Soon enough, Du Feili started doubting his own line of thinking again. He felt like he was reading too much into it, especially as the cat seemed to finally catch on and began angrily swatting at the boy’s arm. Those cat claws left visible scratches with every swipe, sending chills down Du Feili’s spine.
He spoke up quickly, striving to keep his tone perfectly neutral. “Community warmth delivery, sponsored by Faraway Group.”
Having entered this novel world so many times, Du Feili had gained a fair understanding of its surface-level workings. The Everbright Street Office rarely saw any staff; they came and went as they pleased, popping up unpredictably with no rhyme or reason.
Faraway Group, on the other hand, was one of the few normal major corporations in this eerie world. They genuinely engaged in charity work, including their “Winter Warm Sun” public welfare project.
With that explanation, the boy shouldn’t spot any issues right away… right?
Even as he thought this, Du Feili’s heart remained uneasy. He nervously offered the bag of food that his teammates—short a few hands and limbs—had earned through grueling odd jobs.
The boy didn’t move. The air grew thin, and blood seemed unable to reach his heart. Du Feili’s face turned ashen; his hand, clutching the bag, nearly trembled.
What had gone wrong?
Had the boy noticed something? Or was it that the food they’d bought didn’t suit his tastes?
They’d overheard him wanting to give the little cat a chicken drumstick, so they’d specially bought a whole chicken. On top of that, they’d gotten two pounds of ribs, some vegetables and fruits, rice and flour, and a few long-lasting canned goods covering veggies, fruits, and meat. It should qualify as proper “community warmth,” shouldn’t it?
Jiang Yuanmu lowered his gaze and smiled faintly. Over the years, he’d applied for subsistence allowance countless times but had never accepted gifts from teachers, classmates, or any of those inexplicable strangers.
He was already living so humbly—why cling to such a laughable sense of pride? The bag contained chicken, and A Nuan hadn’t eaten meat in days.
Jiang Yuanmu looked up, cradling the cat in his arms, and walked over step by step. He reached out to take the bag of food, gripping the handles tightly. With an appropriately grateful posture, he bowed his head and said, “Thank you. You’ve gone to so much trouble. It’s cold and windy—would you like to come in for a cup of hot water?”
He only said it out of courtesy; deep down, he knew these lofty community workers wouldn’t step inside. His room was far too shabby and drafty.
Du Feili was utterly flattered. This most enigmatic apocalypse boss was actually inviting him in for water!
Forget the rare chance to learn more about him—this simple kindness alone nearly brought tears to the eyes of Du Feili, a grown man who’d been tormented by this world a thousand times over.
He didn’t dare push his luck and actually go in for that hot water, but the gesture gave him a spark of courage. Mimicking the tone of police officers from his own world, he mustered his bravery and said sternly, “No need for water. Tell me—what were you doing just now? You’re so young; how could you harm yourself like that?”
Self-harm was absolutely off-limits. One act of it, and their world would teeter on the brink of collapse.
Jiang Yuanmu didn’t answer. He looked down to see A Nuan had already fallen asleep in his arms.
The little cat slept more than ten hours a day, and A Nuan spent most of his time dozing too. There was still blood on his face from rubbing against Jiang Yuanmu’s wound earlier, stark against his snow-white fur. The sight was strangely beautiful, making Jiang Yuanmu’s heart tremble. Some hidden impulse surfaced, fragments from his dreams bubbling up unbidden.
Du Feili pressed, “You weren’t planning to cut off meat, were you? What would you even cut it for?”
Jiang Yuanmu replied simply, “No.”
He still hadn’t gotten his allowance, and A Nuan had dozed off shortly after they got home. Listening to the howling cold wind outside, he pondered how to scrounge up some food. Today, the little cat had to have meat; it had been three days already. If he didn’t eat meat soon…
Glancing down, he saw the plump, healthy little cat.
Over the past year and more with him, A Nuan had endured feast-or-famine days without steady meat, canned food, or fish oil—yet he’d grown sleek and round, healthier than the fancy breeds he’d seen wealthy owners dote on from luxury cars.
How had he grown so well?
As the question lingered in his mind, he recalled a dream from before. It had been another day when A Nuan hadn’t eaten meat for days. Perhaps out of desperation, he’d dreamed of finding meat—meat on his own body. In the dream, he’d cut into himself to feed A Nuan, watching as the cat licked his blood. He’d finally relaxed and smiled.
That image of his blood on A Nuan’s mouth lingered in his mind. Unthinkingly, he’d wandered to the kitchen and made a cut at the spot on his arm from the dream.
