Chapter 913: Holy Moly

Chapter 913: Holy Moly

Gao Yang turned to Liao Liao in silence.

She sighed softly, her voice tinged with regret. "Two hours ago, I comprehended Intangibility."

Gao Yang remained still, almost numb, for several seconds. Then he raised the energy drink to his lips, letting its cold sweetness wake his dormant senses and vitality.

The bottle felt heavier even as he drained it.

"Okay."

That was all he said about it.

He checked his old phone. There were two messages from three hours ago. Looking up at the others, he said, "No rush. We'll rest and leave in an hour."

"Where are we going, Gao Yang?" Fresh Snow's voice held anticipation.

"Back to your home," he said quietly.

Fresh Snow's face lit up with surprise. "Okay!"

...

Xijing District, evening.

Heavy snow blanketed the rolling terrain in silent gray as night's veil descended. The mansion, nestled in the forest, seemed to fade into its surroundings.

Nine Frost and Chen Ying stood in the front yard, backs straight, expressions neutral as snow dusted their shoulders. Chen Ying glanced at her watch—five minutes past the meeting time. Anxiety gnawed at her. She wouldn't relax until she saw Gao Yang in person.

Nine Frost's eyes darkened, sensing something approach.

A plump gray parrot burst from the snow-laden forest, its head partially bald as if shaved. The sight was comical, yet it flew proudly, croaking, "Man! Woman! Man! Woman!"

As it crossed the yard, it suddenly jolted as if shot, plummeting into the snow.

Two seconds later, it emerged, wings flapping frantically but uselessly.

"Holy moly! Holy moly! Holy moly!"

It thrashed like a drunken rooster, wings beating helplessly against the snow.

Nine Frost's lips twitched as he released the control of Avian King. The parrot immediately took flight, seeking refuge on the shoulder of a prematurely aged man—Dr. Jia, the Mist World's leading genius.

"No, still in his second form."

"White Dew?"

"Never appeared."

Gao Yang felt grateful for Spring's sacrifice and aid, but questioned the reasoning. Spring and Waking Insects could have saved the awakeners and retreated safely if that was their only goal. Would he really give his life merely because of Qilin's sacrilegious treatment of the Spectres' "mother"? It seemed implausible.

As patriarch of the Spectres, Spring carried too much responsibility for such an irrational choice.

Unless Spring had sensed that his curse would soon take his life, and thus, he chose how he would meet his end.

Gao Yang fell into sorrow.

Nine Frost continued after a moment of silence, “Wang Zikai, Raven Shark, Nainai, Fat Jun, Zhong He, Zhang Wei, and Muzitu are quite badly injured. I had them return to the S Base and asked Lovely Lamb and Dead Pig to treat them. Gregor, Hong Xiaoxiao, and Lying Wood went with them as caretakers and bodyguards just in case.”

The S Base was the secret sanctuary in the sewage system, renamed because Zhang Wei thought the original name sounded awful. The new name had stuck.

Nine Frost glanced at the Spectres' Mansion. "Only I, Chen Ying, War Tiger, Heavenly Dog, and Qing Ling remained for your rendezvous."

Gao Yang nodded, approving the arrangements.

After a pause, he asked, "Are the dead buried?"

Nine Frost's voice carried a trace of sadness. "Same place as before. I can take you."

"No need. I'll go alone."

"Of course."

Nine Frost watched Gao Yang leave before leaping to the second-floor balcony. Settling cross-legged, he activated Avian King to monitor the surroundings.

The forest blanketed in snow stood in desolation, wind whining through the trees. Deep within, four new graves joined the original ten, their differences masked by heavy snow.

Death came to all with absolute fairness, regardless of how brilliant, explosive, ambitious, or great a life had been.

Before the leftmost grave lay a black mask covered in curse words and several bottles of nail polish. A man sat cross-legged before it, head bowed, unkempt curls falling across his face. The character for "tiger" marked his temple.

The Black Gold broadsword buried in the ground beside him looked like a tall, narrow tombstone.

Snow settled on both the man and the weapon, blurring the lines between their frames and the dark, desolate forest.

Rustle. Soft footsteps crunched in the snow. The man slowly opened his eyes.