Chapter 85: First Fortress 37

“You mean An Ning?” An He asked gruffly.

“Yeah.”

“She’s just a researcher.” An He lifted her head slightly from under the covers, revealing her eyes. There wasn’t much emotion in them—no sorrow, no regret.

“Can a researcher be called a mother?” An He questioned sincerely. “Doesn’t that mean I have a bunch of mothers? That’d be a disaster. Kazama Asagiri, Wen Yewang, the Saint Lord—they’re all part of the Cabin Cocoon Project. I can’t even picture calling them ‘Mom.’”

Finding the idea hilariously absurd, An He burst out laughing while clutching the blanket, her shoulders shaking, half her face buried underneath.

The brighter An He laughed, the tighter Gu Xianqing’s brows furrowed. “No, An Ning’s different from Wen Yewang. And so are you.”

“Then tell me, how am I different?” An He reined in her smile, blinking as she leaned in attentively, all ears.

Gu Xianqing stared deeply into An He’s eyes. After a long moment of eye contact, she leaned back and lay down on the bed. The wide mattress dipped, cradling her form.

An He’s gaze followed her movement. She obediently crouched nearby, waiting for Gu Xianqing’s answer.

They were now less than ten centimeters apart, but neither made a move this time.

The dreamscape felt too gentle, the blanket radiating the warmth of sunlight. If not for the heavy topic, it would have been a cozy, leisurely moment—they could bask in the clean sunlight, listen to the wind and birdsong, and chat idly while nestled on the bed.

But alas, it wasn’t. Such everyday bliss was a fanciful luxury.

Gu Xianqing inhaled the familiar scent from her memories and spoke slowly. “Cabin Cocoons have no past before they’re born. But you do. You have memories. An Ning gave you twenty-three years of a complete life. She raised you—that makes her a mother, doesn’t it?”

An He’s eyes flickered with self-mockery. “A life? That was fake, right?”

“Fake? I don’t know. Maybe not for An Ning.”

Gu Xianqing rolled onto her side, gazing up into An He’s eyes. “I don’t know how she did it, but your growth was completely different from other Cabin Cocoons. Five years ago, I broke into the First Fortress, and it took me a long time to pinpoint your dream three years ago.”

Gu Xianqing’s shoulders trembled. An He heard her stifle a couple of coughs. Thinking of her injuries, An He’s chest tightened with panic, but she held her tongue, waiting for Gu Xianqing to continue.

“Do you know why your dreams were all dark for those three years?”

An He shook her head.

“Because I couldn’t simulate your environment. I sensed your presence, but I couldn’t talk to you like this. You weren’t awake—your consciousness was artificially blocked, virtualized, in other words, your mind wasn’t in this world.”

Gu Xianqing raised her hand, sunlight filtering through her fingers. “So, I could only break through the barrier to send scraps of information, making you remember me, come find me. Who knew it’d take three years.”

An He looked dazed. No wonder she kept having the same dream—Gu Xianqing calling to her formulaically, terrifying her like some female ghost.

Only after An He awoke and set foot on this land did the dreams normalize.

If that was the case, she’d been living in a virtual space until recently, when she reconnected with the real world.

“You’re saying An Ning did all this?” An He’s voice trembled as she spoke. Wen Yewang and the Saint Lord surely didn’t know.

So, had An Ning hidden her from Wen Yewang, weaving a fake life for her?

Inconceivable.

“Maybe.” Gu Xianqing sighed softly. “In any case, you’re special.”

An He sensed something off. “Didn’t you say An Ning was dead? How long ago?”

“Exactly twenty years.”

“By normal human standards, I’d have been three then?” An He laughed in disbelief. “You’re saying a dead woman hid me for twenty years?”

“I wouldn’t know. I can’t access the dreams of the dead or uncover whatever tricks she pulled to fool everyone.” Gu Xianqing rolled over, propping her head up on one hand. “Wen Yewang’s badly hurt right now. Why don’t you go check it out?”

Check? Of course.

A fierce thirst for knowledge sparked life back into An He’s eyes, restoring her usual vitality.