He wasn’t trying to cut meat for A Nuan to eat; he was sick, and his meat wasn’t healthy.
He’d only wanted…
His thoughts drifted as he gazed at the little cat in his arms, stained with his blood. A tremor shook the core of his being: If only A Nuan had grown strong by drinking my blood.
His body was a sickly, despised thing, yet his little cat was so healthy and beautiful. That was his greatest comfort and joy over the past year. If A Nuan had grown like this on his blood—if his blood coursed through that body—it would be perfect.
Perfect enough that just imagining it made his blood run hot.
That way, they’d share an even deeper, more secret bond.
When others questioned how someone like him could have such an adorable cat, he’d at least have an answer in his heart.
Of course, he wouldn’t say any of this to Du Feili. He simply told the truth: he wasn’t trying to cut meat; he just wanted to see his own blood, to indulge a dream-fueled whim.
Du Feili eyed the little cat in the boy’s arms suspiciously. Suddenly, his heart clenched, a dense, intense pain seizing him so fiercely he could barely breathe.
“Do you think it’s strange for such a beautiful cat to be in this rundown home? That it shouldn’t belong to me?” the boy asked, head bowed. His soft voice, carried on the cold wind, pierced Du Feili’s ears.
“H-How could I? You two match perfectly!” Du Feili blurted out. He couldn’t understand why the boy would ask such a thing, and the agony clouding his mind prevented clear thought.
Only after speaking did he realize, with surprise, that the pain in his heart had eased considerably.
The boy looked at him—truly looked at him, for the first time, or so it felt to Du Feili. “Why?”
“This is the most beautiful cat I’ve ever seen, and you’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t it make sense for the most beautiful boy to have the most beautiful cat?” Du Feili said boldly. “You two together are a sight for sore eyes. It would be a shame if that cat were in anyone else’s arms.”
He wasn’t lying. He’d felt that way the moment he saw the boy cradling the cat in the alley.
Amid the swirling snow, the little cat poked its head from under the boy’s chin. The boy’s pale features contrasted beautifully with the cat’s jewel-like luster—one subtle, one vibrant—forming the loveliest scene on Everbright Street.
He’d had to remind himself repeatedly of the boy’s danger to avoid staring.
His heart began to pound with vigor, and Du Feili suddenly felt the air freshen, his blood flowing freely once more.
The boy regarded him for a long moment before picking up the food bag. “Thank you.”
“No trouble at all. If it’s not enough, just tell me—but whatever you do, don’t cut yourself again.” Du Feili was thrilled. He sensed he’d earned a sliver of the boy’s favor, however small. It was more than he’d ever gotten in countless transmigrations.
Suppressing his excitement, he added, “I’m new here doing volunteer work on Everbright Street. If you have any troubles, come to me anytime.”
Seeing the boy nod, he wisely said, “I have other matters to attend to. I’ll be off.”
He and Niu Lingyu, whose body had been trembling nonstop, walked quietly away together.
Once they turned into the alley, Niu Lingyu immediately doubled over against the wall and vomited. Her eyes were red, her face bluish-purple. Only after retching up a long strand of white fur did her color return to normal. She collapsed into the snow, the cold wind chilling her sweat-soaked back.
Du Feili leaned against the wall and vomited up a strand of white fur as well.
Staring at the white fur they’d expelled, they were filled with shock and fear—but also profound relief and elation at having survived.
After a while, once Du Feili had steadied himself a bit, he asked, “When do you think it happened?”
Niu Lingyu knew exactly what he meant. “Probably when that boy was cutting himself and bleeding. I started feeling off the moment you knocked, so that’s when the fur must have started growing in our hearts.”
She’d felt the anomaly back then but had stayed outside, leaning against the wall and forcing steady breaths to avoid arousing the boy’s suspicion.
The sensation of fur sprouting in one’s heart was both familiar and alien: a faint oddity at first, then dense pain as it constricted, vitality draining away. Blood ceased to flow properly, bringing not just physical stiffness but a profound psychological terror of life slipping away.
“But… we threw it up. We lived!” Niu Lingyu gasped, excited. “Didn’t you say everyone whose heart grows fur dies along with the strangeness?”
That was why, when she’d sensed the white fur in her own heart, despair had gripped her so tightly—yet she’d held back tears for the sake of their teammates inside.
“Yes, yes, but we survived. This must be the lifeline!” Du Feili racked his brain. “Did you start feeling better right when I said the cat belonged with the boy?”
Niu Lingyu: “Yes!”
