Chapter 36: This is Ji Mao……

The gate of the Red Sun Group’s stronghold was kicked open.

Orlando rushed in carrying Wei on his back.

Wei’s head lolled on his shoulder, her white short hair brushing against his neck, the dark red tips sticking together in strands from sweat.

Her tactical jacket was open, the row of bombs inside swaying with his steps, all fuses extinguished.

Her breathing was still steady, but her whole body was as limp as a sack of potatoes.

Hui was standing in the hallway, holding a ledger in his hand.

He saw Orlando and Wei on his back, his heterochromatic pupils constricted slightly, then he closed the ledger, walked over, and took Wei from Orlando’s shoulder.

“Sir, thank you.”

He glanced down at Wei’s pale face.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing.”

Orlando panted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Ran into a guy covered in black mist.”

Hui’s eyebrow twitched.

“Could you be more specific, sir?”

“Uh—”

Just as Orlando opened his mouth, his stomach suddenly churned.

That familiar feeling, rising from the depths of his stomach, as if something was pushing outward from the inside.

His expression changed.

No way.

Now?

Here?

“Sir?”

Hui looked at him.

Orlando didn’t answer.

He turned around and rushed toward the stairs.

His steps were stumbling; he bumped into the wall in the hallway, then bumped into the stair railing.

Hui stood there, holding the unconscious Wei in his arms, his gaze fixed on Orlando’s back as he disappeared at the stairwell.

For a moment, the color of the golden eye in his heterochromatic pupils deepened.

Orlando rushed into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

The sound of the door hitting the frame was loud enough to be heard throughout the entire hallway.

He pressed his back against the door, panting heavily.

Silver light was seeping out from the depths of his eyes.

His vision began to change color.

He looked down at his hands.

His fingers were shortening.

His skin was turning finer and whiter.

The base of his nails began to show a faint silver luster.

“JIJI NA RULULING—”

He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and squeezed his ten fingers tightly.

“SUPPRESS ITTTTT—”

His body trembled violently.

His bones made a faint cracking sound.

His fingers stopped shortening.

He panted, sweat covering his forehead, his back shirt soaked and sticking to his skin.

Suppressed?

He looked down at his hands—his fingers were still the length of an adult male.

Suppressed.

Then his chest suddenly ached.

His ribs began to rearrange themselves, contracting inward at a slow but irreversible pace.

The width of his shoulders began to narrow.

A tingling sensation came from his hair roots, and silver strands were growing out from his scalp.

“You—”

He looked down at his shrinking hands.

“🌿F*CK——”

His body felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand, turned inside out.

Silver light shone from the surface of his skin, illuminating the entire room in a brilliant flash.

Then the light faded.

Olivia stood in the room.

Her silver long hair reached her waist, the ends brushing against the door panel with a faint rustling sound.

The oversized shirt—still the one she had worn back from the church, torn in several places by rubble—had its collar slipped down to her shoulders.

The hem of the shirt barely covered mid-thigh, and her two bare legs were covered in small scratches, dirt, and bits of rubble from the church.

She stood barefoot on the floor, her toes curling.

She looked down at herself.

Silver hair hung over her chest, the torn shirt hanging on her body.

“…”

She didn’t speak.

Her silver eyes stared at the wood grain on the door.

Then she slowly squatted down, back against the door, knees together, arms hugging her shins.

She rested her chin on her knees.

The white-haired little silver dragon had given up on itself.

Footsteps came from outside the door, pat-pat-pat, with an air of “I’m here to settle the score.”

The footsteps stopped at Orlando’s room.

“Orlando.”

Prunier’s voice came through the door.

“Didn’t I say to clean up when you got back?”

Olivia buried her face in her knees.

Her silver hair slid off her shoulders, covering her entire face.

“Your hair is all over the hallway.”

Prunier’s voice paused.

“If you come out and sweep it up now, I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything.”

Olivia didn’t move.

Then Prunier’s footsteps moved half a step closer to the door—probably bending down.

Under the door crack, in the gap between the floor and the door, a silver-white strand of hair was caught.

Very long.

It shimmered with a faint silver luster in the dim light of the hallway.

It extended from inside the room, pinched in the door crack, like a forgotten spider silk.

Prunier crouched outside the door, her red eyes fixed on the silver hair.

“…Not coming out, huh?”

“Playing possum, huh…”

She stood up.

Her fluffy slippers turned on the floor.

“Fine.”

“No dinner.”

The footsteps pattered away.

Olivia lifted her face from her knees.

Her silver eyes stared at the door and blinked.

Then she let out a soft snort, so quiet only she could hear.

“I’ll just sneak out to eat tonight anyway.”

As soon as she said that.

Her stomach growled.

Very loud.

It surged up from the depths of her stomach, through her empty abdominal cavity, and exploded in the quiet room.

The sound could be heard through the door—Prunier, who had already reached the stairwell, paused in her step.

Olivia lowered her head, her silver hair falling to cover her face.

She pressed her hands against her stomach, as if trying to push the sound back.

Too late.

It had already sounded.

The whole hallway heard it.

Outside the door.

Prunier stood at the stairwell, her red twin tails hanging in front of her shoulders.

She didn’t turn around.

The corners of her mouth slowly curled up.

Then she took a step, and her fluffy slippers went pat-pat-pat down the stairs.

The stomach growl just now was so loud, even people who weren’t deaf could hear it.

“It’s over, over. What am I going to do now…”