Chapter 43: Ninth Fortress

An He had already woken up, but she didn’t open her eyes right away.

She felt the soft bedding beneath her, the narrow hospital bed, and the faint scents in the air—blood, disinfectant, and thick medicinal odors.

As she inhaled these smells, she quickly recalled the conversations she’d had with Gu Xianqing during her days of slumber.

Ordinary dreams always had a strange quality—they felt utterly real while immersed in them, but upon waking, everything seemed absurd, with the details fading from memory like actors leaving the stage.

Dreams invaded by Gu Xianqing weren’t like that, but An He feared missing some crucial detail.

She repeatedly replayed Gu Xianqing’s expressions, words, and every subtle gesture. She’d already had some exposure to the woman’s movement techniques and combat prowess before; now, after their “physical clash,” they’d engaged in a rare peaceful exchange of ideas. It was a perfect opportunity, and she had to seize it to learn more about Gu Xianqing.

An He wasn’t as earnest as she’d appeared. She’d deliberately reined in her aggression while pressing just hard enough to draw out hints of the woman’s stance.

An He still didn’t know Gu Xianqing’s past or origins, but she’d caught suspicious tells from her scattered remarks.

Gu Xianqing had almost no sense of collectivism, likely from wandering the Wasteland without belonging to any fortress. Her views on humanity’s fate always came across as detached and cold. So far, everything the woman had done aligned with her claims—she was acting purely for her own desires, her behavior unpredictable.

That didn’t matter; it was already established fact.

What An He couldn’t untangle was this: with catastrophe looming, everyone in any fortress—whether they accepted the fighting or not—should share a common vision: escape the threat of Bone Erosion Disease and radiation, solve the resource shortages.

But An He saw no such hope in Gu Xianqing.

Even if the woman’s demeanor betrayed some will to survive, it wasn’t from a shared human standpoint.

Either her core personality was deeply pessimistic, believing natural selection would inevitably destroy human society, rendering all progress meaningless as everyone turned to dust and dry bones in the sand.

Or she’d witnessed such a past… or future.

Another red flag: Gu Xianqing distanced herself from humanity in her speech, like a bystander. A clear tell was her constant use of “you” or “they” when describing human history.

Never “we.”

An He was all too familiar with that rhetoric—it mirrored the parables in the Ancient God New Testament, where God delivered divine oracles.

Gu Xianqing had warned her not to read the book, yet she quoted its verses at will.

At this realization, An He was 100% certain: Gu Xianqing had no ties to the fortresses, but she definitely had some connection to the “Red-Clothed Apostles” and that so-called “God.”

So An He replayed it all again, searching Gu Xianqing’s expressions for clues.

Her scrutiny was so intense that even after waking, Gu Xianqing’s face lingered in her mind—those deep blue eyes always tinged with inexplicable emotion, the smile that often turned seductive, the vulnerable neck with no protection, and the tall, taut-muscled body…

Wait. An He raised her hand to cover her eyes, pausing for a moment.

Her thoughts had wandered to the bite mark on Gu Xianqing’s neck, and the stab wound she’d inflicted on her waist… Had Gu Xianqing’s injuries healed?

She’d forgotten to check.

Next time.

An He pulled her hand away from her face, turning from the glare of the white fluorescent light. She saw her entire right hand wrapped in bandages.

Her body was too.

It was already the fourth day after the battle.

An He propped herself up.

Just as Gu Xianqing had described, this spacious ward held six Thorn Lamp members. Ide, Su Ling, and she were on the same side, all swaddled in thick bandages like they’d just been dug up from the grave, laid out neat as you please.

An He had woken first, probably because Gu Xianqing had deeply soothed her nerves in the dream. She recovered well. It took some time to get her long-immobile limbs moving, but by noon, she could sit up and shuffle along holding the bedrail.

The nurse tending the wounded removed her IV, changed her dressings, and chatted idly with her. That’s when An He learned Ide and Su Ling had undergone surgery later than her. The two leaders had held out until midday the next day, handing off their duties before treatment.

In the afternoon, Heidi and Asta heard An He was awake and came to visit.

Asta had been injured too, but her critical wounds were on her legs—she’d used her iron legs as shields, protecting her torso and head with only some bruises. Of course, Asta had taken time for “surgery” too—swapping in two new iron legs.

Heidi was full of energy, though her right hand was bandaged and in a cast, a sling around her neck. Quirky touch: her Little Squirrel perched on her head, its right paw also in a tiny cast.

Once she could move around, An He leaned on a metal crutch and left the hospital with Heidi.

