Chapter 77 Part 1

The wind scraped past his ears—that was high-altitude flight he had never experienced before. At that moment, they were so close to the cosmic star river, and the snowfield’s wind surged in from all directions, chilling him to the bone.

‘I must be dreaming,’ Han Ya’s incredulous voice still echoed in his mind. ‘In my lifetime, I actually got saved by an alien.’

The twinkling stars turned into the glaring lights of the room. Horne shifted his gaze away from the lamp’s bulb and let out a light hum, saying indifferently, “Oh, it really knows how to cherish its life.”

An alien in Loch City was undoubtedly a ticking time bomb. At the same time, this indicated something else: these aliens had stayed in Loch City for at least ten years.

Horne clenched his fist tightly, pain shot through him, and he immediately released it.

“No need to worry,” Hels said. He knew what Horne was thinking. “That alien won’t attack humans.”

Just like how it had lurked on the laboratory ceiling, never attacking them from start to finish.

Horne did not agree. His voice turned cold. “Don’t think too highly of them.”

Ever since that night of the fire, Horne’s official status had been severe illness with a persistent high fever. The message from Wen Yu said that if anyone asked, Horne should act the part more convincingly. It was best if no one asked, but she had already handled the aftermath.

Horne had even received a message from Bai Yin: [Hero Colonel, I heard you’re seriously ill? What perfect timing.]

Horne did not reply. Besides these, there was another important message in the terminal: north of the new base, in the Scandinavian Snowforest’s Obelisk area, the aliens seemed to be rioting. Han Ya and Wen Yu had to rush back tomorrow.

Horne closed his eyes and sighed.

The entire city was now under martial law, and the laboratory had been destroyed in a massive fire. If the government had no backup plan, the specimens inside must have all turned to ashes. They knew an alien had been hidden there. If it had truly been an ordinary fire, they would have no idea where the alien had gone—whether it was hiding in the city or had severed their cooperation. Right now, they should be anxious like ants on a hot pan: investigating the culprit on one hand, maintaining city security on the other, and explaining to the aliens—if they had indeed reached some kind of cooperation beforehand.

Although human experimentation violated ethics, they probably did not want to truly incite panic within the city either.

However, Horne had no energy to deal with these matters for the time being. They needed to handle the data in Ben Yian’s hands.

There was also a recent message from Ben Yian in the terminal: [I’ll go see Woody in a bit.]

Publicize it, or not?

The military still had freedom of movement in and out of the city, so on the night Horne woke up, the bandit squad gathered at his home.

“We can’t publicize it.” Ben Yian said it as soon as he arrived. He seemed hurried, as if he had just returned from somewhere. He immediately explained, “I just met Woody briefly. They’re in a meeting now and told me to wait for him, so I can only stay a moment before heading back.” He was so rushed that he forgot to take off his coat upon entering. He strode straight to the living room, noticed the rising temperature, took off his coat and hung it by the door, then returned to the living room.

Horne nodded to him. “You’ve had a hard time.”

The four of them sat in the living room as usual, while Hels tidied up the kitchen.

Regarding the data, Horne leaned toward publicizing it, but the consequences might not be something he could contain at present, so he could not be entirely certain.

Wen Yu was straightforward. “If we publicize it, it will cause mass panic. City order will collapse, and residents might even turn on each other. This is humanity’s last city—we need to handle it cautiously. Moreover, if parts of this data are missing, we risk being bitten back. Nothing will change then, and we’ll just expose ourselves instead.”

Horne sat silently on his single-seater sofa, his brows tightly furrowed. His gaze fixed on the coffee table. From the moment he woke up and read the messages, he had been thinking nonstop about these things.

He spoke lowly. “Setting aside the correctness of immortality for now, is it reasonable to deprive one group’s interests for the benefit of another?” Horne did not believe that every person floating in those containers had voluntarily sacrificed themselves for the immortality cause—like Matthew.

The thought of that floating head made acid surge up in Horne’s stomach. He suppressed the urge to vomit and said gravely, “If they hold absolute power without oversight or restraint, who can guarantee these things won’t twist even further?”

Immortality was a desire humanity had circled around for a thousand years, but if ambition was realized through such means, was it evolution or regression?

Growing new flesh from cut meat and blood, or letting the interior rot while maintaining a normal facade.

“Yes.” Ben Yian’s tone was still hurried. He spoke extremely quickly, his breathing unsteady, his gaze flicking to the clock now and then. “But publicizing it will definitely cause conflict. Humans and aliens are only temporarily cooperating. If we cut off that channel and become enemies again—now with internal suspicions added—humanity will crumble swiftly. And…”

He paused, then continued. “The government isn’t entirely wrong. They just chose a different path. It’s not simply a power struggle. They’re human too, all standing on the foundation of humanity’s continuation.”

For example, perhaps they could briefly save Ben Mu’s life.

At that thought, his muscles tensed instantly. It was at that moment Horne suddenly realized Ben Yian had not rested well in a long time.

Dark circles were prominent under his eyes, his eye sockets sunken, the corners of his mouth downturned. At some point, the once clear-stream-like Ben Yian had dried up to just a riverbed. Occasional water flows passed through but evaporated before reaching the sea.

