EM CH7

Chapter 7: Dangerous Intern

Like carrying home a plucked chicken from the market, Yu An held the mechanical eagle upside down by its talons and stuffed it into his shoulder bag.

Another mechanical eagle was still circling in the sky, but having been scrambled by Functional Core: Satan’s Guidance, it had lost its tracking lock on the two of them and drifted aimlessly through the air.

Zhao Ran dragged Yu An into a dark alleyway, pressing a wrist over his mouth as they flattened against the wall to evade the other eagle’s search.

“Are Underground Railway and Peeping Eagle competitors?” A wrist wasn’t enough to stifle his voice; Yu An could still speak.

“No. The Peeping Eagle Bureau is the fairest of them all, and they’re very capable,” Zhao Ran replied. “You don’t need to know too much. Just remember: whenever you run into people from the Peeping Eagle Bureau, steer clear and avoid eye contact if you can. In an emergency, choose to help their side. And most importantly, do not attack their eagles. That carries the same charge as snatching an officer’s sidearm.”

“Don’t worry. There’s a transmission delay when the eagle’s visual feed is sent back to them. I used that window to wreck the signal transmitter first. No one will know how the eagle crashed.” Unconcerned, Yu An picked up a discarded piece of scrap wire from the ground and poked at his handcuffs. “Do you think the Eagle Bureau can rescue that obese patient?”

“They won’t.”

“Didn’t you say they’re very capable?”

“Because Peeping Eagle is a specialized bureau established strictly for Aberrants, their operational scope is rigidly confined within Hongli City. Once outside their jurisdiction, even if they know where the culprits are, they can’t take action. They have to report to higher-ups and wait for orders. The nurse and security guard conspired to smuggle the patient out, even sabotaging the hospital cameras and phone lines beforehand; it was clearly a premeditated operation. Guxian sits on the outermost edge of Hongli City. Driving for less than ten minutes takes you outside the municipality. No matter how fast Peeping Eagle moves, they won’t catch up in time.”

“Oh.” Yu An only cared about why his handcuffs were so stubborn to pick.

“Idiot, give it here.” Zhao Ran took the wire from his hands, slipped it into the keyhole, and gently stirred it around. Delicate work like this had to be done with the very tips of the fingers. As he lightly rolled his fingertips, every minute catch and click from the tip of the wire was registered clearly by his touch.

Yu An looked down, watching his movements. Even through leather gloves, his tactile sensitivity remained extraordinary. Those hands were truly unusual.

“Why do you wear gloves?”

“Not telling you. Mind your own business and stop prying into your superior’s affairs.” Zhao Ran’s focused demeanor was striking, easily steering the conversation in another direction: “There’s good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”

In less than three seconds, the handcuffs dropped to the ground with a clatter. Yu An rubbed his chafed, reddened wrists: “The good news first.”

“When I dragged you out earlier, I casually dipped into the searching officer’s pocket and stole one back.”

“…And the bad news?”

“Luck wasn’t on our side. The one I swiped was that depleted Tier 1 Blue Goat Horns you already burnt out.” Zhao Ran fished the dulled, spent core from his pocket and tossed it to Yu An.

A pity indeed, but trading a Tier 2 Blue for a Tier 3 Blue was still a total bargain. Yu An pocketed the spent core and fell into silence.

Zhao Ran narrowed his eyes. He felt he had completely decoded Yu An’s behavioral pattern: when a kid goes quiet, he’s definitely scheming something wild.

Underground Railway’s HR department had specialized scouts known as career recommenders. They were dedicated to unearthing talented youths, compiling their profiles, and delivering them into the hands of interviewers.

However, the youths chosen by these recommenders were either exceptionally cunning or brutally proficient in combat. Even psychopathic prospective killers weren’t rare. Once, an interviewer had fallen directly at the hands of his own intern; the end result was that the intern immediately became regularized, stepping right into his late interviewer’s shoes.

Interviewing newcomers had always been the most dreaded, thankless chore among Underground Railway agents, yet Zhao Ran had volunteered to take on this difficult intern, Yu An.

Sure enough, after pondering for a moment, Yu An asked point-blank: “Interviewer, where is the contract? I really need this job.”

“…” Zhao Ran raised his eyebrows, slowly drawing an internship agreement and a pen from his coat. The brat had finally come around, though Zhao Ran still had to stay wary of whether he had other tricks up his sleeve.

Yu An swiftly skimmed through the clauses. Surrounded only by a crumbling, uneven brick wall, he naturally pressed the paper flat against Zhao Ran’s chest, using the firm muscle beneath as a writing board to sign his name.

In truth, ever since waking up in that corpse drawer, Yu An had never stopped analyzing everything. What made him particularly suspicious was the bizarre expression Zhao Ran wore during the interrogation.

When Zhao Ran heard that “there was another person in the morgue,” a strange sentiment flashed through his eyes. Yu An felt it was killing intent: a brand of hysterical panic from having one’s crimes exposed.

Even if someone else were hiding in a corpse drawer, how would that affect him?