“Your injuries synced with your Nestsoul?” An He asked.

“Nah, sigh, don’t bring it up.” Heidi scratched her head awkwardly. Just as An He decided not to press, Heidi explained anyway.

“Me and Asta were stopping the enemy advance. Two of ’em reached the spiral stairs below, so I figured I’d unscrew the crane’s bolts, smash whoever I could. Right in the thick of it, didn’t notice someone firing bullets from behind—shrapnel hit us both.”

Heidi raised her hand. “Pure coincidence we got the same side. Pulled out the fragments first, let it heal up decently, then recalled it to my mind for rest.”

An He glanced at Heidi’s head. The long-eared Little Squirrel squatted fat-bellied in the messy hair, washing its face with one paw.

The situation back then surely wasn’t as casual as Heidi made it sound—her short hair was singed and curled. A little more off, and she’d be dead. But Heidi’s tone stayed light.

An He asked, “Did you smash ’em?”

“Smashed ’em dead.” Heidi grinned, giving a thumbs-up with her good hand. “The key to victory!”

They left the hospital and stepped onto the street, back under the sun.

The Ninth Fortress buzzed with life.

It was as if nothing had changed—everyone hustling, just like when An He first arrived. The women hauling supplies and rebuilding defenses showed no weariness; if anything, the hope in their eyes burned brighter.

But something had changed.

The ones directing things on the streets now were seasoned aunties, longtime Ninth Fortress residents.

The Thorn Lamps had taken heavy casualties in the battle; most were still in the hospital. So without leaders, the people spontaneously and unitedly patched up the fortress, racing to restore the barriers before the First Fortress could exploit the weakness.

An He wanted to check on the imprisoned Lola, but a fifty-year-old auntie from the Iron Smelting Plant blocked her, awkwardly leveling a long gun across the doorframe. “The commander ordered before surgery: no one approaches Lola except her. Not even Professor Su.”

An He let out an “Ah” and obediently left the prison.

Keeping Su Ling from Lola—protection for Su Ling, or for Lola?

Either way, residents’ feelings toward Lola were complicated. Those she’d treated and cared for were heartbroken, though that care had likely just been duty, not intent.

Others with no contact raged, debating execution like the unjust invaders.

But Ide hadn’t woken yet, so it stayed private talk—no one stormed the prison with guns for vigilante justice. They all knew the Ninth Fortress couldn’t afford more chaos now.

“Let’s wander.” Heidi shrugged it off, thrilled An He was up.

They passed the Iron Smelting Plant, already back in operation. Damaged gear melted down as raw material, fed into the blast furnaces. Like swallowing wounds to forge tougher steel, every patch of land and person in the Ninth Fortress underwent this reforging.

Then Heidi led An He to the church.

On the way, An He asked, “The tally? How many did we lose?”

Heidi sidestepped the church and took her straight to the Ninth Fortress cemetery instead.

“We made a monument.” Heidi stood by a stone, introducing the Memorial Monument like a tour guide. “See? Their names.”

Starting with “Qiong,” ending with “Hol Doran Tus,” over forty names lined up neatly—nine Thorn Lamps, plus ordinary residents caught in the defensive base’s shelling.

Paper-folded flowers piled at its base.

“That first night holding the fortress, Ide led everyone in a funeral. Shame you were out cold.” Heidi smiled. “The elephant funeral I told you about. No worries—you can touch their names, count as joining in.”

An He crouched, tracing the unfamiliar names.

Some residents offered flowers nearby, tending graves.

An He had expected deep grief. Surprisingly, no soil for sorrow grew here. People accepted reality swiftly, unafraid to smile—even the grave-tenders chattered excitedly about the deceased’s quirks. This lightness helped them face loss head-on.

Heidi embodied it most: greeting everyone warmly, smile unwavering, her cheer undimmed.

An He struggled to adjust. In her mind, death was heavy, taboo—especially here. But she recalled Heidi’s words: For us, death is commonplace.

On this land, loss was routine, be it illness or disaster.

She hadn’t grasped their attitude to life and death at first sight. Now, standing here, new insight dawned.

Their view of death returned to a primal, honest gaze: no frantic fear, no forced gentleness. It formed a perfect cycle with the Thorn Lamps’ fearlessness, each the other’s foundation.

An He felt profoundly shaken, as if a death-view from history books had revived in human progress.

“Don’t pull such a long face—they’d hate seeing their souls sad.” Heidi knocked An He’s head hard. “Be proud. They fought to the end, and now they’ll live on with the stone.”

