Chapter 7 The Fool Has Nothing (7)

Chapter 7: Fools Have Nothing (7)

Though Number Six was small in size, its resilience was top-notch. Xu Jiu didn’t dare use too much force, afraid of tearing it apart. The two were locked in a stalemate—Number Six stubbornly refused to let go, clinging with unyielding determination. Xu Jiu was worked into a sweat, nearly resorting to begging.

"You little rascal, there’s no more poison!" He struggled to pry open the jellyfish’s tentacles. "We cleared it all out yesterday, didn’t we? Ah, ah—stop licking, stop licking...!"

Number Six stubbornly resisted before reluctantly admitting the human was right. Once the toxins were cleared, the wound couldn’t heal instantly.

With a wet *pop*, it finally detached its mouth. Disappointed, Number Six lurked over the wound, extending its tentacles to curiously prod at the injury.

*Humans are so fragile.*

Finally free from the little menace, Xu Jiu scratched furiously at the edges of his wrist to relieve the itch and scolded, "Don’t do this again next time! Look at this mess—the bandages are all torn and scattered..."

Number Six curled innocently against him, like a delicate glass figurine. Xu Jiu poked it irritably. "What, nothing to say now? When we first met, you could talk, right? You even called me 'Mom'... You little schemer. Why not try calling me 'Dad'?"

Sensing the human’s annoyance, the little jellyfish finally stirred. It rumbled and slithered up his arm like a translucent, fluid cat, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and rubbing against him like a scarf.

Xu Jiu: "..."

At this point, how could he stay angry? He had only pretended to be upset, but now his smile was beyond his control. Kneeling to gather the torn bandages, wiping the damp saliva from his wrist, and reapplying medicine, he sighed helplessly. "I’m really at your mercy..."

Before bed, Xu Jiu went to the communal washroom to clean up—brushing his teeth, washing his face—then fetched fresh water to refill Number Six’s basin. When the dorm lights went out, he burrowed under the blankets, drifting off, warmed by the heat of a hot water bottle at his feet. Suddenly, a *splash* sounded—Number Six had stealthily leaped from its basin. A moment later, he felt a weight settle by his feet.

"What now?" He rolled his eyes. "I have to wake up early tomorrow, okay? Stop messing around, little rascal."

Number Six remained silent. Seven or eight tentacles tapped against the blanket like an adorable yet eerie, misshapen kitten, scampering up to Xu Jiu’s chest and gazing down at him like a tiny tyrant.

"I’ll swat you," Xu Jiu muttered weakly, too exhausted to even lift his eyelids.

The room fell quiet for a moment—then something cold and slippery slipped beneath the blanket, pressing snugly against Xu Jiu’s neck and wrapping firmly around him. Countless tentacles squirmed stickily under the covers, coiling and stroking his jaw and cheeks, sending ticklish tingles in their wake.

Xu Jiu sighed, then smiled, too lazy to scratch.

He had kept a pet before... if it could be called a pet. Back in his first year of high school, the school environment had been oppressively tense, the pressure unbearable. Xu Jiu had studied relentlessly, earning himself a spot in a four-person dorm.

One night, a mouse had scurried into their room—Xu Jiu still remembered it clearly, small and grubby, with shiny, beady eyes. After the four of them caught it, one roommate pulled out a lighter, suggesting they "mess with it." Xu Jiu and another roommate disagreed—it was a living thing. Kill it or let it go, but why torture it?

At an impasse, the four of them froze. Eventually, Xu Jiu improvised a cage from a shoebox and some twisted wire, keeping the mouse inside. Between classes, he’d sneak leftovers from the cafeteria to feed it.

The little mouse was clever, quickly learning that food meant safety. Gradually, it stopped biting and squeaking. The other two roommates, seeing this, began bringing scraps to feed it too, occasionally playing with it in their free time.

Back then, life had been suffocating. The smart ones competed not just in grades but in cunning, while the less clever ones flaunted their endurance, pretending to be smarter than they were. Students schemed ruthlessly, vying for teachers’ favor, desperate to avoid being sidelined. The teachers, acting like smug little tyrants, fawned over the elite students while relishing the sycophantic flattery from the middling and lower ranks, delighting in the students’ infighting...

In comparison, the mouse—though dirty and stupid—was straightforward, like a blank slate. Happy when fed, angry when teased, squeaking in its cage, grooming its face and head, waiting for its keepers to feed and clean it...

"It’s kind of fun, this little thing," one roommate had once laughed. "Better company than the bastards around here."

They named the grubby little mouse *Xiao Bai*—Little White.

But the good times didn’t last. The roommate who had initially wanted to "mess with it" couldn’t stand their kindness toward a mouse. He secretly reported it to the dorm supervisor, who escalated it to the teachers. By the time Xu Jiu and the others rushed back, the shoebox-and-wire cage had been crushed flat. Xiao Bai, with nowhere to run, had been boiled alive with a pot of boiling water.