Gu Xianqing’s lips curved in a smile, the ache in her chest fading as she teased her companion playfully.

An He caught the crinkle at Gu Xianqing’s eyes and the soft strands of hair scattered across the bed. Alert now, she said, “You look like you’re just using me to do your dirty work. Gu Xianqing, why tell me this now? You’ve never talked about it before.”

“Think of it as me using you, if you want.” Gu Xianqing laughed indifferently. Of course, she wouldn’t admit she hadn’t planned to discuss this—it was just a momentary pang of compassion.

She truly knew little of An Ning’s past. The departed woman was the root of it all, taking her secrets to the sands.

But the past didn’t matter. The strong never dwelled on it. Gu Xianqing only looked forward, ready to pluck the fruits An Ning left behind for her own use.

These old stories just seemed important to An He.

Fine. Consider it patching up her little lamb’s psychological wounds—her charge couldn’t let regret dull her edge.

“I knew it.” An He’s tone shifted, the gloom retreating from her eyes, replaced by surging anger. “I knew you had no good intentions.”

An He’s arm muscles tensed as she pushed herself up—out of reach when Gu Xianqing was on the sofa, but now, she was mere centimeters away.

In a blink, An He arched like a cat and pounced, pinning Gu Xianqing while grabbing her collar. “You can boss me around, but you’d better do something real yourself.”

Gu Xianqing let herself be pinned, smiling radiantly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find out why the God spared Wen Yewang and make sure she doesn’t spill about us teaming up.”

Gu Xianqing placed her hand on An He’s, prying it away firmly.

“Relax. I’ll look into it. This is about my own safety, after all.”

…

An He opened her eyes as light from the window hit her eyelids. Cold, dim—the sunlight in Ivyen City always filtered through an unbreakable haze.

Kazama Asagiri was still there, dutifully keeping watch all night. Seeing An He awake, she leaned in with concern. “Did you have a nightmare?”

An He blinked in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

“I heard you talking in your sleep.”

“Really?” An He tensed, muscles coiling warily. “What did I say?”

She never sleep-talked—or so she thought. In this dangerous place, leaking secrets could be fatal. An He stared intently at Kazama Asagiri, whose expression softened, her gaze filling with… pity.

“You were calling, ‘Mommy.’”

An He: “?”

An He raised a hand to her forehead, exhaling sharply after a long pause. “You must’ve misheard.” She’d never call out those words. “Mommy” was just a childish game to her, illusory.

True, in the dream, she’d wavered for a moment, rejecting her identity. But back in reality, those negative feelings had faded.

That was normal. Everyone went through it—obstacles insurmountable in dreams seemed trivial upon waking.

An He rubbed her brow. If she’d truly wavered, it was just affected self-pity. With intrigue swirling everywhere, she couldn’t afford such weakness.

She refused to acknowledge it.

An He suspected Gu Xianqing’s doing—exploiting her subconscious to breach her mental defenses.

“It’s nothing.” Kazama Asagiri saw through An He’s evasion and reassured her. “It’s normal. ‘Mommy’ is often the first word babies learn, and many shout it with their last breath. Your injuries were severe; the trauma might’ve triggered an instinctive call for a mother—the most primal human bond. Nothing shameful about it.”

An He lowered her hand. “But I’m a Cabin Cocoon.”

“Fair point.” Kazama Asagiri sighed, her tone gentler. “Maybe the ‘mommy’ you called wasn’t a specific person—just a symbol of safety and attachment. People do that when vulnerable.”

An He turned her head away, unwilling to delve deeper.

Kazama Asagiri interpreted An He’s silence differently. After a deep breath, the researcher reached out and gently stroked her hair. “Don’t overthink it. Rest up.”

An He flinched back, unaccustomed. “How long until I’m healed?”

“Your wounds are bad—mostly cuts and punctures. Conservatively, half a month with standard treatment, but the Saint Lord ordered the best meds. About ten days, and you’ll be walking.”

Too long. She couldn’t rest that much.

An He flexed her arm.

This time, her injuries were worse than the Ninth Fortress campaign. Nearly every cut grazed her vitals—scrapes from wooden thorns, burns, slashes beyond count. Ignoring defense in a solo fight, the wounds on her legs and back were gruesome.

