A Guide to Raising Snake Spirits - Chapter 42

Mizuki Nozomi understood that the files Yue Zhirong was showing them were just the tip of the iceberg regarding the victims of the Fengyun Corporation. The pile of corpses hidden behind these documents undoubtedly rose much higher.

Deformed and stitched-together limbs were displayed nakedly before them, along with images that showed no obvious external trauma but exuded a profound sense of wrongness, likely the result of genetic diseases or similar experiments.

Shiraishi Haru’s expression remained blank. He didn’t show the sadness or fear the Guide had worried about. The fluctuations coming through their mental link were steady. When he spoke to Yue Zhirong, his tone was so detached it was as if the matter had nothing to do with him: “Why are you showing us this?”

“Xiao Haru, you’ve been studying at the Tower for a while now. How does it feel?”

Yue Zhirong didn’t answer directly. She simply smiled with the same warmth she’d shown when inviting Shiraishi over as a houseguest.

“I don’t consider the Tower my home,” Shiraishi replied flatly.

Hearing the Sentinel’s answer, Nozomi immediately grasped his mother’s intent.

Shiraishi wasn’t like the typical Sentinels on the Special Species Star. He had spent half his life drifting, his connection to the Tower was flimsy at best, and he owed them no debt of gratitude for his upbringing. Shiraishi was unique.

Nozomi raised an eyebrow. “Were you worried I wouldn’t believe you, or that I had a deeper attachment to the Tower?”

“Not quite that extreme, but your father and I agreed that we had to lay the reality out in front of you. My son can’t be a little fool,” Yue Zhirong said, beaming.

“The pain of clarity is better than the numbness of bliss, right?” Nozomi asked, crossing his arms.

Yue Zhirong gave him a thumbs-up. “My son is a man of insight.”

Nozomi continued: “In that case, why not call Mengmeng over to see these files too? As long as we ensure she doesn’t know the interstellar coordinates or leak information, these documents shouldn’t be a problem.”

Yue Zhirong rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Because I want to leave that choice to you. I quite like that girl, but whether or not to bring her into the fold is for you to decide.”

“Whether she counts as your friend or is worthy of your trust is entirely up to your judgment.”

Nozomi understood. His mother was giving him the power of choice, but the responsibility for the outcome would also be his.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” the Guide replied. “Send me a couple of those files later. Once I’ve made up my mind, I’ll talk to her.”

“Let’s go then,” Yue Zhirong said with a gratified smile. “Now that we’re done here, it’s time to see your father. He has some things he wants to explain to you.”

“My dad is here too?” Nozomi was surprised, but on second thought, it made sense. If his mother was here, there was no reason for his father to be absent.

“Yes, he just got back not long ago,” Yue Zhirong laughed.

“Perfect. I actually have a bone to pick with him anyway.” Nozomi thought of the whole mess with Xudian and how his father never spoke plainly, it made his teeth itch with irritation.

Nozomi suddenly realized his mother might know something. He asked, “Do you know about Xudian?”

“The one who triggered Xiao Haru’s berserk state, right?” Yue Zhirong replied.

Nozomi frowned. “You know about that too? Weren’t you off-planet?”

“Just because I’m away doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and ears.” Yue Zhirong made a move to pinch Nozomi’s ear, but he nimbly dodged it. “You’re underestimating your mother. I am a leader, after all.”

Just as Nozomi was about to retort, his mother dropped a bombshell.

“Furthermore, he is one of the partners your father and I work with.”

Nozomi: “???”

The confusion from Shiraishi’s end of the mental link hit Nozomi’s mind at the same time. His mother’s single sentence had caused a double dose of bewilderment.

Nozomi grabbed his mother’s arm, his words coming out in a rapid-fire burst of agitation: “Wait, what did you just say? Xudian is on your side?”

“In a sense,” Yue Zhirong sighed. “Don’t learn from your Auntie Mao, grabbing people’s arms like that.”

