Song Nanxing stared at the aerial roots for a long time, feeling a bit dizzy.
He took out his phone and switched to video mode, aiming it at the giant tree and started recording. These videos would be sent back to Chu Yan—maybe they could analyze something from them.
At that moment, the communicator on his waist rang out: “Song Nanxing, Song Nanxing, are you there?”
It was Cheng Jianning’s voice.
Song Nanxing ended the recording and sent the videos separately to Li Hao and Chu Yan: “Have you arrived? Has the support come?”
Cheng Jianning replied, “Part of the team has arrived. Captain Chu handled the situation at the gym and is now heading to the park. How’s it on your end? I originally wanted to bring people in, but the police won’t let us through no matter what. So I thought I’d ask you first…”
Song Nanxing looked toward the island in the center of the lake.
The giant tree had grown even larger since before, its branches stretching over the water, casting twisted shadows on the surface.
Cheng Jianning’s voice was still coming through the communicator, but it sounded as if it were underwater, distorted and muffled, almost incomprehensible.
Song Nanxing’s dizziness worsened. He shook his head forcefully, and only then did the sensation of water clogging his ears ease a bit. Cheng Jianning’s worried voice came through: “Song Nanxing, are you okay? I called you several times but got no response.”
“I’m okay for now,” Song Nanxing replied quickly. “Zhou Xuan and I found a giant tree on the island in the lake at the forest park. Those banyan stumps and the polluted humans’ destination is all here… They’ve become part of the tree. You have to stop the others—don’t let them come in—”
Before Song Nanxing could finish, a sharp, piercing chirp sounded in his ear, like cicadas in summer screaming hoarsely.
He covered one ear with his hand, but the cicada cries continued. Blood stained his palm.
The green light on the communicator was still blinking—Cheng Jianning must still be talking, but Song Nanxing couldn’t hear clearly. The cicada’s shrill cries drowned out everything else.
He hurriedly spoke into the communicator, “We’re on the opposite side of the island in the lake. Something’s very wrong here. Don’t come in. Wait for Captain Chu’s team to arrive before making any decisions. I’m hanging up now.”
After ending the call, he clipped the communicator back to his waist and turned to look at Zhou Xuan. “Zhou Xuan, did you hear the cicadas—”
Before he could finish, the voice was suddenly cut off.
Zhou Xuan, who had been by his side the whole time, had vanished without a trace.
Above him, between the tree branches, spiderwebs glistened faintly under the floodlights.
Song Nanxing’s heart skipped a beat. He ran forward along the web, lowering his voice as he called out, “Zhou Xuan? Zhou Xuan?”
The spiderweb extended down the path leading to the island, but there was no sign of Zhou Xuan.
Song Nanxing remembered he still had his phone. He found Zhou Xuan’s number and dialed.
The faint ringing tone continued without end.
Song Nanxing relaxed slightly and followed the sound, soon seeing Zhou Xuan moving quickly along the spiderweb, carefully wrapping a banyan stump with silken threads.
His movements were gentle and meticulous, almost unnerving.
But when he saw Song Nanxing, his eyes were clear and calm. He said, “Sorry, Xu Lai somehow followed me in. I was worried something would happen to him and didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
Song Nanxing studied his expression, then glanced at the banyan stump wrapped in silk. His heart dropped. Zhou Xuan wasn’t right either.
He didn’t dare upset Zhou Xuan at this moment and could only try to soothe him: “This place is way too dangerous for just the two of us to go deeper. I’ve already sent the videos of the giant tree to Captain Chu and Li Hao. They’ll be here soon. Let’s head back and meet up with them.”
Zhou Xuan nodded and cautiously approached the banyan stump. He bent down and spoke in a tone so gentle it almost sounded strange—one Song Nanxing had never heard from him before: “Xu Lai, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Let’s go out first, it’ll be safe once we’re out.”
He seemed to want to comfort “Xu Lai” by stroking his head, but his hand froze mid-air. His smile grew stiff, and he compromised, soothing him, “Okay, okay, I won’t touch you. Don’t be afraid.”
Song Nanxing understood. Zhou Xuan seemed to think that “Xu Lai” was afraid of him.
His gaze fell on Zhou Xuan’s massive, grotesque half-spider form. He noticed Zhou Xuan’s long spider legs, restless, scratching deep grooves into the ground.
Perhaps Zhou Xuan was worried that “Xu Lai” would be frightened by his spider form. Song Nanxing recalled how ordinary people would flinch when they saw Zhou Xuan like this.
“Let’s go,” Song Nanxing said.
Zhou Xuan bent down and carefully lifted the spider cocoon, leading the way.
Song Nanxing followed behind him, his dizziness returning.
A strong scent reached him—it was strange. At first, it smelled fragrant, but on closer sniffing, it transformed into an indescribable metallic, almost bloody stench—like congealed blood, yet still oddly alluring.
Song Nanxing swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Suddenly, he felt hungry.
An intense hunger surged from his stomach, making him even more dizzy. The scenery before his eyes seemed to spin and warp. Zhou Xuan, carrying the banyan stump, walked farther and farther ahead, unaware that Song Nanxing had fallen behind.
