Chapter Bonanza (2/5)

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Tong Zhanyan’s breath caught in his throat as well.

By the time he realized what was happening, he had already quickly let go of the backpack, backed out of the tent, and was running toward the nearby woods. As he ran, he summoned his spirit beast.

He dashed into the woods, ran a good distance further—ensuring he was well away from the tent—before looking back. Behind him, aside from his chicken, there was nothing.

The backpack hadn’t come to life on its own, let alone chased after him. Tong Zhanyan stopped behind a tree.

He tried to control himself, but fear still spread rapidly through his entire body. Goosebumps suddenly broke out all over him, and his heart was pounding so wildly that his chest ached.

The chicken perched on a branch of the tree next to him, alert and on guard. In the darkness, only his heavy breathing could be heard.

After an unknown amount of time, when his blood stopped racing and his breathing gradually returned to normal, his chaotic mind finally began to settle.

When he woke up, he found himself abandoned all alone in this strange and dangerous place. At first, his mind was in a daze, but once he calmed down, he quickly realized something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

First of all, Qing Jiyue would never abandon him; after spending time together, he believed his feelings for him were genuine. Secondly, neither would Ning Langdong, Tian Xinqing, nor Su Yanran—they were his friends.

As for the Devil King and Yang Hong, he might not have spent much time with them, but he knew their characters well—they would never do something like this either. More importantly, he had been in a light sleep the whole time; if Qing Jiyue had truly left of his own accord, he would have sensed it.

But if Qing Jiyue hadn’t actively left him behind, then what was going on? 2. Had Qing Jiyue just vanished into thin air?

How could that be?

And if he really did vanish into thin air, why was he the only one left behind? Or could this all just be a dream?

Tong Zhanyan grabbed the flesh on his wrist and twisted it without hesitation; the pain struck immediately, even more vivid and intense than the fear he’d felt before. Tong Zhanyan’s entire face contorted.

The chicken watched the entire scene from above; its eyes showed no frustration at having failed to help, only vigilance. It never let him down when it mattered most.

Once he had recovered from the pain, Tong Zhanyan regained his composure. He looked around.

Towering trees and knee-high weeds and vines—there was no sign of human life as far as the eye could see. No matter what had happened to Qing Jiyue, he had to find him as soon as possible.

Before that, he had to go back and get his backpack, which contained not only food and water but, more importantly, his protective gear. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere once dawn broke.

Even prolonged exposure to the elements at night was dangerous.

At the thought of going back, the hairs on Tong Zhanyan’s body—which had just lain flat—instantly stood on end again. That coughing sound was definitely not his imagination.

Despite his fear, Tong Zhanyan gritted his teeth and headed toward the tent.

If Qing Jiyue had truly met with an accident, he had to find him as soon as possible; the longer he delayed, the greater the danger to Qing Jiyue.

As he began to move, the chicken glided down from the sky and landed on his shoulder. Man and bird, one on his left and one on his right, kept a watchful eye on their surroundings.

Whereas Tong Zhanyan had previously fled at full speed, he now made his way back with great caution, which made the journey seem even longer. Several minutes later, Tong Zhanyan finally spotted the tent in the distance, blending into the darkness of the surroundings.

The area around the tent remained deserted, with no sign of anyone.

The tent flap was half-open, and through it he could faintly make out the backpack, still lying exactly as it had before, with no signs of having been opened. Tong Zhanyan took a deep breath, forcing down the fear in his heart, and slowly moved forward.

The twenty-odd meters seemed to take him an eternity.

By the time he reached the tent, his back was drenched in cold sweat, and his heart was pounding wildly.

He crouched down, carefully picked up the shoes left by the entrance, and, paying no heed to the mud caked on his feet from his earlier escape, quickly slipped them on. Then he slowly reached out and pulled a military dagger, about as long as his forearm, from the side of the backpack.

Having successfully retrieved the dagger and feeling its coolness and weight, Tong Zhanyan’s restless heart settled a little, and his courage grew. He took a deep breath and reached for the backpack once more.

At the same time, the chicken wing on his shoulder spread slightly, ready at any moment to unleash a burst of flame for cover. The instant Tong Zhanyan touched the backpack’s strap, something inside shifted ever so slightly.

Tong Zhanyan tried to control his thoughts, but the image of a blood-soaked human head kept popping into his mind uncontrollably.

He tried hard not to think about whose head it was or why it was still making sounds, focusing instead on slowly pulling the backpack up. The backpack Qing Jiyue had given him was a military-grade model—waterproof and fireproof, with a double-locked closure.