Horne frowned slightly and was about to speak when he was interrupted.

“I think it’s not feasible either, at least not for now.” Han Ya said. He was unusually serious. He pointed out something crucial. “Don’t forget, some residents now have guns.”

They all disagreed, and their reasoning was completely sound.

Horne’s attention was pulled back. He held his breath.

Back then, he had figured out one thing: the birth of the new law was utterly destructive to the military’s reputation. Arming the populace meant one thing: they were no longer trustworthy, and residents needed to arm themselves for protection.

Now it seemed there might be another layer: pursuing immortality or researching aliens would inevitably lead to coexistence. They allowed aliens to live in human cities but could not fully control their behavior, so they delegated life-and-death authority to individuals.

Ordinary people without strength would be torn apart the moment they stepped onto the Gray Building’s top floor. Those capable of fighting them were few and far between in Loch City. They considered longer-term matters. Even if they obtained the data, they would not publicize it recklessly.

It seemed like they had choices, but they truly did not. In this game, they were all pawns.

Whether leaders, deputies, officers, or civilians.

But Horne did not want to just let it go. He had lurked long enough.

He breathed slowly, trying to maintain his rhythm amid the swirling chaos.

“Little Horne, think it through.” Ben Yian emphasized again, pressing step by step. His throat bobbed rapidly. Even though his eyes lacked the light Horne was familiar with, his tone remained as sincere as ever. “We can use this data as leverage against the government or a deterrent. It might curb their large-scale human experiments far better than publicizing it and causing citywide chaos and loss of control.”

Horne had not planned to refute. He just wanted to share his thoughts. He opened his mouth but was interrupted again.

“We should ensure city safety first, then address the scandals. Right now, internal and external crises abound. If the city descends into chaos and the higher-ups collapse, where does humanity go next?”

Horne understood what Ben Yian said. He spoke again. “I kn…”

Ben Yian cut in urgently. “Moreover, not publicizing isn’t condoning it. It’s solving the problem in the mildest way possible while maximizing city defenses to the utmost. Humanity’s primary need is safety, followed by moral awakening.”

Horne nodded. “Then…”

Ben Yian was about to speak again. “But…”

Just as the two syllables jumped out, a crisp “bang” interrupted him. He jolted.

Everyone looked over at once.

Hels bent down and expressionlessly smashed a cup onto the coffee table. Milk spilled from the glass cup due to the force, splashing a few drops.

Hels pulled a tissue and slowly wiped the table clean. He looked up and smiled at Horne. “Brother, want to drink now?”

Horne was stunned for a moment. That cup of pure white milk made him somewhat dazed, but he quickly reacted and shook his head at Hels.

Hels sauntered over leisurely, turned on the aromatherapy machine, started the record player. Music flowed out slowly, instantly filling this soil of tense standoff.

He returned, sat behind Horne with legs crossed, pulled Horne into his arms, ignoring everyone else.

The three of them: “?”

Horne stiffened too. His back leaned against Hels’s chest, that scorching heat immediately transmitted. Just as he was about to stop him, warm fingertips pressed onto his temples, gently rubbing without any extra movements, slowly helping him relax.

He actually felt a breath of relief escape him.

Hels’s face emerged from behind Horne’s shoulder, carrying a gloomy glare like sharp spikes aimed at Ben Yian. “Had enough?”

Then, leaning to Horne’s ear, his tone instantly turned gentle inquiry. “Brother, what were you about to say?”

Horne had been interrupted many times.

Ben Yian realized it too. He had managed to compose himself before, but upon sensing Hels’s provocative possessiveness, he suddenly gripped his pants tightly, wringing deep, chaotic creases into them.

He did not want to publicize it. He could not. Absolutely not.

Horne took a deep breath, feeling relaxation spread from top to bottom. He said slowly, “I didn’t say we have to publicize it aggressively. Though I hope people know the truth, it’s not about pushing everyone to their deaths.”

His voice softened. “Rulers gain legitimacy because people acknowledge it and surrender part of their power. If they trample life and dignity in secret, squandering the trust handed to them from below, they’ve already violated the contract itself—that’s one. Two, reconstruction and disclosure at the right time and method can lead to new balance, not false stability and cover-ups. Three, the dead can’t speak—who speaks for them?

“Humanity claims to be ‘civilized’ yet can’t even be honest. They think they’re considering the big picture but are fostering deeper shadows. Society’s logic isn’t justifying their brutality—it’s rule logic, human ethics logic, not power logic.”

As he said this, his gaze locked straight onto Ben Yian.

He knew what Ben Yian was thinking—thinking of Ben Mu, then finding reasons to block the disclosure.

Ben Yian sat opposite, the veins in his arms especially prominent as he placed them on his thighs. His clenched fists trembled slightly. He took a deep breath, smiled, and said, “Little Horne, let me ask you: if your sacrifice alone could bring humanity peace, would you do it?”

“Yes.” Horne’s answer was without hesitation.

“What if sacrificing us few could bring humanity peace, would you do it?” Ben Yian raised his hand, pointing at himself, Han Ya, and Wen Yu in turn.

Silence.