Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Nine years later.

On the desolate snowy landscape, only a few buildings peeked through, resembling bizarre ice sculptures.

A mutant hare the size of a wolf-dog, with blood-red eyes and long sharp fangs, crept across the snow.

The mutant cautiously surveyed its surroundings, suddenly hiding behind an ice wall as if sensing something.

Through the heavy snowfall, a robust black lion with ice-covered mane approached slowly.

A person was mounted on the lion's back, wrapped in thick fur clothing, with only a pair of distinct black and white eyes visible through the hat and scarf.

Those eyes were large and clear, like two unfrozen lakes. Long, curled eyelashes turned white with snow and ice, fluttering like butterfly wings.

The mutant behind the ice wall lay in ambush, its crimson eyes gleaming with greed, fixed on the person on the lion's back.

The black lion walked nonchalantly, its tail swinging lightly, casually traversing the snowy landscape.

The person on the lion's back was oblivious to the impending danger, just gently swinging their feet.

Those feet were also wrapped in thick fur, bound with several rounds of rope, appearing somewhat bulky and plump.

Although the mutant hare was afraid of the black lion, hunger eventually overcame its fear. The moment the lion passed the ice wall, it pounced swiftly at the person on its back.

In mid-air, the mutant hare bared its fangs, aiming for the neck beneath the thick scarf, imagining the warmth of blood flowing through its throat as it broke the neck.

The person on the lion's back was completely unprepared, still sitting leisurely. But just as the mutant's fangs were about to touch the back of their neck, they slid to the side as if losing balance.

Their slide was not wide, just enough to let the mutant hare miss and fly past their head.

The mutant hare's bite hit nothing but cold air. It landed and quickly turned to pounce again.

But its powerful hind legs stopped functioning, and its strength rapidly drained away. Staggering forward a few steps, it collapsed onto the snowy ground.

— A slash wound appeared on its light grey abdomen, the blood freezing before it could flow out.

The black lion, seemingly accustomed to such events, picked up the dead body of the mutant hare and calmly continued walking.

Moments later, it stopped in front of a five-story building.

The person on the lion's back slid to the ground, their movements somewhat clumsy due to the thick clothing. They trudged through the crunching snow to the window, keyed in a code on the lock, and climbed through the opened window.

The black lion stayed outside, skillfully skinning and cleaning the mutant hare, then buried its entrails in the snow far from the building.

The person inside the room took off the thick fur coat and pants, shaking off the ice, revealing a light gray turtleneck sweater and velvet pants underneath.

The sweater was clearly hand-knitted, with uneven yarn that didn't look machine-made, but rather like it was spun directly from animal fur.

The sweater was a bit too large, making him look quite small in stature. When he removed his scarf and hat, a very handsome young man was revealed.

Curly hair fell messily over his ears and forehead, hiding them and highlighting his fair complexion.

The young man crouched to untie the rope and fur from his feet, then, wearing only woolen socks, walked lightly toward the stairs.

Passing the fifth-floor hall, he looked at a large round bundle on the sofa, "Binunu, are those the new pants brother made for you? They look good on you."

The sofa, made entirely of wood, was chewed up all around. Binunu, wearing yellow checkered overalls, lay on it in a daze. Hearing the young man’s voice, it didn’t even glance his way, just rolled over to show its back.

"In a bad mood?" The young man asked Binunu, leaning on the stair railing, then muttered to himself, "Never mind, you’re always in a bad mood."

Thump, thump, thump.

The young man dashed upstairs like a gust of wind, while Binunu rolled back over to continue its daze, resembling a moldy, oversized potato.

"Brother, brother," the young man called out twice without response. He hurriedly went downstairs, bypassing the fifth-floor staircase to the fourth floor, and pushed open the sealed door at the stairwell.

The moment the door opened, a surge of symphonic music burst forth, shattering the silence of the building and swirling through every corner like a whirlwind.

