But Still, Unable to Look Away
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Zhou Jiao coaxed and persuaded, and finally managed to get Jiang Lian to withdraw from the connection.
Ah, her mind was finally quiet!
Zhou Jiao let out a long breath. Thinking of the feeling Jiang Lian left lingering in her mind, she still felt lingering fear.
…She couldn’t quite describe this feeling.
Talking face-to-face while conversing in each other’s minds—every time Jiang Lian spoke in her brain, it would cause her body to shudder violently, accompanied by a tingling numbness like sharp pain. It was practically like having some kind of feverish illness.
This made her feel danger.
Alarm bells rang loudly in her mind.
What made her feel even more endangered was Jiang Lian’s gaze.
Although he had withdrawn from the connection as she wished, his gaze remained glued to her.
Cold, greedy, overwhelmingly present.
Like thousands of fine silken threads, wanting to wrap around her body, layer by layer, until she was turned into a cocoon that could be carried with him at all times.
Zhou Jiao didn’t understand what he wanted to do.
This situation had happened several times today.
Every time she felt that he was looking at her like this because he wanted to kill her, she found no killing intent in him.
Then why did he wear an expression as if he wanted to kill someone?
Zhou Jiao thought for a moment, then set Jiang Lian aside and reopened the map sent by the seller, deciding to first crack the credit chip before anything else.
If this were a horror movie, she should be figuring out a way to shake off Jiang Lian, go to this kind of small shop alone, turn around and flee the moment the chip was cracked—only to find Jiang Lian waiting not far away.
But Zhou Jiao had no interest in such an approach at all.
Not only because she knew she couldn’t escape Jiang Lian’s gaze, but also because this kind of small shop likely hid a lot of contraband from the black market—guns were the least of her worries; the real fear was landmines or turrets.
There was no way she would ditch Jiang Lian and go to such a place with unknown dangers by herself.
Thinking of this, Zhou Jiao sat up from the bed.
She originally planned to tell Jiang Lian directly to accompany her later.
But when her eyes met his unmoving gaze, her heart stirred inexplicably. She slowly lay back down, propped her cheek with one hand, stretched out a foot, and lightly nudged his pant leg.
He was still staring at her intently, but he tilted his head slightly, as if asking for her meaning.
Zhou Jiao blinked twice, looking up at him from below. “Could you accompany me somewhere later?”
After several confrontations, Zhou Jiao was certain—he liked it when she acted like this, looking up at him.
She actually didn’t need to ask this question, but she was afraid that what had just happened had some strange effect on him, so she wanted to test him.
Jiang Lian’s gaze shifted downward, landing on her foot.
Zhou Jiao saw his pupils contract and then dilate again, as if some intense emotion was being violently pulled to its limits inside him.
“You…” he spoke.
Zhou Jiao suddenly felt very nervous.
What if he wasn’t affected by what had just happened, but instead, because of her actions, developed all sorts of chaotic thoughts?
Was her charm really… that great?
Thinking of his obsessive, almost deranged fascination with her scent, she became uncertain again.
For a moment, she completely forgot how she had previously weighed the pros and cons—her heart was left with only a strange excitement.
Jiang Lian being so obsessed with her made her excited.
—Even if his obsession was mixed with malice, killing intent, and dangerous thirst.
Perhaps she really could try entering his brain, stimulating his neurons—maybe she could find his weakness…
Just as this thought arose in her mind, she heard Jiang Lian ask, “Why did you touch me with your foot?”
“…” Zhou Jiao coldly replied, “…Just say whether you’re coming with me or not.”
Jiang Lian nodded.
Zhou Jiao immediately turned and got out of bed, walking toward the bathroom. After driving all the tentacles inside out, she shut the frosted glass door and turned on the showerhead.
The sound of running water filled the air.
Jiang Lian was still staring at Zhou Jiao.
His expression showed no sign of abnormality, but if one looked closely, they would notice that his head and neck had twisted into an unnaturally strange angle—only a jointed puppet could bend its head like this.
Jiang Lian had done this motion entirely unconsciously.
—His gaze could not leave Zhou Jiao.
Especially after she touched him with her foot, it became even more impossible to look away.
He didn’t know her intention in doing so, nor did he understand why that action was so alluring.
But still, he could not move his eyes away.
The frosted glass of the bathroom quickly fogged up under the steam, turning into a blurred haze, obscuring even the shadow of a person. Only the damp, shimmering light remained visible.
The sound of water, the heat, the light.
All of it made him unable to look away.
