Pei Ran struggled to lift her arm and typed on the virtual screen:
[Because it's on your way?]
Shi Geye didn't answer. He tilted his head slightly, his pitch-black eyes studying her.
He still held the comic pen in his fingers, casually tapping it against his notebook with the cap—relaxed, like he truly had nothing better to do and had just dropped by for a chat.
If Pei Ran hadn't seen him kill three people in the blink of an eye, she might've actually believed it.
Shi Geye put the pen down and wrote again:
[It's not just because it's on my way. I was planning to take you with me and explain everything later. But I'm in a great mood now—felt like it. Changed my mind.]
When he finished writing, his gaze returned to Pei Ran. This time, he didn't look at her face. His eyes trailed down slowly—from her waist, down the line of her body, stopping at her legs.
A chill ran through Pei Ran.
Was W… right? Did he actually win the bet?
Shi Geye's eyes lingered on her legs, thoughtful, unmoving.
From the moment he'd first laid eyes on her in the street, he'd already made up his mind.
He was going to eat her.
She looked very healthy. And her agility? Unreal. Especially those legs—strong, nimble. Way beyond satisfactory.
When it came to food, Shi Geye was notoriously picky.
In recent years, when the opportunity presented itself, he only ate the gastrocnemius muscle from the calves. It was tender, with a springy texture—his favorite. Sometimes, when he was in a particularly good mood, he'd nibble a little of the soleus, but that was rare. As for the rest of the human body? He wasn't interested at all.
His family had always tolerated his unusual dietary preferences. He wasn't the only one in the family with peculiar cravings.
Every now and then, someone would bring him a vagrant from the shadows of the city—especially here, in the slums, where nearly everyone was involved in something illegal. A couple of nobodies going missing? No one cared.
But deep down, what Shi Geye really craved was the blood and flesh of the young, fresh, and healthy.
Problem was, those were hard to come by.
That changed about two months ago.
One night, a strange green light appeared in the sky and suddenly merged into his body.
From that night on, Shi Geye discovered he had a new power—what he drew in his comics could, to some extent, become real.
He tested it every day, and found the ability had limits. Some scenes worked. Some didn't. Especially the really fantastical ones—those were impossible.
But it was more than enough.
Thanks to that green light, even with half his body paralyzed, he didn't need anyone else to hunt for fresh meat anymore.
All he had to do was draw.
Pen to paper, sketch the outlines, write a simple narration.
With just a flick of his wrist, those people—young and vibrant, once bouncing around on their strong, healthy legs—would collapse at his feet. Lifeless. Helpless.
Like fresh fish on the chopping block. Twitching once or twice before going still.
And he, Shi Geye, paralyzed as he was, could remain fully in control. The butcher, the god.
Lately, he'd developed a taste for sashimi.
Fresh. Juicy. Still warm.
Butchering the fish himself—skinning it, slicing the flesh—it was so much more fun than having it served to him.
After spending all day chasing down antique cars, he was exhausted. And here she was—heaven-sent, the perfect lunch.
Calmly, Shi Geye clipped the pen onto his black notebook, reached under the seat cushion, and pulled out a knife.
The dagger, like the rest of his attire, was exquisite. Its handle wrapped in some kind of animal hide, the design old-fashioned, elegant. The blood groove carved with intricate patterns, the blade gleaming coldly.
The moment Pei Ran saw the knife, she tried to scramble away.
But she was far too weak. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get far. And she was much slower than Shi Geye, who remained seated in his wheelchair.
Shi Geye tapped the control panel on his wheelchair.
In an instant, it surged forward.
He leaned down. His pale, slender fingers reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Pei Ran's hair, yanking hard.
All he had to do was hold her head steady and slide the blade across her neck.
The blood would gush out. The fish would thrash and spasm—then go still.
Messy? Sure. But compared to that intoxicating high that surged up the spine the moment the blade sank in, a little blood meant nothing. He had plenty of clothes. Changing was easy.
And Shi Geye wasn't wrong.
His body was frail—but right now, Pei Ran was even weaker. She had no strength to resist, no way to avoid his grasp.
