Chapter 505: A Decent Variable

Su Ming brushed the blood smear on his face with his cuff.

It wasn't very effective. Blood and ash mixed together, the more he brushed the dirtier it got, and it ended up hurting his eyes.

He sat down leaning against the base of the wall, the broken stones against his back jarring him, the two broken ribs stabbing into his lungs with each breath. The Time Marrow Worm churned inside his body for a while, then finally settled down, like a cat that had just finished a tantrum.

About ten meters across, Liang Wen was still embedded in the load‑bearing wall.

Half his body was stuck in the concrete debris, looking like a human specimen nailed in place. He twisted twice, found his left leg useless, so he stopped struggling, and forced his dislocated jaw against the wall corner with a "clack" and pushed it back.

His mouth could finally close.

Liang Wen twisted his mouth, and when his lips moved he realized the flesh inside his cheek had been scraped by his teeth in several places, filling his mouth with a metallic rust taste.

He turned his head and glanced at Su Ming.

Su Ming was also looking at him.

Their gazes met in the air, saying nothing.

No need to say anything.

On the wall thirty meters away, Lu Yu hung like a crumpled rag at the exact center of the radial fissure. The vortex on his chest had stopped rotating, the wound exhaling intermittent blue smoke, the charred edges revealing stark white bone fragments. The flesh buds that burst from the skin cracks were all carbonized, hanging on his body like dead tree roots, flaking off with the wind.

Two dislodged eyeballs were still embedded in the flesh mass on his rib side.

It had stopped rotating. But it was still open.

Lu Yu's head was tilted, his mind unresponsive. Whether he could awaken was another matter.

Su Ming withdrew his gaze, landing on Lin Fan a short distance away.

Lin Fan did not look at them.

The Black Water long sword was slung across his shoulder, the layered grain on the blade spine flickering in the dim light. Ling Xinyu's translucent afterimage hovered behind his right shoulder, crouching beside Lin Zhi to provide the final stabilization.

Ji Bai lay in Lin Zhi's arms, the pool of blood beneath him spreading into a small dark‑red map.

Those hands finally released.

Su Xiaoya curled up in the corner, clutching the fabric of an Old Black Umbrella tightly, her face smeared with tears and snot, her lips trembling so she could not speak.

The three underground levels were so quiet that only the faint sound of broken stones falling through ceiling cracks could be heard.

No one moved.

Then the projection spoke.

"Young man."

Lord Wei's voice came from the holographic image. It wasn't loud, but each syllable reverberated through the ruins like a temple bell heard from afar.

"Well played."

Three words.

Su Ming's eyebrows twitched.

He had anticipated many kinds of opening lines—accountability, threats, orders to kill, even outright sealing the passage and burying everyone alive—but he hadn't expected these three words.

Liang Wen was also stunned, half his body still stuck in the wall, the angle his neck twisted giving a rather comical look.

Lin Fan's steps faltered.

He didn't turn, but the sword slipped from his shoulder.

Lord Wei stood with his hands behind his back, the elderly figure in the hologram slowly scanning the entire battlefield. The ground was a mess. Humans that were no longer human, ghosts that were no longer ghosts. The floor corroded by Black Water, shattered containment pods, and experimental platforms broken in two.

Two Core Captains collapsed on the spot.

The End of Days Fire Seed he had cultivated himself hung on the wall, its fate uncertain.

The one responsible for all this stood with his back to him, brandishing a Black Water long sword that could cleave space, not even interested in glancing back.

Any other leader would have flipped the table on the spot at such a scene.

But Lord Wei did not.

The corner of his mouth even curved slightly—not a smile, but appreciation.

"Lin Fan. Ji Bai."

He called out the two names, his tone similar to a roll call in an office.

"You have proven something."

Lin Fan's shoulder turned slightly, as if listening.

"The Symbiosis between Fierce Ghosts and humans is not as simple as we imagined," Lord Wei said, "the Federation made a directional mistake on this matter."

When those words came out, Su Ming almost thought his ears were malfunctioning.

Liang Wen exaggerated even more; his body embedded in the wall lunged outward a foot, only to get stuck again, grimacing in pain.

The head of the Federal Weird Investigation Bureau personally admitted the mistake.

He even admitted it in front of the rebels.

Something's wrong. Way too wrong.