Countless tentacles clung to the bathroom walls, writhing and contracting, gradually thinning to the fineness of spider silk. They wanted to slip inside, wipe away the condensation on the glass, but due to some kind of restrictive force, they sulkily retreated, only able to neurotically sniff at the scent seeping out from within.
They wanted to watch her.
—You don’t allow us to eat her, don’t allow us to smell her, don’t allow us to touch her for long.
—And now, we’re not even allowed to look at her?
Jiang Lian did not speak.
He stood up, took the coat from the hanger, and draped it over his shoulders, fastening the cufflinks with deliberate slowness.
On the wall, there was a full-length mirror taped up with adhesive strips, surrounded by deep red and pale green neon lights.
The scratched mirror reflected his figure—tall, cold, with an outstanding physique.
—Yet his gaze was like the dirty adhesive strips on the wall, stubbornly stuck to the bathroom door not far away.
Jiang Lian fastened his cufflinks without lifting his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, he crushed the consciousness of a few tentacles that were closest to the bathroom—his meaning was clear: No.
After showering, Zhou Jiao felt much more comfortable.
She tied her hair back, got dressed, and walked out of the bathroom. To her surprise, all the tentacles in the room had vanished, as if they had never appeared in the first place.
Jiang Lian was standing by the door, waiting for her.
She wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but his gaze felt even stranger—like some sticky, slippery liquid flowing across her skin.
Zhou Jiao felt a chill under his stare. When they got into the elevator, she instinctively stood as far away from him as possible.
Of course, it wasn’t just because of his gaze—it was also out of habit. After all, for the past six months, whenever she ran into Jiang Lian at the Special Bureau, she had always kept as much distance from him as possible.
She had assumed that Jiang Lian only liked her scent and that it didn’t matter where she stood. But before the elevator doors could even close, a tentacle hooked around her waist and yanked her forcefully to the side—right next to a certain figure.
Jiang Lian’s voice sounded above her head: “Don’t stay too far from me.”
His tone was light, but the force of the tentacle nearly crushed her in half.
As cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her brows twitched slightly. This crappy motel elevator was barely one square meter—even if she pressed herself against the wall, she couldn’t possibly be that far from him. Did he really need to use that much force?
She wanted nothing more than to fry that tentacle alive, but her voice came out weak and pitiful instead:
“…You’re hurting me.”
As soon as the words fell, the tentacle around her waist vanished at lightning speed—so fast it was practically fleeing in panic.
Jiang Lian lowered his head and stared at her for a few moments before speaking, each word deliberate and precise:
“I didn’t use any strength.”
Zhou Jiao weakly waved her hand. Forget it. We carbon-based creatures are just too fragile.
—
The small shop that cracked chips was located beneath an overpass, a place with an unusual landscape. The overpass served as a dividing line—on one side, there were lush green plants, unceasing traffic, and deep gray skyscrapers; on the other side, there were mountains of garbage, disorderly shacks, and a murky green sewage ditch glistening with rainbow-colored reflections under the sunlight.
Zhou Jiao found the doorbell on one of the shacks and pressed it.
Soon, a voice came through the speaker: “Who?”
“A customer.”
“What service?”
“Cracking a credit chip.”
“5%,” the voice said. “Once the chip is cracked, we take 5% of the money inside. If you agree, come in. If not, get lost.”
Zhou Jiao cursed under her breath.
What a scam.
She had thirty thousand dollars on her chip, part of it in US dollars and part in new yen. Right now, the new yen was worth more than the dollar, which meant she’d have to pay them nearly two thousand dollars—why not just rob her instead?
“So, have you made up your mind?” the voice asked.
“Fine,” Zhou Jiao gritted her teeth and said. “Open the door.”
At this moment, Jiang Lian’s voice sounded by her ear: “If you don’t like it, I can kill them.”
“…” Zhou Jiao thought to herself, Don’t pin everything on me. I think you just simply want to kill people. “…Don’t mess around.”
Afraid that he would actually make a move and slaughter everyone here, Zhou Jiao took the initiative to reach out and grab his hand.
Jiang Lian stared at her hand for a moment. He seemed to temporarily put aside his killing intent, but the moment she walked inside and shook hands with the person inside, a chilling malice once again filled the shack, causing the surrounding temperature to plummet.
A shiver ran down Zhou Jiao’s spine. She turned her head and, sure enough, saw Jiang Lian staring at the two hands clasped together—his eyes surging with violent hostility, on the verge of overflowing.
