Beasts are the savagery of heaven and earth; immortals are the serenity of heaven and earth.
The motorcycle cut through the dense jungle, where flowers bloomed in wild profusion, looking eerie under the setting sun.
The setting sun is glorious beyond compare, yet dusk is nigh.
The black earth was draped in the crimson glow of the sunset.
Water flowed across the land, carrying the soft sound of tides.
Night was falling fast, and the forest echoed with the wind's whisper, as if wolves and insects danced together.
Bai Yun stood on the soft soil, his sharp ears catching all the sounds around him:
the breath of wild beasts, insects climbing up trees, autumn leaves rustling in the wind.
He reached a familiar river, where the remains of his old camp lay—a bonfire pit, several pieces of charred charcoal, and a pile of ash.
The charcoal stained the ground dark gray; the ash was pale gray, the mark of burnt wood.
He pulled a canned beef ration from his backpack: a brass-colored military can, with a ten-year shelf life.
"I'm too tired. This will have to do."
He hooked his finger under the pull-tab and flicked it open with a soft *pop*. Vanilla-flavored broth filled the can, soaking chunks of tender beef, bright red and pink, submerged in brown gravy.
It was one of the cheapest military rations, but to him, it was a rare comfort—and ready to eat, no cooking needed.
He devoured it greedily, licking his lips unsatisfied.
"Full. What a wonderful day."
Bai Yun checked his gear; nothing was missing.
His silver blade, a dagger, a GPS device, various iron shovels, and talismans.
The silver blade had been a gift from the hunter trainer. It had stayed by his side through every solo adventure.
He'd even broken it once and had it specially repaired.
Each brass canned ration cost eight credits, made mainly for hunters.
At eight o'clock at night, darkness fell. He lit the bonfire and tossed on a few logs. The fire crackled warmly, chasing away black insects and nocturnal beasts.
He scratched his heel, rubbing it red.
Fine red lines spread across his pale skin, creeping up his leg.
"Must be sore from walking too much."
The itching faded, replaced by a strange warmth—like a tiny fire creeping slowly through his veins.
But he was too exhausted to check.
"Tomorrow… I'll deal with it tomorrow."
With that, he lay down on the pillow inside his tent, picked up a cute cartoon doll, and hugged it tight. It was a gift from Hua Xinyu, given to him not long after they first met.
He set his alarm for six o'clock in the morning, curled up in his sleeping bag with the worn doll that had kept him company for years, and drifted off to sleep.
The doll's head and ears were tattered, its fur rubbed off completely, leaving bare patches.
Firelight flickered on his young face. Pale and handsome, his face looked deathly white. Slowly, an insect crawled onto his face, wriggling upward toward his brain.
It bit down, tearing at his ear. The last few strands of fur fell from the doll.
He rode a galloping horse through an endless green jungle. The setting sun blazed behind him like a fireball. Hooves thundered through bushes, flushing out a flock of wild ducks. He raced past a field of white wildflowers, covering the ground like snow. A few black birds cut across the sky, free and agile.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
What was that sound?
The sky suddenly turned black, and light rain began to fall. The cold drops stung his face.
"Help me… help me…"
A familiar voice came from behind, choked with despair.
It was Xiao Lian.
Bai Yun spun around.
His little sister's eyes were wide with terror.
In that moment of eye contact—
A surreal grave. Her skin was deathly pale. Her nails twisted and grew abnormally. Two beautiful white wings sprouted from her back, fragrant with incense.
In a dark alley corner, blackness and filth reigned. Trash and bins littered the ground.
Cans, rubber, lunch boxes, plastic bags—silver metal trash cans couldn't hide the overflowing garbage.
It rained, dark clouds covering the sky.
Everything was black, impossible to see. Pale rain fell, dripping from the eaves onto Bai Yun's face.
His pale face was marked by red eyes. Long eyebrows, a straight nose—rain and blood mixed in his mouth, dripping onto the ground.
He stared fixedly at the figure before him.
Her young face twisted. Her small hands scraped at the ground, tearing until they bled, refusing to let go. When her nails broke, she dug her fingers into the cracks. All her nails were broken, raw and bloody.
"Xiao Lian, what's wrong?"
She stared at him fiercely, insect cries pouring from her mouth.