The backpack hadn’t been opened, and there were no traces of blood around the opening.

Tong Zhanyan was careful when opening the outer buckle, then the inner cord… “Cough, cough…”

Almost the moment he undid the cord, from inside the backpack…

Previously, he’d only caught glimpses of it—just enough to make out that it was a man’s voice—but this time, the sound was much clearer. It was as if the man were gasping for breath in agony, his voice hoarse with the struggle.

Tong Zhanyan’s skin broke out in goosebumps; he had to force himself not to turn and run away. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the backpack open.

He braced himself to see a human head, but the moment the backpack opened—before he could make out what it was—something lunged violently toward his face. Tong Zhanyan swung his hand at it almost instantly.

The thing was about the size of a fist and didn’t weigh much; he immediately flung it inside the tent.

“Boom—”

At the same time, a blue flame formed a safety barrier between Tong Zhanyan and the tent.

Tong Zhanyan peered into the tent by the light of the flames. Inside was a creature that looked like a scorpion, its body a muddy brownish-black. After being cornered, its tail—thicker than a thumb—vibrated like a rattlesnake’s, emitting a sound akin to a grown man’s cough. Hearing that sound and looking at the creature, Tong Zhanyan’s body, which had been tense to the limit, went limp.

In that instant, he felt a murderous urge welling up inside him.

“Cough, cough…” The coughing sound resumed.

Once he figured out what was going on, Tong Zhanyan’s fear subsided. He quickly opened his backpack to check its contents, then put on the protective suit lying nearby. Finally, he looked toward the tent.

The tent was made of the same material as the protective suit, effectively blocking direct sunlight.

He still had no idea where Qing Jiyue was or what his situation was, and he had no idea how long it would take to find him—so he had to take every clue seriously. With that in mind, Tong Zhanyan untied the tent, shook the scorpion out, and packed it away.

“Cough, cough…”

Once it hit the ground, the scorpion wagged its tail menacingly.

Tong Zhanyan ignored it, stowed the tent, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and began scouting the surrounding area.

The terrain here was relatively flat, and the grass was relatively short—which was precisely why he’d chosen to camp here.

Tong Zhanyan walked around the area once, trying to figure out what was going on. After circling the area, however, his scalp prickled once more.

There were no drag marks in the grass, only footprints—and those footprints showed no signs of haste…

Under what circumstances could Qing Jiyue have walked by without hurrying, yet failed to wake him? A sense of unease washed over him once more.

Tong Zhanyan checked the area once more. After confirming there were indeed no signs of running or dragging, he began to consider his next move.

Tong Zhanyan looked at the footprints once more. He tried to recall the scene when they set up camp, ruled out a few sets of footprints he recognized, and focused on the one he had no memory of.

He got up and followed the footprints.

This area is rarely visited, so the traces were quite obvious—especially the flattened blades of grass. Although they weren’t as clear as footprints in the dirt, they were still quite easy to follow.

Tong Zhanyan followed the footprints, stopping and starting along the way, until they led into the woods.

After going more than fifty meters into the woods, the footprints suddenly became concentrated and jumbled, followed by a single trail of very large animal footprints. It seemed that after those people arrived here, one of them had summoned a spirit beast and fused with it, then led the others away. In his fused state, he had grown larger, and his stride had widened, making the footprints harder to track.

Fortunately, as his size increased, so did his footprints; as long as he was heading in the right direction, they weren’t too hard to track. Tong Zhanyan continued to follow the trail, and after a little over ten minutes, he once again came upon the clearing where they had previously camped.

The clearing was just as barren as it had been when he left.

Tong Zhanyan couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. 

When they had set up camp earlier, one of them had gone to scout the surrounding area; the footprints he’d been following were clearly those of the person who’d gone on that reconnaissance mission. Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to another set of footprints he didn’t recognize.

More than ten minutes later, he returned to the clearing.

That set of footprints had also been left by the people who had gone to investigate.

After resting briefly and drinking some water, Tong Zhanyan looked at the others.

Excluding the set he’d followed on his way there, there were a total of six sets of footprints. He recognized the others as having been left by the people who’d gone to investigate. After resting sufficiently, Tong Zhanyan randomly chose one of the sets and followed it forward.

This time he walked for quite a while, but after fifteen minutes, he still found himself back at the clearing. Tong Zhanyan immediately switched to another set of tracks.

Seven or eight minutes later, he returned to the clearing once more. After a brief rest, Tong Zhanyan turned his attention to the next set of tracks. Half an hour later, he had explored that set as well.

