After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan - Chapter 37

Samuel stared fixedly at Suter, his eyes, once brimming with tenderness, now held nothing but a hollow, void-like chill.

Time seemed to stagnate at this very moment.

Then, his body swayed.

It was a slight movement, like a remnant candle in the wind, flickering weakly for a single breath.

Suter instinctively reached out, but Samuel was already falling forward.

Like a string stretched to its absolute limit finally snapping, his body collapsed soundlessly. His black hair scattered in a mess, concealing half of his face.

When Suter caught him, he could barely feel any weight.

“Samuel, Samuel?”

Suter called to him in a low, soft whisper. But Samuel did not respond. He simply kept his eyes closed, his breathing so faint it was nearly non-existent.

“No, no.”

Suter’s voice was broken into fragments, trembling out of tune. His fingertips instinctively brushed Samuel’s cheek, only to recoil sharply the moment they touched the scorching heat of his skin.

Small spots of light filtering through the leaves outside danced across Samuel’s pale face, casting shifting shadows that made the trace of undried blood at the corner of his mouth look even more piercing.

Suter’s hand hovered in mid-air, trying in vain to wipe away the blood, but he only succeeded in smearing the crimson further.

His breathing became rapid and chaotic. He suddenly scooped Samuel up in a horizontal carry, his movements so fast and frantic that he nearly tripped over his own staggering steps. In his arms, the other’s head hung back powerlessly, his neck stretching into a fragile arc.

The guards at the door were startled to see Suter rushing out with someone in his arms. They peered into the room, only to see a floor scattered with blood.

Trang was equally terrified by the scene. After finishing the tasks the General had assigned to him, he had received a communication from Dr. Hill requesting that he bring a set of injections to the General immediately.

Dr. Hill had not explained much, only giving rapid and urgent instructions. “When you see him, give him the injection immediately, then tell him to get to the laboratory building as fast as possible.”

Trang had followed orders and waited downstairs at the Procuratorate until he ran into Chief Prosecutor Remans at the entrance, who granted him permission to wait inside.

When Suter burst out carrying Samuel, Trang’s pupils contracted sharply. He had never seen the usually composed General look so panicked.

“Quick! To the hospital!”

Only then did Trang realize there was someone in the General’s arms.

Samuel had a very long dream.

In the dream, he returned to that tiny, damp, and dark basement of only a few dozen square meters. In that small space, he and his sister were squeezed in with two other families.

The stifling summer heat felt like a layer of sticky gauze, tightly wrapping around every inch of skin. The air was thick with the smell of mold, sweat, and the sour stench of rotting food.

In the corner, an old oscillating fan made a creaking sound. Samuel saw his younger self picking up discarded watermelon rinds left by others, washing them under a leaky faucet. The rinds were stuck with seeds spat out by passersby, and the sticky sugary juice attracted swarms of buzzing flies that circled his hands.

But they were still fresh. As long as he used a knife to cut away the outermost green skin and then sliced the white rind into thin pieces, some even carrying a hint of red flesh, it was sweet.

The sliced rinds were served in a chipped enamel bowl. The salt crystals had not fully dissolved, and the vinegar was the cheapest industrial white vinegar from the wet market. He squatted by the leaking window, mechanically chewing on those bland rinds.

The tartness of the vinegar mixed with the bitter saltiness of the coarse salt spread across his tongue, but he chewed loudly on purpose, as if he were enjoying some rare delicacy.

When he bit into a piece of rind that still held a bit of red fruit, he slowed down as if finding treasure, letting that pitiful amount of sweetness linger in his mouth a little longer.

As he ate, he comforted himself by remembering that this had a scholarly name, Watermelon Jade, and it was expensive at the pharmacy. Thinking this way made his stomach feel a bit better.

After finishing his meal, Samuel cleaned the dishes and put on his faded denim backpack. The backpack had been made by his sister from old jeans. The fabric had been washed until it was pale, and the edges were frayed with small threads, but it remained sturdy and durable.

The stitching on the straps was fine and neat, and the initials of his name were embroidered in red thread on the side.

He went to the arcade on the corner called Joy World. When he pushed open the glass doors, he was hit by a mix of cigarette smoke, sweat, and the smell of heating electronic equipment.

The arcade was dimly lit with a dozen arcade machines lined up against the walls, emitting a cacophony of electronic sound effects. A few young people with exaggerated hair colors were shouting in front of a fighting game cabinet.

Samuel walked straight to the management desk in the corner. The boss was a middle-aged man in his forties, sitting in a chair reading a magazine with a garish cover, letting out lewd laughs from time to time.

Everyone called him Brother Mao, and Samuel followed suit.

“Brother Mao.”

Mao nodded. “There are a few new faces today. Keep a sharp eye out.”

As he spoke, he took a crumpled envelope from the drawer and handed it over.

Samuel was not yet of legal working age, and Brother Mao had capitalized on exactly that.

The kid asked for low pay but worked exceptionally efficiently, never dragging his feet. More importantly, he had a certain ruthlessness about him. If there was trouble, he was the first to charge in.

When those gloomy eyes fixed on someone, even the old thugs on the street had to think twice.

