The Eleventh Year of Making Hate with My Lover - Chapter 15

Without anyone noticing, the network of puppet threads had been seized back into Shen Wang’s grasp. The tail ends of the fibers rapidly scales up the Servant Puppet’s rigid arms, driving directly back into its flesh.

“Did you somehow forget that your ability originated from me in the first place?” Shen Wang’s voice echoed from above, carrying a distinct chill. Dropping through the air currents from his suspended position, the soles of his boots ground against the towering mound of mechanical gears with a sharp, grating clack.

Immediately after, his slender fingers abruptly tightened, delivering a violent wrench. The suddenly taut lines shattered the Servant Puppet’s balance, causing it to plunge from the elevated height and prostrate itself at his feet.

Enduring the sharp agony wracking his own body, Shen Wang cast a cold, indifferent gaze over the entity. He manipulated its movements forcing the Servant Puppet’s right hand to condense a razor-sharp dark blade and driving the weapon straight through its own chest cavity, burying most of the blade length into its form.

“You…” fractured syllables squeezed through the puppet’s throat. In the next heartbeat, a shrill, agonizing shriek tore through the air: “Ahhhhhh…!”

It thrashed desperately to break free from the puppet threads, yet it could only watch helplessly as the dark blade churned ruthlessly inside its chest.

Web-like fractures began to radiate from the entry point of the blade, expanding rapidly across its entire anatomy. The Servant Puppet’s body began to disintegrate piece by piece, ultimately exposing a glowing, fractured nucleus fragment heavily shrouded in thick mist at the center of its heart.

“No…” its voice grew increasingly faint, the light burning within its eyes systematically dimming.

As the remnants of the Servant Puppet dissolved into the swirling currents of mist, the entire pollution domain began to collapse at a visible rate. Suspended mechanical components came raining down across the space with thunderous impact.

Suffering from massive blood loss, Shen Wang was forced down to one knee on the steadily imploding ground, barely managing to reach through the dark mist to grasp that tiny fragment of the mental nucleus.

As if registering a deeply familiar signature, the glowing shard melted directly into his skin upon contact.

A series of rapid, fragmented memories flashed blindingly across Shen Wang’s mind.

Seven years ago.

The basement of the Old Theater, Black Market Auction.

The copper-rusted handrails of the spiral staircase gleamed with a cold, rigid luster under the lighting. The dark red carpet blanketing every step had been buffed to a sheen by years of foot traffic, its edges holding the distinct, stagnant moisture characteristic of underground domains.

Tracing the staircase down to the absolute lowest tier, a dense wave of burning incense drifted out from behind two massive, intricately carved doors, interwoven with a faint, imperceptible trace of copper blood. Two attendants stood flanking the entryway, systematically verifying the invitation credentials for the auction hall.

Among the crowd of middle-aged aristocrats in attendance, two men stood out exceptionally. The one with pale blonde hair and green eyes carried the codename B, while the black-haired, black-eyed individual beside him was designated as S.

Both appeared remarkably young, boasting tall and slender frames. Though masks obscured their features, it wasn’t difficult to conceptualize the striking countenances hidden beneath the shells.

To secure access to this subterranean auction, one had to command immense influence. The fact that these two had received invitations at such a young age indicated a background that was not to be underestimated.

An attendant distributed identification wristband to them.

“Thank you.”

Mr. S appeared to be an exceptionally gentle individual, a faint smile constantly resting at the corners of his lips as he offered a slight nod of acknowledgment upon receiving the band.

The gilded reliefs tracking the basement’s vaulted ceiling had long oxidized into a dark hue, though the central crystal chandelier still maintained its pristine brilliance, reflecting fractured shards of light across the masks of the participants.

Unconcealed curiosity and raw desire burned within everyone’s eyes.

Shen Wang had been seated for some time, idly cracking his knuckles out of sheer boredom. Beside him, Mr. B had spent an exorbitant amount of capital bidding on rare ingredients tailored for pharmaceutical synthesis.

