Here is the English translation of the provided text:
“The infiltration of the ‘Abnormalities’ is becoming more and more frequent. What Bath淋 City needs is an Eshu who is fully committed, not a worthless wreck haunted by the past and liable to break down at any moment.”
“Do your job properly. Sealing away Abnormalities is protecting yourself—and, by extension… protecting everything you care about, even the people you claim you wish would just disappear.”
“After all, if one day the entire Earth gets swallowed by the ‘Abnormalities,’ won’t your grand revenge plan go up in smoke? Heh heh heh…”
Before the voice even finished, the figure of the Crimson Crow Rabbit had completely dissolved into the air, leaving only that unsettling laughter faintly echoing in the room.
He Deng Hong stood rooted to the spot, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms.
“Thump thump thump—” A rough knocking came from the door, clearly someone annoyed by the commotion he’d just caused.
He Deng Hong didn’t even need to listen carefully to know what was being used to knock—it was a kitchen cleaver. He’d seen people in this apartment building use cleavers to bang on neighbors’ doors multiple times, warning them to quiet down.
But right now, he couldn’t care less, because soon a strange, inexplicable itch spread across his body. It wasn’t on the surface of his skin; it felt like it was seeping out from between his bones—an uncomfortable sensation.
At the same time, there seemed to be a faint, lingering… smell in the room?
Like a light sweat odor mixed with something indescribable—something metallic and dusty.
At first he thought the trash can needed emptying, or maybe it was just a hallucination from not sleeping well last night.
He wrinkled his nose and sniffed around the cramped room—bed, corners, piles of junk…
The smell seemed to be everywhere, yet he couldn’t pinpoint a clear source.
Until he unintentionally approached the silent figure standing in the corner—his clone, He Jiu Lu. The odor grew noticeably stronger here.
Subconsciously, He Deng Hong bent down and brought his nose closer to the collar of He Jiu Lu’s military uniform.
Sure enough, that was where it was coming from.
Of course. Ever since this body was created by the Crimson Crow Rabbit, it had gone through alley fights, the park battle…
Stained with blood, dust, gunpowder, and the indescribable scents of various “Abnormalities,” yet it had never once been cleaned.
His real body came home exhausted from part-time jobs every day; remembering to take a shower for himself was already a luxury—how could he possibly bother with this clone?
Moreover, at first he had only felt rejection and a desire to exploit this “extra body” that had been forced on him. The idea of “maintenance” had never even crossed his mind.
Now, the wounds He Jiu Lu received from being struck by lightning yesterday had completely healed, leaving only some relatively minor scars. For some reason, the injuries on this body were recovering inexplicably faster than before—
Perhaps the Crimson Crow Rabbit had actually acted decent for once and secretly tinkered with the clone while he was asleep.
Now the consequences had arrived. The filth and discomfort the clone felt, along with whatever subtle metabolic processes were happening, were syncing back to his real body through that damned “inseparable” connection.
This itch and strange odor were He Jiu Lu’s silent protest.
“Damn it…”
He Deng Hong muttered a curse, feeling even more irritated.
He had originally planned to do as usual—leave the clone in the room and hurry out to find work.
But now it seemed that unless he dealt with this, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything today. This pervasive unease would keep tormenting him.
He glanced at the time on his phone; there was still a short window before he usually headed out.
Gritting his teeth, he decided to handle it quickly.
Using his mind to control He Jiu Lu, he walked his real body toward the narrow shower stall—barely big enough to turn around in.
He Jiu Lu followed silently, steps perfectly synchronized with his.
The cramped shower felt even more crowded with two people. He Deng Hong adjusted the water temperature; the sound of rushing water filled the space, and warm steam quickly enveloped the tiny area.
He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to undo the golden buttons on He Jiu Lu’s military jacket.
The process felt extremely awkward. He tried to make his movements mechanical and strictly business-like, as if handling an object that simply needed cleaning.
The cold buttons came undone one by one, revealing the somewhat slender outline of a young girl’s body beneath.
Piece by piece the uniform came off and was tossed haphazardly onto the wet floor.
He Jiu Lu stood quietly, crimson pupils devoid of any emotion, allowing him to do as he pleased.
Hot water soaked her streaked red hair, plastering it against her pale cheeks, which bore faint old scars.
He Deng Hong picked up the long-used soap bar that had almost no scent left and clumsily began washing the clone.
Rubbing the hair, scrubbing the neck, arms, back…
He deliberately avoided certain areas, his movements rough and hurried, just wanting to finish this embarrassing chore as fast as possible.
But as he washed, his actions unconsciously slowed.
Under the warm stream, the girl’s body looked even more delicate—almost fragile.
The faint scars left after healing silently told the story of the dangers this body had endured.
Suddenly he remembered that this clone’s appearance was that of a girl barely around elementary school graduation age.
A strange illusion gripped him—as if he weren’t cleaning a combat tool, but caring for… a daughter?
The thought jolted him, immediately followed by a wave of absurdity.
He himself was only eighteen, hadn’t even finished high school, and was struggling just to survive—where would he get a daughter from?
Yet the feeling refused to leave. It was a mix of responsibility, helplessness, and even the tiniest trace of pity that he himself didn’t want to acknowledge.
He shook his head hard, trying to fling away the weakness.
But his hands moved more gently of their own accord, more carefully rinsing away the suds—especially in the nail beds and creases of the joints where grime might hide.
Throughout the entire process, He Jiu Lu remained eerily silent. Only the sound of running water and her faint breathing echoed in the space.
That absolute obedience only made the odd sensation in He Deng Hong’s heart grow heavier.
Finally, he finished—hastily.
He roughly dried the clone with an old but clean towel, then found a relatively clean old T-shirt and sweatpants of his own and dressed her in them.
Only after all this did he let out a breath of relief. The inexplicable itch on his real body had indeed lessened considerably.
He stuffed the soaked military uniform into a plastic bag, planning to deal with it using “elements” when he got back tonight.
Then, leaving the now-clean, casually dressed clone in the corner of the room, he hurriedly grabbed the old backpack by the bed and prepared to head out.
Pushing open the creaky iron door of the apartment, He Deng Hong took a deep breath, intending to leave those inexplicable emotions behind.
But halfway through inhaling, the breath was choked back by an overwhelmingly intense, nauseating gust of bloody wind.
The smell was so familiar—the same source as the faint odor he’d detected on the clone earlier, but a hundred times stronger: the scent of fresh blood.
He jerked his head up, pupils contracting sharply.