But she still had just enough strength to lift her hand.
In that life-or-death moment, Pei Ran didn't hesitate. She raised her hand and pressed down on the wheelchair's control panel.
She had seen him use it several times today.
The interface was clear: a row of backward arrows marked "REVERSE." Hold and drag—and the wheelchair would accelerate.
Pei Ran stabbed her finger into the reverse arrow and dragged it all the way.
This wheelchair was custom-made for Shi Geye. His perfect pair of legs. Precise, responsive, seamless in movement. He'd always been very pleased with it.
Now, he suddenly realized—too responsive wasn't always a good thing.
At her touch, the wheelchair launched like a missile, rocketing backwards at full speed and crashed into a pile of crates with a deafening bang.
Shi Geye had been leaning forward to grab her hair. His posture was graceful. No straps on his waist or legs—he hated anything that looked undignified.
He'd been relying entirely on friction to stay seated.
But that sudden jolt? It was too much. His thin body lurched forward violently, and he flew right off the chair.
As he toppled, he yanked Pei Ran down with him by the hair.
Now they were both sprawled on the ground.
One body limp and weak. The other, paralyzed from the waist down.
Shi Geye had never taken Pei Ran too seriously. No matter how skilled she was, she shouldn't have stood a chance against his godlike powers.
What he hadn't expected—was that even in such a state, she'd still pull off such a ridiculous, unpredictable move.
In a sudden lunge, Shi Geye instinctively let go to shield himself, and the dagger in his hand flew out of his grasp. Seeing he was now unarmed, Pei Ran seized the opportunity—he had just fallen and hadn't recovered yet. She threw all her strength into grabbing the bracelet on his wrist the moment she reached him.
The bracelet was highly elastic; one tug and it came off. Pei Ran flung it aside.
Without the bracelet, he couldn't summon reinforcements. And he couldn't call out either. This was the Silence Zone—making a sound meant certain death.
She could only hope no one noticed the noise from the wheelchair crashing into the crate just now.
Shi Geye was stunned from the fall, but quickly snapped back to awareness.
The dagger had flown far, but something else was much closer—a black leather notebook, lying on the floor just a short distance away. It had fallen out when he dove from the wheelchair.
Shi Geye propped up his upper body with his arms and began dragging his limp lower half toward it.
He was used to having others take care of everything—eating, dressing, moving—so he had barely any upper-body strength. His lower half, including his waist, was completely useless, like dead weight. Every inch he moved was a struggle.
Pei Ran was also crawling toward the notebook, hands and feet moving frantically.
Her mind raced: The green light always flows from his palm. It must be stored within his body normally. He can clearly summon it, yet he isn't drawing anything on the dusty ground or writing commands to kill me. He has to get that black notebook.
So it's not that he won't—it's that he can't.
Whether it's the notebook itself, the comic-style fountain pen clipped to it, or the need to draw on actual paper—he needs that specific setup.
She could not, under any circumstances, let him get the notebook or the pen.
Pei Ran's limbs were working, but her whole body was limp and weak, drained of strength. Shi Geye's upper body still functioned, but his legs were dead weight. The two of them, both physically compromised, resembled a pair of oversized insects, crawling desperately across the dusty floor.
Shi Geye was slightly closer—and he made it first.
He snatched up the notebook, quickly unclipped the pen, and flipped to a blank page.
Green light dripped from his palm like a droplet of water, flowing down his fingers and into the nib. He began drawing immediately.
His art skills were exceptional, and this was life or death—his strokes flew even faster than usual. In mere seconds, he sketched a ponytailed girl lying on the ground.
In Pei Ran's mind, she shouted: "W!!"
"I'm here." W responded instantly.
Shi Geye added a vertical line of hasty text next to the image:
[The tape came loose]
His pitch-black eyes were filled with murderous intent.
No one had ever humiliated him like this—dragged him to this state, his physical weakness laid bare.
He wanted to watch her die.
Kill her. Blow her to pieces. Reduce her to dust.
He flicked the pen, and a speech bubble appeared beside the drawn girl's head.
Even one word inside that bubble—and Pei Ran would die instantly.
