Cold. It was a damp, bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep through one's fingertips into the very marrow.
Brand wrung his soaked uniform sleeve with force, watching murky droplets fall into the moss-covered drainage ditch of the abandoned chemical plant without a sound.
He looked toward the distant silhouette of the city.
The neon forests that usually blazed with light all night were now nothing but a deathly black silence, standing like massive tombstones in a wordless tribute to a dead era of reckless industrial expansion.
He instinctively touched his neck. His fingertips brushed against his skin; though he felt no physical object, he could sense a cold, slithering constriction—like a venomous snake—winding around him. It was the "Soul Collar".
"Punishment is freedom," Brand mocked himself with a smile.
He knew all too well: from the day that eerie green halo was placed upon them, they, the Marked, were both free and imprisoned.
"Guardians"—ha. It was merely a pretty, ironic title bestowed by God.
"Sober freedom is the cruelest punishment." While billions of people were trapped in the nightmares of the "Heart-Domain Trial," shrieking in agony, "Guardians" like Brand had to work with total clarity in the eternal night.
He was currently crouched in the foul ruins, cleaning up heavy metal pollution from a chemical leak.
The soil here had denatured, glowing with an eerie purple-red hue under his dim light. Every shovel of wet, sticky mud seemed to let out a dull groan.
The glowing green collar on his neck acted like a glaring beacon in this lightless world.
It illuminated Brand's exhausted profile and served as a constant reminder to the mutated creatures lurking in the shadows:
Look, here is a sinner making amends.
"Zizz—zizz-zizz—"
A sudden burst of static, like an old radio tuning, exploded in his mind. Brand furrowed his brows in pain, rubbing his temples hard.
It felt as if someone had taken an electrified silver needle and plunged it directly into his cerebral cortex, triggering waves of nauseating dizziness.
"Subject No. 097, the crack in Reactor No. 3 under your charge is widening. Relocate immediately." This low, raspy, echoing voice was codenamed "Hive".
Brand recognized the owner of this voice. It was a billionaire who, during the Soul Trial, had unhesitatingly chosen "Two Green Marks" to save his own life.
Because of his extreme greed and twisted egoism, he had been stripped of his humanity and fallen into the rank of the "Disqualified".
Ironically, this stripping of humanity became a Ironically, this stripping of humanity became a form of compensation in its own right.
The man's brain had become a bizarre signal base station, connecting the brainwaves of all Guardians.
He no longer managed global resources through money, but through these sickening waves, weaving a vast and precise "Redemption Web" across the ruins of the sleeping world.
"Hive, I need a tetanus shot and antibiotics," Brand replied in his consciousness, his voice trembling. "I cut my hand on rusty metal while cleaning the pipes. If I die of sepsis, there will be no one left to purify this land."
"...Searching," Hive's voice was as cold as a machine. After being stripped of his "human status", he indeed lacked human emotion, focused entirely on completing the mission.
"Three kilometers east, a private hospital covered in vines. The director there is also a Guardian; he is currently treating animals rescued by others today. I have connected to his frequency. He has left supplies for you on the left side of the third cabinet in the pharmacy."
"Understood."
"One more thing," Hive added, his voice echoing with a cold, metallic resonance.
"The gold in the cellar of my Corsica Estate has already been extracted by the 'Cleansers'. Those funds will be used to pre-order the next batch of gene-edited microbes. Subject No. 097, do not flatter yourself by thinking your injury is worth anything. Your only value lies in the fact that you are not yet dead."
After the mental link severed, Brand spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva.
This was the era of the "Great Restoration"—a time when a group of sober sinners labored upon the ruins of a sleeping world.
Using the vast fortunes they had once plundered from others, they now employed experts who were just as stained with guilt as themselves.
They no longer worked for promotions, bonuses, or prestige; their only driver was a pervasive, shadow-like terror.
Should they ever stop, their collars would contract, dragging them back into those nightmares that were truly worse than death.
Brand dragged his heavy legs toward the private hospital.
The surroundings were too quiet—so silent that he could hear the faint rustling from the bushes along the road.
A homeless stray dog poked its head out from the thicket.
Its wet eyes no longer held the fawning or fear they once had for humans; instead, there was a profound, almost judgmental calm.
Brand stopped, fished out a hard, compressed biscuit from his coat, broke it into pieces, and placed them on the ground.
"I'm sorry," he whispered 109th apology for today.
The dog did not eat. It simply watched him silently as he walked away. Brand knew that until this world was rebuilt, these creatures would not accept any belated charity.
He had to keep moving. He had to rescue animals that previously had nowhere to turn and treat the industrial sores that even governments had once shrunken away from.
In teams diving deep into nuclear contamination zones, through nights spent guarding the habitats of endangered species, and on the dangerous precipice of neutralizing chemical munitions, countless "gears" like him were turning in solitude across the darkened Blue Planet.
