Chapter Seventy-Three: Beast, Worse Than a Beast

“Oh yes, victory!” She held the hard-won bank card between her fingers, waving it triumphantly in the air. Leng Nini resembled a cheerful little sparrow, with a look that practically begged to be teased.

“Aunt Qin, Sister Qiqi, Nini’s in a good mood today, so for once she’ll generously be your tour guide.” She casually slipped the bank card into her jeans pocket, grabbed Su Qin with one hand and led Zhang Qiqi upstairs with the other, her steps lively and full of delight. At a glance, it truly looked as if she knew what she was doing.

Defeated by Leng Nini’s nonsensical antics, Lin Yang watched the three pretty figures disappear upstairs and shook his head helplessly. Still, he didn’t linger, heading straight for the bedroom tucked away in the western corner. There, Zhang Zifeng lay quietly on the bed, his eyelids twitching faintly, as if he could wake at any moment.

With a creak, Lin Yang pushed the door open. Perhaps the sound roused Zhang Zifeng, or perhaps he had been struggling to wake; either way, his eyes finally opened.

A weak groan followed the door’s opening. Lin Yang stepped into the room and flicked the switch on the wall. The dim bedroom was instantly flooded with light, causing Zhang Zifeng to squeeze his eyes shut before slowly opening them again.

Lin Yang strode to the bedside, smiling at Zhang Zifeng, who was laboriously turning his head to take in his surroundings. “Uncle Feng, this is where I live, in Tianchen District. From now on, this will be your home.”

He knew Zhang Zifeng’s stubbornness well. Seeing him attempt to sit up and leave, Lin Yang shook his head, sighing, and began to persuade him in earnest. “Uncle Feng, with your current condition, leaving would be a death sentence. You still have Aunt Qin and Qiqi. Even if you don’t care about your own life, you should think about them.”

A man's tears are not easily shed, but there are moments when even the toughest break. Zhang Zifeng, hardened by years of suffering, suddenly wept as if a dam had burst, unable to restrain the tide of emotion that had built up inside him.

Lin Yang was tactful, refraining from interrupting the moment. He walked to the sofa in the corner, lit a cigarette, and thought to himself, “Let him cry. He’ll feel better afterward.”

It took a full five minutes for Zhang Zifeng to regain composure. Having cried, his mood was noticeably lighter. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at Lin Yang, hesitating before asking, “Yang, tell Uncle Feng the truth. Can my illness be cured?”

To have reached the position of deputy leader in the National Security Tower’s Special Defense Team, Zhang Zifeng clearly had his talents. No one would believe him foolish.

He knew his own body and condition better than anyone. The horror of the toxin he was infected with was no secret to him. If not for the mission to prevent the enemy from completing their research on the toxin, he would never have gotten involved, nor would the patriarch have been injured, nor would so many tragedies have unfolded…

So many memories surged forth, as if shackles had been partly unlocked, overwhelming his mind and causing a headache.

Lin Yang stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it in the ashtray. Seeing Zhang Zifeng clutching his head in pain, he quickly reached out to check his pulse, circulating his energy to probe for signs of the toxin’s spread. Oddly, he found no acceleration in the toxin’s progression.

“How could there be headaches? The toxin hasn’t invaded the neural system yet.”

Unable to figure it out, he asked, “Uncle Feng, what’s wrong? Where do you feel uncomfortable?”

The memories faded, and the pain on Zhang Zifeng’s face disappeared. He took deep breaths and forced a bitter smile. “It’s nothing, just remembered too much at once. My head hurts a bit.”

So it was the toxin at work. Lin Yang felt relieved. “That’s good, then.”

Zhang Zifeng looked at Lin Yang, opening his mouth as if to speak, but held back. Words of gratitude weren’t his forte. Soldiers acted decisively, rarely bound by sentiment. But after eight years bedridden, unable to move or care for himself, his earlier aggression had been worn away.

“Uncle Feng, may I ask you a question?” After a brief silence, Lin Yang couldn’t hold back as he gazed at the man before him, who looked neither alive nor dead.

Time and suffering had changed Zhang Zifeng. He was gentler now, even as pain gnawed at him like a thousand ants, he managed a smile. Though weakened and gaunt, the smile seemed eerie, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“Ask. I know what you want to ask.” After gazing out the window for a while, Zhang Zifeng drew a deep breath, his eyes settling back on Lin Yang.

“Why didn’t you seek help from the Lin family? The patriarch never said anything about disowning you.” Lin Yang’s voice was barely audible, afraid the answer might be more than he could bear.

He’d wanted to ask this since meeting Su Qin, after learning from her that this man’s life was hanging by a thread. Yet Su Qin’s answer was always distant: she didn’t want to trouble the patriarch. Such words weighed heavily on the heart.

