Two months later.
New Federation, California.
Zhou Jiao stood before the mirror, carefully examining her reflection.
The military-grade disguise mask worked well—she now looked like an entirely different person. Not a trace of her former self remained in her facial features.
Next, she would undergo surgery to alter her voiceprint, fingerprints, iris pattern, and palm veins. Once done, she could completely erase the identity of "Zhou Jiao."
Two months ago, she had followed the emergency green lights down to the end of the evacuation tunnel. Just as she crawled into the escape pod, countless black-and-red flesh tendrils surged toward her like a tidal wave.
Or perhaps, calling them tendrils was no longer accurate. They were more like thin, fleshy membranes that split and multiplied endlessly, writhing in frenzy, expanding, covering everything they could touch.
In the blink of an eye, the escape route transformed into a grotesque, sticky nest of meat.
The pod was quickly engulfed and couldn't start.
She seemed cornered. Her only way out was to surrender—to Jiang Lian.
Zhou Jiao tightened her grip on the electromagnetic gun.
Moments later, she stepped out of the pod.
The meat film blanketing the ground immediately stretched out several black-red tendrils, wrapping tightly around her ankles, wrists, and waist in a frenzy of regained ecstasy.
The instant they touched her, several breathing holes split open on the tendrils' surface, inhaling her scent with greedy urgency.
Zhou Jiao couldn't help but feel a bit curious.
If Jiang Lian really had fallen for her, why was he obsessed only with her scent?
Shouldn't he be fascinated by her beautiful personality instead?
She gave a self-deprecating smile and soon found her answer.
Just as Lu Zehou had said—it all came back to the original Jiang Lian.
The real Jiang Lian had been born a sociopath: emotionally numb, incapable of empathy, cold—and had never once tried to change that.
He had undergone dozens of psychological evaluations by the Bureau, always manipulating his scores to such a subtle degree that even the AI couldn't detect anomalies in his response times.
He lacked the gene for monoamine oxidase A, and his family tree was littered with cannibals and psychopathic serial killers.
Now, all of that had manifested in the current Jiang Lian—as an insatiable craving for her scent.
Because people like him didn't know how to love.
They only knew how to take. To plunder.
They liked her, but didn't want her dead—so they stole her scent, her saliva, anything that could feed their grotesque desire.
Lu Zehou was right. This truly was "two anomalies, layered with multiple forms of pathological affection."
If he captured her again, her only role in life would be to satisfy his twisted, bottomless need for possession.
The only card she could play was that he didn't want her to die.
For a moment, Zhou Jiao felt a surge of conflicting emotions.
In a way, she and the original Jiang Lian were the same kind of people. The difference was, her family didn't have a horrific criminal legacy.
Roughly 4% of the global population are sociopaths—1 in 25 people.⑴
Only a very small number are as violent and bloodthirsty as Jiang Lian's kin. Most, like her, live as anomalies camouflaged among normal people.
But they're always a little… off.
They don't integrate easily into society. They lack moral compasses. They're aggressive, impulsive, reckless toward themselves and others.⑴
—So this so-called new world wasn't truly hers either.
As an anomaly, maybe she should've stayed with someone like Jiang Lian—whether it was the original him or what he'd become.
But she refused.
She didn't want to be owned.
She would never trade her autonomy and identity for some hollow illusion of belonging.
Zhou Jiao waited.
And finally, Jiang Lian arrived.
He now embodied everything the word He implied.
He no longer resembled a man, but a shifting mass of black-red slime, desperately clinging to human shape.
The substance seemed to be some hyperactive protoplasm, boiling more intensely with every step he took. From it sprouted slick, thick tendrils that sealed off every possible exit behind her—determined to trap her forever.
When he stood before her, the black-red slime peeled away, revealing a cold, handsome face.
Zhou Jiao had always sensed the duality in him.
But never had his contradictions felt so extreme.
In his face, she saw beauty and horror, coldness and madness, purity and filth…
…pride and humiliation.
He lowered his head, staring at her.
The black-red ooze spread in all directions, closing in like a suffocating cage.