Su Ming's mind raced; he knew Lord Wei's modus operandi too well—this old man never makes a losing deal. Every sentence, every stance, had a cost‑benefit calculation precise to two decimal places behind it.

Sure enough.

"The Qiu Ce Yuan senior executives still have two vacancies,"

Lord Wei's exact words. His tone was flat, as if saying the Cafeteria had two buns left today.

"Lin Fan. I can give you a seat, resources, Intelligence network. The part of the 'Feeding Dragon Project' involving conscious Fierce Ghosts can be revised by you. The Fierce Ghost group that Ji Bai has contained will no longer be pursued by the Federation and will be entered into a special protection list."

The conditions were offered to this extent.

Su Ming looked up, staring at the elderly man's face in the holographic projection.

Having been a pawn for so many years, he understood the numbers of this scheme. It wasn't surrender, it was acquisition. The price was high enough that no rational person could refuse.

Lin Fan joining the Federation would instantly max out his combat power ceiling.

Ji Bai and his Fierce Ghost contingent entering the system would be like the Federation picking up a ready-made 'Ghost‑Commanding Legion' for free.

As for giving up a small slice of profit and revising part of the "Feeding Dragon Plan"?

To Wei Gong, that's called strategic stockpiling.

High—truly high.

Su Ming muttered a curse in his mind, the kind of swearing born of admiration.

It fell silent for a few seconds.

Lin Fan turned around.

He turned slowly, the Black Water Long Sword dragging across the floor as his body rotated, the tip scraping the alloy plate with a harsh "hiss". Ling Xinyu drifted over from Lin Zhi's side, her damp black hair hanging on her shoulders, the two sockets that held only blue flames staring at the projected elder.

Lin Fan looked up, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the pale light of the hologram.

Right eye—azure‑blue.

Left eye—crimson.

He stared at Wei Gong for five seconds.

Then he smiled.

It wasn't a happy smile, but the kind you give out of politeness after someone tells you a lame joke.

"Wei Gong, I know you."

He spoke. The overlay of male and female tones in his voice had largely faded, Ling Xinyu's will gradually separating from the merged state, leaving only a faint echo.

"That spiel you just used, if I had been that student back then, I might have actually believed it."

Wei Gong's expression remained unchanged.

Lin Fan no longer looked at him.

He turned and headed toward the passage Exit.

He took seven steps.

On the eighth step, as his foot touched the ground, he stopped.

Then he crouched.

The Black Water Long Sword stood upright, its tip pressed against the alloy floor.

He used no flashy technique, just gripping the hilt with his right hand and pushing forward.

The tip embedded itself in the alloy plate.

Like cutting tofu.

He then rose, dragging the sword forward.

The blade sank three centimeters into the ground; along the dragged path, the cuts on either side of the alloy plate curled outward, revealing charred metallic filigree. Blue Flame of the Nether seeped from the scar, spreading along the fissure to both ends.

He walked a hundred steps.

From one end of the passage to the other.

A straight, hundred‑meter‑long scorch mark.

It cut deep into the ground, belching blue smoke, even the two alloy load‑bearing pillars it passed through were gouged open.

No one uttered a sound throughout the whole process.

Su Ming stared at the scorch mark, his Adam's apple bobbing twice.

Liang Wen finally pulled himself out of the wall, leaning against a pile of rubble, massaging his cheek with the hand that had just been reduced from dislocation, his expression so conflicted it seemed constipation and enlightenment were occurring simultaneously.

Lin Fan sheathed the sword.

He didn't turn to face the projected Wei Gong, remaining with his back to it.

"Put away that political trick."

The voice was low.

Yet every wall on the three underground levels trembled.

It wasn't a physical shake. The lingering resonance of the Blue Flame of the Nether in the scorch mark made the very air quiver.

"From today onward."

Lin Fan tilted his head, the outline of his profile reflected in the light filtering through the fissures of the rubble.

"I have protected the rational Fierce Ghost that harms no one."

The words etched themselves into the ears of everyone present.

"Cross this line—"

He tapped the hundred‑meter scorch with the spine of his sword.

"The Federation Investigation Bureau is my enemy."

The projected Wei Gong said nothing.

The pair of cloudy old eyes narrowed, the swirling emotions within unreadable.

Lin Fan no longer waited for a reply.

He sheathed the sword—there was no scabbard; Black Water flowed down from the blade, coiling around his forearm, solidifying into something like an arm‑guard.