The cicadas tore through the air next to his ears, their cries shattering his heart.
Song Nanxing reached to cover his ears, and the cicada noise seemed to soften a little. The swirling view stopped rotating like a kaleidoscope.
He shook his head vigorously. In the clearer sight before him, a man in a black robe stood on the path to the island, his face hidden beneath a hood, looking in Song Nanxing’s direction.
That figure looked somewhat familiar. Song Nanxing furrowed his brow sluggishly and took a step forward.
The man removed his hood, revealing a face shrouded in shadow—it was Song Cheng.
A sharp pain shot through Song Nanxing’s head, unbearable, and he crouched down: “Song Cheng, you really… aren’t dead!”
Song Cheng came closer and crouched in front of him, gently stroking his head with affection. “You’ve grown up.”
Song Nanxing gritted his teeth against the stabbing headache, gasped, and pushed his hand away, standing up with reddened eyes. “Where’s Mom?”
Song Cheng wasn’t angry at his resistance. He pointed to the large tree behind him. “Your mother is right there. Didn’t you already guess?”
He looked at Song Nanxing with a hint of pity. “The Corpse Tower has a peculiar trait—it remembers every person it devours, including their memories from life. These memories become the nourishment for the Corpse Tower, and also the bait it uses to hunt. Your mother is one such bait.”
“She was just an ordinary woman who ventured too deep into the dangerous mist zone. How could she have survived?”
Song Nanxing shook his head, muttering incessantly, “I don’t believe it… That’s not Mom…”
Behind Song Cheng, the giant tree’s aerial roots writhed.
Countless voices emitted pained moans, like ghosts trapped underwater.
Song Cheng pointed to one of the aerial roots. “She’s waiting for you there. Aren’t you going to see her?”
That humanoid aerial root was thinner than the others but had clearer facial features. The brown surface of the root shimmered with a pale white glow.
A familiar voice echoed softly in Song Nanxing’s ear: “Xingxing…”
Song Nanxing stared blankly at the figure standing beneath the tree.
Song Cheng gave his back a slight push and said, “You should say a proper goodbye.”
Song Nanxing’s body moved involuntarily toward the giant tree, tears falling in big drops: “No, no….”
His soul seemed to split in two—one half uncontrollably rushing toward the woman beneath the tree; the other half desperately denying, That’s not Mom, that’s not Mom…
The woman under the tree opened her arms, waiting for him.
Song Nanxing couldn’t resist, like a weary bird returning home, he threw himself into her embrace…
Song Cheng smiled.
Song Nanxing buried his face in the woman’s neck, his nose catching that strong scent again—it was pungent, bloody, and strangely appetizing.
The balance within him tipped entirely to the other half.
He clung tightly to the woman’s frail back, his gaze fixed on her delicate neck. His eyes grew unfocused as he opened his mouth and bit down hard on her carotid artery—
Cheng Jianning paced anxiously at the main gate, muttering softly to himself, “Something’s wrong, something’s definitely wrong inside.”
Song Nanxing’s state during their communication was very abnormal.
But whether it was the policemen on guard or Song Nanxing himself, they had repeatedly warned him not to go in. He dared not act rashly and could only wait in anxious anticipation.
Fortunately, Chu Yan soon arrived with a large team.
Hundreds of armored vehicles blared their horns, centering on the forest park’s main entrance and radiating outward to both sides. The vehicles parked one after another. Well-trained soldiers and police officers, clad in combat protective gear and armed to the teeth, dismounted.
Chu Yan strode forward, her military boots thudding against the concrete with a steady rhythm.
Accompanying her were other members of the Containment Center’s enforcement unit, some Cheng Jianning recognized, others unfamiliar.
Seeing her was like finding an anchor for Cheng Jianning. “Captain Chu, Song Nanxing has already gone in. I communicated with him, but he sounded off.”
“I saw the videos Song Nanxing sent.” Chu Yan said. “Based on the tech team’s comparative analysis, that thing in the forest park is very likely a mutated No. 105.”
This conclusion came from the technical team’s analysis of various samples. It possessed all the traits of a Corpse Tower but was smarter, stronger, and far more sinister.
According to records, No. 105 wasn’t overtly aggressive, but once someone stepped into its territory, escape was nearly impossible.
Those caught by a Corpse Tower had no chance of survival.
But now they faced a mutated No. 105. Its territory size was still unknown, as were the consequences of rashly entering its domain.
Chu Yan’s expression was grave. “First, contact Song Nanxing and Zhou Xuan and order them to retreat. The tech team’s drones are ready to scout the terrain. They have half an hour to search and rescue infected individuals in the forest. After thirty minutes, prepare for a bombardment.”
The technicians finished calibrating the drones. Upon receiving the order, over a hundred military drones rose into the sky, heading toward the pitch-black forest park.
Cheng Jianning had never seen such a show of force and stood there dumbfounded, asking, “So what do we do?”
Chu Yan glanced at him and said gravely, “We are the last line of defense. If the bombardment doesn’t work, then the enforcement unit will have to hold the line with their lives.”
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.
Eat it all up Nanxing!