"You morons! Do you have any idea how many diseases mice carry?!" the teacher in charge screamed at them. "If you die from an infection, whose fault is it? This building houses the top ten students from three grades—what if they get sick because of you?! Have you thought about that?!"

*So what if it died?*

Back then, Xu Jiu had stood there, red-eyed and silent, stubbornly refusing to speak.

*Is being here even better than death?*

Later, he and the other two roommates cornered the snitch in the bathroom and beat him up. The teacher turned a blind eye, couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess of these "discarded failures."

And then... and then, Xu Jiu couldn’t remember much of what happened afterward, but he never kept another living thing again—until today.

"...Whatever," he murmured drowsily, reaching out to idly knead Number Six’s canopy a couple of times. "You... you’re better than Little White..."

His head tilted, and he fell sound asleep. But Number Six reacted suddenly, its form shifting abruptly like molten plastic reshaping itself.

In the dim room, its body shimmered with iridescent hues, like the shifting colors of a fever dream.

Little White? Sounded like a name given to another creature. Where did this competitor come from?

Suspicion flared in the jellyfish as it glared resentfully at its mother body in the darkness.

Eat it... Pressed against the human’s warm skin, Number Six’s fragmented consciousness, like bubbles adrift in primordial soup, surged upward chaotically, merging into one primal urge.

Anything that competed for food and status was prey. Eat it. Eat them. Assimilate nutrients, accumulate energy, evolve. The mother body should be pleased with its growth.

—Yes, the mother body.

Number Six’s memories began when it was still whole, the moment it regained awareness within the ice.

The glacier that imprisoned it was far younger than the planet itself. Through its frozen cage, it observed a species called "humans"—noisy, bustling, communicating in complex languages, occasionally raising their small hands to point at it.

They were unlike any enemy Number Six had ever encountered, fought, or devoured before. Nor were they like any solitary, powerful predator. Over days of observation, a peculiar fascination took root, compelling it to "watch" their every move without pause.

"Is it still alive?"

Their language.

"Be careful, don’t damage the ice!"

Their actions.

"The Geiger counter won’t stop going off... Do you think it’s an Earth species?"

Their tools.

Humans were indeed weak, fragile creatures. They lacked fangs or claws, grew no thick hides or wings, yet they understood how to combine their small strengths into something vast.

Fascination naturally evolved into desire, and desire rekindled a primeval, endless hunger. Appetite mingled with greed, leaving Number Six restless, desperate to break free from its frozen prison.

—It sensed a new path for evolution.

For a long time—or rather, ever since humans had discovered it—they had argued endlessly over how to handle it. Their debates were loud and sharp, and though Number Six couldn’t understand their words, their tones and emotions made their meanings clear.

"The ice must not be removed!" Ewan Weber shouted frantically. "We still can’t determine what it is—jellyfish plankton don’t have the organ structures to grow to this size! Damn it, it’s so transparent we can’t even see its brain or organs... This isn’t natural! I refuse to allow thawing, I absolutely refuse, and I insist we report this to headquarters immediately with full transparency about this creature’s existence."

"Calm down, Dr. Ewan," his colleague replied evenly. "Consider this—when have we ever seen a mammoth from the ice come back to life? Yes, fish can revive after flash-freezing, and human cells can remain viable hours after separation, but two million years—perhaps more—of preservation? I doubt any species could survive that. Time destroys all things."

"Dr. Shi, I admire your optimism," Ewan said quietly, "but allow me to disagree. When facing the unknown, we must proceed with caution—especially when we know nothing of this creature’s nature, whether it’s vicious or docile..."

Shi Yesheng smirked, as if amused by his colleague's argument.

"Understand? We don’t need to understand," he said. "With the right thawing process, we can steadily advance our research and unravel its mysteries. Do we judge an animal’s morality by human standards? Besides, the Aker Project exists for our futures, Doctor. I assume you don’t want to waste your life in this frozen hell?"

Ewan sighed repeatedly but ultimately relented.

And so, over the past months, humans had launched a large-scale effort, carefully chiseling away at the ice, extracting fluids from the shallow surface of its tentacles for study. Number Six endured—painstakingly—but the heat of its prey was like a beacon in the darkness, luring it to stab, consume, absorb...

Ah, humans vividly evoked ripe fruits hanging from branches—thin, useless peels encasing abundant flesh, delicate bones, sweet and tender organs, and most importantly, the rich, information-laden treasure of the brain.

But for its own survival, it instinctively chose dormancy.

It was clear that its existence had unveiled many mysteries for humans while bringing forth even more enigmas. Gradually, even the initially cautious Ewan Weber abandoned restraint, advocating for human experimentation to obtain the most direct data.

Using the stinging-cell solution extracted from Number Six, they conducted clinical trials on seven low-ranking employees—or perhaps it couldn’t even be called an experiment, merely having them remove their gloves and outerwear to briefly expose their bare skin to the liquid.

Then, with swift, horrific deaths, they shocked all those observing and preparing to record the data.

*So fragrant,* Number Six thought.