“Then why on earth did he attack Shiraishi Haru?” Nozomi demanded.

“That’s why I said ‘in a sense.’ He’s a partner, not my subordinate,” Yue Zhirong defended herself. “I certainly wouldn’t have instructed him to attack Xiao Haru.”

Shiraishi Haru, the subject of the discussion and the one seeking justice, watched the mother and son bicker back and forth.

Nozomi asked again, “Then do you know where he is now?”

“I don’t,” Yue Zhirong said.

“Didn’t you just say you have eyes and ears?” Nozomi’s face was a map of pure disbelief.

“Haha, did I say that?” Yue Zhirong looked her son in the eye with a bright smile.

In his frustration, Nozomi’s grip on his mother’s arm tightened, but despite her slender appearance, Yue Zhirong’s arm was covered in solid muscle.

“…Don’t tell me Xudian’s escape had something to do with you too, which is why you’re being so evasive.”

Yue Zhirong’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “…”

Nozomi raised an eyebrow, pressing his advantage. “Confess now, and I’ll be lenient.”

As the mother and son reached a stalemate, one of the many doors in the corridor burst open with a loud bang. A teenager scrambled out of the room, shouting, “Auntie Yue!”

“Shh.” Yue Zhirong seized the opportunity, putting a finger to her lips. She whispered to Nozomi, “Ask your father when you see him. He’ll answer everything.”

Nozomi glared at her, thinking about how many times his riddle-loving parents had tricked him since he was a kid.

The boy running toward them had a pair of wolf ears and a bandage over one eye, looking like a little one-eyed pirate. He was around thirteen or fourteen and waved excitedly at Yue Zhirong.

Nozomi forced himself to suppress his mountain of questions. He understood that his mother didn’t want to discuss the matter in front of others, but no matter how he looked at it, he felt she was just stalling and saving her son’s fury for her husband to deal with.

His sharp eyes caught sight of a neckband peeking out from the boy’s collar as he moved.

“Don’t run. Does your eye still hurt today?” Yue Zhirong asked, ruffling his hair affectionately.

Her voice was so tender that if Nozomi didn’t know for a fact he was an only child, he would have thought this boy was his younger brother.

“Much better!” the boy replied with boundless energy, his ears twitching upward. “Auntie Mao came to see me this morning too!”

“You must listen to Auntie Mao. Once you’ve recovered, you can do whatever you want,” Yue Zhirong continued in that incredibly gentle voice. “What do you want to do after you’re discharged?”

“I want to learn how to pilot a starship,” the boy answered. “I’ve been memorizing a lot of the manuals lately!”

“That can be arranged. Once you’re well, you can ask this big brother to teach you,” Yue Zhirong said, pointing at Nozomi with a grin. “He’s a piloting instructor.”

Nozomi: “…”

It was his least favorite parental move: the “volunteering him without asking” routine.

However, when he met the wolf-eared boy’s sparkling eyes, Nozomi swallowed his refusal. That look reminded him strangely of the Sentinel standing beside him. Despite being an Anaconda, Shiraishi sometimes had eyes exactly like a canine’s.

It seemed the Guide’s thoughts traveled through the mental link, because Nozomi’s hand was suddenly filled with a warm palm. The Guide’s body stiffened.

Shiraishi Haru, acting as if nothing had happened, slid his fingers between the Guide’s, loosely interlocking their hands.

The boy and Yue Zhirong didn’t notice the Sentinel’s subtle move, but Nozomi was acutely aware of it.

The wolf-eared boy turned around curiously, his fluffy ears swiveling toward them. He asked, “Are these two big brothers Special Species too?”

“Yes. The black-haired one is a Guide, he’s my son. The grey-haired one is a Sentinel, just like you,” Yue Zhirong introduced them.

“What does it feel like to have a Guide link?” The boy’s ears twitched left and right.

Nozomi threw the question to the grey-haired Sentinel: “You’ll have to ask him.”

