Ding-ling—

The iron hook skidded across the ground with a metallic screech after being kicked away by Fu Tianhe. The man groaned through the pain, trying to roll over and scramble toward the weapon, but Fu Tianhe stomped firmly on his back.

Grabbing the man by the shoulders, Fu Tianhe’s sleeves rolled up to reveal tightly tensed arms. The muscles bulged under the fabric, and with a powerful twist, he flipped the nearly 200-pound man over like flipping a sack of flour!

Then came a fist—smashing squarely into the man’s pudgy, fleshy face.

The thud of fist meeting flesh was vicious. The man screamed, flailing his arms to shield his face, exposing his chest and stomach. Fu Tianhe landed a clean knee to the gut, making him retch and spit out sour bile.

Even like this, the man was still cursing under his breath. “Son of a—”

Fu Tianhe’s boot came down on his throat, silencing him instantly.

The world went quiet.

Of course, Fu Tianhe had held back.

He didn’t intend to beat the guy to death—just teach him a hard lesson. And he didn’t want to go too far and scare Chen Ci.

Swearing was nothing in the Underground City. Countless people had mouths dirtier than sewers. But using filthy language about Jiu Yue? That was a line he couldn’t accept.

The man lay on his back, gasping for air, hands wrapped around his head, trying to curl into himself as tightly as possible to avoid another blow to the stomach.

Fights over scraps were common in the junkyard. There were too few valuable items and too many scavengers, each eager to snatch up anything worth even a little. Screaming matches and fistfights were par for the course.

As a strong, young Alpha, Fu Tianhe didn’t lose to anyone here. But he rarely started fights. One, he wasn’t the type to stir up trouble. Two, with his technical skills, he could turn even trash into something useful, so he didn’t bother fighting over low-value junk.

But that didn’t mean he was someone to push around.

Especially not in front of Chen Ci.

Flexing his knuckles, Fu Tianhe stood up and glared coldly at the groaning man on the ground. Without another word, he casually bent over and picked up the scattered Samuelton component set.

“Let’s go.”

Chen Ci, who had silently retreated some distance away, stepped forward at those words and returned to Fu Tianhe’s side.

He gave the writhing man on the ground a brief glance, then quietly extended his mental power toward the fallen iron hook.

Under invisible manipulation, the two-finger-thick hook began curling up from its end, bending into a tight spiral in just a few seconds—like a coil of mosquito repellent. Now, even if the man tried to grab it again, he couldn’t use it as a weapon.

Fu Tianhe slung the heavy sack over his shoulder without sparing the man a second glance, then turned to leave with Chen Ci.

The cheerful Alpha was dead silent now. His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles along his face stood out, and his brows were furrowed, refusing to relax.

Chen Ci watched his expression and didn’t quite understand.

Why was Fu Tianhe suddenly so angry? He had clearly intended to talk things out with that guy at first.

And even though he really wanted that component set, once he got it back, he acted like it didn’t even matter.

Tilting his head slightly, Chen Ci studied him for a while, then softly asked, “Are you angry?”

Fu Tianhe didn’t look at him, only showing him one dark eye. “Yeah. A little.”

“Because he tried to take your stuff?”

“Mm.” Fu Tianhe paused for a moment before answering.

Chen Ci nodded slowly, trying to piece things together. But Fu Tianhe had gotten the component back, so… why was he still mad?

Maybe he should try to cheer him up?

“Don’t be mad,” Chen Ci said sincerely, voice full of earnest warmth. “What if you get so mad you die? That’d be bad.”

Fu Tianhe choked.

He finally turned to look at the youth, eyes filled with helpless exasperation. He corrected him seriously, “You could phrase that better. Like… ‘anger is bad for your health.’”

Chen Ci immediately repeated, “Don’t be mad, anger is bad for your health.”

It wasn’t that Chen Ci was completely clueless about human interactions, but it was fair to say he understood very little.

There was a strange kind of dullness to him, like he was wrapped in a thin, transparent film—external stimuli had to pass through a thick layer before he could truly feel them.

But he was obviously brilliant.

For the first time, Fu Tianhe realized so clearly that intelligence and emotional sensitivity really were two completely different things.

Still, the way Chen Ci handled it… somehow made the frustration in his chest ease up quite a bit.

Maybe it was even a good thing that Chen Ci didn’t understand why he was angry.

Back at the shack, Fu Tianhe placed the Samuelton component set on the workbench. After a bit of tidying up, he began disassembling it while explaining the process to Chen Ci.

Chen Ci listened carefully. About ten minutes later, he suddenly asked, “That man… will he come looking for trouble again?”

“Hm?” Fu Tianhe froze for a moment, then realized what Chen Ci meant. “That guy? Nah. Even if he does, he won’t get anything from me.”

“He had a weapon,” Chen Ci said.

Fu Tianhe had fought bare-handed. If that guy had gotten hold of the hook or ambushed him, it might’ve ended with Fu Tianhe on the ground.

“I’ve got weapons too,” Fu Tianhe said with a grin. He reached into his toolkit and pulled out a hefty wrench, holding it up like a trophy. “Relax. You’ve never seen me crack someone’s head open with this thing.”

