Chapter 11: The Claiming of Territory

With no one to stop him, the blue octopus contentedly stretched out his tendrils and began to patrol the living room with the ease of a master surveying his domain.

To him, the human’s living room was a bit too small—but small had its advantages. The modest house was like a sealed jar, perfectly preserving the scent of Song Nanxing. Even the air was steeped in that intoxicating aroma.

His translucent blue tendrils slid over every inch of the floor and furniture, leaving behind a faint trace of sea breeze that quickly blended back into the atmosphere without a single mark.

Only after silently dividing the entire house into his own territory did the blue octopus finally use a tendril to twist open the bedroom door.

Song Nanxing was already fast asleep.

His long, slender body sank into the soft mattress, his face slightly turned to the side, faintly glowing with a dewy sheen in the darkness.

The blue octopus stood by the bed, his eight tendrils restlessly slithering along the edge of the mattress. But since he hadn’t been given permission, he couldn’t touch the human sleeping at the center. All he could do was leave damp, glistening trails along the dark blue bedsheets.

In the stillness of the room, faint whispers filled the air—inaudible to human ears:

“He smells so good.”

“Eat him, eat him, eat him…”

“So hungry…”

“Not food. We can’t eat him.”

The chaotic chatter that flooded the bedroom didn’t disturb the sleeping human. He simply turned over in his dreams, causing his tousled black hair to fall across most of his face.

The voices instantly stopped, murmuring in unison:

“Can’t see.”

“Can’t see.”

“Can’t see.”

…

All eight tendrils scrambled to push aside the fallen hair, but unwilling to yield to each other, they ended up tangled in a mess beside the bed.

“Tied up.”

“Tied up.”

“Tied up.”

…

The bickering resumed until a cold, commanding voice suddenly cut through them:

“Silence.”

As if obeying an order, all the voices vanished. The tendrils, which had been squirming in a frenzy, also froze and calmly unraveled themselves with ease.

A single tendril cautiously reached out above Song Nanxing. The tip—lacking suction cups—curled slightly, gently brushing away the black hair that had fallen across his face.

As it shifted the strands aside, the tip accidentally brushed against his cheek.

Warm.

The tender sensation traveled up the tendril, and in the previously hushed room, voices rose again in awe:

“So soft.”

“So warm.”

“Like, like, like—so much…”

The endless chorus of praise filled the air. The blue tendril trembled slightly, yielding to instinct as it glided softly down his cheek, slowly coiling around the fragile curve of his neck.

The temperature there was even higher, radiating warmth that lured the cool tendril downward, toward even softer, warmer places…

Song Nanxing had nightmares all night.

In the dream, he mistakenly wandered into a thick fog and was once again ambushed by a giant tendril. But this time, he wasn’t lucky enough to escape. Countless thick tendrils emerged from the mist, secreting a slimy, sticky fluid along their surfaces. Like snakes, they wrapped around him layer by layer, eventually sealing him in completely.

He struggled desperately inside that salty, fishy-smelling prison of flesh—but no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t break free.

Even after waking with a start, he could still feel the lingering slickness of that mucous-like liquid clinging to his skin, and his nose was full of that briny scent.

Song Nanxing sat in bed, dazed, for a long while before finally pulling himself together and getting up to open the window for fresh air.

Heavy rain poured down outside. The cold wind carried with it the scent of rust and wetness, stirring him awake. He quickly shut the window.

“No wonder I had nightmares with rain like this,” he muttered, heading to the bathroom to wash up—attributing the strange lingering smell in the room to the weather.

After freshening up, he made himself some breakfast and returned to researching dream therapy and psychological counseling.

It wasn’t until 1 p.m. that he closed his laptop and prepared to leave the house.

The rain outside hadn’t let up at all.

Taking the bus in this downpour would be a hassle. Packing up, Song Nanxing decided to rent a shared car from the property office downstairs.

Just as he stepped out of his apartment, the door to 402 across the hall opened almost at the same time.

Shen Du emerged, his gaze landing directly on Song Nanxing.

“Heading out?” he asked casually.

Song Nanxing nodded and picked up the box with the puppet that had been sitting by his door.

Since he was already going out, he planned to find a place to throw it away on his way to the Good Dream Clinic.

“It’s dangerous out there in this rain,” Shen Du said, walking down the stairs beside him.

Song Nanxing was well aware of the risks of going out on a day like this. But he wasn’t willing to let his only clue slip away, so he had already made up his mind to investigate.

He lifted the rain poncho in his hand and gave it a little shake. “I’ll be careful.”

Shen Du’s eyes briefly flicked to Song Nanxing’s neck, then he gave a soft “mm” in response.

They reached the ground floor, and the two parted ways at the entrance to the building.

Song Nanxing wrapped himself tightly in the protective rain gear, opened his umbrella, and began walking toward the property management office.

The entire residential complex was shrouded in rain, unusually quiet. The only sound that filled the space was the constant white noise of water streaming over buildings.

But as he passed by Building 2, a woman’s voice—completely out of place—sliced through the silence.

“Song Yunqiao, where are you?”

“Come out, Song Yunqiao.”

Song Nanxing turned toward the sound and saw Jing Rao meandering through the rain with an umbrella. Her long red dress dragged through the puddles, but she didn’t seem to care.

Those fox-like, upturned eyes roamed the area in search, lips painted crimson and curved into a playful smile.

She quickly spotted Song Nanxing and glided toward him under her umbrella.

