Chapter 929

After a night of hard work, we prepared three large boxes of sandwiches, pizzas stacked in boxes over a meter high, a huge pot of thick soup, and many fresh noodles and salads packed in takeout containers.

Everything was still steaming hot, smelled delicious, and tasted great, so when we delivered these to the disaster site, the gang members were delighted.

They rarely stop calling us little brats—good heavens, I can’t believe one gang boss actually called us geniuses; they’d fully expected to eat nothing but instant food…

“If that’s the case, why did the conflict break out?” Shi Ler asked, puzzled.

Tire sighed and said: “It wasn’t us clashing with the gang—it was the rescued old-street residents.”

“As the buildings were about to collapse, many felt the shaking and escaped early, or jumped straight from upper floors; all of them had minor injuries and could move and speak normally.”

“When the gang members rushed to rescue, these people were still rummaging through the rubble. At that time, the wind was fierce and the rain poured down; most had fled in their sleep and wore no proper rain gear, and some scrapes were still bleeding.”

“The gang members urged them to take shelter in the tents set up by Wayne Group and get their wounds dressed, but these people insisted on digging through the ruins to salvage their belongings.”

Tire said helplessly: “After phase two was completed, they should’ve moved in immediately—but because they kept fussing over those things, they delayed, otherwise those dangerous buildings would’ve been empty long ago.”

“They were free to rummage there, and the gang didn’t care—but later, when Wayne Group’s construction vehicles arrived to clear debris, they blocked them, claiming the vehicles would crush their stuff… knives.”

“Good heavens! Who’d want their trash? But they refused to leave—and of course, the gang wouldn’t tolerate it; they shot and wounded the ringleader.”

“In Gotham, when so many gangs draw guns, everyone should immediately run for cover.”

“But for some reason, these people acted like madmen, even attacking the gang. There weren’t many gang enforcers living on old street—most were peripheral members: cooks, service workers, madams—who’d never dared challenge gang enforcers.”

“But last night, in the typhoon, they went completely insane—especially the ringleader the gang shot. I know him; my mom always called him Tubercular, because he kept coughing nonstop while refueling…”

“The gang had to work hard to drive them away. At dawn, they sat down to eat—but the crowd returned, this time trying to steal the food the children had brought.”

“The gang nearly shot them all—but Wayne Group intervened; after all, these people were now phase two residents, and Wayne Group wanted to ensure their safety, which was understandable.”

“Gang members held their guns to guard us, but the tubercular man—who’d been shot and was barely alive—somehow slipped past them and charged at me.”

“I was serving soup with a spoon when he lunged—I was terrified and swung the spoon at his head, but he didn’t seem to feel pain; he reached out to grab me.”

“I… I’ve never experienced anything like this…” Tire’s face showed lingering terror. “All my life, my mom arranged my work—I’d never seen anyone charge at me like a beast ready to devour me.”

“I froze in shock, didn’t know how to dodge—Jason shoved me aside, but his arm reached out, and Tubercular grabbed it…”

“The six-fingered girl pulled Jason back; he yanked his arm hard, wrenching Tubercular’s grip loose—but the man’s nails had sunk deep into Jason’s flesh, leaving three deep gashes as he tore free…”

Tire said bitterly: “It’s my fault—I should’ve taken him to the hospital right away! But Jason said it was a minor wound, just needed bandaging. We were short-staffed and swamped, so I thought… I didn’t insist.”

“But after the morning rush, Jason’s face turned deathly pale. A female doctor from Wayne Medical examined his wound, said infection was possible, applied ointment, re-bandaged it, and gave him two fever-reducing pills…”

“We thought he’d be fine—but when we got back, Jason said he was tired and went to sleep. He didn’t come out. We called the building manager to open the door and found him unconscious, burning up.”

Cobble sighed and continued: “We realized he had a fever, gave him two more pills. His temperature dropped at first, but then it spiked again.”

“I called Bruce Wayne, but he was swamped too. Apparently, one of the rescued residents had suddenly gone psychotic and attacked him—he’s now investigating with doctors.”

Shi Ler narrowed his eyes at Jason’s arm. The three wounds no longer bled, but were massively swollen, the entire forearm puffed up.

Jason’s face was pale, but his lips were bright red, as if flushed from high fever. Shi Ler pressed the back of his hand to Jason’s neck—his temperature was terrifyingly high.

“You two, step out. I need to examine his wound.” Shi Ler turned to them. After Cobble and Tire left, Shi Ler grasped Jason’s wrist and asked the Gray Mist: “Can you run a full scan? This doesn’t look like an ordinary wound.”