Those footprints also formed a loop—with pauses and meandering in the middle—but ultimately led back to the clearing. Tong Zhanyan looked at the only remaining path: the one he had taken to get there.

Once he ruled out the other footprints, the situation seemed to become simpler, yet the creeping sense of dread deep within him grew even stronger. Why on earth would Qing Jiyue not call out to him, then sneakily pack up his things and head back the way they came?

Tong Zhanyan trusted Qing Jiyue, but all the clues pointed to the fact that he’d been deliberately left behind… Tong Zhanyan opened his backpack, pulled out the first-aid kit, and rummaged through the various bottles and jars.

The infection rates of the plants outside were all above the safe threshold; technically, they were all toxic to him, so his gear should include an antidote. The moonlight was bright, but not bright enough to make out the small print on the packaging.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t have time to worry about whether it might attract other creatures; he pulled out his flashlight to take a closer look. The first-aid kit did indeed contain antidotes—as many as seven or eight different kinds.

One of them had “hallucinogenic” listed in the instructions.

Ruling out the possibility that Qing Jiyue had deliberately abandoned him, and further ruling out the even more implausible possibility that Qing Jiyue had vanished into thin air, left only one possibility: he had been poisoned and was experiencing hallucinations.

It was dangerous outside the protective shield, and the antidotes he used weren’t mild—they usually took effect within ten minutes. Consequently, they also caused some harm to the body.

The chicken looked at Tong Zhanyan.

Tong Zhanyan looked back at it. “Keep an eye on it.”

“Cluck, cluck…”

Tong Zhanyan opened the first vial and injected himself.

For ease of use, the serums were all designed for direct injection.

As the potion entered his body, Tong Zhanyan quickly began to feel nauseous; the potion clearly had an emetic effect. Five minutes later, Tong Zhanyan had vomited everything in his stomach, and a strong sense of dizziness followed. That dizzying sensation lasted for about ten minutes before slowly subsiding.

When it was all over, he was still sitting alone in the clearing.

Tong Zhanyan rested for a few minutes before receiving the second injection.

This time he didn’t vomit, but the dizziness was just as intense; on top of that, his heart rate had noticeably increased. Half an hour later, when the effects wore off, he was still in the clearing.

An hour later, when the effects of the third drug had also worn off, the world remained unchanged.

Tong Zhanyan slumped down onto the grass. After all that turmoil, he had very little physical strength left; in contrast, his once-steadfast heart had become precariously fragile.

Tong Zhanyan drank a packet of nutrient solution, followed by some water.

Half an hour later, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and set off along the only remaining path—the one he had come by.

There had been many people on the way here, and since the footprints were all from people who had transformed into beasts, the trail was even clearer—he could see it almost without having to look closely. Tong Zhanyan followed it all the way forward.

A little over an hour later, he reached the spot where he’d encountered those fireflies.

The fireflies were nowhere to be seen, but the night had grown even darker, making the surrounding trees seem all the more terrifying. Tong Zhanyan looked further ahead.

If Qing Jiyue had vanished into thin air, then he must have taken another wrong turn—and was drifting further and further away from him… Tong Zhanyan glanced back at the path he had come from.

The food in his backpack remained untouched—still enough for fifteen days.

He couldn’t fuse with a spirit beast, and if he traveled on foot, it would take at least ten days to get back to the protective shield.

On top of that, he still had to figure out a way to get inside. Fifteen days was already a tight schedule; if he were to lose any more time on the road… if he wanted to make it back to the protective barrier, he’d have to hurry.

Tong Zhanyan gritted his teeth and headed toward the campsite in the opposite direction. He couldn’t leave Qing Jiyue behind.

Nor would he leave Ning Langdong or Yang Hong behind.

Tong Zhanyan believed he wouldn’t, but that only made him even more baffled as to how this could have happened. How could a person vanish into thin air?

Into the sky?

Tong Zhanyan looked up.

The night sky was clear and empty; there was no sign of anything flying.

Tong Zhanyan looked away. Even if there really were strange beasts, they wouldn’t have eaten the tent as well. Tong Zhanyan took a step, then another, and on the third step, he stopped.

He turned to look behind him.

The world behind him was pitch black—almost too dark. A thought suddenly struck Tong Zhanyan: the fireflies.

When he had accidentally stumbled into the area where the fireflies rested, hundreds or even thousands of them had suddenly taken flight—huge in size and soaring high; at the time, he had even marveled at how they resembled lanterns.

But when he looked back again, the world behind him was pitch black. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time and had even felt a pang of regret.

Thinking about it now, how could something that glows in the dark—and in the thousands—disappear so easily?

