Chapter 87: Replication Experiment 11
The answer Zhuang Ningyu gave was: “I want you to come in when it’s necessary.”
Yi Ke immediately seized on the key point. “So you’ve already found a way to enter the rules zone?”
Zhuang Ningyu didn’t deny it. He only said, “But it’s not time yet. Preparations aren’t done. Be good and listen.”
Crouching on the ground, Yi Ke replied in a very aggrieved tone, “But I’m worried about you. This rules zone is clearly a modified replica, illegal bioweapons are everywhere, the experimenters have extremely high offensive capabilities, Shi Cheng still hasn’t shown up, and my wife is all alone in there, all by himself, boohoohoo…”
Unmoved, Zhuang Ningyu said, “Don’t fake cry.”
The sound cut off instantly. Yi Ke stood up straight again and asked, in perfectly clear diction, “Last time on Clear Spring Mountain, I also told you to go home and rest. And what happened?”
“I went home and rested,” Zhuang Ningyu replied. “I just didn’t expect to get forcefully dragged into a suddenly appearing rules zone on the way back.”
Yi Ke squatted down again and quietly muttered, “…Liar.”
Propping his head up with one hand, Zhuang Ningyu let out a faint chuckle. The light sound traveled through the receiver like a feather, brushing the inside of Yi Ke’s chest and making him itch with restless frustration.
So he grabbed the nearest passerby—Qinggang—and shoved his head hard against the other man’s waist.
Qinggang immediately held his breath and stood at rigid attention. Don’t even ask; everyone knew better than to move.
The whole team was well aware that Little Yi, currently in his evolution period, was extremely emotionally unstable and needed soothing.
So Qinggang raised one big, dry hand and started gently patting the back of Yi Ke’s head in a steady rhythm, eyes full of fatherly concern. He even had the urge to hum a soft, lilting lullaby.
But Yi Ke wasn’t having it. After hugging him for barely five seconds, he pushed away.
Qinggang reeked distinctly of smoke. It was like hugging the squad’s ashtray come to life, and that was just unbearable. In this world, only his wife smelled nice!
“What’s up with you?” Qinggang squatted beside him. “Not feeling well?”
“I want to go into the rules zone,” Yi Ke said.
Who didn’t?
Qinggang spread his hands, then lowered his voice to analyze. “I really do think this rules zone is pretty dangerous. Think about it: the police hadn’t even gotten too far into the questioning yet, and they’d already dug up a pile of evidence about NewCause Biotech being involved in human trafficking. The deeper they dig, the worse it’ll get. Shi Cheng, knowing he’s already doomed, is definitely going to use the rules zone to pull something big.”
His analysis only succeeded in making Yi Ke even more anxious.
But instead of pestering Zhuang Ningyu again, Yi Ke dragged out his long‑suffering, loudmouthed friend and ordered him to hurry up and find Fu Han.
Out in the freezing sea wind, the friend was completely frazzled. “Can you calm down? I’ve barely been out here for an hour.”
So what if it had only been an hour?
History wasn’t a steadily flowing river; it was a network woven from countless “moments.” And if a moment could make history, how could an hour not be long enough?
Lost in his own domineering philosophy, Yi Ke was thoroughly unable to extricate himself. Aside from his beloved wife, he currently had no problem treating everyone else like fallen leaves in a cold autumn wind.
“Shi Cheng has always been listed as a B‑rank evolver in our files,” Zhong Mu said. “Evolvers have to report to the management center once a year for reevaluation. Those numbers are not easy to fake. For a B‑rank to forcibly evolve into an S‑rank roughly on par with Captain Zhuang, sure, he could do it by pumping himself full of drugs. But after a brief spike in power, the only thing waiting for him would be severe collapse. There’s no point.”
Or, taking the most generous possibility, even if Shi Cheng already had access to a safe, effective, completely side‑effect‑free formula, there still wouldn’t be much meaning in pushing himself to S‑rank right now.
The entire NewCause Biotech complex was already surrounded by the Order Maintenance Department. Even a handful of S‑ranks combined wouldn’t be able to get out alive, let alone just one.
Sitting behind the office desk, Zhuang Ningyu analyzed the situation for a long time and finally realized that one of the most reasonable explanations was this:
“Shi Cheng is staying in Lab 9 and refusing to come out because he wants to finish his research as soon as possible. That way he can trade his results to offset his crimes and fight for leniency.”
Otherwise, there was no way to explain why he was hiding instead of running.
Or else—he was waiting for someone to come and save him.
Night had gradually fallen.
Administrator 002’s dorm was also on the third floor. As for everyone else, there were no dorms. They only needed to work, not rest—or rather, the periodic blasts of the “Healthy NewCause People” aerobics track were their version of rest.
The countdown on the Purification Room’s door reached 00:00:00.
Zhang Yunxia walked out, her emotions seemingly back under control. After bowing and greeting “respected Administrator 002,” she hurried back down to B3 to continue her dissection of Wang Daqiang.
Zhuang Ningyu followed.
“Any candy left?” she suddenly asked after a while.
He fished a gummy out of his pocket and placed it in her pale palm.
The faint rustle of unwrapping followed. She popped the candy into her mouth and turned her attention back to the cut‑open tissues before her.
Her jaws worked up and down as she chewed, her thin face wearing a kind of indifferent detachment.
Just like what Yi Ke had inferred from the files, in certain ways she really was a bit like Ni Ruiling.
Zhuang Ningyu even felt that she held him in slight contempt—like how a true company backbone might look down on someone parachuted in by connections.