When you're afraid of losing everything, you can't do a thing. No one can. A person who becomes an insect isn't driven from human society with a stick—they're swept out with a broom, to humiliate them further.
It's right to do this. Because when you become an insect, you're the first to insult yourself. That's why I came to the trash! A filthy body taints filthier things.
"Filthy trash, filthier me."
"Bai Yun, a month ago, Mr. Lie beat my dad badly. My dad isn't me! Do you understand?"
"This world rejects insects. It will never let us exist."
"Insects aren't sin. That's the truth. I know people hate insects—and they're right."
"But you're wrong. I accept you, no matter if you're an insect or not."
Bai Yun stepped forward and hugged her fragile body tightly.
White wings flapped against his hands. Powder fell, corroding his fingernails.
Xiao Lian pushed him away, tears streaming.
"But, Bai Yun, *mutation* is sin. When you mutate, can you keep your morality?"
"But if I turn into an insect, how can I live like a normal human?"
Xiao Lian stepped forward and hugged him, taking a deep breath.
Butterfly wings sprouted from her body.
"Don't miss me after I'm gone."
Powder fell from the sky.
Bai Yun inhaled it and collapsed to his knees.
He trembled violently, tears mixing with rain on his face. He could only watch her leave, blood pouring from his mouth, his heart torn open.
The cold trash can felt like insect skin. Rain turned into countless insects, crawling over him, burrowing into his chest.
The reins in his hand turned into a cold phone. The horse beneath him became the cold motorcycle. His own limbs twisted, covered in dark shell. Antennae and compound eyes grew from his head; his mouth turned into a giant mandible. He tried to scream, but only insect hisses came out.
"Hungry." A calamitous voice, like from the abyss, exploded in his ear.
Bai Yun jolted awake!
He gasped for breath, ragged and loud.
His breathing synced with his ringing alarm—a children's song.
Loud yet strangely harmonious.
His phone alarm blared: six a.m. sharp. He panted, his heart racing, sweat soaking his pajamas.
His back felt ice-cold. Wet clothes clung to his skin; his hair was drenched.
"Why do I keep having this dream?"
Bai Yun sighed, his face complicated and conflicted.
Drip. Drip.
A small tear had opened in the tent's roof. Dawn was just breaking, light rain falling. Drops dripped precisely onto his face.
He looked around—everything was wet. The doll's fur was soaked.
The phone kept ringing, playing a song he loved: "The evening breeze brushes the wind chimes, bringing bread and sunlight…"
Red numbers flashed on the screen: bill notifications, glaring and sharp.
He turned off the alarm. The lock screen was a photo of his parents.
He stared at it for a few seconds. In the firelight, another face flickered—Xiao Lian's, smiling at him. He blinked, and it was gone.
"Have I been listening to too many insect cries?"
He remembered Kou's warning: don't interact too much with insects, or you'll hallucinate.
Bai Yun bowed his head and put away his black phone.
"Let's go. Keep going."
He slapped his cheeks hard, the sharp sound chasing away the nightmare. It also cheered him up. "Work, work."
He forced himself out of the sleeping bag, the desire for money and survival dragging his tired body up. He grabbed his silver sword, unzipped the tent.
The green world unfolded before him, surrounded by white birch trees.
Green and white intertwined—autumn had lightened the leaves to yellow and red, a stark contrast to the deep green of other trees.
Last night's bonfire was drowned by rain, leaving only wet, black charcoal.
Bai Yun picked up a piece. Soaking wet, useless.
He tossed it aside.
He opened a spare supply box, unlocking the metal latch.
Stacks of black charcoal filled it. Bai Yun thought of his past hunts, insects piled up just like this.
The forest was filled with the drip of rain from leaves, falling into streams that seeped into underground springs.
Clean, clear spring water lay hidden, waiting to be dug up—for those who dared to dig, it was a source of pure water in the untouched wild.
The air was fresh and cold. Rain-soaked soil was soft and sticky, black in patches, covered with maple leaves, weeds, and sticks.
He walked to his motorcycle, parked under a tree. Raindrops glistened on its metal body. He wiped it slowly with a cloth.
The cold touch jolted him awake.
He touched the seat—also wet and cold.
"Must have rained hard last night. How didn't I notice?"
"I miss my family so much."
"How are they doing today?"
