The Dark and Shameless Monster Within Also Hopes to Be Liked by Her
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After Qiu Yu left, Chen Cebai propped his forehead with one hand, staring coldly at a point in the void for a long time.
After a while, he lowered the driver’s side window, took out a cigarette pack, held a cigarette between his lips, cupped his hand partially around it, lit it, and took a drag.
The flickering firelight illuminated his well-defined knuckles.
Judging by his appearance alone, anyone would assume he was a man of refined composure, as clear and bright as the wind after rain.
But just now, he had actually wanted to agree with Qiu Yu, to let her approach the so-called “Watcher.”
It was obvious that his greed was expanding as well.
Just being liked for his surface self was not enough.
The dark and shameless monster within him also hoped to be liked by her.
Chen Cebai was not actually addicted to smoking; he merely wanted to dispel Qiu Yu’s lingering scent in the car.
The acrid, pungent smoke only made that faint trace of her scent even clearer, provoking a sudden surge of desire.
After a few drags, Chen Cebai, feeling uninterested, extinguished the cigarette.
He tossed it away, put on his glasses, opened the car’s sunroof, and sped toward the laboratory.
—
When Qiu Yu arrived at the company, she hadn’t yet had the time to feel the shame of “being caught kissing by a colleague” or the satisfaction of “finally clarifying the rumors” before she was called into the office by her superior.
Her superior handed her a flash drive and gestured for her to insert it behind her ear, saying it contained information on a new project.
Qiu Yu followed the instruction, and immediately, countless deep blue lines erupted before her eyes, forming slowly rotating virtual figures.
Each one was a world-renowned top scientist.
It was no surprise to Qiu Yu when she saw Chen Cebai among them.
Compared to the other disheveled scientists, he appeared indifferent, dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, his demeanor like distant mountain peaks emerging in the dawn’s first light—exceptionally striking.
This overwhelmingly superior appearance was a double-edged sword.
It made him the most well-known scientist and also the most controversial top scholar.
Her superior said, “The higher-ups plan to produce an interview program titled ‘Into the World of Scientists,’ mainly showcasing these scholars in their daily lives to bridge the gap between the public and researchers. We believe you are the perfect candidate to host this show.”
Qiu Yu frowned slightly. “But…”
Her superior said, “No need to film your personal life with Mr. Chen, just capture him at work and after hours. It would be ideal if we could highlight some contrast, but even if we can’t, it’s fine.”
Qiu Yu originally wanted to refuse, but she recalled her visit to the psychologist. When the doctor had asked about Chen Cebai’s research field, she had realized she knew absolutely nothing about it. So, she nodded in agreement.
Her superior was very satisfied. “The filming schedule hasn’t been arranged yet. You can start thinking about the filming outline first. Once everything is coordinated, we’ll notify you.”
Qiu Yu removed the flash drive and left the office.
She knew that the reason they had chosen her to host the program was largely because of her marital relationship with Chen Cebai.
After all, the only industry where biotechnology did not have an advantage was entertainment.
To compete with other companies in the entertainment sector, the biotech industry had previously acquired a few entertainment companies and launched celebrities targeted at “sapiosexual” audiences.
However, the audience did not buy into it at all. They preferred to watch celebrities’ crude and chaotic personal lives rather than see them brooding at home while flipping through One Hundred Years of Solitude.
It seemed the company had finally realized that instead of fabricating high-intelligence celebrities, it would be more effective to film actual high-intelligence groups.
Following the standard promotional routine, Chen Cebai’s interview would surely be scheduled last.
Qiu Yu decided to first learn about the other scholars.
She downloaded the contents of the flash drive and created individual profiles for each person.
When she reached the last one, she paused for a moment.
—For employees of Biotech, as they aged, most of them would undergo artificial skin transplant surgery to some extent. First, for aesthetic purposes; second, because some artificial skin could provide functions such as fire resistance, bulletproofing, and shielding electromagnetic signals.
