Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound of knocking echoed through the room.
Ella did not move.
She stayed slumped against the wall, silver hair spilling over her shoulders.
The hem of her black robe lay crumpled around her ankles.
The tentacle had recovered from the earlier pain.
It hung quietly behind her, the tip curled slightly.
“May I come in?”
Another set of knocks, different this time.
This one sounded like a genuine question, almost overly polite, as if actually seeking her permission.
Hah. Hypocritical.
She was already a prisoner. What was the point of asking now?
“Get out.”
Ella’s voice was ice-cold, like a stone pulled from a freezer. It hit the floor and produced no echo.
Silence outside the door for a beat.
“Um… I’m coming in anyway…”
Of course.
In the end they always did what they wanted. Ella could not even be bothered to lift her eyelids.
This fake courtesy masking raw force disgusted her more than Dieyi’s open malice.
At least Dieyi never pretended.
The door opened. Footsteps moved from the entrance toward her—unhurried, measured.
The soles produced an oddly rhythmic sound against the floor, like someone strolling between bookshelves in an old library.
Ella did not stand to greet her. She did not even raise her head.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the tray in front of her. The bread remained untouched, lying exactly where it had been placed. Its edges had already hardened.
Thanks to the seeds and young livestock she had acquired through ocean exploration, she had long since developed a complete livestock industry inside the nest.
While other players were still struggling at sea just to eat, she had already been enjoying fresh fish and meat at every meal.
So bread—especially this crudely made kind—had never been on her menu.
She had, however, finished the milk.
High-quality protein.
No reason to waste it. If anyone looked closely, they might even notice a faint trace of milk still clinging to the corner of her mouth, gleaming a soft white in the dim light.
“It has been a long time, Your Majesty.”
The voice came from directly in front of her—gentle, soft, carrying the faint scent of old books.
Ella finally lifted her eyes.
This time the newcomer was a red-haired woman.
The red was not a blazing flame but a deeper, aged-rosewood tone that nearly blended into the shadows of the dim cabin.
Only at certain angles did the edges of the strands catch a faint glow.
She wore an intellectual bookish dress—deep black fabric with a white collar and neatly fitted cuffs.
She looked exactly like the gentle older-sister type who would quietly organize shelves in an ancient library.
If the woman had been wearing glasses, Ella might have thought she had stumbled into a library.
The red-haired woman’s pupils were the same color as her hair: a warm, fire-like red. Unlike Dieyi’s crimson, this shade felt gentler, like glowing coals in a hearth—deceptively soothing.
“Long time no see,” she said…
Ella understood. They had tried force and failed, so now they were attempting the soft approach.
Failures. Do not bother.
A bunch of insects like you have no right to stand before me.
“You must be uncomfortable like this.”
The red-haired woman’s gaze swept over Ella—from the scabbed wound on her forehead, to the red marks the chains had left on her wrists, to the wrinkled black robe—then offered a perfectly measured look of concern.
“How about this? Shall I take you for a bath? The ship is small, but it does have all the necessary facilities.”
A bath?
The corners of Ella’s mouth curved upward.
It was not a smile. It was a weapon.
“If you make Dieyi come here and kowtow three times,” she deliberately drawled, “then I’ll go.”
The red-haired woman blinked. A trace of awkwardness crossed her face.
“Um… please don’t make things difficult for me. Dieyi is our leader. If I asked her to do that…”
She tilted her head, as if seriously considering the possibility.
“I would be fine, but she would definitely do something even more extreme than before.”
“Hah…”
Ella narrowed her eyes. Her gaze slid away from the red-haired woman’s face and returned to the empty milk cup in front of her.
“Then I’m not going.”
She shrank deeper into the corner, adopting the clear posture of someone who had said all she intended to say and expected the other party to leave.
Seeing that Ella had no intention of engaging, the red-haired woman showed no irritation.
She simply smiled. The smile was strangely contagious, like a breeze turning the pages of a book with a soft rustle.
“Let me introduce myself first.”
She crouched down in front of Ella so their eyes were level. Those red pupils were gentle and steady, carrying no aggression.
“I am Yiwen. The name you originally gave me was Yiwen from ‘mosquito.’
Later you decided it sounded too unpleasant, so you changed the ‘mosquito’ character to ‘literature,’ making it the current Yiwen.”
Yiwen.
From mosquito.
Something stirred deep in Ella’s memory—like a dusty string on a guqin being brushed by accident, producing an almost inaudible hum.
She quickly suppressed the sound.
“I don’t know you.”
Her voice was cold enough to freeze.
“Changing a name just because it sounds bad? I would never do something so meaningless. Every swarm member’s name should exist only for practicality.”
Yiwen looked at her. Those red eyes showed no disappointment—still gentle, still warm. To Ella it looked completely fake.
Then a thought surfaced in Ella’s mind.
You want to chat nicely with me, huh?
Her gaze shifted to the tentacle behind her—the two-finger-thick, slightly swollen-tipped, semi-transparent-membrane-covered tentacle. She made it twitch the way she would move a finger.