Chen Ci nodded and didn’t press further. As long as Fu Tianhe was confident, that was enough.

Setting the wrench aside, Fu Tianhe was ready to continue the lesson. Holding up a dismantled part, he furrowed his brow in deep concentration.

Then turned to Chen Ci and asked, “Where were we again?”

—

Chen Ci returned home.

He stepped quietly through the door and turned on the entry light.

Jiang Dai had already gone to bed. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Ever since Chen Ci had returned in this body, Jiang Dai no longer waited up every night to make sure he got home safe.

Chen Ci went into the bedroom, took off his crossbody bag, and placed it on the desk.

He removed his hat and mask, took out clean clothes, and headed to the bathroom.

After showering thoroughly to ensure he didn’t carry back any lingering odors, he dried his hair and cleaned up the bathroom before returning to his room.

He shut the door behind him and sat down on the bed—finally ready to go through the contents of his bag.

First up were the parts he’d finished assembling today. Their precision wasn’t good enough to sell at the black market, so Fu Tianhe had told him to keep them as mementos.

Chen Ci placed them into a designated small box. Unlike Chen Nian, who had a habit of leaving things everywhere, Chen Ci kept all his items organized and meticulous.

Then came the book from Fu Tianhe.

It had recently been repaired, its cover re-bound with hard kraft paper. But the inside pages were still fragile. Chen Ci carefully opened to the first page. The front leaf bore a handwritten message, now barely legible.

He turned on the desk lamp and placed the book beneath the light, adjusting the angle gently.

The writing became a little clearer.

“Immerse yourself wholly in the sea of knowledge, and even a restless soul can be soothed.

We cannot erase pain, nor predict the end.

But within the ashes, we can still spend each day joyfully.”

—For Tianhe

The elegant handwriting probably belonged to a woman—maybe a mother, or a sister?

But what caught Chen Ci’s attention most was something else.

The passage was written in cursive English, and his eyes instinctively lingered on the word “ashes.”

A faint pain pricked at the spot on his inner arm where a needle mark had long since faded.

He didn’t continue guessing blindly. Flipping to the next page, he began reading.

When Fu Tianhe had gotten this book, he must’ve been quite young. His markings—shaky underlines, crooked margin notes—stood out all over the pages. Chen Ci even found a sketch of a very abstract cat tucked between the lines.

He read two pages before sleepiness overtook him. Carefully closing the book, he placed it on the nightstand and climbed under the covers.

Then he remembered he hadn’t written today’s log.

Opening his terminal, he quickly recorded everything that had happened—adding a few candid photos he’d snapped at the hospital and junkyard.

Three hours ago, Chen Nian had messaged him, saying he’d spent the whole day exploring the palace and discovered a bunch of interesting places. He’d even left behind a few “treasures” and drew up a treasure map in his log. He promised that once Chen Ci came back, they had to go hunt them together.

Chen Ci replied with a simple: “Okay.”

Night deepened. No more dripping echoed from outside the window.

The room was unusually quiet. For once, Chen Ci didn’t wear his earplugs. Nestled into the soft pillow, he felt an unfamiliar yet comforting sense of peace.

He closed his eyes.

“…Alright, Your Highness, shall we play a little game?”

Across from him stood a figure in a white lab coat. The face was unclear, but the voice—gentle, female—was achingly familiar.

Chen Ci had heard that voice every month for years now. A Beta researcher, not his mother, but a woman who’d been a constant presence since early childhood.

She held up a card. Inkblots spread across the white paper—grotesque shapes in queasy hues.

“Your Highness, what do you see? Or what does it make you think of?”

He lowered his head and saw his shoes dangling in the air—he was too short, and his feet didn’t touch the floor when he sat.

After a few seconds, he looked up at the blot.

“…The moon,” young Chen Ci said. “The moon’s at the bottom of the sea. It got torn in half. Blood spilled out. Bones broke. The ocean turned into borscht. Maybe you could add broccoli and a bicycle. Even the shrimp in Barcelona said it’s tasty.”

Was that really his answer back then? How had the researcher responded?

Chen Ci couldn’t remember. He’d done so many of those tests. Eventually he got bored, and the researcher stopped showing him inkblots altogether.

The white lab had always been so bright. Later, he learned that the test was called the Rorschach inkblot test, used to analyze personalities.

What could a few pictures really reveal? If he’d known, maybe he would’ve said something even more outrageous.

The night passed quickly.

Without his earplugs, Chen Ci woke to the sounds of the outside world—people heading off to work in twos and threes.

Jiang Dai was already up, tidying the house.

Chen Ci was nearly done resting anyway. He lay for a couple of minutes, took off his eye mask, tucked it under his pillow, and got up.

After getting dressed, he went into the living room. Jiang Dai was shuffling around the table.

“Uncle Jiang, let’s go to the clinic today,” Chen Ci said.

Jiang Dai looked surprised, but nodded. “Okay.”

Chen Ci added, “We can’t go to a regular hospital. A friend recommended another place. I hear it’s good.”

“Alright. I’ll go change.”

While waiting in the living room for Jiang Dai to get ready, Chen Ci suddenly found himself unsure what to do.

He looked down and messaged Chen Nian—letting his little brother know he was taking Jiang Dai to the doctor today.