“That’s it, then.” Du Feili said, “Heavenly Master Qiao Qingshuang’s strangeness emerges when his emotions collapse, destabilizing the world. But when he’s stable, everything calms. This boy’s injuries spread the curse, but when he’s emotionally steady—or even in a good mood—it retracts.”
“My words must have cheered him up,” Du Feili said, unsure whether to feel glad or worried. “He really loves that cat of his—that eerie cat.”
“That’s normal. Everyone I know who owns a cat dotes on theirs. Some would gladly trade years of their own life for a few more for their pet.” Niu Lingyu added, “Especially for that boy—this little cat means even more.”
“In his poorest, weakest moments, that cat was his sole companion. It’s irreplaceable.”
Du Feili nodded. He hesitated for a few seconds but held back from voicing his suspicions about the cat’s eerie nature. After all, it was just a hunch, not solid evidence.
He pulled out his communicator, intending to share the hard-won intel.
His first entry into this novel world had come from a transmigration task—not for this book, but another. An accident had flung him here instead, but his Transmigration System 009 had still been active then. He’d escaped that first time thanks to it.
Right after, though, Yin Bujie—the Strangeness King—had followed him back to his own world, forcing him to use the rewind skill.
Thereafter, he’d stopped taking transmigration tasks on December 15th, yet still ended up in the novel world—without his system, figuring out escape methods on his own.
This time, the Book Transmigration Bureau had halted all transmigration tasks from their world, rallying the main transmigration system to support them fully.
Before they had transmigrated, the system engineer had told them that once inside a novel world, there was a decent chance they could connect with each other through the Book Transmigration System. The System Group included members from all four of their teams, as well as personnel from their world’s Book Transmigration Bureau—especially the four teams operating in the same novel world, who had the highest odds of linking up.
This time, upon entering the novel world, the Book Transmigration Bureau had given them just two tasks.
First: Clarify the power structure of the Mad Flower Blood Moon novel world.
Second: Learn as much as possible about the Four World-Destroyers.
As for how to actually save the world? Du Feili had long since given up puzzling over it. It was just too exhausting. All he wanted now was to play the part of the executor. For the moment, that meant sharing the scrap of information he’d just gleaned about The Boy.
Once he’d sent it out, the only response came from Team Two—the group with the Living Dead. The Book Transmigration Bureau, the Anomalous Bureau, and the other teams stayed silent.
What Du Feili wanted to know most was Team Two’s situation. After all, there was a hidden connection between the Living Dead and The Boy.
Back when he’d pieced together The Boy’s identity, a key hint had come from the Living Dead himself.
On the surface, at least, the Living Dead seemed like an easy guy to get along with. When Du Feili lacked the funds for a flight, the Living Dead had bought him a first-class ticket and even chatted with him for a bit.
To keep him from wandering off to destroy their world out of boredom, Du Feili and his team had pulled out all the stops to entertain him. At one point, he’d asked what else the Living Dead might want to do besides travel.
His answer had caught them off guard. “I want to kill someone.”
“That person has eaten a bunch of my Corpse Children. I need to track him down and end him.”
The Living Dead was a Zombie King, after all. He’d lived for centuries, treating all the zombies he’d created afterward—and those he’d personally turned—as his own children.
And yet, someone in this novel world could devour zombies?
It was a crucial lead. If they helped the Living Dead find that person, maybe he wouldn’t get so bored that he’d start prowling around their world again.
Later, after they’d witnessed the White Fur sprouting from human and anomaly hearts alike, greedily devouring flesh as it spread unchecked, they’d started to wonder. Could the curse’s hairs feed on zombie bodies too? Was that what the Living Dead meant by “eaten”?
Sure enough, during one of their transmigrations, they’d seen it happen firsthand. Not even corpses could escape The Boy’s curse—the white hairs would consume any flesh they touched.
They’d probably found the culprit. But could they say anything? Dared they?
If the Living Dead killed The Boy, they were all finished. And if The Boy backed the Living Dead into a corner… well, they might be finished too.
“…”
Unless it was truly a last resort, they had no intention of letting those two cross paths.
Du Feili sent a message: 【What is the Living Dead up to?】
Even the main Book Transmigration System was weakened in this anomalous novel world, its energy sapped. It took ages for the response to trickle through.
Team Two Captain Dong Man: 【He’s chasing stars.】
Team One Captain Du Feili: 【?】
Du Feili stared in bewilderment. But somehow… a guy like the Living Dead, who roamed the world without cease, throwing himself into celebrity fandom? It almost seemed a perfect fit.