Bai Yun thought of the soup his parents made him—white broth with potatoes, fragrant and warm.
He pushed the memories aside and cleaned his sword. The silver blade still bore black stains from insect blood. He wiped it clean.
The shiny blade reflected his face in the sunlight: black hair, eyes bloodshot from tiredness.
He cleaned the motorcycle, then tossed the bag of insect cores into the small storage compartment at the back. A hook hung it securely.
He poured a small bag of cores into the motorcycle's energy tank—sixty cores.
"Should last six days."
"Ten a day. Cheap enough."
He swung his leg over and started the engine. Two faint blue flames burst from the sides; gray energy flowed beneath.
Pale gray energy erupted, burning the wet soil clean, revealing yellow dirt beneath the black mud.
*Vroom!*
The engine roared like a beast, echoing through the quiet forest. Birds chirped in response.
He looked up—thousands of birds filled the sky, chasing swarms of insects.
The dense birds formed a cat.
The dense insects formed a mouse.
Cat chased mouse.
They twisted and turned, flying into the clouds—silent, invisible.
He stared ahead and mapped his route.
*Bang!* The motorcycle shot forward like an arrow, tires digging deep ruts into the mud. Speed climbed from thirty to sixty kilometers per hour.
Wind howled in his ears. All his repression, fear, and exhaustion were blown away.
"Woohoo!"
He laughed wildly, shouting at the wilderness like a madman. "A new day is here! I can't stop now!"
The weight on his heart lifted, freed by the wild nature around him.
The river gurgled nearby. Fish swam; bright flowers bloomed; tall birds, five and a half meters tall, caught fish several meters long. Their sharp beaks pierced the fish, blood flowing as they struggled.
The boy raced through obstacles, the motorcycle smashing through fallen tree trunks.
Cracks echoed, splitting the air. Wood shards embedded in the white birch trees, covering the pale bark.
The trees grew thicker ahead. He wove through the forest, dodging yellow branches.
He turned onto a narrow path, almost overgrown with weeds.
The motorcycle burst from the forest. At first, it was so narrow it barely fit; after dozens of steps, it opened up into a vast view. The scenery shifted from green to desolate yellow.
Endless wilderness stretched to the mountains. The sky was filled with white clouds; sunlight gilded the ground, bright and clear.
"Looks like perfect weather for hunting."
The Hunter's Manual said Zone 22 was a desert, supposedly with dense vegetation at its center—meaning dangerous creatures and plenty of insects.
But with fire and oil, he could shoot a spark and leave. The flames would burn the insects, and he could return later to collect cores.
"Took an hour to get here. Hope it's worth it."
He rode, staring at the yellow ground, but saw no black insects—only tire tracks.
There were no laws in the wilderness. Vehicles, food, insect cores—anything could spark robbery. Trust was a luxury here.
The worst of them were the Wilderness Hounds: exiled people without identity. Once nobles or middle-class citizens,
they'd been driven out for failing to pay residence fees, forced to survive alone in the wasteland.
Surviving was one thing—but they robbed passing hunters, landing them on the Red Wanted List.
Red meant the worst crimes.
Yellow for minor offenses.
Green for suspected crimes.
Killing a Red criminal carried no punishment; the Federation even rewarded it. Thus, bounty hunters hunted them for profit.
Shortly after entering the desert, heading for the Withered Forest—
*Boom!*
A loud explosion shook the motorcycle. It skidded violently. Bai Yun fought to control it, sliding to a stop.
He jumped off and knelt down: the rear tire was pierced by dozens of rusted, thumb-thick spikes, completely flat.
"No… no no no!!!" He squatted in disbelief, staring at the spikes. "Who the hell sets traps out here?!"
He spotted a row of launchers in the trees nearby, loaded with spikes.
He saw a laser sensor next to them.
He sliced it open with his silver sword, revealing the core.
He stabbed it hard.
"I'm so angry!"
Dust rolled in the distance; several vehicles were parked there.
The boy studied the tire tracks. Clear and deep in the soil.
The dirt was dry.
No rain yesterday. If tracks were left yesterday, they'd hold water.
These tracks were dry—
And it had rained at five a.m., now six—
Meaning they'd passed by recently.
The boy checked his radar. A few blips—black insects or small animals. Only his own motorcycle signal.
"Better be careful."
He walked toward the red blips.