However, the person before her had retained his original, natural skin. He looked extremely fatigued—clearly only in his forties, yet already showing the aging signs of a man in his fifties or sixties.
What surprised her the most was that he was actually an expert in biochemical chips. The soon-to-be-released nanosecond-level biochemical chip was the masterpiece of his team.
Qiu Yu became somewhat intrigued by this person and noted down his name—Lu Zehou.
Perhaps because she had triggered some keyword, she suddenly received several spam messages.
> [Click the link to discover Chen Cebai’s true face: https://sbpk.ccbXXXXXX]
> [Click the link to discover Ke Yueling’s true face: https://sbpk.kylXXXXXX]
> [Click the link to discover Suzuki Yasuko’s true face: https://sbpk.lmkzXXXXXX]
…
They were identical to the spam messages she had received before, likely auto-sent by a fake base station detecting specific keywords.
Qiu Yu was about to delete the messages when her gaze paused on the last one.
The other messages all had a uniform format, even their links originated from the same website.
Yet, the last message was completely different in both format and link.
> [Shunned, suppressed, yet ultimately developed the nanosecond-level chip? How should Lu Zehou’s life be evaluated? https://luzehou.lzhXXXXXX]
Qiu Yu thought for a moment, switched to her tablet, and logged into the website.
The video on the website was only a few minutes long, seemingly designed for easy sharing. The narration was a robotic voice, mechanically and formulaically introducing Lu Zehou’s background, history, and current research projects, referring to him as “the scientist most likely to save the world.”
Such videos were typically produced by anti-corporate organizations.
The scientists they praised were not necessarily in secret dealings with them; likewise, the scientists they opposed were not necessarily uninvolved.
Qiu Yu watched for a while but found no useful information. She was about to close the page when she noticed the title of the next recommended video:
> [A beacon of hope for the underprivileged, rising to become part of the elite? Is Chen Cebai truly a genius, or just a manufactured academic fraud?]
Qiu Yu’s brows knitted tightly. Instinctively, she wanted to report the video, only to remember that this was not an official website, and there was no such option.
She intended to exit, but the page had already begun autoplaying the next video.
> “Chen Cebai, male, born January 10, 2047, in a slum of Yucheng. His biological father is unknown. His mother survived by scavenging and later passed away due to illness.
> In 2065, at the age of 18, Chen Cebai enrolled in a prestigious university to study biotechnology. After obtaining a doctorate, he continued to pursue studies in chemistry, mathematics, and genetic engineering. Even after joining Biotech, he never ceased his academic pursuits, accumulating a total of 32 doctoral degrees to date.
> Official reports claim that Chen Cebai has an IQ of 240, making him the highest-IQ individual in the world.
> But all of this is merely a persona fabricated by the company to pacify the common folk. Do you really believe that among those who drink waste water, eat locusts, and wear synthetic fabrics, a super-genius with an IQ of over 200 could truly be born?”
> “Those corporate elites grew up in 25°C greenhouses, eating lab-cultivated organic beef and organic vegetables, wearing silk fabrics. Even with sperm banks and gene editing, they still can’t produce a genius with an IQ over 200—so why do you think that drinking acid rain on the streets and eating garbage could possibly produce a super genius?
> “Wake up! The so-called ‘super genius’ is nothing but a lie, a marketing scam designed to pacify us commoners, to make us continue working tirelessly for those capitalists!
> “Wake up! Especially those of you who still worship Chen Cebai—if he were truly a genius, then why does his wife keep her distance from him?
> “—Miss Qiu, who is so passionate about charity, surely wouldn’t refuse to be seen in public with Mr. Chen just because she looks down on his origins, right?”
Qiu Yu was caught off guard upon hearing her own name, and her heart skipped a beat.
Only then did she realize that her marriage to Chen Cebai had already become a weapon used to attack him.
