Snowflake mark

An Yu, holding⁠‌​‍‍‌​‍‌⁠‌⁠​‌‍‌‍​​⁠‌​‌‌ his octopus plush toy, instinctively occupied the sofa.

Chen Nian’s candle rested on the bedside table. In the faint candlelight, Qin Zhilu unwrapped a pair of gloves from a box. The cabinet always kept several stacks of new gloves, and the pair he was wearing now had been put on today. He calmly put on the pair given to him by his supervised subject but keenly sensed a subtle difference. There seemed to be a slightly raised pattern on the pad of his right index finger. He extended his finger towards the candle flame and looked at the small snowflake.

“The staff said you have many identical trench coats and gloves. So I made a mark, in case you forget later that I returned the favor for the clothes you gave me,” An Yu paused, then added softly, “This customization cost 450 points.”

Qin Zhilu, with his ungloved left hand, rubbed the snowflake on his right index finger. “If I’m not mistaken, I gave you a total of 6 sets of high-polymer clothes.”

“I know,” An Yu shifted his gaze, a little unconfident. “I recently bought something very expensive from Poet. When the bakery earns more money, I’ll buy you a few more pairs.”

“What did you buy?” Qin Zhilu asked casually.

“A book that teaches you how to win the lottery.”

Qin Zhilu: “…”

An Yu said cautiously, “It seems to be somewhat useful now.”

“Did you win?” Qin Zhilu asked.

An Yu sighed. “Because of some mistakes I made, not this time.”

Qin Zhilu didn’t speak. An Yu secretly glanced at the Commander’s face, vaguely feeling that the Commander was speechless, and quickly said, “Codex also suggested I keep the book. He said I might get rich because of it later.”

“Stay away from Poet. The Black Tower always feels there’s something off about him, they just haven’t found any irregularities.” Qin Zhilu took out the other glove and found that only the right index finger had the small snowflake; the left was a regular glove. “Why did you choose a snowflake pattern? Was it cheaper?”

An Yu gently shook his head. “Because snow is considered inauspicious.”

Qin Zhilu abruptly looked up.

They gazed at each other across a comfortable distance as the faint, flickering candlelight bathed them.

“Inauspicious, just like me,” An Yu whispered, looking into the Commander’s dark eyes. “And like your hand.”

In the dim space, those golden eyes appeared even clearer. For a moment, Qin Zhilu felt he wasn’t looking at a pair of eyeballs, but a spark of light, a tiny mark left behind at the birth of something vast.

In a flash, a voice from the past echoed in his mind. When he was sixteen, while answering the psychologist’s gentle question, he looked at his hand and softly said, “Sin.”

This hand, this right index finger that pulled triggers, had sent too many lives away. Those aberrant creatures, the dying humans, the Protectors who fell amidst the terminal’s alarms, his parents, and his sister…

Countless blood and fates intertwined at his fingertips, and before countless reenacted choices, he coldly pulled the trigger, severing everything.

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Qin Zhilu looked at him intently. “What are you trying to say?”

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As his words fell, the pair of dark eyes opposite him seemed to tremble for an instant. An Yu wasn’t sure if he could comfort the Commander. He couldn’t even explain why he was doing this. There were too many people who had suffered more than the Commander, and he thought he had long been accustomed to it, yet he found it hard to forget the profound sadness in his heart when he delved into the Commander’s memories.

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“I’m very sorry. I still seem to have very little humanity, but only instinct,” An Yu whispered. “But I will continue to learn, Commander.”

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“It’s very similar to the one at the corner of my mouth,” Qin Zhilu gently rubbed that skin. “But it’s a bit larger than mine, and darker in color.”

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“Do you suspect I’m the child of that aberrant female scientist?”

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“Humanity didn’t preserve her genes,” Qin Zhilu sighed. “This was the foolishness born of fear. Zhan Xue was the first Super-Aberrant. People only thought about completely annihilating her, the cleaner the better. Even though anyone could become the first Super-Aberrant, humanity’s fear and hatred towards her never stopped. After deeply dissecting her corpse, they threw her into a hot pile and burned her to ashes. Even her remaining belongings are still being searched for and destroyed to this day.”

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“Oh…”

Involving universities was beyond An Yu’s conversational scope. He subconsciously hugged the octopus plush toy tighter. Qin Zhilu, however, suddenly reached out and grabbed the octopus’s head, pulling the toy away from his embrace, holding it in front of him for a moment, and said coldly, “Ugly thing.”

An Yu immediately tightened his lips, swallowing the familiar phrase he was about to use to get close to him: “This plush toy looks just like you when you express your octopus genes.”

The thick octopus tentacles swayed innocently in the air. Qin Zhilu casually tossed it onto the bed. “To the bed.”

“Huh?” An Yu was startled. He looked at Qin Zhilu, then at the octopus plush toy lying on the bed. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

Qin Zhilu’s expression suddenly became a bit blank. He pointed to the sofa under An Yu’s butt. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“That… might not be good,” An Yu said, getting up and sitting on the bed, picking up an octopus leg to pinch in his hand.

Qin Zhilu lay down on the sofa indifferently. When he stretched out his long legs, his ankles extended beyond the armrest. He asked with a cold face, “Who told you… Never mind, it was Ling Qiu.”

An Yu lay down on the Commander’s soft, large bed. “Yes, Ling Qiu said that important figures have strange temperaments, but they all, without exception, like to sleep with people. In critical moments, it’s worth considering agreeing.”

Qin Zhilu: “…”

“But if I were to sleep with you, it’s probably best not to,” An Yu mumbled, pulling the blanket over himself. The blanket still held some of the Commander’s body heat and he instinctively wrapped himself tighter. “Billy seems very sensitive about whether I’ve slept with you, always hinting around. It’s a bit annoying.”

“……”

“Commander, are you still listening?”

Qin Zhilu’s voice was so cold it sounded like the snowfield when they first met. “One correction. Not just with me, but with anyone.”

“Oh,” An Yu paused. “I understand. Flame Xi said I should now moderately consider dignity and shame, since I no longer have much survival pressure.”

“Even if you did, you still shouldn’t.”

“Oh.” An Yu looked up and glanced at the candle on the bedside table. He reached out and gently pushed it towards the sofa.

“Blow it out,” Qin Zhilu said with his eyes closed. “I genuinely dislike dark environments after gene induction tests, but today is fine. I’m not alone.”

As soon as he finished speaking, An Yu blew out the candle with a “whoosh,” seemingly very unaccustomed to it. “Good night, Commander.”

Qin Zhilu didn’t immediately respond. He lay squeezed on the sofa, resting with his eyes closed.

After a while, he suddenly let out a soft, helpless chuckle. “You didn’t just look at my memories, did you? Insomnia occurs after the test, and sleeping with the lights on can help. This is a secret known only to a small portion of the researchers responsible for me at Brain. How did you manage to coax that out?”

No answer.

Qin Zhilu listened, his ear alert. In the dark, quiet room, the sound of steady, prolonged breathing gradually appeared. He turned his head expressionlessly and looked at the outline bulging on his bed in the darkness. “……”