The boss paid a pitiful amount of money, not even reaching the minimum wage standard. But Samuel never bargained. He simply took the thin envelope, tucked it into his backpack, and dragged a wooden stool over to sit by the entrance.

He knew that for an illegal worker like himself, being able to find work at all was good enough. Any of the machines flashing with colorful lights in the arcade cost more to repair than half a month’s worth of his wages.

The legs of the stool were wobbly, and it was marked with burn scars left by forgotten cigarette butts.

He scanned the noisy arcade, his gaze lingering on several suspicious figures. Although he was small in stature, when he stood up, the regulars who often caused trouble instinctively restrained themselves.

Days like these were considered stable for Samuel. Aside from never having enough to eat, everything could be called perfect.

The money earned from the arcade was enough to cover school fees for him and his sister. On weekdays, his sister also did some embroidery and sewing. Her skills were well-known among the neighbors.

She could use the cheapest wool to knit the latest fashions. Those scarves with three-dimensional roses and gloves inlaid with pearls did not look out of place even in a boutique window in Samuel’s eyes.

During holidays, she would put on her most decent clothes, pack her knits into a faded canvas bag, and sneak into the high-end shopping malls downtown. With a sweet greeting of brother or sister, she could earn even more.

Relying on the money from these knits, they could afford to buy a few feet of new fabric at the cloth market every Lunar New Year to make a set of clothes.

His sister would always prioritize making clothes for him, using the leftover scraps to patch together something for herself. The remaining money was carefully rolled up and hidden in a knitted wool wallet to be used to repay the debts incurred during their father’s illness.

The two siblings relied on each other, diligently saving money in the hopes of clearing the debt soon. They dreamed of saving enough so that once they both passed the college entrance exams, they could leave and go study.

But that day was destined to be a cataclysm. The creditors arrived with thugs and kicked open the rickety wooden door of the basement. The other tenants saw the commotion and scrambled to pack their bedding and run. As they left, they did not forget to spit at the siblings. “Unlucky brats. Meeting you two jinxes keeps me from sleeping peacefully.”

“Principal plus interest, it has tripled.”

The creditor blew smoke rings while clicking an abacus rhythmically.

Staring at those unfamiliar numbers, Samuel suddenly realized that these years of struggling were like falling into quicksand. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

“We do not have that much money. We can only pay back the principal.”

“No money? If you have no money, why did you take out a high-interest loan?”

The leader, a man with a scarred face, grabbed his sister’s wrist. “This delicate skin is just right to be sold to the mountains as a wife.”

Another thug pinched Samuel’s chin, inspecting him. “This brat has a good face. Chop off his hands and feet, and he could beg for a lot of money in a day.”

The memories of what happened next that day turned into fragments. Samuel only remembered two thugs dragging his sister by her hair toward the door while he, like a young beast backed into a corner, suddenly exploded with terrifying strength.

The moment he broke free from the restraint, he smelled the faint scent of watermelon lingering on the cutting board. The cleaver that had sliced watermelons was now in his hand, the blade still stained with pale red juice.

He lunged at the first thug. There was a sharp sound, like cutting through a ripe watermelon. Warm liquid splashed onto his face. The burly man with the green dragon tattoo clutched his thigh and wailed as blood spread across the floor like spilled watermelon juice.

Samuel stood at the door holding the dripping cleaver, blocking the path to his sister. His thirteen-year-old body shook like a withered leaf in the wind, but his gaze made the grown men take half a step back.

“Come on!” he roared, his voice cracking. “The next cut is for the throat!”

Ultimately, through his sister’s calm negotiation, the creditor reluctantly agreed to let them pay back the principal and reasonable interest, though they had to pay an additional sum for medical expenses.

When the sound of those people’s footsteps finally disappeared into the rainy night, his sister’s cold hand gently covered Samuel’s, which was still gripping the cleaver tightly.

The blood-stained knife hit the floor with a clang. Only then did he realize his palm was covered in blisters from the handle, and wood splinters were embedded in the cracks of his fingernails.

“Does it hurt?” His sister’s voice was as light as a feather. A cotton swab dipped in iodine carefully wiped his wound.

Only then did Samuel feel the stinging pain. His nose crinkled, and hot tears fell onto the back of his sister’s hand.

“They bullied us, they bullied you.”

He sobbed with the grievance of a true child. All the ferocity he had faked in front of the thugs melted into these tears, soaking a large patch of his sister’s clothes.

His sister pulled him into her arms, the familiar scent of soap enveloping him. Her slender fingers gently combed through Samuel’s sweat-damp hair, her voice soft and firm. “Xiao Ci was wonderful. Xiao Ci protected our home.”

Samuel lifted his tear-blurred face and saw the dim light dancing on her face. She still had bruises at the corner of her mouth, yet she smiled at him.

He choked out a question. “If there are only two of us, can it still be called a home?”

“Of course.” His sister kissed his forehead. “Wherever Xiao Ci is, that is home.”

For many years to follow, those words remained in Samuel’s heart. He worked and struggled for many years, but in the end, it was all for a better home.

Later, he had everything in his house. He was successful and famous, but the relatives by his side had left him one by one.

He knelt before his sister’s cold tombstone and asked in confusion. “Sis, I am the only one left.”

“Where is my home?”

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