Chapter 56: Accusation—Please Cooperate with the Investigation

She spread her energy evenly across her palm, then gently cupped it over the wound. After holding it there for over ten seconds, she pulled her hand away—the gruesome gash had stopped bleeding, and the torn flesh had drawn together, though a little serum still seeped out.

Bian Changxi looked at her blood-soaked hand, a bit uneasy. “How do you feel?”

She could tell the injury hadn’t damaged any tendons or bones, but she still wasn’t entirely reassured. If the future number one powerhouse got into trouble in her hands, she’d feel terribly guilty.

Gu Xu rolled his shoulder and, instead of answering, remarked, “I always thought wood-type abilities were just good for healing. I didn’t expect they could be so strong offensively.”

Bian Changxi was quite pleased with herself. “Of course! Otherwise, how could I have just charged into the train station like that?”

She had confidence in herself.

Though she often complained about her own shortcomings, she knew she was actually doing pretty well—especially since she’d overdrawn her powers before. Now, her abilities felt a bit stronger and much easier to control.

The power she’d just unleashed with that whip—she couldn’t have managed it even yesterday.

As they chatted, both of their gazes were fixed on the dark, bloated mass nearby. “What is that thing?” Gu Xu stepped forward to take a closer look, and Bian Changxi followed. “Careful, it looks like a rat. Let’s make sure it’s really dead—”

Before she could finish, the black, chubby thing suddenly leapt up and desperately tried to escape in the opposite direction. Gu Xu’s eyes flashed coldly. Without any big movements, another small knife shot out and pinned the creature to the ground.

They hurried over and saw that it was indeed a rat—not quite as exaggerated as a washbasin, but two or three times larger than a normal one. Its fur was pitch black, thick, and so filthy it was hard to look at. Curled up, it looked just like a bowling ball, trembling in fear.

Gu Xu’s two knives were perfectly placed—one had pierced through its lower jaw, straight to a vital point, and the other had pinned its right hind leg to the ground. Blood oozed from the rat’s body, but even so, it wasn’t dead yet. Its front paws scratched at the ground, and it turned its head, whining pitifully. Its beady, shiny black eyes blinked, and two tears rolled out, making for a ridiculous sight.

Bian Changxi and Gu Xu exchanged glances. They’d never seen such a human-like rat before.

And weren’t rats supposed to squeak? What was with this whining?

“This rat is pretty interesting,” Gu Xu commented, though the flames in his hand showed he was ready to burn it to death at any moment.

The rat’s eyes were full of grief and indignation as it glared at Gu Xu, its face full of accusation and resentment. Then it anxiously waved its claws at Bian Changxi, finally letting out a series of squeaks, as if desperately trying to explain itself. But the effort tore open its wounds, making it whimper in pain, tears streaming down its face in a truly pitiful display.

“Wait, don’t kill it yet!” Bian Changxi said quickly.

She suddenly remembered something—there were rumors that some people could tame mutant beasts and turn them into pets. The “Capital Editorial Department,” known for their clever summaries, had even coined a term for them: “spirit beasts.” But when did those rumors start? Around year five of the apocalypse, right? And even then, spirit beasts were rare. Plus, the Yunhua Base was built far from the capital’s Tengyang Base, where all the real powerhouses, feuds, and gossip gathered. The few people who could tame spirit beasts were no exception. In her previous life, Bian Changxi had only ever seen a spirit beast twice, and only from a distance.

They were truly the cream of the crop.

Spirit beasts were, of course, intelligent—almost human-like. That tech maniac Qu Yi had mentioned it too: intelligence was the basic prerequisite for taming. High-level mutant beasts were all smart, but there was a fundamental difference between being smart and being truly sentient.

Now, watching the rat’s comical behavior, Bian Changxi couldn’t help but have a wild thought.

“Do you think it’s begging us for mercy?”

Gu Xu glanced at it—clearly, it was. But in his view, after the apocalypse, with zombies everywhere and even ants and cockroaches biting people, a rat that was afraid to die and could beg for mercy and cry wasn’t all that surprising. He didn’t see why Bian Changxi found it so strange.