Having secured his desired items, Mr. B turned his head with a look of thorough satisfaction, inquiring: “S, anything catching your eye among these trinkets?”

“Nothing,” Shen Wang answered honestly. He harbored zero inherent interest in this auction; his attendance dictated purely out of professional courtesy toward his superior.

On the main stage, the auctioneer gripped a silver gavel embedded with emeralds, his voice projecting clearly through the megaphone apparatus: “The third lot a rare mermaid caudal bone sourced from the depths of the Zemi Barrens. Opening bid starts at two hundred thousand.”

The floorboards opened, elevating a massive container that closely resembled a vertical casket. The moment the red cloth was ripped away, the severed lower half of a mermaid’s tail shimmered with an translucent, pearlescent gleam under the spotlights.

Paddle signs immediately went up across the floor. Seated in the shadows of the rear row, Shen Wang lifted his eyes slightly, his fingers unconsciously tracing his cufflink as his mind drifted toward calculating exactly when this event would conclude.

……

“The fifth lot.” The auctioneer’s voice paused intentionally, signaling the attendants to pull the scarlet shroud off an iron cage. As the cloth cascaded down, a collective gasp rippled through the entire audience.

Confined within the iron enclosure was no exotic beast, but a man with his ankle bound securely by heavy iron chains. The individual possessed snow-white hair and striking blue eyes, swathed in a simple white robe, his expression completely detached and cold.

“Unearthed directly from the ruins of the Old Capital, we have the spiritual tool: 【Servant Puppet】,” the auctioneer announced with a bizarre surge of excitement. “Capable of replicating any human form, it possesses the parameters to copy aesthetics, temperament, and supernatural abilities. Opening bid starts at one million.”

A low commotion rippled through the gallery. Several individuals leaned forward to inspect the lot, a flash of pure fascination registering in their eyes.

“Did you know? This used to be a private collectible of the Curator, but he apparently grew bored of it.”

“Looking at that baseline design, it was clearly modeled after that individual, wasn’t it?”

“Are you referring to the Chief Inspector of the Tianshu Base? Come to think of it, I recall the Curator making a public declaration of affection a few years back, but the man already had someone else in his heart.”

“This form was likely replicated from a photograph. Though it falls short of the original masterpiece, holding a few fractions of resemblance makes it more than striking enough.”

Conversely, an individual nearby muttered with unvarnished disdain: “Honestly, your minds are hollowed out by nothing but base desires. If you purchase it and customize it into a humanoid weapon, its combat output would be infinitely more functional than hiring dozens of bodyguards.”

The surrounding patrons merely laughed at his lack of romantic appreciation.

Shen Wang’s fingers curled slightly against his side. Though they had been estranged for three years and he hadn’t seen the Chief Inspector they spoke of in ages, the man’s voice and features remained completely vivid, replaying through his dream’s countless times.

This forced replication fell far too short of the real masterpiece.

Yet, he raised his bidding paddle high above his head, his tone flat and even: “Two million.”

The entire hall fell into instantaneous silence. Even the auctioneer froze momentarily, his silver gavel suspended awkwardly midair. Beside him, Mr. B teased with immense amusement: “Oh? A sudden change of heart?”

Shen Wang shook his head softly.

He simply could not tolerate the concept of a spiritual tool utilizing a face that shared a few fractions of similarity with him being subjected to the base amusement of others.

A moment later, an unresigned voice raised the stakes: “Two million, one hundred thousand.”

“Three million,” Shen Wang countered, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation. His gaze didn’t even settle on the spiritual tool resting at the center of the stage.

No further bids were made.

The auctioneer collected his wits, bringing the silver gavel down with a dull, echoing strike: “Three million, sold!”

Following the conclusion of the auction, Shen Wang was escorted into a private chamber.

The room contained only him and the Servant Puppet. From the exact moment its purchase was finalized, the Curator had formally severed the binding contract, yet the puppet still maintained its current white-haired aesthetic.