“Have you seen my dog?” she asked sweetly.

Song Nanxing shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

Jing Rao let out a small sigh, looking disappointed. “Well, if you do see it, please let me know.”

Song Nanxing nodded and started walking away—only to hear her call out again:

“It’s a very good liar. If you run into it, don’t believe a word it says.”

Song Nanxing froze mid-step.

His expression didn’t change, but his thoughts were spinning.

She’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

A dog that can lie? Seriously?

He felt a bit uneasy but simply nodded again, half-heartedly, and picked up his pace toward the management office.

Behind him, Jing Rao continued wandering off in another direction, umbrella tilting as she called out, “Song Yunqiao! Where are you?”

*****

At the management office, only one staff member was on duty. Seeing Song Nanxing show up through the downpour, the worker was visibly surprised.

“You came out in this weather?”

“I’ve got something urgent,” Song Nanxing explained. “I’d like to rent a car.”

This was a new policy rolled out after the widespread outbreak of mental contamination—an official effort to safeguard civilian life. Cities had begun deploying large numbers of shared cars sprayed with a special coating to resist erosion from the red rain.

While it didn’t guarantee complete protection from the pollutants in the rain, during emergencies, cars still offered far more comprehensive protection than raincoats or umbrellas.

These shared cars were common enough in inner-city areas, but older neighborhoods on the outskirts had to rely on property management for rentals.

The staffer, seeing Song Nanxing clearly didn’t want to talk, swiftly scanned his wristband and handed him a key.

“The car’s in the underground garage. The license plate number is on the key. Drive safe.”

Song Nanxing thanked him and took the elevator down to the parking level.

The elevator doors slid open—and a shadow darted past him, swiftly ducking into a corner.

Song Nanxing stared at the huddled shape, startled. “Song Yunqiao?”

At the sound of its name, the curled-up teddy dog lifted its head and gave a low whimper.

Its brown, curly fur was soaked and clung tightly to its body. Patches of pink skin were exposed, marred by scars, making it look far less adorable than it had in the shop.

“Your owner’s looking for you,” Song Nanxing said.

Upon hearing that, Song Yunqiao let out a strange, muffled whine. Then, limping and dragging one leg behind, it actually forced itself upright on its hind legs—like a person. Its front paws came together in a desperate pleading gesture as it struggled to spit out barely intelligible words:

“Help… help me.”

Song Nanxing’s face froze.

‘Shouldn’t I be the one screaming for help right now?’

And what’s worse—the property staff didn’t see this. It had to come to me. Great. Now I look like the unhinged one.

Seeing Song Nanxing frozen in place, Song Yunqiao lowered itself to the ground again, now fully on its belly. It pressed its forehead to the floor, letting out low sobs. Huge tears welled up in its black eyes and splashed onto the concrete.

Song Nanxing looked genuinely conflicted. He glanced toward the nearby car and pointed.

“Sorry, I’ve got something urgent. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

And without waiting for a response, he strode straight toward the car, slammed the door shut, started the engine, and drove off in one fluid motion.

By the time Song Yunqiao processed what had happened, only a fading trail of exhaust remained in its line of sight.

*****
Haomeng Psychological Counseling was located in an old office building near the border of the inner and outer city zones.

The aging building had already lost most of its tenants. With production halted due to the red rain season, the entire place was now eerily deserted. Not a single soul was around, and even the underground garage sat in complete darkness.

Using a flashlight to navigate, Song Nanxing fumbled through the dark until he found the elevator. He let out a silent sigh of relief upon discovering it still functioned—otherwise he would’ve had to climb all twenty-nine floors himself.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind him, Song Nanxing opened the forum’s private message window and sent a text to the user he’d been corresponding with:
[I’m about to reach the 29th floor.]

The reply came instantly, as if the other person had been staring at their phone:
[I’m waiting for you.]

The elevator numbers flickered one by one. Then the car jolted with a dull thud and came to a stop on the 29th floor.

The doors slowly slid open—but before Song Nanxing could step out, an enormous, bloated body eagerly squeezed into the elevator.

Rolls upon rolls of fat nearly filled half the cabin. Pressed against the wall, Song Nanxing’s gaze wandered over the undulating mass of flesh before finally locating a small, delicate head nestled within it.

It was… a surprisingly handsome young man, judging by his features.

Song Nanxing focused politely on the bridge of the man’s nose and introduced himself: “I’m Song Nanxing, here for the interview.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.” The tiny head spoke in a soft, refined voice—completely at odds with the body it was attached to.

“You can call me Cheng Jianning.”

As he spoke, Cheng Jianning eagerly grabbed Song Nanxing’s hand and tugged him out of the elevator.
“Come on, everyone’s been waiting for you.”

Song Nanxing stumbled along behind him, eyes scanning the man’s enormous, bloated figure—particularly the wires coiled around his limbs like tangled data cables. On his right arm, one of the wires had come loose and now dragged behind him across the floor.

“Your arm—your wire came loose,” Song Nanxing pointed out kindly.

Cheng Jianning glanced back casually, then simply yanked the cable free. A large clump of yellow fat came with it.

“Tsk. Already time to change wires again,” he muttered with clear frustration.

Drops of yellow fat splattered on the floor. Just then, a cleaning lady entered from outside. Her voice was cold and harsh.

“How many times do I have to say it? Don’t make a mess on the floor—it’s a pain to clean up.”