Zhou Jiao quickly let go of the person’s hand, flipped her hand over, and clasped Jiang Lian’s five fingers, giving them a light shake to signal him not to act rashly.
The next second, her body stiffened slightly.
She felt a crack slowly open in the center of Jiang Lian’s palm. From within, a cold, wet, toothy tongue slithered out, licking her fingers bit by bit.
It felt as if he was covering up the foreign scent on her hand—yet at the same time, it was a warning, forbidding her from shaking hands with anyone else.
The icy sensation made goosebumps erupt all over her body.
Zhou Jiao’s entire body went rigid, her spine tingling. She wanted to shake off his hand but didn’t dare.
Someone cast a puzzled glance at her. She could only force a stiff smile and say, “…Sorry, I have—” She racked her brain for an excuse, struggling for a moment before squeezing out through clenched teeth:
“I have skin hunger syndrome. I can’t be away from my boyfriend.”
Before anyone around them could react to this statement, Jiang Lian reacted first—a tentacle suddenly emerged from somewhere and, with an inexplicable enthusiasm, wriggled its way into her sleeve.
Zhou Jiao was sure he didn’t actually understand what she said. He couldn’t even comprehend why she had stretched out her foot before—how could he possibly get this? He just wanted to burrow around!
Clenching her teeth, she forcefully pressed down on the tentacle and shoved it back under Jiang Lian’s coat.
The people around them seemed to understand her “quirk,” but they stated that only the patient was allowed inside the operating room.
Zhou Jiao didn’t even dare to look at their expressions—because from an outsider’s perspective, her and Jiang Lian’s hands were clasped together with an unimaginable amount of force. No normal person would hold hands like this.
It took a great deal of effort and several rounds of coaxing before Zhou Jiao finally got Jiang Lian to temporarily let go of her hand.
Rubbing her sore hand, she walked into the operating room. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Jiang Lian’s attitude had taken a very strange turn.
If before, his attitude toward her teetered between killing intent and desire, now it felt as though some sticky, adhesive-like substance had fused the two together—blending them into a new, dangerous, and viscous impulse.
…His obsession with her scent had already pushed her to the edge of life and death several times. What if he developed an appetite for her and wanted to eat her?
The more Zhou Jiao thought about it, the more unsettled she became.
At that moment, she abruptly stopped in her tracks, her eyelashes narrowing slightly.
Inside the so-called “operating room,” she saw someone she never expected to see.
—Xie Yueze.
He was sitting behind a few monitors, playing Tetris.
The drop speed of each block had been tripled, yet his movements remained effortlessly precise, keeping the stack at an incredibly low level.
Zhou Jiao figured that if she hadn’t walked in just now, his score in the top left corner would have reached an absolutely terrifying number.
As if he had heard her footsteps, Xie Yueze let go of the mouse, allowing the Tetris blocks to plummet straight down. He turned his head, gave Zhou Jiao a slight smile, and said, “Sorry, Jiao Jiao, I got you fired.”
Zhou Jiao didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’re not dead?”
Xie Yueze gave a bitter smile. “I can explain.”
Zhou Jiao crossed her arms, cold and guarded, and made a “please” gesture.
Xie Yueze stood up, put on a pair of blue rubber gloves, and gestured for her to sit in a worn leather chair. “Your credit chip got frozen, didn’t it? Give me your connection cable. I’ll unlock it while explaining everything to you.”
Zhou Jiao stared at him for a few moments, then lifted her hand to brush aside her hair, revealing the interface behind her ear, and pulled out a connection cable.
Some people placed their interfaces in their palms for convenience; she, on the other hand, placed hers behind her ear precisely for inconvenience.
She didn’t want to rely too much on technology, nor did she want to lose herself in the company’s marketing strategies—like an electronic product, forever on the road of constant upgrades and replacements.
“Don’t try anything funny,” Zhou Jiao said coolly. “You and I both know I can kill you easily.”
Xie Yueze took her connection cable, plugged it into the port of the main console, and murmured, “…Of course I know.”
At first, he had only found Zhou Jiao somewhat interesting, but over the past two days, her performance had completely stunned him.
She had actually survived the combined assault of Jiang Lian and BioTech.
To put things into perspective—the AI had calculated her survival probability at only 0.038%.
No one knew how she had done it.
She was strong, resilient, and unyielding—practically a miracle in this neon jungle.