“I think this rat is unusual. It’s mutated, but it doesn’t seem like the crazed, man-eating type. Can we not kill it for now?” Bian Changxi said as she crouched down. Gu Xu grew wary. “Careful it doesn’t scratch you.”

The rat seemed to understand him and rolled its eyes at him, then pitifully pawed at Bian Changxi, whimpering softly. Its wet eyes blinked, looking utterly miserable.

Bian Changxi couldn’t help but laugh. Had she really stumbled upon a treasure?

But even five years into the apocalypse, spirit beasts were incredibly rare, and each one was said to be extremely proud—barely one in a hundred could be tamed. The rest were either too powerful for humans to handle or would rather die than submit. And now, on just the sixth day of the apocalypse, one had already appeared? And it was such an ugly, cowardly, fat rat?

She asked the rat, “Do you want me to let you go?”

“Whimper, whimper.”

“You can understand me? If I let you go, will you hurt us?”

“Whimper, whimper, whimper.”

Well, Bian Changxi couldn’t really communicate with it, but she felt like the little thing understood her. She waved a finger in front of its eyes, and it didn’t lunge or bite, nor did it look at her like she was food. Instead, it nuzzled her finger, its gaze soft and pleading.

Bian Changxi’s expression softened. Gu Xu, on the other hand, frowned—the rat’s face was just too filthy.

Seeing that the rat’s wound was still bleeding, Bian Changxi hesitated, then gently patted its head. A green light seeped in, and she could feel the rat consciously absorbing her wood-type energy, directing it all to its most serious injuries. Its condition stabilized a bit, and it rubbed against her palm in gratitude, its eyelids drooping as if exhausted, but it kept forcing them open to gaze at her, reluctant to look away.

After a few rounds of this, Bian Changxi sighed. “Let’s let it go.”

She actually wanted to take it back with them, but who knew if it was really a spirit beast? Even if it was, what if it had bad intentions? Judging by how tough it was, it must have some skills. If it decided to turn on them, it would be impossible to guard against. Bian Changxi knew herself well—she wasn’t cut out to keep a pet, especially not such a prodigy. Besides, it seemed like the rat had come straight for her from the start, which was suspicious. She didn’t think she was that charming.

Could it be because she’d been reborn?

As Bian Changxi’s thoughts wandered, Gu Xu watched her interact with the black rat and said, “If we’re not going to kill it, let’s take it back with us.” This rat was strange—better to keep an eye on it than wonder when it might show up again.

Bian Changxi’s eyes lit up. With Gu Xu’s approval, things would be much easier. In her previous life, Gu Xu had also had a spirit beast—a giant ice-type snow wolf—so he clearly had the knack for keeping pets. People who could tame spirit beasts weren’t just powerful; they also had a certain aura that attracted these creatures.

With Gu Xu around, she didn’t have to worry about the rat turning on them.

Gu Xu deftly pulled out the knife, making the rat yelp in pain. It glared at him fiercely, then crawled toward Bian Changxi for comfort. Gu Xu grabbed it by the scruff, not minding its filth or ugliness, and supported its rump and hind legs with his other hand. Suddenly, he froze. Bian Changxi asked, “What’s wrong?”

*****

Yesterday, “I Want to Stay Calm,” who was anything but calm, shouted in the comments section, basically accusing me of abandoning the novel and even flipping me off several times. I was sweating bullets—when did I ever say I was dropping the book?

I just meant that for those readers who want to drop it, let’s part on good terms. I’ll keep working to improve, and hopefully, my next book will be even better. If fate allows, we’ll meet again in the next one. I never said I was going to stop writing! Maybe my wording was a bit ambiguous.

Still, thanks to “I Want to Stay Calm” for yelling at me—it let me know that if I really did quit, there would be people who’d miss me. That feels nice, to be needed. So, dear, mwah! I may not be the best author, but I’m definitely responsible. I won’t abandon the book!

P.S. Thanks also to Zhu Yiyin, Zi Hanxue, and all the other friends who are still looking forward to and supporting this story!"