Even if they had returned to the meadow to rest, it’s unlikely that tens of thousands of them would have stopped to rest all at once. So the question is: what happened to those fireflies?

Was he poisoned at that time? Did he start hallucinating then? Did the campsite described later never even exist?

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Tong Zhanyan found it absurd; his memories of that time at camp were still fresh in his mind. Even as he thought it absurd, his heartbeat quickened involuntarily because it wasn’t entirely impossible.

But questions immediately followed.

If he really was experiencing a hallucination right now, how could he snap out of it?

He had used an antidote before, but if he had already been in a hallucination during the firefly incident, then everything he did afterward must have taken place within that hallucination as well.

An antidote conjured up in a hallucination, of course, couldn’t possibly work…

If the antidote wouldn’t work, the only option left was to wait—but once dawn broke and the sun rose, the intense sunlight would literally peel the skin right off him…

If he doesn’t wake up before then, the combination of dehydration and sunlight might mean he never wakes up at all. Tong Zhanyan looked at the spirit beast on his shoulder.

He had tried this before; he could feel the pain.

Both pain and hallucinations are closely tied to the brain’s perception and cognition; in theory, pain intense enough could take control of the brain and break through the hallucination.

If he really was in a hallucination…

Tong Zhanyan looked at his hand and foot and finally chose his left hand.

Tong Zhanyan raised it, took a deep breath, and looked at his chicken. “Burn it.” The chicken understood his meaning almost immediately and looked back at Tong Zhanyan.

Given the heat of its flames, if Tong Zhanyan made a mistake, he could kiss that hand goodbye.

Tong Zhanyan looked at his hand. He had no interest in self-mutilation, but he had no other choice. “Let’s begin.”

The moment he finished speaking, a blue flame suddenly appeared at his fingertips, followed immediately by excruciating pain as the intense heat caused his skin to split open.

Tong Zhanyan doubled over almost instantly from the pain and began to collapse to the ground. The pain was so intense that he immediately wanted to shout for it to stop, but he held back.

In that instant, the flame engulfed the entire back of his hand, and an even more intense wave of pain washed over him.

In that instant, Tong Zhanyan had only one thought: that chicken had definitely wanted to do this for a long time, but had simply never found the opportunity.

Just as he could see the bones of his fingers, the world before his eyes finally shifted. Something emitting a faint glow drifted through the air—it was incredibly beautiful, like a string of lanterns…

Amidst that exquisite scene, the group of them sat atop the beast-transformed man, all of them staring in a daze. Qing Jiyue, sitting directly in front of Tong Zhanyan, looked particularly beautiful as the glow illuminated his profile.

Something red on Qing Jiyue’s shoulder twitched, followed immediately by a vast expanse of blue flames. By the time Tong Zhanyan realized what was happening, he had already fallen to the ground, surrounded by a sea of blue fire.

The flames had already spread to his clothes.

“Cough, cough…” Too preoccupied to take off his clothes, Tong Zhanyan hurriedly looked around.

The flames continued to spread outward, consuming the fireflies flying low to the ground, yet those flying high remained completely out of reach. This caused his consciousness to quickly grow hazy; it felt as though he had returned to that forest where Qing Jiyue was not with him…

Tong Zhanyan struggled to reach for the backpack behind him; the antidote was inside—it was real.

“Thud.” Something fell ahead.

Tong Zhanyan glanced over in a daze and saw a person—someone he knew.

Qing Jiyue.

As the fireflies came under attack, Qing Jiyue also awoke. He wasn’t in great shape either, but he was still able to summon his spirit beast.

An invisible force instantly devoured the fireflies above, reducing them to a pulp.

“Antidote…” Tong Zhanyan tried to warn him, but because of the hallucinations overwhelming him, he wasn’t sure if his voice had actually been heard. In a daze, darkness engulfed him.

Tong Zhanyan fell into a coma, though not a complete one. It felt as if someone were dragging him to the side, and then more things were being dragged toward him. He tried several times to open his eyes, but couldn’t manage it.

He didn’t know how long it had been—long enough for his head to start throbbing—when he finally managed to pry his eyelids open. In the woods, beneath a sunshade, Tong Zhanyan saw Ning Langdong and his group, all fast asleep. From Tong Zhanyan’s perspective, he didn’t see Qing Jiyue.

He turned his head, and the moment he did, a wave of intense nausea washed over him. At the same time, Yang Hong’s voice reached him: “You’re awake?”

Yang Hong was on the other side, also lying on the ground.