The Gray Mist fell silent for a moment, then said: “Something’s odd. I’m reorganizing his cells and lowering his core temperature, but the area around the wound keeps mutating.”

“Mutating? What does that mean?”

“I can repair nearly any wound by restructuring human tissue—wounds are just damaged tissue; if I restore it, it heals. My symbiotic factors can convert into human cells, replacing lost or dead ones. Theoretically, this minor injury should vanish instantly—but as I repair it, the damage keeps worsening…”

"My symbiotic factor can convert into human cells, replacing lost or necrotic cells; theoretically, this minor injury should heal instantly, but during the process of replacement and repair, it continues to worsen..."

The Gray Mist sent a wave of confusion: “Hard to tell. I sense a mysterious factor invading the wound—I’m trying to peel it away… Good. Completely intractable.”

Shi Ler heard the Gray Mist sigh: “He’s not my host. I have limited control over his body. If I use forceful methods, he might lose an arm.”

“Then let him lose an arm,” Shi Ler said firmly. “There are limb-regrowth serums. He’ll grow it back eventually.”

The Gray Mist hesitated, then said: “I’ve trapped the factor within his arm wound. You can amputate it physically. I’ve blocked his pain nerves—he won’t feel a thing.”

Shi Ler paused, then asked: “Is there no gentler treatment?”

The Gray Mist thought again: “Try letting the one living in the umbrella eat this factor. He eats anything.”

“So you’re picky?” Shi Ler asked, turning to grab the umbrella. The Gray Mist grunted: “No. I can only consume things that convert into symbiotic factors. If it doesn’t convert, I just spit it out.”

"So you're refusing to eat because you're picky?" Shi Ler asked, turning to grab his umbrella. The gray mist snorted twice. "No, I can only consume things that can be converted into symbiotic factors. If they can't be converted, I have to spit them out unchanged."

The Gray Mist pondered: “Calling it a ‘factor’ isn’t accurate. It doesn’t physically exist—I can’t consume it at all. It’s more like… a… ethereal curse. That’s why I suggested you try the black thing. Both are curses—maybe it’ll work.”

Shi Ler brought the umbrella over and pressed its tip near Jason’s arm. Soon, black mist curled around his forearm.

After lingering briefly on Jason’s arm, the Curse-Soul returned to Shi Ler’s umbrella shaft.

The Curse-Soul departed. Jason’s arm showed no change—then, in the next instant, the Gray Mist began healing. The wound sealed instantly.

The Gray Mist said smugly: “See? I told you it worked. This is definitely a curse—otherwise, he wouldn’t have devoured it so eagerly!”

Shi Ler gripped the umbrella handle, sensing the Curse-Soul’s emotion. This time, its feelings were clearer—it was genuinely satisfied, even gleeful.

“So you like eating curses?” Shi Ler said, surprised. “I thought you’d prefer souls or something like that…”

At that moment, the Curse-Soul sent a thought: “Souls taste bad. This curse is delicious.”

Shi Ler was stunned again—until now, the Curse-Soul had never been able to answer him.

This Curse-Soul, born twin to Constantine, had inherited innate magic in the womb, then been killed by Constantine, becoming an eternal curse-spirit, later becoming Shi Ler’s umbrella spirit.

But unlike the Gray Mist, this little one lacked strong growth potential. Shi Ler had tried communicating with him countless times during his long stay in the umbrella—always to no avail.

The Curse-Soul could only convey simple emotions, one at a time, incapable of yes-or-no judgment. But now, Shi Ler clearly sensed two distinct attitudes toward two separate things—the first signs of emerging logic.

Shi Ler suddenly felt: It’s not that the child is stupid—it’s that I didn’t raise him right. He didn’t know curses were food, and only curses from this world. All this time, he’d been starved into silence.

Shi Ler turned his attention back to Jason. The wounds on his arm had vanished; his complexion had improved. Shi Ler reached out, touched his forehead—his fever had broken.

The moment Shi Ler withdrew his hand, Jason jolted upright, as if awakened by a nightmare. He gasped, scanning the room—then exhaled deeply when he saw Shi Ler.

Shi Ler asked: “Do you remember what happened?”

“I… I…” Jason squeezed his eyes shut. His voice was weak, but then his eyes snapped open: “The rescued residents—they’re going mad!! Stop them!!”

"I... I..." Jason squeezed his eyes shut tightly; his voice still sounded weak and feeble, but then he suddenly widened his eyes and shouted:

"The rescued residents are going to go mad!! Stop them!!!!"