Every “Hello, respected Administrator 002” was simply the product of the rules zone’s preset programming—something she was inherently incapable of disobeying. But deep down, she had not actually accepted him.
A faint, strange sound brushed past his ear.
He frowned and listened more closely. Sure enough, he caught the noise again: the high‑frequency flutter of wings, like some kind of bird circling through an empty cavity.
“Are there any other rooms here?” he asked.
Without looking up, Zhang Yunxia answered concisely, “Neutralization Room for Test Subjects.”
“Where is it?” Zhuang Ningyu asked.
She pointed. “There’s a hidden door next to the cold room. But company policy changed recently—only respected Administrator 003 can open it now.” There was a hint of complaint in her voice. “It’s made a lot more work for us.”
“What kind of trouble?”
She gave him a puzzled look, as if she couldn’t understand why anyone would ask something so stupid. But because he was an administrator, she still explained,
“For test subjects like these, after they’ve served their purpose, we used to just swipe our cards to send them onto the conveyor belt that leads to the incinerator. Now, only respected Administrator 003 has access to the incinerator.”
A hidden rule: only Shi Cheng could use the incinerator.
Zhuang Ningyu continued to take in the details of the lab.
NewCause Biotech’s “Rules and Regulations” were posted on the wall, the very first line reading: “Genes are the dancing melody of the universe.”
He rubbed his fingertips together.
He’d had his blood drawn at hospitals more times than he could count growing up, and donated blood once in a while too. If someone really wanted it, getting a DNA sample from him would have been easy.
It didn’t surprise him that his DNA was in this institute’s system. Out of the nearly two thousand people in the Order Maintenance Department, he really was the most “worth studying.”
What did surprise him was this administrator identity that had dropped onto his head out of nowhere—“Administrator 002,” a position as fancy and beautiful as a decorative vase and almost as useless.
From every angle, it seemed like there was only one person who could be responsible: Fu Han.
“Ahem.”
Even with Yi Ke not physically present, the thought still made him cough guiltily.
He got up and paced a few steps.
People always looked the busiest when they were embarrassed.
He glanced at Wang Daqiang in the dissection capsule and at the tag Zhang Yunxia had just written beside it—only a string of numbers.
He’d seen similar tags in the cold room earlier, stuck to the round doors of the cramped cryo‑pods, each corresponding to the test subject within.
“You’re not going back to your office?” Zhang Yunxia gave him a glance and asked, coldly and with clear overtones of dismissal.
“No rush,” Zhuang Ningyu said, dragging over a chair and sitting back down.
Her file said she was quiet, stubborn, and disliked communication. But he had no fear—he’d amassed a wealth of experience in conflict mediation and fieldwork. As soon as he started talking, his success rate was almost guaranteed.
“I heard you have a younger brother,” he said. “How is he? If he wants to come to Jincheng, I can help find him a job.”
“He didn’t get much schooling,” she said flatly. “He wouldn’t find good work in a big city. Staying in the countryside to farm and picking up odd jobs nearby is fine. He doesn’t need to come out and work.”
She didn’t turn him down outright. She’d even offered a couple of details about her brother.
From that alone, Zhuang Ningyu felt their sibling relationship probably wasn’t what online commenters had assumed back when the incident first made the news—no “rural,” “son preference,” or “leeching sister raising a useless brother,” but something relatively harmonious.
He sent a message to his grandfather: I’d like to talk to Zhang Yunxia’s younger brother.
Zhong Pinghe replied quickly: No problem.
After a while, he sent another: Do you want your grandma to go on‑site and help you keep an eye on Xiao Yi?
Zhuang Ningyu: No!
He thought Yi Ke was very stable.
Yi Ke himself thought he was very stable.
Qinggang disagreed.
After being suddenly hugged by the thigh and then just as suddenly shoved away that afternoon, Qinggang had become convinced there was definitely something wrong with his mental state.
He’d been watching him nervously ever since.
Once he got nervous, the medical staff got nervous, and once they were nervous, the rest of the team had to analyze why their medics all looked like they were facing doomsday.
Before long, everyone was speculating: What on earth was wrong with Xiao Yi?
Xiao Yi was fine. Xiao Yi was just on the phone.
Leaning against a wall, he idly twirled a butterfly knife in one hand—sheer habit, nothing more.
On the other end of the line was Jing Lan.
“The owner of the cruise ship is named William,” Jing Lan said. “He’s British and went to university with Fu Han. Today happens to be his birthday. Every year, he celebrates by going to sea. As long as Fu Han is in Europe, he’ll always join in. They’re pretty close.”
“So you’re saying this trip was planned ahead of time?”
“Pretty much.”
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Yi Ke turned to see He Mo approaching, holding a thin sealed card. “Keep this on you.”
Yi Ke took it, puzzled. “What is it?”
He Mo didn’t answer that. “Ningyu asked me to give it to you.”
Inside were blood samples from several dozen field operatives. In a critical moment, they might be needed as backup inside the rules zone.
But for now, Zhuang Ningyu had no intention of letting Yi Ke in.
First, there were still many things he didn’t understand.
Second, he didn’t know whether the others barging in might cause the experimenters to go feral the way they had with Wang Daqiang.
Third, he looked at the small smudge of dried red on his shirt sleeve—blood that Yi Ke had bumped into him earlier—and simply couldn’t bring himself to throw his lover’s DNA into this biotech company’s gene bank in exchange for a login badge.
