A Newly Roped Beast Will Always Struggle Fiercely
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Having resolved the immediate threat to their lives, Zhou Jiao began to consider where she and Jiang Lian would stay next.
The small apartment allocated by the Special Bureau was obviously no longer an option, so she could only take Jiang Lian to a hotel.
The problem was that checking into a hotel required an identity chip, and the chip was manufactured by BioTech. Sleeping in a hotel was equivalent to sleeping right under BioTech’s nose.
Zhou Jiao had no interest in being jolted awake by BioTech’s security personnel kicking down the door.
…However, if it could cause Jiang Lian a bit of trouble, she wouldn’t mind staying in a hotel.
She was just that wicked.
After all, he liked her wickedness, didn’t he?
Zhou Jiao was only entertaining herself with this thought; she didn’t actually believe Jiang Lian was interested in all of her malice.
But just as this idea flashed through her mind, Jiang Lian suddenly lowered his head and took a deep breath at the hollow of her neck.
Zhou Jiao: “……”
Was this some sort of reward for me?
His damp, cold breath fanned against the side of her neck, and his voice sounded at her ear: “You…”
She turned her head.
From this angle, she could see his jawline was drawn tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently, a thick blue vein bulging against the cold whiteness of his throat.
Or perhaps it wasn’t a vein, but a tentacle eager to burst forth in excitement.
Despite the intimate posture, Zhou Jiao felt her heart jolt and her hairs stand on end.
Was it because his head was too close to her carotid artery?
After a long pause, Jiang Lian finally lifted his head. His expression was calm, but his breathing was not. “You shouldn’t keep releasing that scent. It’s too enticing for me. It makes me…”
He furrowed his brows slightly, as if searching for the right word.
Zhou Jiao’s heart pounded wildly—afraid he would say something utterly indecent.
Kissing him had already been strange enough; she had no interest in developing an even stranger relationship with him.
Then Jiang Lian said,
“It makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me want to kill you.”
“……”
Upon hearing this, Zhou Jiao actually felt relieved.
Thank goodness, he only wanted to kill her. (TL: What? 💀)
That said, if she could control her scent at will, the first thing she would do wouldn’t be lowering herself here—it would be making him dominate the entire world.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she could say aloud.
Even if she did, he probably wouldn’t understand.
So Zhou Jiao simply gave him a sweet smile. “Alright, I’ll try my best.”
Jiang Lian straightened up, his gaze dark and unreadable as he stared at her smile.
Maybe agreeing to cooperate with her was a mistake.
She smelled too good.
Like an unbreakable rope, it tightened mercilessly around his neck.
He hated this feeling of restraint.
A violent, bloodthirsty urge churned inside him.
A voice echoed from the depths of his consciousness: Kill her, and the bindings will be undone.
The rope strangling his neck would disappear.
He would no longer be tempted by anything. He would no longer be controlled by anything.
Jiang Lian stared unblinkingly at Zhou Jiao. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his gaze was so chilling it was suffocating.
Behind him, cracks in space split open and closed again—each time they opened, glimpses of writhing, purple-black tentacles could be seen, twisting in a frenzy, emanating a monstrous killing intent.
For a moment—
Zhou Jiao felt a bone-deep chill, her scalp tingling.
Shit, this bastard really wants to kill me!
Though he had agreed to cooperate with her, he had no concept of keeping promises. He could go back on his word at any moment and end her life.
Zhou Jiao could understand his mindset.
After all, if she had casually agreed to cooperate with an ant on a whim, she wouldn’t actually follow through with the agreement.
…But that understanding was based on the assumption that she wasn’t the ant.
It felt as if an invisible countdown had appeared in midair, ticking away, second by second.
On the surface, Zhou Jiao remained composed, but her mind was working frantically. Large beads of cold sweat seeped from her skin, soaking the back of her shirt in an instant.
There had been no change in their surroundings—no drop in temperature—but Zhou Jiao was absolutely certain of one thing: the moment Jiang Lian decided she didn’t need to exist anymore, she would die. She wouldn’t even get a chance to struggle like before.
Trying to talk her way out of this wouldn’t work—he didn’t care what she had to say.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand.
He simply didn’t care.
He was too powerful. So powerful that no external changes could shake him in the slightest.
So what if he was trapped in “Jiang Lian’s” body?
He knew that nothing in human society could possibly harm him. That was why, for the past half year, he had never questioned why he had ended up on land, nor had he thought about returning to the ocean. He had simply continued living as Jiang Lian.
Only a being far, far above humanity could possess this kind of effortless confidence in going with the flow.
If she wanted to survive, human logic wouldn’t be enough to convince him.
The only option was—
Zhou Jiao gritted her teeth, reached out, grabbed the back of his head—
And shoved his face into the side of her neck!
You want to smell?
Then smell all you want!
The air instantly fell silent, leaving only the soft patter of rain.
Even though she had entangled lips and teeth with him countless times, this was the first time his face was pressed directly against her neck.
She could feel the cold, prominent bridge of his nose, the metallic frame of his glasses, the faint twitching of his nostrils… She thought about how his face could split open like a man-eating flower at any moment, and she couldn’t stop herself from shivering several times.