If he had always loved her so fiercely… then over these past three years, what kind of mindset had he been in, living under the same roof and sleeping in the same bed with her?
Putting herself in his shoes, Qiu Yu felt a bit uncomfortable. Unable to hold back, she sent Chen Cebai an emoji.
It was a crying cat meme—so overused on the internet for decades that layers upon layers of digital wear had blurred the original contours of the cat’s face.
Naturally, Chen Cebai had never seen such an odd-looking cat meme before. Not only were its eyes brimming with tears, but its feline features were so distorted that it no longer resembled a cat at all.
His brows furrowed slightly. He paused for two seconds and then called Qiu Yu via video.
Qiu Yu was in the middle of asking her hacker friend if there was a way to take down the website when she was startled by Chen Cebai’s video call.
Before she could hang up, the call automatically connected.
Only then did she remember that last night, while idly playing with her phone, she had been worried about missing a call or video from Chen Cebai and had changed all her settings—unless she was in a meeting, everything was set to “auto-connect.”
Qiu Yu: “……”
She silently changed it back.
Suddenly, the figure of Chen Cebai, clad in a silver protective suit, appeared before her.
It seemed he had just finished an experiment—he hadn’t even had time to remove the tight-fitting protective suit. His entire body was covered, leaving only a pair of cold and sharp eyes visible.
This time, he wasn’t using a tablet for the video call but rather the chip’s video function.
It was as if she were speaking to him face-to-face. She could even see his waist tensing as he moved.
Qiu Yu’s gaze subconsciously lingered on his waist for two seconds.
Chen Cebai, however, didn’t seem to notice her stare. Without a sideways glance, he walked into the independent disinfection chamber. Right in front of her, he took off the tight-fitting protective suit and tossed it aside, revealing his long and well-toned physique.
His body type was exactly to her preference—tall and lean, with sleek, firm muscles. His collarbones, wrist bones, elbows, and ankles all stood out sharply.
Clearly, he was a man with a cold and distant demeanor, yet both his eyes and his physique carried a wolf-like aggression.
Qiu Yu: “…………”
Her scalp tingled. Instinctively, she covered the screen of her tablet. Two seconds later, she remembered—they weren’t even using a tablet for the call.
“I’m still at work!” Qiu Yu whispered angrily.
White disinfection mist swirled around.
Chen Cebai remained calm, standing in the center as robotic arms assisted him in putting on a dress shirt, trousers, and a trench coat.
As he adjusted his cufflinks, Chen Cebai glanced at Qiu Yu. “Don’t you like watching?”
“No matter how much I like it, there’s a time and place for everything!”
Chen Cebai stated calmly, “But only in this setting would you find it stimulating.”
He knew her preferences all too well.
Qiu Yu was at a loss for words.
Sullenly, she changed the subject. “Why did you call me?”
Chen Cebai furrowed his brows slightly, as if carefully considering his words.
After a moment, he put on his glasses, and his gaze, from behind the lenses, locked onto her. “You cried. Why?”
Qiu Yu was puzzled. “I didn’t cry.”
“You sent a crying cat. Generally, cats only shed tears when they have an eye disease or a foreign object in their eye. You are not ill, so you must be expressing an emotion similar to crying.” Chen Cebai stared at her without blinking. “I want to know why you would feel this way.”
Qiu Yu was both touched and embarrassed—so embarrassed that her face burned.
She mumbled, “Do you not go online?”
That crying cat meme had been wildly popular on the internet for a while, sparking a wave of retro nostalgia. Yet, Chen Cebai had no idea what it was.
Chen Cebai answered calmly, “I use internet access services, but I do not use online entertainment platforms. The latter contains too much incorrect information and extreme emotions, which would affect my judgment.”
He pondered for a moment. “Last night, while I was showering, I heard you watching several short videos. Is it related to those videos?”
Qiu Yu’s cheeks instantly turned red.