The room was cluttered with various instruments and tools, along with wooden blocks, ironware, and plastic moldings, resembling a disorderly workshop.

In front of a wooden rack in the center of the room stood a tall young man, facing away from the door, planing a long piece of wood on the rack.

His hair was somewhat long, casually tied in a knot at the back of his head, with a pencil tucked behind his ear. The muscles under his grey T-shirt were firm and well-defined but not overly exaggerated, creating smooth and perfect lines with his movements.

The young man leaned against the doorframe, not entering, but a wisp of his psychic energy quietly infiltrated the young man's psychic realm, playfully tickling the serene, silk-like flowing psychic streams.

Then, he found himself gently restrained and tickled back by those psychic energies.

The young man smiled, withdrew his psychic energy, and ran in to hug the man from behind, "What are you working on?"

The young man had a tape measure in his mouth and mumbled something indistinct, but the symphony was too loud for the younger one to hear clearly.

"What did you say?" He leaned his head out from under the man's arm, looking up at his face.

From this angle, the young man's jawline looked beautifully smooth, his features sharply defined and strikingly handsome.

Traces of the boy he used to be were faintly visible in his eyes and brows, now matured into a man's charm, without the coldness of youth but with a laid-back, lazy elegance.

Feng Chen removed the tape measure from his mouth: "Yan Bubu, I told you to move away, don't block me."

As he spoke, a loud banging sound came from the ceiling above, overwhelming even the symphony.

Then, with a loud thud, an angry piece of wood was thrown down from the stairs, landing at the door.

"Binunu is angry."

"Quick, turn it off."

Yan Bubu went to turn off the music, and the noisy world immediately fell silent; the banging from the ceiling ceased as well.

Feng Chen half-closed his eyes as he looked at the wood, planing away the rough edges, and asked, "Have you done your lessons for today? Always ready to run off."

He had a pleasant voice, deep and magnetic. Yan Bubu pretended not to hear it and came over to look at the piece of wood, changing the subject, "What are you making this time?"

"Then you haven't done it." Feng Chen nodded, "You're not allowed to go out this afternoon. Make up for today's lessons."

"Oh," Yan Bubu obediently replied, standing by to watch him do woodworking, scratching his thigh occasionally.

Feng Chen kept his eyes on the wood but asked, "Did you go out without wearing woolen pants over your velvet pants? Is your frostbite acting up again?"

"Yeah, itchy."

"Serves you right."

Yan Bubu leaned on the wood, looking at him sideways, "In the movies, lots of people wear sweaters, but I've never seen anyone wear woolen pants."

"So what?"

"Brother, do you know what fashion is? Wearing woolen pants doesn't look fashionable at all."

Feng Chen took the pencil from behind his ear, "Those movies are at least ten years old. Do you call something from ten years ago fashionable?"

"I read a saying that fashion is just a cycle. I've seen so many movies, even ones from decades ago, and I've never seen woolen pants come back in style..."

Feng Chen turned to look at him, seeing him still scratching, and said, "Go apply some frostbite cream, the one you used last time, it's in that cabinet."

Feng Chen had cleared out this floor, using a small part as a workshop and a large part as a training room, leaving the original items of the room piled in the workshop corner. Yan Bubu went to a small cabinet there and took out Feng Chen’s homemade frostbite cream.

Feng Chen made some marks on the wood with the pencil and then glanced at Yan Bubu.

"Could you check the situation before taking off your pants?"

Yan Bubu had already pulled his velvet pants down to his knees and was applying the frostbite cream to his thighs, exposing his straight, fair legs to the air.

"There's no one else here anyway..." Yan Bubu brought the jar of frostbite cream to his nose and sniffed, scrunching his nose, "It stinks."

"Am I not a person?" Feng Chen retorted.

"You're my brother, that doesn't count."

Yan Bubu applied the cream to the red patches on his legs, then pulled his pants back up and walked over to Feng Chen, offering the jar under his nose, "Smell this, does it stink?"