Zhou Jiao clenched her fists, trying to stay calm.
But the skin on the side of her neck was far too thin and sensitive—right beneath it, her carotid artery was pulsing wildly.
This action was no different from an antelope offering its throat to a top predator.
…How could she not tremble?
Zhou Jiao took a deep breath, forcing her pounding heart to steady.
She tilted her head and rubbed intimately against Jiang Lian’s cheek.
“I know you don’t dislike my scent,” she murmured, “what you dislike is the feeling of being restrained… After all, before descending into ‘Jiang Lian’s’ body, you never had anything you preferred. But because of Jiang Lian’s genes, you’ve developed an abnormal craving for me…”
She lowered her eyelashes and gently combed her fingers through his short hair. The motion seemed soft and composed, but if one looked closely, they would see the cold sweat covering her forehead and the faint trembling of her pupils.
And yet, her voice betrayed nothing.
“It’s normal for you to feel discomfort. But in reality, there’s no need for you to pay attention to this feeling at all. After all, I’m so weak…” She emphasized her vulnerability and harmlessness once again. “I’ve even offended the ‘gods’ of human society—BioTech. The moment I lose your protection, they will kill me. No matter what happens, you will never be restrained by me.”
A newly roped beast will always struggle fiercely.
Only when it realizes the rope poses no threat will it gradually grow accustomed to its existence.
Over time, it may even forget the rope is there at all.
But no matter how harmless a rope seems, it remains a tool for humans to control beasts. When necessary, it will tighten mercilessly around the beast’s neck, leaving it unable to move.
Zhou Jiao held Jiang Lian’s head against her shoulder, doing her best to release an aura of pure innocence.
…Though she had no idea whether she was actually emitting anything at all.
The tension lingered. Jiang Lian remained motionless.
Zhou Jiao’s hand was starting to go numb.
This was practically an embrace—Jiang Lian’s head buried in the crook of her shoulder, his forehead brushing against her skin, his sharp, cold nose pressing into her neck. She could feel his chiseled, icy features against her… but at the same time, she could sense the eerie, inhuman dampness clinging to his form.
It was as if a block of cold, heavy ice was weighing down on her shoulder. Combined with the suffocating tension of hovering at death’s edge, half her body was beginning to go stiff.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
Just as even her toes were beginning to feel numb, a chilling breath finally ghosted over the hollow of her neck.
Jiang Lian spoke.
“…Alright.”
Meaning he wouldn’t kill her.
Zhou Jiao let out a long sigh of relief.
Her clothes were completely drenched in cold sweat.
From yesterday to today, she had been walking a tightrope, a string in her mind pulled taut. She had thought this tension would leave her utterly exhausted—after all, no matter how much one craved excitement, no one could possibly want to live in constant peril.
The reality was, she didn’t resent this feeling at all. On the contrary, she felt this was the life she should be living—thrilling, exhilarating, always hanging by a thread.
Not mundane, boring, trapped in a rigid daily routine.
However, enjoying danger and excitement didn’t mean she was willing to be held captive, her life or death dictated by a monster’s whims.
Zhou Jiao lowered her lashes, lightly touching her sore, swollen neck. Her gaze was cold.
Sooner or later…
At that moment, Jiang Lian seemed to have had his fill. He slowly lifted his head from the crook of her neck.
Zhou Jiao immediately flashed a bright smile. “Whatever you’d like to do next, I’ll accompany you.”
—
Although Zhou Jiao would have loved to charge into BioTech today and send Jiang Lian back home tomorrow, that was obviously impossible. Even though Jiang Lian was incredibly powerful, this matter required careful planning.
She couldn’t rely too much on his strength. Otherwise, the moment BioTech collapsed, she would lose the leash around his neck.
…Though that leash already looked like it was hanging by a thread.
The immediate priority was to find a place to rest.
Fortunately, both she and Jiang Lian were now unemployed wanderers, free to roam the city while searching for a hotel.
As they walked, Zhou Jiao was lost in thought, her mind weighed down by countless concerns. It wasn’t until the first light of dawn broke over the horizon that she finally lifted her head and glanced around at the cityscape.
…And suddenly realized that it had been a long time since she had really looked at this city.
Bathed in milky-white morning light, the city resembled the remains of a fallen industrial giant—dark gray smokestacks, white skyscrapers, slums built from cheap plastic and neon signs, a landscape so filthy, so bleak, that it exuded a paradoxical sense of precision and chaos.
Not a single trace of green could be seen on the streets. Plants had no place in the industrial and slum districts; they only existed near corporate buildings.
No matter where you stood, whether the day was shrouded in smog or lashed by acid rain, whether the flashing neon lights and holographic advertisements overwhelmed your senses, you could always see the corporation’s towering skyscrapers.
If this entire city was a Social Darwinist experiment, then the corporation’s skyscraper was the ultimate end goal.
People here would do anything—anything—to reach that goal.
Or to stay there.
Before being transferred to the Special Bureau, Zhou Jiao had worked at a BioTech hospital for a time.
The salary there was three times higher than at the Special Bureau, but she had failed the company’s employee loyalty test and was subsequently demoted.