Another person existing in the morgue meant a living witness could have seen everything that happened in that room. That was why he had panicked for that split second.

The one who shoved Yu An into the corpse drawer in the first place was likely Zhao Ran.

Zhao Ran’s intention to recruit him was far too obvious. Zhao Ran carried a pack of cigarettes in his trench coat pocket but lacked any means to light one, whereas Yu An just happened to find a lighter beneath a ward pillow.

Relying on that life-saving lighter, he had managed to survive long enough to meet Zhao Ran.

Digging deeper, Yu An began suspecting whether the person who took his left eyeball was also Zhao Ran. They needed to recruit Vessels, so they deliberately crippled candidates: those fortunate enough to become Vessels would join the company and work for them, while those who failed were dumped into corners to fend for themselves.

Yu An suddenly let out a laugh.

The corner of Zhao Ran’s mouth twitched, alarm bells ringing furiously in his mind. What disastrous scheme had the kid cooked up now?

“Interviewer, if I join, who will mentor me?”

“I will.” I’m the sucker here, Zhao Ran thought to himself, so I’ll mentor you.

Yu An lowered his eyes, the pen tip tracing across Zhao Ran’s chest through the thin paper.

A tingling sensation spread over his chest; Zhao Ran could read every stroke of Yu An’s pen, the final flourish landing right over his heart.

Having written his name, Yu An capped the pen, lifted Zhao Ran’s shirt hem with a fingertip, and pressed his index finger firmly against the wound. Fresh blood welled up and coated his pad. He then stamped his bloody fingerprint onto the contract and licked his finger clean.

“I’ll work hard, Interviewer.”

The speed of Monstrosity Core: Eagle Wings was incredible. In fifteen minutes, Yu An had already located the old residential compound listed on his ID card.

He sat atop an abandoned swing high in the neighborhood park, slowly folding his pitch-black wings. He and Zhao Ran had parted ways at the subway station, with Zhao Ran leaving behind his contact information.

Gazing into the distance, the residential buildings hadn’t seen proper maintenance for years. The roadside greenery had all but withered away. The wealthy had long moved out, leaving only a few elderly residents keeping watch over the low-rises. At night, the hollow concrete towers stood like a ghost town.

Only after stepping into the compound did the surroundings feel familiar to Yu An, bringing a sense of sudden clarity. Guided by his slowly returning memories, he entered the familiar stairwell.

A layer of dust covered the patterns on the security door. Yu An routinely reached into his backpack’s inner pocket for his keys, only to find the pocket completely bare.

No matter; he had just learned a new skill.

Yu An took out the retrieved iron wire, bent it twice, poked it into the lock, and gently wiggled it.

A faint click echoed inside the cylinder, and the security door popped open on its own.

Moonlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The familiar scent of home felt comforting, though the dust caught in his throat, as the furniture hadn’t been cleaned in ages.

Yu An felt his way to turn on the ceiling light. Piled in the middle of the living room were textbooks, tools, instruments, and luggage reaching waist-high, all brought back from university after graduation and not yet unpacked.

His phone and keys rested peacefully on the coffee table.

Strangely enough, the phone had been factory-reset. His photo gallery, notes, and even contact list were completely blank. It was as if someone had deliberately wiped it to conceal an unspeakable plot.

Yu An didn’t care in the slightest. He picked up the phone, re-downloaded several useful apps, saved the interviewer’s number, and sent a friend request to his social account.

Zhao Ran’s profile picture was a tiny black soot-sprite kitten, and his display name was “NSDD.”

“NSDD? ‘Ni Shuo De Dui’ (You’re right)? Fits a corporate worker forced to pander to the big boss.”

After thinking it over, Yu An set Zhao Ran’s contact remark to “Boss.” A double entendre: it represented an employer or manager, but also the final boss monster at the end of a video game stage, destined to be beaten black and blue by the player one day.

Within two minutes, Zhao Ran sent a message.

Boss: “Did you get home safe? Didn’t run into any high-voltage power lines, did you?”

Yu An: “1.”

Replying with a casual digit to acknowledge receipt, Yu An headed straight into the bathroom. He needed to wash the blood and grime off his body. When he came out drying his hair with a towel, he found another message waiting on his phone.

Boss: “If you need anything, just tell me directly.”

Yu An routinely slumped onto the sofa, slinging his legs over the backrest and hanging his head off the edge toward the floor, suspended in a near-inversion.

Holding his phone up, he texted back randomly: “I need my interviewer to sleep with me.”

Typing those words, Yu An remained completely expressionless. He didn’t care what intentions the interviewer harbored toward him, nor did he care about tomorrow. Everything felt indifferent.

Was this the mindset of a fugitive? The thrill of vengeance tangled heavily with the guilt of taking a life.

When he had just crawled out of the corpse drawer, his mind was an absolute blank devoid of memories, yet his survival instinct was ferocious, fueled by a pure desire to live. But as his memories trickled back, he only grew increasingly despondent. Life would surely be far happier if humans lacked brains.