“You didn’t hide your identity online,” Xie Yueze said as he worked. “The internet is extremely hostile to ‘company people.’ The moment you exposed your identity, people started ‘doxxing’ you. The website the seller sent you can track your location in real time. By the time I found out, they were already discussing how to lure you into an illegal clinic…”
Of course, Zhou Jiao knew that browsing the black market with an unencrypted identity was extremely dangerous—but she had Jiang Lian with her, so she hadn’t bothered with the encryption.
She interrupted Xie Yueze coldly, “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be more careful next time. Now, let’s talk about what confidential information you got from me.”
This time, Xie Yueze remained silent for a long time before finally speaking.
“I can tell you. But I have to do it in a different way.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he sent a chip-sharing request.
Zhou Jiao: “…”
She hesitated for a moment, her expression complicated, before finally agreeing.
But in the next instant, her complicated expression was completely shattered by Xie Yueze’s words.
“The problem with the chips is far more terrifying than you think,” Xie Yueze lowered his voice, speaking each word with deliberate weight. “Every single case of chip-induced madness—it wasn’t a coincidence. It was BioTech’s plan all along.”
Zhou Jiao’s expression shifted slightly.
“Everyone knows that BioTech has been testing the limits of the human body. But while people believe they’re only conducting human experiments to create a symbiotic relationship between humans and mutants, they have no idea that beyond these experiments, BioTech has another method—one that is even more cruel, even more terrifying, and far more direct.”
Xie Yueze’s voice slowed as he spoke his next words.
“—Customer data.”
A chill ran down Zhou Jiao’s spine.
Xie Yueze said in a low voice, “The internal network shows that BioTech is far from being unaware of ‘chip lunatics.’ On the contrary, since the development of the chip, it has meticulously preserved the files of every single ‘chip lunatic,’ with data so detailed that it’s as if a camera had been monitoring their lives 24/7.”
“Moreover, as early as 2049, they discovered that the human body can withstand at most two biochips. Any more than that, and a series of complications arise—such as rejection reactions, emotional disorders, and even aggressive behavior.”
Zhou Jiao closed her eyes tightly for a moment. “You’re saying that BioTech knew perfectly well that the human body couldn’t handle more than two biochips, yet they still aggressively promoted and forced employees to implant them—while monitoring them at all times to obtain data they couldn’t get in a lab?”
“Yes.” Xie Yueze’s eyes flickered with a trace of admiration. “Everything inside the chip is uploaded to BioTech’s database, including our conversation right now. But ‘it’ doesn’t care what we’re saying. ‘It’ knows we can’t shake ‘its’ rule.”
Zhou Jiao pressed her fingers firmly against her brow.
She thought of the explosion in her dream and couldn’t help but shudder slightly.
For a brief moment, she felt that the deranged man was no longer a living person—just a tool, a component, a spent matchstick.
When alive, he was company experiment data; when dead, he was still company experiment data.
—Everyone in that train car was company experiment data.
Including her parents.
Maybe her expression had become too dazed, but Xie Yueze suddenly grasped her hand, gently brushing the tip of her fingers as he said softly, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you. As for Jiang Lian, I don’t know much about his origins, but I do know one thing—you definitely want to get rid of him. I will do my best to help—”
At that moment, Zhou Jiao’s expression truly changed. She even forgot about being sad—her only thought was to yank her hand away immediately. “Stop talking nonsense—”
Jiang Lian was right outside the door!
Don’t start pulling and grabbing!
She did NOT want to be licked by those creepy things again!
Even if he wanted to help her get rid of Jiang Lian, did he really have to say it out loud like this?!
Zhou Jiao’s right eyelid twitched wildly.
—Jiang Lian had absolutely heard Xie Yueze’s words. She could feel the temperature around them slowly dropping, the air solidifying into ice.
At this rate, in just one more second, Xie Yueze’s head was going to be twisted off by a tentacle.
She had no choice but to muster all the strength in her body and violently kick Xie Yueze away. Coldly yanking back her hand, she declared: “Who said I wanted to get rid of him? He is my boyfriend. I love him so much that I’ve developed skin hunger syndrome—I can’t live unless I’m clinging to him.”
Xie Yueze: “…………”
Zhou Jiao: “……”
The two of them stared at each other in dead silence. After a long while, Xie Yueze murmured, “…If I remember correctly, he can extend tentacle-like appendages, right…?”
Zhou Jiao hadn’t expected him to actually remember that detail. Her expression stiffened.
Xie Yueze observed her rigid face and lowered his voice. “If you’re being forced—”
“I’m not being forced,” Zhou Jiao forcibly swallowed her shame and coldly interrupted him. “I just have a thing for it.”
Xie Yueze: “……………………”