Yet soon, humans regained their composure and order, because their leader—the young male Shi Yesheng, whom Number Six had long coveted—stepped forward to issue commands, directing everyone back to work. A new group of small humans was brought in to clean up the horrific remains.

*Prey cleaning up prey…!* Number Six lamented again.

Such waste—and yet, the delicious taste of humans, and their fragile self-preservation instincts all agitated its nerves. It was hungry—so hungry. As humans gradually peeled away more restraints, melting the ice until only a thin layer remained, Number Six seized this chance to escape.

It gorged itself, glutting on flesh and blood. The greatest prize, undoubtedly, was that young human leader. Number Six finally fulfilled its desire, and the profound information housed in his brain even caused it to pause momentarily.

After that, Number Six’s mind blurred.

It had underestimated human ingenuity, as well as how far and deep humans could tread on the path of destruction. A million lightning bolts engulfed it, just as it had devoured the blood and flesh of its prey. Extreme heat and agony consumed it in the same merciless manner.

Number Six was charred, shattered, scattered into countless fragments—half its body reduced to scattered ash, the other half convulsing into minced meat, mingling with the dust.

Its consciousness fragmented as well. New brains and nerves sprouted in regenerating flesh. When Number Six awoke again, it immediately used its small, agile body to escape from the incinerator.

It didn’t care how many Homoforms like itself were scattered outside, nor did it wish to unite with them to hunt humans. In fact, from the moment they dispersed, the only relationship between Homoforms was that of predator and prey. Until all Homoforms merged back into a single entity, this cycle of slaughter would never end.

Thus, Number Six would have no companions, let alone allies. But just as it avoided patrolling guards wielding bright lights and tumbled into a resource-rich place called a "trash bin" to scavenge for food, a human more frail than the others accidentally discovered it.

Strangely, Number Six could still recall this human’s face. Among its few fragmented impressions, this human and his crew—the ones who’d disposed of the ‘food’—were unforgettable.

Unfortunately, given Number Six’s physical condition at the time, even if it could produce lethal toxins, it couldn’t leap far enough to land on its target. It had to choose a more practical course of action.

Drawing from its newly acquired memory bank, it instantly mimicked the cries of a dozen young creatures, attempting to evoke pity from the human before it.

The human froze in place, his weary face twitching with surprise. Just then, Number Six sensed footsteps approaching.

Clearly, the human heard them too. Panic lasted only a moment before he made up his mind, reaching out with trembling hands to grab Number Six and stuff it into the front of his clothing.

Not only did he carry the salty tang of sweat, but Number Six also caught the reek of necrotic venom.

*He has every reason to betray me to his kind,* Number Six reasoned.

And conveniently, the distance between it and its prey had been reduced to nearly nothing. A single, light sting, and this bold human would perish instantly. It would consume his flesh and essence to replenish its energy, and then…

Then—there was no "then."

Number Six’s plans were forcibly interrupted, its killing intent dissipating as the other humans walked away.

*Why?*

For the first time, the sensation of "confusion" surged in its mind like an encroaching fog. Perhaps this was the side effect of absorbing humans—weak creatures carried equally weak sentimentality. Now, these unfamiliar emotions plagued it twice over.

In its long existence, beyond feeding and survival, it had something else to consider for the very first time.

*Why spare your killer? Why shield me?*

"Silly thing, what's the rush? This isn't how you eat it!"

The food emitted an alluring scent of energy, and No. 6 uncontrollably pounced on it while curiously observing the human before it.

...Mother.

It must have been its earlier behavior that triggered the human's deep maternal instincts, leading them to willingly take on the responsibility of raising it.

Yes, that must be it.

At this moment, No. 6 figured out a few things and accepted the new bond that had emerged between the human and itself.

—Mother and child—

Soon after, it was given a name.

"No. 6."

This wasn't a good designation—it could tell as much based on the vast human knowledge it had absorbed. But the human's sincere words, along with their unconcealed guilt over it, made No. 6 forgive their mistake and magnanimously accept this plain label, letting it rest on its head like a crown.

Undoubtedly, Mother held certain privileges. Since the human had willingly taken on the duty of raising it, No. 6 naturally gave them more leeway.

In the darkness, it firmly occupied the best spot on its mother's body, searching repeatedly but failing to find the rival thief, Little White.

Unwillingly, No. 6 returned to its original posture, its seven or eight short tentacles absentmindedly curling around Xu Jiu's chin.

Amidst its smoldering irritation, it gradually slipped into a dormant state.

Author's Note:

Xu Jiu: *Tearing up at the memory* Poor Little White, poor me! But at least I still have No. 6. *Lost in thought, kisses the little jellyfish's forehead*

Little jellyfish: *Shocked, stiffens, feeling annoyed and baffled by the situation* What, the human wants to eat me! Then I'll eat you too—

Still the little jellyfish: *After a while, not eaten, grows grumpily puzzled* What, the human doesn't want to eat me anymore! Then keep eating me!—