Chapter 31: Infant

The faucet gushed water with a rush.

He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and noticed a sweet stickiness on his tongue; when he opened his mouth, blood seeped from both upper and lower gums.

Side effects of the gene suppressant.

Li Cheng silently raised his cup and rinsed his mouth repeatedly until no more blood streaks remained.

He stepped out of the bathroom; his uncle’s family had left early to order formal wear from a tailor recommended by someone.

His cousin Xue Lingyu had recently received an offer from a prestigious Ivy League university abroad; the whole family was ecstatic and actively preparing for the interview in half a month.

The tablecloth, wallpaper, and even lightbulbs in the living room had all been replaced; every certificate and trophy was displayed in the most prominent spots.

None of this had anything to do with Li Cheng; he rode his bike to school, handed in his homework, and let his gaze linger for a moment on the empty seat to the right—Shao Wangshu had taken a sick day and did not appear.

What kind of family requires their children to donate blood at regular intervals?

Li Cheng had heard a urban legend: somewhere overseas, there was an orphanage built inside a castle, constantly receiving external donations and providing excellent living conditions and educational resources for over a hundred orphans.

In reality, these isolated orphans were all blood relatives— a super-rich man used in vitro fertilization and surrogacy to have them “raised” in the orphanage.

Should the billionaire or his legitimate children suffer an accident, all the orphans would serve as the most suitable organ donors.

This urban legend had no clear beginning or end, and its truth was impossible to verify.

Some netizens believed it was fake, because in bone marrow, liver, and kidney transplants, familial matching success rates aren’t high enough to justify it.

Meanwhile, the international black market for organs was rampant; keeping so many orphans was largely a waste of money.

Other netizens, however, thought the legend had some plausibility—even if the organ black market existed, the time required for matching, purchasing, transporting, and transplanting organs was still considerable.

In comparison, “fetching” an orphan directly from the orphanage was far quicker, cleaner, and more reliable.

For the ultra-rich at the pinnacle of society, money was merely a number; they could easily spend the small cost of raising hundreds of orphans to gain a few days—or even hours—of speed in organ transplantation.

Shao Wangshu’s family probably wasn’t like that.

“Zhan Xinyu!”

Miss Yang Hui’s voice interrupted Li Cheng’s thoughts; she stood with hands on hips and addressed Zhan Xinyu, seated in the front row next to the aisle: “Can’t you tidy up your books? You keep them under your desk and trip people over and over again.”

“I already tidied them.”

Zhan Xinyu looked innocent, bent down, and moved the stack of books under the desk—comprising titles like *America in Collapse*, *The Collapse of the American Empire*, *The Decline of America*, and *Why America Failed*—to the other side, muttering, “They don’t even trip anyone.”

“Hehehe,”

Evans, seated across the aisle, grinned broadly at Zhan Xinyu’s scolding and added insult to injury: “Miss Yang told you to clean up—just do it. Why so much talk?”

“Evans, I didn’t say anything to you? Clean up your own desk too.”

Miss Yang glared at Evans; his desk and floor were also piled high with books: *The End of History and the Last Man*, *Zhang Jiadun’s Collected Works*, *The Collapse of Chinese Society Has Begun!*

One could only say these two were truly exceptional talents.

“What are you staring at? Did I tell you to stop morning reading?”

Noticing the classroom’s recitation growing quieter, Miss Yang’s eyebrows shot up and her voice rose; the other students immediately fixed their eyes on their books, lips moving louder to avoid trouble.

“What’s wrong with Miss Yang?” Ye Jiaying, seated to Li Cheng’s left, whispered, holding up her textbook. “She’s angry first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t know,” Li Cheng shook his head.

Miss Yang was an excellent teacher, patient and diligent with students, but she had one flaw—her temper occasionally flared.

Her husband had died years ago saving a drowning child; she had never remarried and lived alone ever since; her personality shift was understandable.

They didn’t dwell on the matter long; Ye Jiaying said, “By the way, I listened to the song snippet Shao Wangshu sent me—she sings really well. Now our band has a lead singer. We just need to pick a song.”

“Why not wait until Shao Wangshu feels better, then apply for an empty lecture hall to practice first? I think—”

Li Cheng fell silent; he frowned and sniffed the air. “Did you smell anything?”

Ye Jiaying sniffed the air and shook her head. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Maybe I’m imagining things.”

Li Cheng hesitated, then shook his head; he had just smelled a faint, elusive stench of decay.

Could the gene suppressant’s effects be so strong they’ve impaired his sense of smell?

————

“Decay?”

In the third-floor office of the World Nuclear Peace House, Changsun Yao raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

“Yes, Miss Changsun, you must help me.”

Across the desk sat a thirty-something man dressed in an elegant suit, wearing a luxury watch.

He sat stiffly, his expression complex, voice bitter: “It’s been nearly a month—my villa has been filled with a faint, lingering stench of decay. I hired three different cleaning companies and did four deep cleans. I even replaced the flooring, ceiling, and central air ducts. But the smell never went away.”

Changsun Yao nodded. “Did you seek help from the Special Affairs Bureau?”

“I did. They ran a series of tests and said I’m mentally sound, not cursed. They sent people to inspect the villa too—no abnormal energy signatures detected.”

“Then maybe it’s an issue with the house itself? Toxic building materials, underground gas leaks, something like that,” Changsun Yao said casually. “Have you considered moving to another villa?”

Although official organizations—including the Special Affairs Bureau—generally tried to conceal the existence of killing fields from the public, exceptions existed.

The man seated behind the desk was a prominent young entrepreneur in Yin City with a net worth of one billion. His social stratum naturally knew things ordinary people didn’t—like who to turn to when encountering the strange.

And with his wealth, moving to another villa shouldn’t be difficult.

“I’ve already moved out—I’m not living there anymore. But that’s not the problem.”

The entrepreneur’s expression grew extremely complex, his voice trembling: “The problem is—in the bedroom—there’s a brand-new baby crib! I’m certain I never bought it. I checked with the civil affairs bureau—I’ve never married, never adopted a child. So when, and by whom, was that crib placed there?!”

(End of Chapter)