“I’m not used to it yet,” An He admitted honestly.

“Get used to it quick.” Another head-knock.

The next instant, An He’s fingertip froze on a familiar name: Helitanskia.

“This one…”

“Oh, Professor Su had it added. Said she went mining sick, fell into an underground river crevice, gone.” Heidi paused, then enthused, “She was a diligent, kind lady.”

“Is that so?” An He blinked, finally wearing the wry expression Heidi wanted. “Wonder if Lady Heli would feel proud seeing herself on the monument.”

“Maybe?” Heidi tilted her head.

They left the cemetery, crossing warm afternoon sun, the fading gunpowder scent, into the bustling reconstruction streets.

…

An He spent days utterly different from before.

For a couple, she idled completely, resting peacefully in the hospital. Nurses changing her dressings always marveled, “You’re healing so fast!”

When alone, An He sneaked peeks under the gauze at her wounds.

She had almost forgotten that ever since absorbing the mycelium, her healing speed far exceeded that of ordinary people. If she observed long enough, she would notice tiny flesh buds sprouting from the muscle tissue on one side of her wound, quickly overlapping to mend it.

On top of that, Gu Xianqing hadn’t troubled her these past two days. Instead, she had fabricated incredibly comfortable beautiful dreams for her. Both body and mind, An He felt like she was soaking in nutrient solution, recovering at a rapid pace.

As the only patient in the ward who stayed awake for extended periods, An He became a spectacle for every well-meaning woman who came to visit.

Whenever the clock approached five in the afternoon and visiting hours began, the aunts and sisters with free time would come to the ward carrying baskets filled with leftover fruit from home, to check on their beloved Thorn Lamps.

They would carefully place the fruits one by one on the bedside tables of every bed, ensuring that the patients had something to eat when they woke.

If the fruit remained uneaten the next day, they would collect it back with a touch of regret and replace it with fresher ones.

An He sat on her bed, watching these women, and sometimes spotted particularly endearing moments.

They would earnestly compare the sizes of the fruits in their baskets, quietly assigning the larger ones to the Thorn Lamps they knew better. But it was never blatant favoritism—if some Thorn Lamp’s table had only small fruits, they would swap in the largest one for her bedside.

They weren’t required to be absolutely selfless; these subtle selfish impulses were precisely the cute part of human nature. They told you that you were favored.

If someone felt hurt by such favoritism, that was fine too—they could always find warm, enthusiastic, intimate people to confide in and provide a safety net.

An He munched on a pear, smiling as she watched their movements. Then, once the food was distributed, the women would cluster around her, chattering away in conversation.

The little children called her “big sister” sweetly, eagerly asking for battle details—the more exaggerated, the better.

The adults would ask if she was still in pain, what home-cooked dishes she fancied, promising to sneak some in next time or inviting her over for a meal once she recovered.

To her surprise, An He quite enjoyed these moments.

In the Ninth Fortress, Thorn Lamps grew up like this from childhood. Girls born here were raised communally, or by two or three people together. Many Thorn Lamps had grown accustomed to interacting with everyone long before becoming warriors.

But An He hadn’t been born here. Over the previous two months, she had been intensely training without much socializing, so she hadn’t had much contact with the residents. Unexpectedly, her injury gave her this opportunity.

She cherished it like another form of “mental nutrient solution,” allowing her to relax and sprout new tender leaves like a tree.

…

Two days later, Ide and Su Ling awoke one after another.

Ide’s physique was similarly extraordinary. As the strongest Thorn Lamp in the fortress, she possessed immense mental power. By noon on the day she woke, Ide had already left the hospital to get back to work.

In the aftermath of battle, the leader had far graver issues to handle. The First Fortress remained silent, with no sign of anyone coming to negotiate. Whether they had tried contacting Ide—who could say? Only the commander knew, and Ide had been asleep these past few days. Even if they had, the First Fortress could only wait.

The enemy corpses left outside the Iron Wall were torched by the Thorn Lamps to prevent the Bone Eaters from scavenging them.

At seven in the evening, as night fell, An He had already changed out of her hospital gown into her everyday combat gear.

She knocked on the door of Ide’s office. “Commander, you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah, come in.”

An He stepped into the room. She noticed two items on Ide’s desk: a machine resembling a computer, and Tina’s razor-sharp Holy Sword.

Ide’s expression was grave. The bandage wrapped around her bare wrist was stained with a trace of crimson blood.

Ide watched An He sit down. Only when their eyes met did Ide speak solemnly.

“What are your thoughts on Lola?”