The boy looked over expectantly. Nozomi was also curious about how Shiraishi would respond. Yue Zhirong wore a smile, but she too was waiting with an unreadable expression.

Under the gaze of two and a half pairs of eyes, Shiraishi Haru remained perfectly composed and uttered four words:

“I do not know.”

Nozomi: “?”

The boy: “?”

Yue Zhirong burst out laughing.

Nozomi looked at his mother with an expression that clearly said, “Whose mother are you, exactly?”

Yue Zhirong, like a mother hen rounding up her chicks, nudged the boy along. “Alright, we have other places to be. You go back for now, and I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Nozomi’s irritation simmered, and he remained silent, subtly pulling his hand away. He felt like he’d been teased by the Sentinel, his expectations left hanging.

The wolf-eared boy caught a glimpse of the Guide’s expression. Afraid of making the Guide angry and losing his piloting teacher, he quickly scurried back into his room.

Once they were a good distance from the door, Nozomi asked his mother, “Who is he?”

“One of the experimental subjects rescued from the Tianyou Research Institute,” Yue Zhirong answered.

Nozomi: “The wolf ears are a result of spiritual fusion, I assume, but what happened to his eye?”

“That eye had fused too deeply and began to mutate. To prevent it from affecting the other eye, we had to surgically remove it,” Yue Zhirong sighed.

Nozomi recalled that the boy’s eye had indeed looked subtly different from a human’s, but the difference was so slight his attention had been occupied by those twitching grey-black ears.

Yue Zhirong added, “He’s hospitalized now mainly due to hormonal issues. A Sentinel’s healing ability is strong, but he’s too young and his physical grade isn’t high, so Mao Qingsheng is helping him recover.”

Nozomi asked, “What about the education for these kids? Is there a school at the base?”

“From what we’ve gathered, the subjects are usually taught things even in the labs. Plus, they received primary education on the Special Species Star before awakening, so reading and writing aren’t an issue.” Yue Zhirong smiled. “We’ve set up a class specifically for them now.”

Nozomi suddenly thought of Shiraishi Haru’s outstanding learning ability, his unusually skilled piloting, and his dexterous hands. Perhaps it wasn’t just a gift from the heavens, perhaps he, too, had learned these things in a laboratory.

The Sentinel was usually very quiet and rarely mentioned his past, only saying he remembered fragments. Most of what Nozomi knew about Shiraishi had been pieced together from dreams and memories.

When Shiraishi was found on that desolate planet, he was covered in wounds and his spiritual realm was on the verge of collapsing. Nozomi only had to look at him to imagine the cruelty of the labs.

Those fragmented, vivid scenes from his dreams only allowed Nozomi to understand the surface level of the pain the Sentinel had endured.

Nozomi himself had been captured by the research institute, but his stay was short. Teacher Zhang hadn’t allowed him to come into contact with other subjects, so it hadn’t been enough for him to form a clear picture of what being a subject meant.

As experimental subjects, they were robbed of their own lives. They should have been pursuing their dreams alongside friends and family, worrying about college majors or future careers, rather than fearing for their lives.

The true agony was that even after leaving the laboratory and escaping the physical pain, the disconnect from the world would leave them lost and confused, unable to fit in or adapt.

After seeing the normal world, would the foundation of these subjects’ beliefs be shaken? Or would they still wake up screaming from nightmares even in a safe environment?

But the Sentinel never breathed a word of his hardships. He never poured out his true bitterness to the Guide.

The black-haired Guide was lost in thought, and his pace slowed. Yue Zhirong thoughtfully gave Nozomi and Shiraishi some space.

Two steps behind Yue Zhirong, Shiraishi Haru suddenly spoke.

“I do not think those things are important.”

Nozomi, immersed in his own reflections, didn’t quite catch it at first and let out a confused “Huh?”

The grey-haired Sentinel repeated: “I do not think those things are important, so you do not need to be sad for me.”

“You are far more important than any of this.”

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