Zhang Zifeng didn’t answer immediately, his gaze shifting from Lin Yang’s face to the ceiling.

Neither spoke. The atmosphere in the bedroom was so heavy their breathing and the beating of their hearts seemed amplified.

After some time—maybe five minutes, maybe ten—Zhang Zifeng finally broke the silence. “I implicated the patriarch.”

His voice was heavy, tinged with sadness, and above all, guilt and remorse. Even his shriveled, skeletal right hand clenched so tightly it cracked—bone pressing against bone.

He said no more, and Lin Yang didn’t press, though that phrase echoed in his mind.

“I implicated the patriarch.” The words hung in the air like a curse, tormenting both men.

“I implicated the patriarch. Because of my arrogance, my negligence, my irresponsibility, the patriarch contracted the HSV virus. Eleven brothers—elite agents of the nation’s covert unit—died. The HSV virus was seized by dangerous elements, posing a threat to the country, and I ended up like this.” He spoke so much in one breath that his already frail state worsened, leaving him breathless and coughing.

Lin Yang didn’t question him further, only quietly channeled his energy, caring for this heroic man who could slip away at any moment.

With the nourishment of Lin Yang’s energy, Zhang Zifeng’s breathing returned to normal. His gaze toward Lin Yang became somewhat strange—yes, strange was the word, and Lin Yang himself felt it.

“Uncle Feng, I don’t have any peculiar tastes, you’re making me uncomfortable with that look.” Lin Yang’s irreverence was legendary; even now, he couldn’t resist cracking a joke.

His cheeky demeanor made anyone want to go up and kick him, then scold him, “You rascal, don’t you know to be humble? Show restraint in front of beauties, respect your elders! I ought to kick you to death, you scoundrel.”

Even the serious Zhang Zifeng couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head with a sigh. He took a deep breath, then patiently recounted the events from eight years ago in detail, as if replaying them word by word for Lin Yang.

The story was unusually long—and far more gripping than expected. Lin Yang listened, nodding attentively, sometimes surprised or shocked, as if two grown men were discussing the anatomy of women.

…

While Lin Yang and Zhang Zifeng were engrossed in conversation, Leng Nini played the part of a competent tour guide. With her natural eloquence, she quickly bonded with the Zhang family mother and daughter.

“Aunt Qin, this room, that room, and this one will be yours from now on.” Standing in the upstairs corridor, she pointed out a sunlit room and two on the shady side, generously allocating them to Su Qin.

“That’s too much! One is enough.” Su Qin replied shyly. She’d lived in modest neighborhoods for so long, that moving into such a spacious place felt strange.

“No, no, that won’t do. These three are yours, you decide what to do with them. Otherwise, Brother Yang will call me the Empress Dowager, monopolizing power. I’m really very obedient, that title is too crushing, I don’t want it.” Leng Nini shook her head like a mallet, coaxing and persuading Su Qin until she finally agreed.

Leng Nini was bold, but observant. She gave Su Qin an extra room, thinking ahead for the couple’s privacy. If Lin Yang knew what she was planning, he’d be at a loss for words.

With Su Qin settled, Zhang Qiqi was easier. Leng Nini pointed to the sunlit room next to Su Qin’s, assigning it happily. “Sister Qiqi, this one’s yours, and oh, this one too.” She turned and pointed to the room facing the shady side.

One room for summer, one for winter—the arrangement was sensible. If not for the abundance of rooms in the villa, she couldn’t have indulged in such generous allocations.

“All right, sleeping arrangements are settled. Come, let me show you the third floor—it’s very mysterious.” Leng Nini beckoned with an air of secrecy.

Curiosity is universal. Compared to men’s desire for beautiful bodies, the two women’s interest in the third floor was just as intense.

Leng Nini, pleased with her cleverness, planned to have some lively fun with the mother and daughter.

…

“The island nation? Again with the island nation. I hate those bastards the most.” Listening to Zhang Zifeng’s tale, Lin Yang gritted his teeth. Anything involving the island nation struck a chord in him—national pride, nothing more.

Still, he didn’t mind if the women from the island nation starred in films for global admiration. Impartial and broad-minded, he thought billions of men worldwide could appreciate their alluring bodies.

To be honest, Aoi, Ozawa, Harano, Iijima were his favorites. He’d sneaked many a look in secret during his university days, and his dorm mates often boasted about it. If more top actresses like them appeared, he’d be delighted to watch.

As the saying goes, foreign women have their charms, but the men? They could be put to hard labor or executed—those beasts were too vile. Didn’t they know women should be treated gently? Their wild games were worse than animals.

Yes, worse than animals—Lin Yang reserved that harsh definition for those men from the island nation.