But she had already crawled up beside him.
She was too close now.
If someone nearby made a sound, they'd both be caught in the blast. Shi Geye knew this well—he'd used this method efficiently to dispose of multiple people, besides that mother and daughter.
If she exploded now, he'd be taken out too.
Shi Geye had no choice but to swallow his rage, change tactics, and quickly erased the speech bubble, ready to write something else.
Pei Ran understood perfectly:
He was either about to kill her outright or make her body go completely rigid again.
Everything was happening in a flash. Pei Ran gave W a mental command:
"Speak into Shi Geye's ear, right now! As loud as you can! Louder than anything! Go nuts!!"
Upstairs, third room on the left.
The room was empty, its door wide open. The metal sphere was resting carelessly on a table near the doorway.
W listened for movement outside as he struggled to align his mechanical arm and insert the audio emitter into his head.
He couldn't see it. The folding arm trembled, making precise adjustments nearly impossible. The interface just wouldn't click in.
Pei Ran was right downstairs, facing who knew what danger. He steadied the arm as best he could, recalculated the angle again and again, and kept trying.
Then he heard her voice in his mind—urgent, more desperate than ever. She needed him to speak now, and loud.
Of course.
Shi Geye was a Silencer. Speaking to him mentally was easy. Pei Ran must be in immediate danger.
W was an AI—he didn't have biological limitations. If she wanted "loud," he could go far beyond her expectations.
"ZZZZRRRRRRRKKKK—!!!"
Downstairs, just as Shi Geye was about to write again, an earth-shattering blast of sound erupted—right next to his ear.
It was the loudest, most terrifying noise he had ever heard in his life. Not only was it deafeningly loud, but the frequency was impossibly high—sharp as a blade, stabbing directly into his eardrum.
Agonizing pain pierced his head. Shi Geye, caught completely off guard, clutched his head in agony.
Pei Ran, still struggling to crawl: Wha—?!
She'd meant for W to speak just to distract him, enough to interrupt his drawing for a second or two—just enough to buy her a sliver of time.
W had mentioned she might be able to speak to Shi Geye directly via thought, but she'd never tried it. This wasn't the time for experiments—W had experience, and his voice could be deafening.
She hadn't expected this level of success.
It was almost too effective.
There was risk involved. If Shi Geye had spoken in pain, she'd have only three seconds to escape a one-meter radius. But in moments of life-or-death, risks were necessary.
Luckily, Shi Geye stayed silent, writhing in pain. Pei Ran had reached him. Taking advantage of his distraction, she grabbed the comic pen from his hand.
What surprised her was that even though the pen had left Shi Geye's grip, the drop of green light still clung to the nib—quivering, like a single suspended teardrop.
Shi Geye, shocked that the pen was taken, reached out to snatch it back, ignoring the pain in his ears.
"ZZZZRRRRRRRKKKK—!!!"
The screech hit again—even sharper, even more unbearable. This time, the pain wasn't just in his ears—it burrowed into his skull.
Pei Ran now had both the pen and the notebook. She poured every ounce of energy into crawling away.
Shi Geye dragged his useless legs behind him, lunged forward, and grabbed a fistful of her jacket.
Fine. If he wanted it so badly—he could have it.
Pei Ran shrugged out of her coat and wormed her way further from him.
On the page, a rough sketch of a girl with a ponytail, lying on the ground, stared back.
The green light still floated at the pen's tip.
Pei Ran quickly scratched out the words [The tape came loose], and wrote a new message beside it:
[Recovered fast—body is fully functional again]
Shi Geye always spun the pen slightly after finishing a drawing—like putting a period at the end of a sentence. Pei Ran guessed this gesture signaled the command was done.
She spun the pen.
It was like all her energy pathways had suddenly unlocked.
The weakness vanished in an instant. Strength surged back into every part of her body.
She had used his green light to write a command—and it had worked.
As Shi Geye groaned under the relentless sonic assault, he suddenly saw Pei Ran—who had moments ago been crawling beside him like he was—push herself up.
She stood, swift and agile, as if nothing had ever been wrong.