The videos she had watched were things like “Watch the Latest Movie in One Minute,” “30-Second Guide to Discouraging Cat Adoption,” and “Come Watch a Kitten Poop.”
The comment sections were even worse—filled entirely with internet jokes and not a single normal discussion.
For example:
“People in 2023: I really wonder what great things people will achieve with holographic internet in fifty years!”
“People in 2073: Watching a kitten poop.”
A user with an age display of 76 years commented: “…I’ve been seeing this joke since I was in my twenties.”
At first, Qiu Yu had thought Chen Cebai was outdated, and she had felt secondhand embarrassment for his overly serious analysis of the crying cat meme. But now, she realized—his ability to remain rational amidst the overwhelming tide of information, to not go with the flow or absorb fleeting trends, was actually quite impressive.
However…
After some thought, Qiu Yu said, “It’s just a meme, similar to the crying emoji. Haven’t your friends ever sent you one?”
When she asked this, she had assumed that Chen Cebai’s friends were all industry elites, so it would be normal if they didn’t use memes.
But unexpectedly, Chen Cebai said indifferently, “I don’t have friends.”
Though, indeed, some people had sent him these nonsensical images before.
Usually, he would just glance at them coldly, neither responding nor giving them a second thought. He had never scrutinized an image for half a minute as he had with the one Qiu Yu sent, nor had he ever performed such an in-depth interpretation.
Qiu Yu was stunned.
She suddenly recalled how the video had described him, and her heart sank with an inexplicable sense of unease.
Softly, she asked, “…Have I cared too little about you? If you want, you can talk to me about your past.”
Chen Cebai narrowed his eyes slightly. “The past?”
Qiu Yu nodded. “For example, your mother, the place where you lived as a child, how you got into our school… If you’re willing, you can also tell me about any interesting stories from your school days.”
Chen Cebai blinked indifferently and rapidly twice.
For a moment, countless images flashed through his mind.
A towering heap of discarded junk, like a hive built from plastic bags, scrapped appliances, and corrugated cardboard.
A dark-skinned woman with a shrewd and impatient expression. She had a thick braid woven with strands of golden wire.
She snatched money from a man in a suit, counted it over and over, and finally, her face bloomed into a brilliant smile.
That was the first time he had seen her so happy.
Then came the silver-white laboratory, the gene modification surgery.
To avoid damaging the nervous system, the entire procedure was performed without anesthesia.
Some died from the sheer agony mid-surgery, and he too experienced pain that felt like dying.
In the end, he survived.
Among over a thousand “test subjects,” only thirteen survived the procedure.
To this day, he still remembered the moment when Biotech’s higher-ups came to “visit” them. Upon hearing that thirteen test subjects had survived, they merely said, “That’s an unlucky number.”
—At the Last Supper, thirteen people attended the feast; the next day, Jesus was betrayed by his disciple and nailed to the cross.
Since then, “13” had become a cursed number.
As soon as those words fell, a security officer beside the higher-ups swiftly drew his gun and pulled the trigger on one of the test subjects.
“Bang—”
Scalding, viscous blood splattered across Chen Cebai’s face.
That test subject had only been a single bed away from him.
He was merely a test subject who had luckily survived, and then luckily married the person he loved.
But now, it seemed his luck had run out.
A terrifying and twisted monster was fighting him for control over this body.
…Or perhaps, it only wanted to share it with him.
Just like now—when he looked at her from behind his glasses, he could feel two focal points converging on her.
One gaze was from a normal angle—calm, rational.
The other was from a voyeuristic angle—fierce, manic.
Like peering at someone through a hole in the wall.
The two gazes had no choice but to press together, overlapping, fusing, tangling tightly—until they became one, clinging onto her like an inescapable force.
Chen Cebai closed his eyes briefly.
Then, he removed his glasses, pulled out a cleaning wipe, and wiped the lenses.
His voice was firm and indisputable. “There’s nothing to talk about.”