Just as Shen Wang was about to speak, the Servant Puppet locked the door behind them. It walked over slowly, dropping to its knees before him. Tucking its snow-white hair behind its ear, it made a deliberate movement to loosen his trousers.

Startled by the gesture, Shen Wang instantly intercepted its hands.

His brow furrowed tightly: “I didn’t purchase you to engage in this type of conduct.”

The Servant Puppet blinked its large blue eyes, its features projecting total incomprehension. Ever since it had been excavated from the ancient ruins, outside of its first master who had configured a formidable combat archetype for it, every subsequent transaction had treated it purely as an instrument for physical gratification.

It would systematically morph into whatever form its current master desired under the dictates of the contract.

“You are free.” The man before it offered a mild, gentle smile: “You may go wherever you please. However, I must ask that you refrain from maintaining this specific appearance.”

The Servant Puppet nodded. Yet, its native template was unformed and blank, leaving it entirely uncertain as to what appearance it should adopt. It stared intently at the man; at such a close proximity, it possessed the capacity to replicate his form with an eighty percent fidelity matrix.

The smile on Shen Wang’s face faltered slightly. He watched with a trace of helplessness as the entity smoothly morphed into a perfect reflection of himself.

Left with no alternative, the Servant Puppet compressed its form back into its native tool state—a tiny, mechanical doll.

“Please take me with you. I have no destination to return to.”

Ever since separating from Wu Que, Shen Wang had virtually embedded himself within the research laboratory. Mr. B’s facility strictly prohibited the introduction of external entities spiritual tools included. Consequently, when he returned to his private apartment a month later, Shen Wang actually froze upon spotting the mechanical doll resting atop the cabinet.

“You still haven’t departed?” Shen Wang shed his overcoat, draping it over the hanger. His complexion looked thoroughly exhausted, the fabric of his coat carrying fresh traces of blood. Ever since learning that Wu Que had been relentlessly throwing himself into neutralizing supernatural anomalies day and night, he couldn’t help but worry, covertly deploying personnel to track his safety on several occasions.

Without exception, however, those operatives had been intercepted by Wu Que, who would invariably target him with biting sarcasm.

That was until a few days ago, when intelligence surfaced indicating that Wu Que had gone missing. Upon investigating, Shen Wang discovered that the man had become trapped within an exceptionally treacherous pollution domain. Stripping his schedule bare, he had ventured out entirely alone to pull Wu Que out of the depths.

Logically speaking, given Wu Que’s formidable parameters, no domain should have been capable of bringing him to the brink of death. Yet, the moment he had gathered the man into his arms, he discovered Wu Que had grown so light he felt like a mere collection of bones. Only then did it dawn on him that following their separation, this man had been systematically utilizing these lethal assignments as a form of self-punishment to numb his own mind.

He had quietly delivered him back to his residence, not daring to linger until the moment he regained consciousness.

What could he possibly say? Even a simple apology was a luxury he could no longer afford.

From the exact second he initiated his defection, there was no turning back.

The Servant Puppet watched silently as the man dressed his own wounds, his eyes cast downward as he drowned in thoughts the puppet could not fathom.

The puppet had seen the photograph resting by his bedside cabinet a candid, unposed snapshot capturing a youth beneath a display of fireworks. The fireworks illuminated his white hair until it seemed to glow, his blue eyes appearing crystalline yet freezing cold, while the absolute depths of his gaze held a faint, tender layer of affectionate pink.

That was undoubtedly someone of paramount importance to him.

With such a pristine reference photograph, it possessed the capacity to replicate a seven-fifths match.

And so, it executed exactly that. The mechanical doll’s frame stretched, its bone structure expanding. In a blink of an eye, a slender silhouette materialized before Shen Wang.

Shen Wang lifted his head in surprise, but his tone instantly turned freezing cold: “…Change back.” He looked genuinely incensed.

The Servant Puppet tilted its head, thoroughly lacking comprehension: “I assumed that seeing his face would bring you some measure of happiness.”