Tong Zhanyan tried to look over, but the moment he moved his head, an even more intense wave of nausea washed over him. “Ugh…” 

“Don’t move. Rest a little longer,” Qing Jiyue’s voice said.

It was only then that Tong Zhanyan realized Qing Jiyue was lying right beside him.

“Would you like some water?” Qing Jiyue sat up, poured some water, and held the cup to Tong Zhanyan’s lips.

Tong Zhanyan took a sip.

Dawn had long since broken; the sun was already directly overhead, and the temperature was quite high. The ground was as scorching as a red-hot pot. The water was hot, too.

Still, having water to drink was definitely better than having none.

After swallowing the water, the nausea in Tong Zhanyan’s head eased slightly, and he found the strength to speak. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Yes,” Yang Hong replied. “It’s a good thing you woke up in time. If it had been any later, who knows what would have happened.”

It had been seven or eight hours since he’d snapped out of the hallucination, yet most of the others hadn’t woken up yet. Those who had were too overcome by headaches and nausea to even get out of bed.

Had it been any later, even with the antidote, he might not have woken up.

“It wasn’t me—it was Tong Zhanyan,” Qing Jiyue said as he put the water away. 

Yang Hong raised an eyebrow.

Wang Yanzhou also turned his head. “How did you wake up?”

“Did you enter the hallucination too?” Tong Zhanyan asked in surprise.

Yang Hong and the others had clearly discussed this topic before.

“I saw myself returning after completing a mission. I followed him back to the base, where they said they were going to slaughter a pig for me to eat…” Yang Hong explained. 

“I was at school,” Wang Yanzhou said briefly. “My grades suddenly improved, and I sensed something was off.”

Tong Zhanyan’s mouth twitched slightly.

He had already graduated but went back to school—the Devil King didn’t find that strange. He had good grades; would the Devil King have noticed? In the Devil King’s mind, just how bad were his grades, really?

Tong Zhanyan looked at Qing Jiyue. “What about that?”

“I disappeared after passing through this grove. I looked everywhere…” Qing Jiyue said, “It took me a long time to realize I shouldn’t have left.”

Tong Zhanyan didn’t know how to react at first, but his heart couldn’t help but soften. Qing Jiyue and the others all looked at Tong Zhanyan.

“Ahem… I had a dream that I’d been left behind all by myself…” Tong Zhanyan said, a bit embarrassed.

Hearing this, Yang Hong and Wang Yanzhou paused for a moment before both bursting into laughter. It was rare to see Tong Zhanyan act so childlike.

Tong Zhanyan didn’t explain; he just gave a wry smile.

What Yang Hong had seen in his hallucination was anticipation; the Devil King felt the same—he probably still wanted to go back to school—while Qing Jiyue was filled with fear…

Just like Qing Jiyue, he, too, was afraid.

This world was different to him, and the world outside the protective shield was even more unfamiliar. Being left behind, all alone—even when he woke up and thought back on it, it was still a terrifying experience.

“I won’t leave you behind,” Qing Jiyue whispered.

Tong Zhanyan looked at him. “I know. That’s why I realized it was an illusion.” He had indeed been afraid at first, but he quickly regained his composure.

Qing Jiyue’s expression softened slightly.

“Then how did you wake up?” Wang Yanzhou asked. He had sensed something was wrong for some time, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wake up. Tong Zhanyan thought for a moment, then changed the subject. “Has Ning Langdong woken up yet?”

“No, but he’s been injected with an antidote.” Qing Jiyue sensed something was off and furrowed his brow slightly. “Tong Zhanyan?”

He, too, had long since noticed something was wrong, but until Tong Zhanyan woke up and burned the fireflies below, he hadn’t been able to figure out a solution. Knowing there was no way to avoid the subject, Tong Zhanyan had no choice but to come clean. “I burned off one of my hands.”

Qing Jiyue’s breath caught in his throat.

The smiles on Wang Yanzhou’s and Yang Hong’s faces, standing nearby, also froze. All three turned to look at Tong Zhanyan.

“I had to give it a try,” Tong Zhanyan said with a smile.

Qing Jiyue’s lips moved, but no sound came out for a long moment.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to harness the pain before, but he’d never succeeded. For Tong Zhanyan to succeed, the pain he endured must have far exceeded that of an ordinary injury. The hallucination was incredibly vivid—the burned-off hand was beyond repair. It wasn’t just pain; it was a mental barrier…

Wang Yanzhou looked away.

He’d had a feeling before that if Tong Zhanyan hadn’t chosen to plant back then but had continued his training instead, he would have succeeded as well. Because that was the kind of person he was.