Enjoy your meal, Grand Justice.
Annoyance aside, now that they had secured a secure resting place, the next logical step was undeniably searching for drinking water and food provisions.
After all, having marched continuously for several hours without a single drop of water, followed immediately by a fierce battle, their physically mutated bodies might endure the strain, but Ston certainly might not.
With this in mind, Zhuang Xingyu resolved to display magnanimity by refusing to quibble over the commanding, subordinate-ordering tone Ston had just deployed. Dragging his still-aching, fractured right wing, he leaned against the wall and trudged slowly downstairs to forage for potable water.
Decades of abandonment naturally ensured that the townhouse remained devoid of running water, electricity, or gas, while any remaining packaged foodstuffs had long since expired.
Rummaging through cabinets for quite a stretch, Zhuang Xingyu managed to locate only a fraction of a box filled with dust-covered bottled water.
Upstairs, in the bedroom:
Ston was fortunate enough to locate a relatively well-fitting down jacket and thermal wear inside the wardrobe. Though the garments were blanketed beneath a thick layer of dust, current circumstances afforded no luxury of picking and choosing.
Consequently, Ston stripped off his tattered uniform, utilized a bedsheet from the wardrobe to wipe down his face, hair, and torso, pulled on the thermal layers and down jacket, and proceeded leisurely downstairs.
Upon reaching the ground floor, Ston discovered Zhuang Xingyu had already ignited a blazing fire within the living room fireplace and was boiling water using a battered cooking pot.
The pollutant’s carcass had been screened off behind a television cabinet revealing only its gruesome, violently terminated head and neck, while its elongated serpentine torso remained coiled and exposed in plain view.
Averting his gaze and refusing to spare the corpse another glance, Ston walked straight toward Zhuang Xingyu.
Proximity to the heat source caused the ambient temperature to climb perceptibly. With nocturnal temperatures plummeting at breakneck speed, even clad in thick down outerwear, Ston failed to feel genuinely warm. Hence, upon reaching the fireside, he stood stationary, extending his hands close to the flames to absorb the radiant heat.
Zhuang Xingyu appeared distinctly less vulnerable to the cold than Ston; he hadn’t even bothered to swap out his prison uniform trousers.
Given that his physique had undergone secondary mutation, he was indubitably better equipped to acclimate to the terrestrial environment than normal humans. Moreover, the dense layer of fine feathers coating Zhuang Xingyu’s skin projected an inherent, superior warmth.
Hearing footsteps, Zhuang Xingyu turned his head to inspect Ston, noting that the latter had cleansed away the bloodstains and donned relatively clean thermal garments.
The flickering, warm radiance of the flames cast a dynamic, amber glow across the interior, reflecting against Ston’s skin to trace a faint golden film over his chiseled, three-dimensional facial contours, while his slightly upturned outer eye corners radiated an alluring blend of clinical detachment and mesmerizing charm.
Ston had cleaned himself up “neatly.” While falling short of a proper bath, under prevailing survival constraints, he maintained maximum decorum, bearing zero lingering signs of the ferocious combat he had just survived.
Such a countenance composed, aloof, yet impossible to tear one’s gaze away from momentarily caused even Zhuang Xingyu to drift into a trance.
Warming his hands by the fire, Ston caught Zhuang Xingyu staring, shot him a sideways glance, and inquired coolly, “Is the water boiled?”
“…”
Suppressing his irritation, Zhuang Xingyu extended his arm to retrieve a cup filled with hot water, extending it toward Ston: “Still steaming, Grand Justice. Please enjoy.”
Unfazed by Zhuang Xingyu’s sarcasm, Ston accepted the cup with natural composure, clutching it against his chest to warm his palms without rushing to drink.
Seating themselves in a circle around the hearth, Zhuang Xingyu swallowed more than half a cup of water before speaking: “Night has fallen, so we won’t venture out hunting. I reckon roasting a couple of those bird eggs will suffice for dinner.”
Clutching his warm cup, Ston cast a sideways glance toward the deceased pollutant concealed behind the television cabinet, then swiveled his gaze back to fixate upon Zhuang Xingyu with a complex, unreadable expression: “You’re genuinely planning to consume that creature’s eggs?”
“…” Choking back a retort, Zhuang Xingyu’s gaze followed suit, involuntarily drifting toward the dead pollutant.
Silence descended upon the space, broken only by the rhythmic crackling of burning timber.
Ultimately, the primitive urge for sustenance triumphed over revulsion toward the pollutant. Zhuang Xingyu ascended to the second floor to retrieve a pair of bird eggs, roasted them over the open fire until cooked, cracked them open with his hands, and split a portion for Ston.
“No seasonings available, so make do,” Zhuang Xingyu stated.
Lowering his gaze to inspect the steaming roasted bird egg, Ston instead handed his emptied water cup back to Zhuang Xingyu: “I’d prefer another cup of water.”
“Are you planning to hydrate yourself to full capacity?”
“Precisely,” Ston replied with unshakeable conviction.
Shrugging speechlessly, Zhuang Xingyu reasoned that keeping Ston from getting too full might preserve his fighting weight if running became necessary, which ultimately served his own interests. Abandoning argument, he accepted Ston’s cup and refilled it with fresh water.
Zhuang Xingyu consumed one and a half roasted eggs while Ston polished off three cups of water. Having completed their sparse evening meal, each retreated upstairs to retrieve their bedsheets, blankets, and pillows, before shaking out the dust and returning downstairs to establish sleeping quarters in the living room.