Shen Wang pinched the bridge of his nose. It was entirely evident that this spiritual tool possessed zero understanding of human emotional architecture, and he had no intention of explaining the intricacies to it.

Yet, its words had sparked a sudden realization.

If it can bring him some measure of happiness…

Shen Wang suddenly recalled the moment during the auction when the Servant Puppet had transformed into a mirror image of himself. Pursing his lips, he fell into deep contemplation for several silent minutes, looking as though he had arrived at a monumental, irreversible decision: “Form a contract with me.”

The Servant Puppet froze.

It watched as Shen Wang pressed his palm against his chest, driving his fingers downward to activate his innate ability. A sickening sound of something fracturing echoed clearly from within his chest cavity.

The puppet’s eyes widened in sheer shock.

Shen Wang extended his hand, his palm pooling with blood, within which a solitary, glowing shard refracted the ambient light.

“You…”

Other masters utilized rudimentary contracts that could be severed at any given moment. It had never anticipated that this man would literally gouge out a piece of his own mental nucleus, purely to gift the other individual a proxy that was a near-flawless reflection of himself.

But was such a play truly fair to the recipient? The Servant Puppet could not comprehend it. Given that both were clearly alive and harbored such profound regard for one another, why couldn’t humans simply choose to accompany each other in person?

Yet, he wasn’t afforded the luxury of overthinking. His new master had already severed his own mental nucleus, pleading for him to swear the oath.

Shen Wang’s voice was gentle, yet his eyes held an ocean of complex emotions the puppet couldn’t decode: “Please, accompany him in my stead.”

It nodded softly, its form and features steadily blurring until it resolved into a black-haired, black-eyed man. It replicated even the gentle curve of his smile down to a fault, making it virtually impossible for an ordinary individual to distinguish the copy from the original.

I shall carry your affection to accompany him.

The mist steadily dispersed as the surrounding domain underwent a rapid, catastrophic collapse, showing structural fractures akin to a crushed eggshell. Every floating object within the space plunged into the abyss below, systematically disintegrating into ash as brilliant shafts of white light pierced through the rupturing crevices.

Supporting his weight against the ground, Shen Wang forced himself up into a kneeling posture, staring blankly at his empty palm this piece of the mental nucleus had completely integrated back into his main body.

An indescribable, suffocating wave of melancholy seemed to settle deep within his chest.

As he pondered, a shadow draped softly over his face.

Shen Wang slowly lifted his gaze. Wu Que had dropped to a crouch before him, extending his hand to press it gently against his forehead, systematically soothing his chaotic mental sea. Shen Wang instinctively reached up, capturing his wrist as the words slipped out completely unbidden: “I’m fine.”

Within the remaining fragments of memory, the Servant Puppet having assumed Shen Wang’s identity was turned away at the door on the very first day it was delivered to Wu Que. Even under the absolute binding parameters of a mental nucleus contract, possessing a ninety percent aesthetic match and a perfect replication of his abilities, Wu Que had seen straight through the proxy from the very first glance.

“Wu…” Shen Wang stared up at him. For some inexplicable reason, a profound urge to call out his name surged within him, yet he forced the syllable back down his throat the moment it reached his lips.

This minuscule shard of the mental nucleus contained only this brief, isolated memory, yet the psychological impact was undeniable. It felt precisely as though his soul was seamlessly weaving back into this physical vessel. He couldn’t quite decipher whether these instinctive micro-reactions were merely the muscle memory of the host’s body, or if they belonged to him.

“Let’s go back,” Shen Wang spoke, his voice completely rasped. He needed to rest and organize his thoughts; he could not afford to let his consciousness be hijacked by someone else’s memories.

Follow-up Question: Now that Shen Wang has recovered a piece of his mental nucleus and a core memory of why the proxy was created, the dynamic between him and Wu Que is shifting. Would you like to proceed straight into translating Chapter 16 to see what happens next?