"Where does it stink? It's made from the oil of a weasel mutant, which is the most effective for frostbite," Feng Chen warned, "And don't you dare wash it off your legs."

"It's definitely stinky," Yan Bubu insisted, his large eyes slanting at Feng Chen.

"It's fragrant, a unique fragrance," Feng Chen stated unflinchingly.

Yan Bubu: "Stinky, smells like a fart."

"Unique fragrance."

"Fart smell."

Feng Chen ignored him, focusing on marking the wood. Yan Bubu sneakily smeared a little of the cream under Feng Chen's nose and dashed out.

"You say it's fragrant, so enjoy the smell."

Amidst the sound of rapid footsteps, Feng Chen didn’t even turn to look, calmly tearing off a piece of paper to meticulously clean his nose, then continued marking the wood.

Yan Bubu ran all the way to the sixth floor, softening his steps when passing the fifth floor as Binunu raised its body and bared its teeth at him.

The sixth floor was no longer as it used to be, now furnished with several pieces of furniture.

A hand-knitted blanket lay on the sofa, and next to the window stood a lounge chair with a thick fur cushion. A few books and a toolbox with tools and half-finished crafts were scattered on the bay window.

A large bookcase leaned against the wall by the window, with the top three shelves holding various military books, and the middle three filled with printed and bound volumes.

The bound volumes had covers made of thick white paper, with neat fountain pen writing on the spines: Elementary Mathematics, Elementary Language, Middle School Mathematics, Middle School Language, Advanced Mathematics... They were arranged in order from elementary to advanced, covering all subjects, occupying two shelves.

The bottom three shelves were stacked with test papers, all self-copied. The content of the papers on the left was profound and specialized, with neat and elegant handwriting, and errors were annotated with correct answers in red ink.

The papers on the right ranged from elementary counting ducks to complex high school math problems. The answers evolved from childlike scribbles to a more developed, smooth handwriting, resembling chubby little spheres.

Although densely filled, the papers showed diligent work, but were also marked with many prominent red crosses.

The hall was no longer empty but filled with everyday items, exuding a lived-in atmosphere. The hole in the center of the room was left uncovered, with only an iron pole standing in the middle.

Yan Bubu jumped onto the sofa, instructing the robot Xiaoqi, "Xiaoqi, play a movie for me..." he lowered his voice, "...called Secret Love."

"Xiaoqi will now play Secret Love," the robot responded loudly, gliding from the corner to turn on the projector.

"Lower the volume!" Yan Bubu peeked towards the staircase, then quickly changed his mind, "Never mind, don't play that. Play... Mission: Impossible."

"Xiaoqi will now play Mission: Impossible."

Yan Bubu sat cross-legged on the sofa, picking up the doll renamed Bench.

Bench's tin skin had been polished to a shine, and one ear was a slightly different color, probably a replacement for the original that had fallen off.

As the movie's opening music started, Yan Bubu dove to the end of the sofa, picking up a communicator and pointing it towards the sound system.

The same music soon emanated from the fifth floor, but this time there was no angry banging from Binunu on the walls or ceiling.

After setting down the communicator, Yan Bubu saw Binunu climbing the iron pole in the middle of the room.

"Your favorite, Mission: Impossible," Yan Bubu patted the spot beside him.

Binunu approached without a glance to the side, its small paws gripping the sofa as it climbed up, its demeanor reserved and haughty.

The movie's opening credits ended, and the main feature began.

Yan Bubu watched intently, one hand lifting a plate from the coffee table in front of him, the other handing a piece of wood to Binunu.

He chewed on a plate of jerky slowly, while Binunu watched the movie and gnawed on a piece of wood.

The black lion crept up silently, its padded paws making no sound on the floor. It had cleaned itself with snow after dealing with the mutant rabbit, looking impeccably clean.

Approaching Binunu, it lay on the carpet, noticing wood shavings on Binunu's small paws and couldn’t resist the urge to lick them off.

