Chapter 50

Su Ximu, who had been holding his brother and crying nonstop, found it hard to understand why this world—to which he had slowly been adapting—suddenly turned so cruel in an instant.

The tears came too fiercely and too suddenly. They soaked 242’s not-particularly-thick white robe before he could grab the small bucket for water.

Just as he snapped out of it and tried to move, the little guy grabbed his clothes corner tightly again, leaving him unable to step away for the moment.

He never thought to simply push the little guy aside and go somewhere else. In the end, he simply squatted down and scooped him up. But the deeply immersed little child reached out with a hiccuping sob, wrapped his arms around his neck, and pressed his small face into the crook of his neck.

He was like a little crybaby and a little clinger all in one. This left 242—who already had muddled thoughts—with no other choice but to hold him just like that.

Finally, Su Ximu—whose head had gone numb from all the crying—came to his senses on his own. He quickly tried to climb down from his brother’s arms.

Brother was injured. Holding him any longer would hurt his arm.

His brothers hadn’t cried despite their injuries, so he felt he couldn’t cry anymore either. Once his feet touched the ground again, he slowly stopped his tears.

He probably couldn’t figure it out himself: after going so long without water or food, why did he still have so many tears to shed?

Meanwhile, on the other side, 243—who had started off pacing anxiously in circles and smashing the wall with his arm—gradually quieted down as he listened to the intermittent sobbing.

He seemed to understand the grief hidden within the cries.

In the Wasteland World, pregnant women were uniformly sent to the delivery rooms during their pregnancies. There, specialized equipment assisted the births, and the newborns had no need to cry—they never did.

But tonight, someone had cried for him.

This time, the crying had been especially intense.

That night before bed, Su Ximu—who had at some point naturally lain down between his brothers—stared at his somewhat swollen walnut eyes. Still puzzled and full of anger, he asked, “Why, why does it have to be like this?”

“Who’s so mean?”

“Brothers, can you guys not join this awful event anymore from now on?”

The little guy’s thinking was simple. He was a “dead person” in this world now too. But he hadn’t participated today, and no one had come for him.

243 heard the voice. He rolled over and tried to inch his arm closer.

Su Ximu somehow understood what his little brother wanted. He rolled up his sleeve and, while lying prone in his sleeping position, blew ever so gently on the arm.

He wasn’t scared of the deep, cavern-like wound. He just didn’t want to hurt his little brother.

This time, 243 fell asleep amid the soft blowing sounds, though it took him much longer than the night before.

Once his little brother was asleep, Su Ximu suddenly realized: his little brother must have extended his arm because the blowing had eased the pain in his wound.

Having reached that conclusion, he perked right up. He gently lifted the arm resting on his brother’s chest and blew on it too.

The little guy showed no favoritism. After blowing on his brother and little brother, he didn’t forget the big brother who was most like a wooden person.

When 241’s arm was lifted, he neither resisted nor opened his eyes.

He didn’t care whether what came next would be gentle comfort or excruciating pain.

Humans and animals weren’t so different. The longer they were domesticated, the more their natural instincts were worn away.

In the end, what he received was comfort even gentler than before.

After coaxing all three of his brothers to sleep, the little dumpling—cross-legged on the ground—rubbed his sore cheeks and pondered seriously.

His brothers were injured and needed medicine applied. He could help with that, but where was the medicine?

He didn’t know which medicines could be used on wounds.

Besides, he had no money. He couldn’t buy any.

Remembering the laughter he’d heard from the other side of the wall that day, the little guy—who hadn’t dared to phase through the wall to explore new areas these past two days—gave himself a pep talk.

His brothers were injured. They needed medicine to heal quickly. That’s what his grandma had always told him whenever he fell and got hurt.

But the people on this side of the wall neither laughed, nor cried, nor spoke. He had no way to ask where to find medicine.

The people on the other side laughed. Maybe they would talk too.

With that in mind, the next morning at first light, it was Su Ximu’s turn—who had stayed home the day before—to head out first.

Before leaving, he didn’t forget to instruct his three brothers at home: “Brothers, I’m going to find some medicine. You’re injured, so rest at home and don’t go out. Wait obediently for me to get back with the medicine.”

With that, he bravely stepped out the door.

Following his memory, Su Ximu made his way to the base of the wall.

The clever little guy deliberately picked a spot where he couldn’t hear many voices. Only then did he try phasing through the thick steel wall.

It was as if the wall divided the world into two completely different realms.

Having passed through, the child peeked out cautiously from the corner, looking around in bewilderment.

Just then, a robot-like uncle walked right past him.

Su Ximu’s gaze lingered on the uncle’s arm and left leg, which gleamed with cold metal.

He had heard a sound when the uncle passed by.

The little guy had no idea it came from the metal joints moving.

A moment later, he stepped out from the corner.

After his initial adventures and subsequent explorations, the tender yellow suspender pants Su Ximu wore still looked quite clean. They were just torn a little at the hem from an accident inside Big Bear Castle.

Thanks to that outfit, when a young child with intact limbs suddenly appeared on the street, he drew sidelong glances but no one questioned his origins.

Su Ximu must have been lucky. The small corner he’d emerged from opened onto a wide street thick with the stench of machine oil—and right beside it stood a large white building.

It vaguely resembled the hospitals from his memories.

So, he walked right up to it.

Only when he got there did he realize there was no door to enter anywhere around the white building—only a large window.

With no other choice, the little guy clung to the windowsill and tiptoed to peer inside.

That single glance made him blink and freeze in place.

