Chapter 68: The One Who Changed the Course

Lin Xiaosu stood in front of Dongzi. Blood and brain matter were oozing from Dongzi’s nostrils.

Just as Crescent had said, everyone in this base—gene-spliced humans and even their researchers—had chips implanted in their brains. Someone was controlling them remotely. If outsiders invaded, they would retaliate. If their defense failed and the enemy seized the stronghold, they would trigger a self-destruct sequence from afar, ensuring no valuable survivors were left behind.

The only thing of value might be the computer.

Last time, at Laoshan, Crescent had failed to stop the computer’s self-destruct program because time was too tight. By the time she arrived, the sequence was already 90% complete, leaving her less than a minute.

But today was different. The self-destruct sequence had just started. If the speed matched last time’s, she had nearly ten minutes!

Crescent shouted, “Do you think I’m useless? If I can’t stop it today, I’ll take your last name!”

In a flash, her figure vanished—she had headed for the main hall.

Zhao Zhen followed, guarding her.

Lin Xiaosu glanced right. “There’s something over there. Go check it out.”

Changye and Number 88 followed Lin Xiaosu to the right, where darkness reigned. As they drew closer, they witnessed a bizarre scene.

Inside a huge glass container were seven children.

Tubes of all kinds pierced their bodies. They were thrashing violently in a yellow liquid—like loaches gasping for air in a muddy, suffocating pond.

“These must be the children Hydra abducted from all over!” Number 88’s face was grim.

“The liquid in this container is probably the solution used to cultivate super gene-humans,” said Changye.

“The program initiated self-destruct and cut off their oxygen. We have to get them out now!” Lin Xiaosu cried.

Changye raised her hand. Dragon scales glinted in her palm. With a hiss, the glass container sliced open. The yellow liquid gushed out, and the children’s writhing ceased almost instantly; they collapsed limply to the ground.

The oldest was no more than ten, the youngest barely three or four. Naked, they sprawled across the floor like a heap of dead fish.

Changye’s glasses shimmered with streams of light—snapping photos, uploading, analyzing on the spot...

Quickly, a conclusion: “All these children are registered as missing with the police. This one, for instance, was lost in Phoenix City three months ago—his name is Liu Yuxin, supposedly from an ancient martial family.”

She pointed at a five- or six-year-old boy.

“Let’s take them away. Crescent doesn’t have much time!” Number 88 urged.

“Right!”

Seven children—Lin Xiaosu carried the two largest, Number 88 took three of the smallest. Changye summoned a nearly transparent skin into her palm, and in the next instant, she vanished behind a rock. Half a minute later she reappeared, no longer in combat form, but as Lin Xiaosu had first seen her: her body wrapped in a layer of artificial skin, carrying the remaining two children.

The three raced out of the cavern. In the main hall, bodies lay everywhere, nearly all bleeding from nose and mouth.

On the computer screen before Crescent, a strange sight: in the upper left corner, the Hydra insignia—crossed white bones and a grinning skull. But unlike before, the skull was blurry, as if countless worms were gnawing at it, and the devilish laughter broke up with interference.

“Devourer Worm Virus?” Changye’s eyes sparkled.

“That girl’s using the latest computer virus—there’s real hope of breaking through!” Number 88 grinned. “Let’s get them out first.”

They passed through the devastated tunnels and returned to Ziwei Manor.

Outside, eight robots had already loaded the unconscious manor owner and his party into a hovercar. As Lin Xiaosu and the others carried the seven children aboard, they discovered that the captured gene-spliced people were no longer merely unconscious—they too bled from nose and mouth, lifeless.

There were no survivors in the entire base.

Except for the seven children—five boys, two girls.

According to Changye, these children were intended as embryos for the creation of super gene-humans. What did that mean? They would select talented children, lay a foundation in them through special methods—much like building a martial arts base—before carrying out the actual transformation.

So far, they had only undergone the first stage—they were embryos, not yet transformed, and, crucially, had no chips implanted.

That was why they survived.

“What should be done with these children?” asked Lin Xiaosu.

Changye hesitated for a while. “By normal logic, they should be returned to their parents. But they’ve already undergone partial modification and will struggle to adapt to ordinary life. The ideal solution is for them to become ‘Path-Changers.’”

“Path-Changers? What are those?” Lin Xiaosu asked.

Changye smiled softly. “It just means changing their path. We bring them back to Qianlong and complete their transformation—not to serve as Hydra’s assassins, but to become ‘Young Dragons’ within Qianlong.”

Lin Xiaosu felt a surge of emotion.

It was misfortune that these children were taken by Hydra. But being rescued should be their luck.