They were the last laborers of humanity. Amidst the sighs of God, they bore the collective sins of the human race, staggering forward through the eternal night.
Brand closed his eyes, praying in the darkness thick with the scent of rust.
At that same moment, in the dream dimension on the other side of the world, Tian Shuangxin was about to step into a lake as deep and blue as a sapphire.
In the dream dimension on the other side of the world, it remained a place of luxurious tranquility.
The air was sweet with the scent of new growth, free from the industrial fumes of the surface.
Luo, who had initially looked at Zhizhi through a "filter" of wariness and disgust, had now fully opened his heart. Beneath that repulsive shell of Sato lived a soul purer and gentler than most humans.
Curiosity eventually triumphed over fear as the crowd gathered around Zhizhi, eagerly asking about the world through the eyes of an animal.
Little Xu Wanzhen, in particular, turned into a relentless "Living Encyclopedia of Why". She squatted before Zhizhi, her crisp, clear laughter echoing through the clusters of flowers.
Watching this scene, the wall of "defense" in TianShuangxin's heart began to crumble.
This place seemed to possess a magical power to cleanse the soul, allowing one to unconsciously set down the worldly agonies that were once heavy enough to suffocate.
"Chirp—!"
A clear cry, like jade striking stone, shattered the peace. It was a Blue Bird, its body covered in translucent emerald feathers, scattering a faint healing aura with every beat of its wings.
The color of its plumage was like fresh emerald after a mountain rain, yet it held a deep, sapphire-like luster. The tips of its feathers were adorned with faint golden patterns, exuding a cold and noble elegance.
Everyone was struck with awe; even those entering this dreamscape for the second time had never seen a lifeform so vibrant and spiritual.
The Blue Bird circled above Tian Shuangxin, its warm, gentle eyes seemingly capable of piercing through all her exhaustion and pretenses.
It flew low with effortless grace, looping around her and Zhizhi, drifting away only to return again. It emitted a soft, rhythmic frequency, acting as a silent invitation:
Follow me.
It led them through blooming flowers and dancing butterflies until they reached a smooth, mirror-like lake: The Frozen Jade Lake.
As a mist rose, the crowds vanished. Tian Shuangxin walked to the shore.
In the crystal-clear water, she saw not only her own haggard face but the fragments of her deepest feelings: a childhood doll and the pine-scented wood chips Zhizhi used to love.
"Zhizhi..." she murmured.
"Master, I'm here." The voice exploded in her mind—not as language, but as a direct, trusting flow of consciousness.
On the lake, a shimmering image appeared: Zhizhi's original form, a white fancy rat with a heart-shaped spot.
"I'm sorry... I sold you! I pushed you into that hell for money!" Tian Shuangxin collapsed onto the sand, her long-suppressed emotions finally breaking.
"I know everything now... the screams under the cold white lights... you must hate me to the bone..."
The tiny, transparent image of the rat walked toward her, resting its spectral forehead against her cold fingertips.
"Master, I knew," Zhizhi's voice rang out, light and pure.
"That night, you held me and cried. Your tears were so hot. You said Mama was sick and needed money. My small head didn't understand hospitals or being sold, but I could feel the hole in your heart. It was bleeding. You were in pain."
"The days you raised me were the sweetest sunflower seeds I ever ate. If my leaving could help the old Mama of your pack get better, I was willing. I don't hate you."
Tian Shuangxin's defenses crumbled. She had carried the weight of her sin for so long, only to find that in Zhizhi's eyes, it was a "willing act of protection".
At that moment, the Red Thread contracted violently.
The spectral image vanished, replaced by the real Zhizhi in Sato's tall body.
He knelt before her—a movement clumsy for human bones but firm in intent. He took her face in his large, gentle hands.
"No hate. Never," he said raspily, looking at the reflection of Tian's mother in the water. "If she's well, I'm happy. Master... no, you're Mama. You're my 'Pack'."
The word "Mama" sent a surge of completion through her. She hugged him, her tears flowing freely. "Zhizhi... for me, you, I, and Mama are all my 'Pack'. We're 'Family'."
"I'll never lose you again."
The Jade Lake erupted in light, reflecting the tiny, glowing white soul of the rat within Sato's body. The two figures overlapped; the sinful skin seemed washed clean, leaving only a heavy sense of guardianship.
"This body carries too much pain," Tian Shuangxin said, holding his hands.
"But it's yours now. Maybe we can let these hands do something different. To save the homes not yet destroyed, to pay the debts not yet settled."
Zhizhi gripped his hands, no longer with disgust, but with strength. "Yes... together."
As the gloom in Zhizhi's heart vanished, a phantom light flew from his chest toward the pure white Celestial Ladder.