Inside the large white building were several workbenches pushed together.

Trays covered the benches.

Some of the white cloths on the trays had been pulled back; others hadn’t.

The uncovered cloths bore obvious red bloodstains.

The trays with cloths pulled back held neatly stacked blocks of square meat.

At each station, a person held a chunk of meat, scrutinizing it through a magnifying glass before placing it into a machine.

Two seconds later, the person retrieved the meat and checked the machine’s display. He said to the one beside him, “This meat is qualified. It’s transforming into a hunter. We can link it up and have it conquer that world in our stead.”

The other researcher chuckled easily. “The Excellent Breeding Program from twenty years ago was a success. This batch is all high quality.”

The window glass wasn’t particularly soundproof. Su Ximu, hands pressed to it, could vaguely make out their words—but he had no idea what they meant.

Until one researcher spotted the little guy outside. He promptly opened the window and called out, “Hey, little one, what are you doing here?”

The moment the window opened, an unsettling fishy stench wafted out.

Su Ximu gripped the sill tighter and coughed. He still didn’t understand what the man had said.

A short while later, he hopped down from the sill and—for the first time—rudely ran off without a word.

He decided he hated this place. And the people inside it.

Because he was convinced those things on the trays had been cut from his brothers’ bodies.

If he were bigger, he definitely would have reached in and hit them.

Unfortunately, he was still too small and too short. Letting go with even one hand would make him fall. He couldn’t reach.

Once he had that hateful thought, even though this side seemed a bit better—no one hit him—he wanted nothing more than to go home.

An hour and a half later, the lost little guy finally found his way back to the original small corner. In his hand was now a box of medicine.

He’d stumbled upon a pharmacy while lost. He’d seen an injured person go in, take medicine, and leave without paying.

So he’d done the same and taken some medicine.

Since he wasn’t injured, the pharmacy uncle hadn’t wanted to give him any at first. But after staring at him for a bit, the man looked a little scared and handed it over.

Su Ximu carefully clutched the box of medicine he’d found and trotted all the way home.

Once home, he pushed open the door and nodded in satisfaction.

His brothers had all obeyed and stayed put.

He carried the medicine over, carefully avoiding their arms as he climbed back into his seated brother’s lap. He drew comfort from the warm embrace.

Kids always wanted to be held when they felt insecure.

“Brother, I ran into some bad people today…”

People who didn’t laugh weren’t necessarily bad.

People who did laugh weren’t necessarily good.

“But I found medicine!” At this, he proudly held up his trophy from the day.

242 blinked but showed no real reaction. He simply adjusted the little guy’s position to one he thought more comfortable. It was a conditioned reflex from the past few days.

Su Ximu cooperated with his brother’s adjustments, then opened the small box. Inside was a crude spray bottle.

He had seen how the injured person had used it: a few sprays, and the wound stopped bleeding. The injured man hadn’t seemed to be in as much pain afterward.

Eagerly, he rolled up his brother’s sleeve, grabbed the small medicine bottle, and mimicked the motions clumsily.

The first few pumps yielded no liquid. Only after several more presses did a brown mist finally spray out.

Afraid it wouldn’t be enough to work, Su Ximu sprayed several more times—until the little depression in the wound was practically filled.

The medicine took effect quickly.

242 lowered his head for the first time to look at the wound on his arm, then at the little guy in his lap.

He seemed puzzled as to why it suddenly didn’t hurt anymore.

It worked.

The little guy holding the medicine bottle grinned wide. Sticking to the principle of proximity, he sprayed his big brother next before heading over to his little brother, who was huddled in the corner.

Ever since Su Ximu had left that morning, 243 had stayed curled up asleep in the corner just like that.

After every Collection Day, he would remain this way for days—until new flesh gradually grew over the wound on his arm and the intense pain finally ebbed.

But that process often left him deeply agitated.

Like a horse with a fractured leg bone: it could feel the pain but didn’t know what to do, so it kept running, jarring the injury over and over.

If Su Ximu had seen it, he definitely would have stopped him, just like the night before.

But Su Ximu was out looking for medicine. His other two brothers clearly had no intention of intervening.

Su Ximu went to the corner and squatted down. He gently lifted his little brother’s hand.

The wound beneath the sleeve looked even worse than the day before. The charred flesh had torn open anew and was bleeding.

“Little brother, does it hurt?”

243’s eyelashes trembled.

“Doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt. Hoo~ hoo~” The little guy squatting in the corner blinked and blew hard on his little brother’s arm.

He picked up the small medicine bottle, ready to apply the medicine.

In the midst of the motion, his slightly reddened eyes happened to meet a pair of dark, numb black pupils.

Su Ximu blinked again, a misty haze rising in his eyes.

243 blinked as well, as if gazing into a mirror. A layer of mist gathered in his usually hazy eyes.

Su Ximu pursed his lips, and large teardrops fell with a plop.

The mist in 243’s eyes seemed to have built up too much. It finally condensed into droplets that slid down his cheeks.

He dazedly touched his face, feeling the strange yet familiar wetness.

His gaze remained numb, but his eyes had become a bubbling spring, with endless tears surging forth from within.

Drip, drip, drip…

Moments later, the tears poured like a heavy rain.

…

“Wah! … Wah wah wah!!”

“Wah!!”

This time, 243 did not mimic him like a reflection in a mirror.

He pointed at the wounds on his own arm. The tears would not stop, and his throat let out hoarse whimpers like the howls of a young beast—also resembling an infant’s first cry.