Yet things were not so simple. Their bodies had been altered—they were no longer ordinary. Sending them back to their parents, to a normal life, posed great risks. Why? They were stronger, faster, hardier—without the right guidance, they could easily hurt other children. The power they possessed at such a young age could lead to violence. Worse, the solution used had side effects; without further treatment, their very lives could be in danger.

So the only option was to bring them back to Qianlong and complete their transformation.

From the moment Hydra abducted them, they lost the right to be ordinary children. Their fate was to become weapons—the only difference was whether they’d serve as Hydra’s “Blood Spear” to overthrow Daxia, or as Qianlong’s “Shield” to defend it.

That, was their destiny.

Ten minutes later, a figure emerged from the room on the second floor.

Crescent!

Crescent, head held high and chest out.

Changye’s eyes lit up instantly.

As Crescent’s closest friend, she was well-versed in her body language. That proud little pose could mean only one thing—success!

Crescent had stopped the computer’s self-destruct. She had secured the stronghold’s data.

Crescent walked up the stairs, hands clasped behind her back. Number 88 watched her quietly.

Changye observed her showy demeanor, her expression a little odd, almost tooth-aching.

Lin Xiaosu watched too, eager for drama.

“Ahem, may I ask the instructor!” Crescent cleared her throat. “What was my preliminary score?”

“398,” answered Number 88.

Lin Xiaosu’s eyes widened. “Wasn’t it 850 when we parted? How did you drop to 398 in less than a month?”

“You’re sharp, my little fellow!” Crescent patted his shoulder. “Your knack for stirring up trouble—if this were before, I’d really give you a piece of my mind. But today, I’m feeling especially magnanimous and don’t care at all. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Lin Xiaosu chimed in.

Crescent straightened even more. “Because from this moment, all humiliation and frustration become water under the bridge! I’m about to be made permanent!”

“Permanent? Do you have enough points?” Lin Xiaosu frowned.

“Let me tally it up…” Crescent glanced at Number 88. “Base score 398. This mission, I eliminated five gene-spliced humans—one hundred points each per reserve regulations, five hundred total, which makes 898! Don’t forget, I also accomplished a major feat. The regulations say anyone who obtains enemy top-secret data gets a two hundred-point bonus! Tell me, Instructor 88, does this qualify as top-secret?”

With a flourish, she removed her glasses and tossed them to Number 88.

He caught them, put them on, and nodded lightly. “It counts.”

Ha!

Crescent shouted for joy, leaping so high her head nearly hit the hovercar roof before she stopped herself, landing in a whirlwind of poses, her face smug with triumph. “Instructor, exercise your final power and submit my permanent appointment!”

Number 88 shook his head. “Not enough points.”

Crescent’s smile vanished. Her eyes widened. “I just did the math—1,098 points! I’m over the thousand mark! Instructor, you must submit the application; it’s ironclad regulation! Are you trying to break the rules?”

Number 88 replied, “You follow the regulations, and so must I. Tell me, what does Article 48 say?”

“Article 48…” Crescent’s voice faltered, her expression shifting suddenly.

Number 88 fixed her with a stare. “Article 48 stipulates that if you use an unauthorized tool made by someone else, the merit you earn must be split half and half with the creator. You used the Devourer Worm Virus, didn’t you? That virus was invented by another reserve member—Zhou Zhen, right? So of the 200 points, shouldn’t he get half?”

Lin Xiaosu’s heart skipped—he’d finally heard a familiar name.

Zhou Zhen.

That was the thin young man he’d met at Base 101, a master of nothing but viruses. So Crescent had used his creation. By the regulations, if someone used another’s invention to score big, the credit was split. Zhou Zhen could sit at home and watch the points roll in.

That was the reward for brains over brawn?

This was Qianlong’s intellectual property system?

Crescent was completely stunned. “So… so… I only have… 998 points?”

“Now you’ve got it!” Number 88 patted her shoulder. “Just two short—your future is bright, Student Crescent. Keep working hard!”

Crescent looked up at the sky, down at the earth, then around at the people, feeling as though the whole world had gone gray…

Lin Xiaosu broke the silence with a light cough.

Crescent’s pent-up rage finally found a target. She jabbed a finger at Lin Xiaosu’s forehead. “If you so much as try to comfort me insincerely, I’ll thrash you!”

Lin Xiaosu gaped. “Did I say I’d comfort you? I just wanted to ask—where’s all that swagger from earlier? The way you strutted like a proud little peacock…”

“I’ll murder you!” Crescent kicked at him—

Lin Xiaosu fled for his life.