A minute or two passed before Boss replied: “Do you usually say things like this to strangers?”

Yu An frowned slightly. He had simply gone along with the man’s offer, yet he ended up being scolded for it. The workplace was truly complicated.

Yu An replied: “Yes.”

Rebelling against workplace toxicity begins with never flattering your boss.

Setting down the phone, Yu An let his eyes go vacant, daydreaming for a while.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

Underneath the TV cabinet across from the sofa, there was a faint hole about the size of a ping-pong ball.

He tumbled off the sofa and flattened himself against the floor to inspect it closely. It seemed only that bizarre upside-down angle from the couch allowed someone to spot this hole; from any other vantage point, it was practically invisible.

Expending a great deal of effort, Yu An finally flipped the heavy TV cabinet completely upside down. There was indeed a hole there, drilled manually, making it a prime hiding spot for secret savings.

He tried sticking a finger in, but the opening was too tight: at most two fingers could squeeze inside, and they couldn’t reach the bottom.

Grabbing a flashlight to illuminate the interior, he could see a card reader mechanism styled similarly to the coin slot on a children’s coin-operated park ride, reinforced with safe-deposit locking measures. Yu An could tell at a glance that this mechanism was one of his own habitual designs.

Back when his father constantly rifled through his drawers as a kid, he had engineered a simple coin-operated lock installed on the inner edge of the drawer. Only he knew the exact angle to drop a coin in to release the latch. If someone tried to force it open, it would trigger an internal shredder, destroying all documents while mangling the fingers of the person pulling the drawer.

Yet after patting himself down, Yu An couldn’t find a single coin. He did, however, feel a hard object in his pocket: pulling it out, it was that spent Tier 1 Blue core.

The size was pretty close. Whatever, it was useless anyway; in it went.

Yu An scrambled backward to a safe distance. Even he felt a bit unnerved by his own ruthless trap-making tendencies.

The click and gnash of interlocking gears resonated from inside the hole. A few seconds later, like a toaster popping up a slice of toast when the timer finishes, a rolled-up sheet of paper ejected from the opening.

It appeared to be a page torn from a notebook, densely covered in handwriting:

Weather: Clear

I said to her: “Eat it, Mom. Today is our holiday.”

Mom was trembling behind the candlelight of the birthday cake. She looked at me with an agonizing mix of terror and pity, like an angel watching a demon return from slaughter.

Unable to bear the sight, I pulled out a long-distance bus ticket bought in advance, along with a dog-eared copy of Helen Keller’s Three Days to See that I had read through countless times, giving them to her as gifts. This was the day of our farewell: she regained her freedom, with no one left to beat her, while I remained behind to watch over an endless, barren life.

However, after Mom left, he came.

He liked climbing in through the balcony. He was remarkably agile, always overflowing with energy. Today was no different: after knocking four times on the window, he leaped inside and gathered me into a tight embrace.

Seeing the untouched cake on the dining table, he asked me what kind of pastry that was.

A birthday cake: had he never seen one before?

Then he asked me what a birthday was.

I told him, the day of one’s birth.

He seemed slightly downcast. Hugging me from behind with his chin resting on my shoulder, he mourned alongside me apologetically: “Oh… what an unfortunate day. Does that mean there are no kisses today?”

He always managed to make me laugh. I looped my arms around his neck and kissed his lips. He wasn’t very good at kissing; his teeth frequently nicked my tongue, yet he was deeply enthusiastic about it. Every time our chests pressed together, I could hear his excited heartbeat.

His neck was extraordinarily sensitive, flushing into a delicate pink at the slightest peck, yet he loved it dearly, asking me: “Is this what it feels like to be illuminated by sunlight?”

No. This is the sensation of being swallowed by the abyss. Only when a devil corrodes a soul does it feel this intoxicating.

I shared my honest thoughts with him. I told him I didn’t want to go to school anymore; a jade merchant had offered to hire me as an enforcer. The boss thought I had ruthless hands and dared to strike down my own biological father, so after a few years of grooming, I could intimidate the gangs along the border.

I had been somewhat swayed by his pitch, increasingly feeling that such dark, decadent corners were where I truly belonged. Life had crushed my dreams, and I had finally crushed myself.

“Don’t do it. Go to school. When you finish your studies, I’ll give you a good job that suits you.” He made me sit facing him on his lap, pressing me into his embrace, doing everything he could to transmit his scorching warmth to me. Rubbing my hair firmly with his wrist, he coaxed me in a low whisper.

Whenever he comforted me, he put in everything he had. It wasn’t something he was good at, yet he constantly made exceptions for me.

He told me that if staining one’s hands with blood could save others, wouldn’t slaughter become a form of redemption? Don’t become a villain; be a hero instead.

It felt as if I had always been walking through the dead of night, never seeing a thing. Not until I met my “Teacher Sullivan,” who granted me three days of light and a world I had never seen before.

January 22, Year M016

Knock, knock, knock, knock. Someone tapped four times against the glass.

Yu An lifted his head. Outside the balcony window was Zhao Ran’s face.