"Come back with me," he said.
His voice was low, threaded with strange, buzzing harmonics that made the air tremble—a voice of metallic magnetism.
It was obvious this particular sound frequency had been tuned to spare her. To anyone else, it would've caused nausea, dizziness, and cramping organs.
To be honest, this special treatment stroked her vanity a little.
A privilege granted by a higher lifeform—how could she not feel pleased?
But that pleasure was short-lived.
Because this so-called privilege was his to give—or take away.
She had no right to accept it, nor to refuse it.
What she wanted… was the thrill of taming a beast—
Not the benevolence of a god.
"What if I say no?" she asked quietly.
Jiang Lian didn't reply.
But a distorted buzzing instantly enveloped her.
The narrow corridor filled with countless tendrils creeping toward her, slithering from all sides.
In front of their master, they hesitated to approach. But her words had angered them.
Why wouldn't she go back?
We already like you!
Where else could she go, if not to him?
Go back with him go back with him go back go back go back go back…
They crept to her ear, brushing her delicate throat with icy malice, leaving behind trails of slick moisture—a claim, a mark.
"Go back with him," they whispered. "We like you."
Just like him, they were domineering and unyielding.
Because they liked her, she had to belong to him.
Zhou Jiao calmly tore off the tendril curled around her neck.
Her expression didn't change. In fact, she gently stroked the tendril once.
Then she said, "No. I don't want to go back with you."
Silence.
As if a century passed in that instant.
The flesh membrane, the tendrils—bloodshot, pulsing, suffocating.
Even the glowing blue beneath their veiny surfaces could no longer shine through.
His presence pressed down on her like a blade made of ice.
But she repeated, "I don't want to go back with you."
Her voice was steady, as though stating a scientific truth—just as he, from a godlike vantage, had once dismissed her.
Black-red slime seeped from Jiang Lian's eyes. His fragile human form began to unravel again, destabilizing into a churning mass.
From the very start, she had always been composed.
When he first repelled her, she distanced herself without panic.
When he tried to kill her, she calmly strategized.
Even when she jumped off that rooftop, the wildness in her was always laced with cold calculation.
Falling for a human had pushed him to the brink.
They weren't the same species. Their bodies were incompatible. She couldn't even withstand his voice.
She was too weak—it frustrated him. Too small, too calm… too elusive.
What could he do with her?
Capture her? She'd run.
Lock her up? She'd escape.
Watch her constantly? She'd still vanish.
He couldn't hold her.
Couldn't control her.
Couldn't beat her.
Every encounter ended in his retreat. He had lost all the upper hand.
He was drowning in desire, and she remained calm and free.
Jiang Lian's face fractured further.
His form ruptured and sealed, oozing again into a boiling humanoid beast.
"I…" he forced out the words, slowly and painfully, "I beg you. Come back with me."
This was the humblest phrase he could find in the language of Jiang Lian.
Because he was terrified—utterly terrified—of losing her.
If it were just possessiveness without affection, he could have ignored her will and dragged her back by force.
But he liked her. And so, he felt fear.
He didn't want to experience again the helplessness of being unable to wake her.
"I'm begging you," he said, eyes locked onto her. Though his gaze still carried the invisible oppression of a higher life form upon a human, and his voice resonated at a frequency unbearable to human ears—strange and buzzing—his plea was real.
He couldn't lose her.
…Don't go.
Come back with him.
But Zhou Jiao slowly shook her head.
Jiang Lian's gaze turned terrifying in an instant.
Dozens of tendrils shot up from the ground, vibrating with a dizzying, low-frequency hum. They reached toward her, trying to tether her, lock her down, imprison her.
Anything would do—
She could not leave!!!
She had to be his!!!
His face contorted, spasming with rage, but he forcibly restrained the vicious impulse.
Two opposing emotions—love and hatred—collided and twisted within him, tearing at his heart with unbearable pain.
He no longer cared about dignity, about how fragile and small she was. He just wanted to keep her. To make her stay.
To make her stay!!!