Yet her endurance was improving. The mental power pushed to its limit against the God seemed to shatter a threshold, recovering swiftly. Even gravely hurt, An He stayed clear-headed, meticulously planning ahead.

Lowering her voice, An He asked, “Can you keep me updated on Professor Wen’s condition?”

“You want to know?”

“Yeah… I care about her.” Of course—Wen Yewang’s health determined if their plans could proceed smoothly.

“Alright, I’ll tell you.” Kazama Asagiri sighed inwardly—Poor thing. This Cabin Cocoon threw herself into danger to save Professor Wen, requested my company, and now calls for ‘mommy’ in her sleep. Probably developed chick imprinting, treating a researcher like family.

Kazama Asagiri thought the Research Institute had psychologists—maybe schedule a session for Vivian.

An He ignored her gaze, mulling over the plan with Gu Xianqing.

Gu Xianqing would investigate why the God spared Wen Yewang. She needed to quickly probe An Ning’s matters.

An He had her own hunch: An Ning had collected Divine Blood—not ordinary Mycelium. Maybe she’d reached the God’s Core area.

This time, she and Gu Xianqing would act separately.

But the ultimate goal still tied to the God.

“Oh, and Vivian.” Kazama Asagiri interrupted An He’s thoughts. “The Saint Lord visited this morning. You were still out, so she didn’t disturb you. At eleven, I’ll wheel you to the conference room. She has questions.”

Only then did An He notice the silver wheelchair in the corner.

Eleven o’clock.

Kazama Asagiri wheeled An He to the fifty-seventh floor.

They didn’t enter the conference room on time—Sekhmet seemed to be negotiating with someone.

At 11:02, five people An He had never seen emerged. Not in Heroic Spirits Society uniforms, but dressed nobly and neatly. They passed without glancing down at her, heads held high as they left.

Only then was An He wheeled inside.

Sekhmet’s expression was grim. She slammed a fist on the table, spilling half the tea—clearly in a rage. Bloodshot eyes betrayed a sleepless night, yet the woman past fifty hid her fatigue well, hair impeccably combed. Seeing An He enter, Sekhmet tucked her fist under her cloak.

An He’s gaze fell on the cloak, then shifted to the back wall of the conference room. Her fingers tightened on the wheelchair arms.

This conference room.

The dedicated one she’d seen during Ninth Fortress–First Fortress talks.

“Tell me what happened,” Sekhmet demanded brusquely, straight to business, no preamble.

An He answered truthfully: those Cabin Cocoons, controlled by Divine Blood, had attacked Professor Wen and the First Fortress.

Sekhmet probed details. “Gu Xianqing showed up too?”

“Yeah, arrived with the Mycelium.”

“What did she do?”

“Stood by.” An He added, “And kicked me once.”

“Where is she now?”

“Left when I was exhausted.”

“Didn’t kill you?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Sekhmet lifted her gaze slightly.

What a coincidence, An He thought. Both she and the Saint Lord had begun to harbor doubts about the living.

“I think… maybe I’m a Cabin Cocoon too—useful to them. She and the God intend to keep me around,” An He replied obediently.

Sekhmet fell silent for a long moment, the side of her temple twitching slightly from clenching her jaw. Only after a while did she speak: “I’ll handle this matter. Keep an eye on your surroundings for now—don’t go near any Mycelium.”

Evidently, An He had been marked as valuable property. Aside from Gu Xianqing, no one knew she had already clashed with the God several times. Now, the Saint Lord had pegged her as the next target.

An He gave a slight nod but said nothing.

Her gaze drifted past Sekhmet, lingering for a long time on the wall behind the Saint Lord.

The contents of that small oil sketch on An Ning’s desk from her memories finally appeared before An He in full. Red and gold pigments blended together, splashed across the wall in flames of burning fury.

So majestic, so towering—far more vivid than in her memory, as if they might truly ignite, devouring both the Saint Lord and her in the blaze.

“Saint Lord,” An He heard her own voice come out hoarse. “What’s the story behind this painting?”