toward him.

Jue opened his mouth and bit down—only to find himself sinking his teeth into soft, warm skin.

His eyes flew open.

Jing Rong was leaning against the wall, his fingertips empty. He had just offered them, and Jue had bitten down hard enough to draw blood, the metallic tang seeping between his teeth.

Jing Rong watched Jue’s eyes without speaking.

As if obeying an unspoken command, Jue obediently extended his tongue, gently licking the wound on Jing Rong’s finger.

After a few moments, Jue faintly realized that the scent of blood seemed to excite Jing Rong—a secret, unspoken kind of excitement.

And he, too, was infected by it, trembling all over.

Jing Rong watched as Jue kissed his fingertips, nipping and sucking lightly, before slipping something else into his mouth.

Jue tasted a biscuit.

The spicy warmth of ginger and the rich aroma of butter bloomed between his teeth, mingled with hints of cream and vanilla. It wasn’t overly sweet, but it left an unforgettable aftertaste.

Jue closed his eyes and asked hoarsely, “Is this from the biscuits we bought? I thought you gave them all to the children.”

The Chief doesn’t like sweets. He barely tasted the small cookies Jing Rong brought along in the carriage and hasn’t touched them since.

Jing Rong said, “I made them.”

Jue opened his eyes.

Jing Rong said, “There’s someone who hasn’t tried the cookies yet.”