"Please… come back with me," he whispered, his deep, magnetic voice trembling, hoarse—though it might've been just the overwhelming hum distorting it. "I won't lock you up again. I'll give you… freedom."
Though, he would still watch her.
No matter what, she could never leave his sight.
She was his.
She was his.
She was his!
Possessiveness swelled and warped, causing his humanoid form to break down further.
And yet—he had no choice but to endure.
This submissive helplessness made him violent, mad with fury.
He couldn't kill Zhou Jiao.
If he killed her, the pain would only worsen.
His eyes, dripping with thick black-red mucus, flickered with a chilling, venomous light.
So, he would slaughter others—to release the agony of being powerless under her will.
Jiang Lian stared coldly and twistedly at Zhou Jiao.
He had compromised so much—surely she would agree to return with him now.
But her expression remained calm.
Lost in a storm of rage and dread, a dark thought began to take shape:
If he sank his teeth into her carotid artery and forced her to watch her own blood gush out—would that calm face finally change?
He couldn't wake her from that deep coma, but he could grant her strong regenerative powers. Even if she lost an arm, it would grow back.
But as punishment, he wouldn't tell her that in advance.
Then Zhou Jiao sighed.
Jiang Lian felt his heart clench.
That was strange. He was always the one who made others' hearts clench.
This was the first time he had experienced this bizarre kind of pain.
And her next words made that pain rip through him.
"I don't want to go back with you," she said. "No matter how you try to force me, in the end, I'll always find a way to leave you. My desire to leave has nothing to do with you—it's just natural law."
She paused, then gave him a soft smile, almost like a kindness:
"No prey stays with its predator."
For the first time in his life, Jiang Lian felt dizzy from pure emotional pain.
He could no longer hear the hum of the tendrils.
Everything around him seemed to freeze.
All he knew was—she didn't want him.
Because of natural law.
He had once dismissed, rejected, even scorned her, because of that same law.
…She didn't want him.
She didn't want him.
She didn't want him!!!
KILL HER KILL HER KILL HER…
His eyes turned completely monstrous—black and red, crazed and cracked. The entire escape tunnel trembled and bloated with his fury, opening into a massive, fanged abyss inching toward her.
"Say yes," he commanded coldly.
He revoked her immunity to his influence, trying to overwhelm her mind.
Zhou Jiao's head rang violently, a wave of nausea rising to her throat.
Her expression finally changed—just a little. She turned aside, gagging, but only managed to spit up a little clear acid.
He should've been pleased by her reaction.
But all he felt was rage and frustration.
His begging hadn't moved her at all.
She paled—not because of him, but because she couldn't bear the frequency of his voice.
She rejected every part of him.
She couldn't even bear his voice.
Jiang Lian's gaze grew darker and colder than ever. His desire to kill her surged to a new height—to tear her apart.
He should never have awakened her.
She was so much easier to control in a coma.
Maybe he should've never asked for her opinion. Just taken her and locked her up.
Locked her up.
Locked her up.
But she didn't want to go back with him.
She didn't want him.
And he couldn't bring himself to… hurt her.
Love is a painfully complex emotion. Like a chemical reaction, and yet completely unlike one—its consequences can't be predicted like formulas.
He loved her.
He begged her.
He wanted to kill her.
He wanted to shred her.
But he couldn't even bring himself to touch a single hair on her head.
Jiang Lian's eyes stayed fixed on her.
His breathing grew heavier, and the tunnel—its walls, its tendrils—heaved with him.
It sounded like a thousand people gasping in madness.
Chilling. Unbearable.
And yet, in the end…
He slowly, reluctantly withdrew the tendrils blocking the exit.
He had compromised again.
Not because he wanted to let her go.
But because he was this close to losing control—to tearing her apart.
And in the end, the urge to protect her… outweighed the desire to possess her.
He let her leave.
Jiang Lian watched Zhou Jiao nod at him, say thank you, and turn away to board the escape pod. She launched the engine without hesitation and shot off across the waves.
She didn't look back.
But that was all right.
Every fish in the sea was his eye.
They would follow her.
No matter where she ran—
He would find her.