A perfect, cruel, impossible-to-refuse idea took shape.
“If you really want to chat nicely with me…”
The corners of her mouth curved into a sharp, malicious arc.
“How about this? See this tentacle?”
She jerked her chin toward the appendage behind her.
“Spread your legs, let the tentacle go inside, and I’ll talk to you properly.”
Heh.
Yes. Exactly like that.
Failure.
You want to play the gentle big-sister act? Then go ahead. Let’s see how long you can keep it up.
She waited to watch the smile shatter on Yiwen’s face.
Yiwen blinked.
Then she raised both hands to her chest and crossed her index and middle fingers in a clear “X.”
“Dame yo~”
Her voice remained that gentle, patient tone, yet it carried a hint of sternness.
“Of course I know you want to inject DNA into us through that tentacle.”
Her gaze settled on the tentacle as if looking at a naughty child holding a dangerous toy.
“Things like that aren’t allowed. Having children—”
Her face suddenly flushed.
The blush spread from the base of her neck all the way to the tips of her ears.
The visible rims of her ears turned a deep pink. Even her breathing grew slightly irregular.
“—must be done with someone you like…”
Ella froze.
What the hell?!
And why are you blushing while saying that?! What’s with this parent-scolding-a-child tone?!
Tch!
These failures were full of flaws! They needed correction! Optimization!
“We originally had no intention of handling you this way.”
The blush on Yiwen’s face faded as quickly as it had appeared.
She returned to that gentle, steady expression, as though the brief moment of shyness had been nothing more than Ella’s imagination.
“But the insect nest will has already eroded you too deeply. In order not to lose you…”
Her voice softened.
“We had no choice but to act directly.”
Ella’s pupils contracted slightly.
The sentence clicked together with the fragments she had heard from Zhuluo earlier—like two broken puzzle pieces forcibly pressed into the same slot.
They did not fit perfectly, but the edges aligned.
“What do you mean?”
Her voice dropped lower.
The sharp, aggressive edges were pressed down by something heavier.
“When exactly did you all start planning this?!”
“Many years ago.”
Yiwen’s voice was calm and slow, as if recounting a story that time had already polished smooth and thornless.
“Back then you were still male. The moment we were born, you threw us into the sea and left us with only one order.”
She looked straight into Ella’s eyes and spoke each word deliberately.
“Prevent the insect nest will from completely assimilating you.”
The room fell silent.
So silent that Ella could hear the waves lapping against the hull outside, the faint footsteps from a distant cabin, and the beating of her own heart inside her chest.
“Impossible.”
Her voice scraped out from deep in her throat, dry and hoarse.
“I would never do something like that!”
“Let me add one more detail.”
Yiwen was not startled by her volume. She did not even blink.
“It seems the insect nest will tampered with quite a lot of your memories. In truth, the biggest flaw of us so-called failures is actually—”
She paused.
“We cannot connect to the insect nest network.”
Ella’s breath hitched.
“Which is why we were able to resist you.”
Unable to connect to the insect nest network.
That meant they had been outside her control from the very beginning.
It meant none of her orders had ever reached them. It meant they were independent.
“Then! What about Dieyi?!”
Ella leaned forward. The phantom rattle of chains echoed in her mind.
Even though the chains were gone, the feeling of restraint still clung to her limbs like a ghost.
“How could she connect?!”
“That’s why she was the failure closest to success.”
Yiwen tilted her head.
“I know you have many questions, but for now…”
She stood up and extended one hand toward Ella.
The hand was fair and slender, nails neatly trimmed, palm facing upward—an invitation.
“First, let’s get you a bath. Covered in blood and filth isn’t good for you.”
Ella stared at the hand without moving.
Her gaze traveled from the hand to Yiwen’s face, from Yiwen’s face to the doorway, from the doorway to the sea outside the window—where nothing could be seen anymore.
Then the corners of her mouth curved upward.
“Make Dieyi wash me.”
She enunciated each word with deliberate clarity.
Yiwen’s expression changed, taking on a chill.
“Naughty children…”
Her voice remained gentle, yet the gentleness had shifted flavor.
“…need to be disciplined.”
She moved.
Ella did not even see how she moved. Yiwen’s motion was not like Zhuluo’s overwhelming force and speed.
It was more elegant, more fluid, like water slipping through every crack.
A hand reached out.
Two fingers.
They pinched Ella’s ear with perfect precision.
The soft, nerve-rich earlobe.
“Ahhhh! Don’t pull my ear!”
Ella’s voice shot up an entire octave.
The sharp, pained, humiliated sound that burst from her own mouth sounded foreign even to her.
“Let go! You failure! Ahhhh!”
“Come with me to the bathroom.”
Yiwen’s voice stayed that gentle, patient tone, but her hand did not loosen.
Those two fingers held Ella’s earlobe with exactly the right pressure—enough to control without causing real injury, yet the sensation of being restrained felt far worse than any pain.
“Obedient children get candy.”
She dragged Ella by the ear toward the door.
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