But as soon as it extended its tongue, Binunu swiped at its face.

Unperturbed, the black lion turned its head and settled down to watch the movie quietly.

"…Don't go into that alley, don't go in there..."

This movie was Binunu's favorite, and Yan Bubu had watched it countless times with it. Binunu's face was tense with concentration, its black eyes fixed unwaveringly on the screen, gripping the wood tightly in its paw.

It was only when the heroine stopped near the alley and walked toward the lawn that both the quantum beasts and Yan Bubu simultaneously relaxed.

Footsteps descended the stairs, and a tall figure appeared at the top. Feng Chen, rolling up his T-shirt sleeves, asked the group on the sofa, "What do you want for lunch?"

"Anything," Yan Bubu said, eyes glued to the screen.

Standing at the staircase, Feng Chen half-closed his eyes and coolly replied, "Then go make 'anything' for me."

"Uh... then let's have potato stewed rabbit," Yan Bubu shook his head, his long curly hair swaying.

Feng Chen headed to the kitchen, "Dig up the potatoes yourself."

"Okay, just let me finish this part with Binunu. It's a great scene, I'll go after she escapes from the dungeon," Yan Bubu said.

Feng Chen paused and turned around, "If you delay—"

"I won't, I won't," Yan Bubu promised, raising his finger, "Three minutes."

Soon, sounds of the microwave defrosting, water boiling, and chopping meat emanated from the kitchen. After the scene of the protagonist's escape, Yan Bubu got up slowly and ambled towards the staircase.

"…You cunning Kaitra, not a word you say is true," Yan Bubu recited the lines with the protagonist, stopped in the middle of the room, and asked the engrossed Binunu, "Shall I stay and finish this part with you?"

"Yan Bubu," Feng Chen's warning voice came from the kitchen.

"I'm going to dig potatoes," Yan Bubu quickly headed up to the seventh floor.

The seventh floor was originally a laboratory. Feng Chen removed the experimental equipment, dug up soil from beneath the ice layer, found vegetable seeds at the supply point, and converted the hall and several rooms into vegetable gardens.

The hall was divided into two parts: one for potatoes and the other for corn. The sunlight coming through the windows wasn't enough, so there were several high-pressure sodium lamps hanging from the ceiling for additional lighting.

Yan Bubu picked up a small hoe from the wall, dug out a few potatoes from the ground, and then went to a small room to pick two ripe cucumbers.

Carrying the vegetables back to the kitchen on the sixth floor, he found Feng Chen already stir-frying the rabbit meat. Feng Chen wore an apron made from old clothes, with a few strands of hair that hadn’t been tied back falling beside his cheeks, slightly swaying with his movements.

Yan Bubu squatted at his feet, peeling the potatoes, singing along with the movie's interlude.

"...Your lips are rose petals, steeped in the sweetest poison..."

Feng Chen paused his cooking and interrupted his singing, "Leave the potatoes, I’ll peel them."

But Yan Bubu insisted, "Let me help, I'll peel them... Your gaze is a drawn sword, hiding the sharpest cold gleam..."

Feng Chen said, "Really, you don’t have to. Stop singing and go watch the movie, go keep Binunu company."

Yan Bubu stopped singing and looked up at Feng Chen, "Don’t you want me to keep you company?"

"I don’t," Feng Chen said decisively.

"You don’t want to hear me sing either?"

"I don't want to hear it."

Yan Bubu craftily smiled, "But I want to sing! Your lips are rose petals, steeped in the sweetest poison..."

Bang!

The doorframe emitted a loud sound as a piece of wood struck it before falling to the ground, rolling to Yan Bubu's side.

Yan Bubu peeked outside and saw Binunu staring at him with a dark expression, and quickly said, "Okay, okay, I'll stop singing."

Yan Bubu quietly peeled the potato skins, while Feng Chen slowly exhaled in relief.