Ling Xinyu floated to his side, her hands meeting in the void, the azure‑blue resentment in her palms gathering and roiling, and the next second she unfurled

not the tangible Old Black Umbrella that Ji Bai possessed.

but a translucent rain‑umbrella formed purely of condensed resentment, its azure‑blue canopy threaded with fine Hellfire patterns, even the ribs woven from Ling Xinyu's hair.

She handed the umbrella to Lin Fan.

Lin Fan took it, supporting it with one hand, and glanced back at Ji Bai.

"Leaving."

The two words carried no emotion, like telling a roommate to go to the Cafeteria for a meal.

Ji Bai, cradled in Lin Zhi's arms, had already lost consciousness, but Lin Zhi caught that gaze. The newly formed azure‑blue iris surrounding the red pupil quivered slightly, counting as a response.

She lowered her head and lifted Ji Bai steadily.

Su Xiaoya wiped her face, clutching the fabric of the Old Black Umbrella, and staggered after them.

Four people—more precisely, two people and two ghosts—walked toward the huge Sewer opening that Black Water had corroded during the battle.

The alloy plates at the mouth's edge had been gnawed by Black Water into a honeycomb, riddled with holes, beneath which lay bottomless darkness.

Lin Fan didn't look back, propping the dark‑blue umbrella, and stepped in with one foot.

Ling Xinyu's figure followed, disappearing into the darkness.

Lin Zhi lifted Ji Bai and floated inside.

Su Xiaoya was the last; she glanced back before entering.

No one pursued them into the experimental chamber.

Su Ming remained seated, unmoving.

Liang Wen leaned against the pile of rubble, unmoving.

Lu Yu, hanging on the wall, did not move.

Even Wei Gong in the projection merely stood with his arms folded, watching those silhouettes vanish into the darkness of the Underground Pipe Network.

It remained silent for a long while.

The holographic projection flickered twice and disappeared.

There were no orders, no instructions, not even a parting word.

Wei Gong left just like that.

And everyone present understood the meaning of Lin Fan's scorch mark. No one dared to test whether it was a threat or a promise—because the recent experience of being slammed into a load‑bearing wall with a single strike had shown them that this thing was no joke.

Liang Wen propped his knife, stood up, and limped to Lu Yu's side.

"All right, let's get this gentleman down first,"

He reached for Lu Yu, embedded in the wall, pulled twice without moving him; the large charred hole in his chest still oozed blood. Liang Wen frowned, considering calling the Medical Team.

Just as the Communicator was lifted, Su Ming's voice came from behind.

"Wait a moment,"

Liang Wen turned his head.

Su Ming, at some unknown point, had already stood, dragging his body with two broken ribs, and walked step by step to Lu Yu.

He bent down.

His eyes drew close to Lu Yu's chest.

The carbonized flesh fragments still clung to the wound's edge, and the Taotie Core's vortex had shattered into spider‑web‑like fissures, with a dim crimson glow leaking out.

But Su Ming wasn't looking at the vortex.

He was looking beneath the vortex.

The deepest part of the fissure—the small area exposed after the Core fractured.

Su Ming's pupils suddenly contracted to the limit.

"His heart..."

The three words forced out of his throat, trembling with a tremor he couldn't control.

Liang Wen leaned in, following Su Ming's gaze into the deepest fissure.

Two seconds later, his complexion also changed.

Hundreds of meters away.

Qiu Ce Yuan Medical Office.

The desk lamp was on, its low‑power warm light illuminating a cup of ice‑cold red tea on the tabletop.

Chu Che sat in a swivel chair, removed his Gold Thread Glasses, and took a deep‑blue silk scarf from the drawer. He folded the scarf twice, pinched a corner of the lens, and rubbed clockwise three times. The motion was extremely slow, his fingertip pressure even as if tying the final knot on a surgical incision.

The editor's interface hovered in midair, replaying frame by frame the silhouette of Lin Fan's departure on the screen.

Chu Che repositioned his glasses on his nose bridge, nudged the frame with his index finger, and tilted his head.

"Not only did it jump out of the script—"

He lifted the teacup, took a small sip of the ice‑cold red tea, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

"It also forged a Symbiosis rule that the gods never imagined."

He set the cup down; its base tapped the tabletop lightly.

"A fine variable."