With only a single sofa available in the living room, Zhuang Xingyu chivalrously ceded the furniture to Ston, adding a snide remark about extending preferential treatment to prisoners of war. Meanwhile, he laid out a makeshift bed using bedsheets on the flat flooring a short distance away.
Catering zero patience for Zhuang Xingyu’s persistent verbal barbs, Ston adjusted his pillow to a comfortable angle and reclined directly.
The firewood gathered by Zhuang Xingyu gradually exhausted itself, causing the flames within the fireplace to sputter out and die down, prompting indoor temperatures to plunge in tandem.
Clad in his down jacket and wrapped tightly within heavy bedding, Ston broke the darkness with a sudden inquiry: “Where on earth are you heading?”
Maintaining silence, Zhuang Xingyu offered no response. Just as Ston concluded the inquiry would go unanswered, the other man slowly opened his mouth.
“A safe place.”
A safe place? Ston stared blankly into the empty void, the corners of his mouth twitching into a dazed, mocking smile. In a world like the present, aside from the subterranean cities, did any other safe havens genuinely exist?
Ston pressed no further. Each wrapped themselves tighter within their respective blankets and drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, the steady, rhythmic sound of breathing emanated from the direction of Zhuang Xingyu’s sleeping mat.
Shifting his posture, Ston peeled his eyes open to glance across the room. Amidst the pitch-black shadows, he failed to spot the pair of sharp, luminous scarlet pupils.
Waiting a moment longer, Ston cast off his blanket, pushed himself upright from the sofa, and resumed monitoring Zhuang Xingyu.
Abruptly, Zhuang Xingyu shifted his weight, emitting an indistinct, muffled groan from deep within his throat.
Startled, Ston feared Zhuang Xingyu had been stirred awake, hesitating whether to drop back down and feign slumber or rise to his feet and pretend he was heading toward the restroom.
Yet moments later, Ston realized Zhuang Xingyu remained asleep, seemingly trapped in the throes of a nightmare as his body twitched minutely and his lips murmured unintelligible fragments.
Relieved, Ston leaned closer to listen with sharper focus.
Discerning the audio signals after a brief struggle, Ston managed to extract phrases like “don’t” and “Mother” from the fragmented, hazy mumbling.
Confirming that Zhuang Xingyu remained trapped in the grip of a deep nightmare, Ston summoned his courage to slide off the sofa, stepping with feather-light precision toward the exit.
Fearing Ston might exploit his slumber to escape, Zhuang Xingyu had deliberately positioned his sleeping pallet directly across the mandatory thoroughfare linking the sofa to the front entrance.
As he drew closer, Ston observed that Zhuang Xingyu’s forehead was slicked with cold sweat, his brows pinched tight in agony, and his features distorted. Having kicked his blanket aside, his body lay exposed and shivering violently while his lips continued their frantic, tormented drone—the unmistakable portrait of deep psychological trauma.
His fractured right wing, following simple bandaging and immobilization during dinner, no longer sagged downward, instead clustering neatly behind his back; yet the binding strips and splints revealed a hidden vulnerability and lingering injury.
Ston’s advancing footsteps faltered. Bending downward, he reached out to grasp the blanket Zhuang Xingyu had kicked aside, gently draping it back over the other man’s waist, before rising once more to resume his cautious advance toward the doorway.
Though the townhouse front door remained structurally sound, decades of decay caused the rusted hinges to emit a sharp creak as Ston nudged it open.
Terrified of rousing the nightmare-stricken Zhuang Xingyu, Ston cracked the door open by a mere sliver, slipped his body sideways through the gap, and emerged outside.
Outside, biting gales howled relentlessly across the wasteland. Exposed to the elements for barely a second, Ston felt his eyes stung shut by the gale while his cheeks burned with sharp pain.
Taking two steps forward, Ston instinctively cocooned himself deeper within his down outerwear while mentally calculating the feasibility of trekking back to the subterranean city on foot under such punishing conditions.
Rapidly crunching the numbers, freezing to death halfway or falling prey to nocturnal mutant predators appeared overwhelmingly probable outcomes. Realizing returning inside was equally unpalatable, he had no choice but to bite the bullet and press forward.
Advancing while formulating alternative strategies primarily putting distance between himself and the townhouse before locating a relatively secure alternative shelter, such as an abandoned vehicle, to weather the night, followed by signaling attention at dawn through an intentional disturbance like a brush fire to trigger Federation monitoring offered the fastest route to establishing contact and bringing reinforcements back to comb this sector for Zhuang Xingyu.
Having locked onto a definitive game plan, Ston hesitated no longer. Concealing the fruit knife he had pilfered from the kitchen during dinner tightly within his grip, he broke into a determined jog.
Scarcely had he covered several dozen meters failing to even clear the residential cluster perimeter when Ston’s acute hearing caught a faint, barely perceptible rustle of wings whispering amidst the whistling wind.
Slowing his stride, Ston strained to isolate the audio source. Within moments, he traced the noise to an abandoned grove of withered trees situated directly across from the residential block, where the rustling appeared to accelerate directly toward his position, seemingly provoked by his emergence.
Spitting out a silent curse, Ston accelerated his running cadence, desperate to outrun the threat. Yet in the very next instant, his entire physique locked rigid.
For he heard the sound burst clear of the tree line, hurtling toward his rear at a speed that made his scalp crawl!