During her time at the hospital, she had once treated a patient suffering from a stimulant overdose.
The patient was from the slums but had managed to climb her way up to become a corporate employee—an almost impossible feat. In Yucheng, rising from the lowest class to the middle class was harder than killing someone. But she had done it.
Because she worked 18 hours a day. Because she had over ten different biochips implanted in her brain. Because she constantly pushed her cognitive limits through high-intensity neural networking.
By the time she was rushed to the hospital, it was almost impossible to draw even a single vial of normal blood from her veins. Every drop was saturated with an alarming concentration of stimulants. The prolonged use of biochips had dulled her brain to the point that she could only function with heavy doses of stimulants—without them, her neurons would barely fire.
But the human body builds tolerance. The threshold for sensation keeps rising. Over time, she needed stronger and stronger stimulants just to keep her brain operational.
In the end, she suffered fatal ventricular fibrillation and died in the emergency room.
Zhou Jiao remembered her vividly—because she had been the attending doctor that night. Because she was the one who had pulled the white sheet over the girl’s lifeless body.
—Wait.
Wait!
Zhou Jiao’s head snapped up, her pupils contracting sharply.
It was as if a long-clogged joint had suddenly been forced open—she had just unraveled the cause and effect of something she had previously overlooked.
The account “When Will BioTech Go Bankrupt” had replaced part of its second-to-last post with “■■■”. She hadn’t ignored it out of disinterest; she simply hadn’t had any leads to investigate further.
But just now, in a sudden flash of realization—she knew exactly what “■■” and “■■■” represented.
Zhou Jiao pressed her lips tightly together and pulled up the webpage.
The social platform’s interface flickered to life in her vision, though to an outsider, the only sign of her activity was the faint silver gleam flashing through her pupils.
She scrolled down to that post:
[“I can’t take it anymore—I’m surrounded by nothing but monsters!!! Why am I the only one who sees them for what they truly are? Are you all blind?!! That person wants to turn everyone in the world into a monster, monster, MONSTER!!! If you all keep wandering around in a daze, one day you’ll become monsters too!!!! I don’t understand why you’re not afraid??? I’m scared to death every single day!!! Afraid they’ll poison the ■■■!!! Hahahahahaha, bet you didn’t see this coming— the moment ■■ was invented, the gears of this conspiracy started turning!!! You use ■■ too much, and you HAVE to take ■■■! And both ■■ and ■■■ belong to THEM!!! The world is bound to fall under their control, hahahahaha, we’re all doomed together!!!!”]
At a glance, anyone reading this post would be completely lost about what “■■” and “■■■” referred to.
But when she connected it to that patient’s case—if “■■” meant chip and “■■■” meant stimulant—then everything suddenly made perfect sense.
[“I’m scared to death every single day!!! Afraid they’ll poison the stimulants!!! Hahahahahaha, bet you didn’t see this coming— the moment chips were invented, the gears of this conspiracy started turning!!! You use chips too much, and you HAVE to take stimulants! And both chips and stimulants belong to THEM!!! The world is bound to fall under their control, hahahahaha, we’re all doomed together!!!!”]
Other than Jiang Lian, Zhou Jiao had never truly feared anything.
But in this moment, a shiver ran down her spine, ice-cold dread washing over her like a bucket of freezing water.
She couldn’t stop herself from trembling.
Because this was too insidious.
Corporate competition was ruthless. In order to avoid getting fired, employees implanted as many chips as possible. But the chips had side effects—attention deficit, slight emotional disturbances—and the only solution was to buy BioTech’s inhalable stimulants.
Within six months, users would develop a tolerance. And in order to keep functioning and avoid termination, they had no choice but to increase their dosage.
If BioTech had been tampering with the stimulants…
The consequences would be unimaginable.
No wonder the account owner’s mental state had reached the brink of madness.
Anyone who discovered something like this—anyone—would go insane.
At that moment, a thought suddenly struck Zhou Jiao. Her gaze shifted downward to the account’s final post.
She had been interrupted by Jiang Lian before she could check the comments.
5,000 comments.
What had people been saying?
She braced herself and clicked in.
…
【You finally figured it out.】
【You finally figured it out.】
【You finally figured it out.】
【You finally figured it out.】
【You finally figured it out.】
【You finally figured it out.】
…All 5,000 comments.
Nothing but the exact same sentence.
Zhou Jiao’s eyelids twitched, and she instinctively took a step back.
Her nerves were stretched too tight—so much so that she failed to notice the step behind her.
Her foot slipped.
She was about to fall.
At the critical moment, a purple-black tentacle suddenly shot out from behind Jiang Lian, catching her back and preventing her from tumbling down.
A familiar chill seeped into her skin.
But it wasn’t the bone-piercing cold of BioTech’s conspiracy that had just shaken her to the core.
No—this was different.
This was the eerie, incomprehensible cold of an unknown deep-sea entity—something beyond human understanding.
Though this unnatural cold still sent shivers down her spine, she couldn’t deny one thing:
It made her exhale in relief.
And it gave her a tiny—just a tiny—sense of security.