17. A Redemption Named Resolve

Lu Feng and Qing Zhou stared at the figure lying on the ground before them, at a loss for words to describe what they saw.

The cold, dim room was about thirty square meters, utterly barren, with walls made of earth unique to Sector 17. They were unique, because in Lu Feng's memory, aside from the Sixth Ring, all other Rings' buildings were constructed from modular steel. In this era of rapid technological progress, all constructions were investments by families and merchants within the Third Ring, investments that served more as shackles than as homes.

Houses weren't meant for living, but for trading—and what was traded were bodily organs or a lifetime of labor in factories owned by those same families and merchants. Thus, the outer Rings became colonies, where those in power wielded absolute authority and control. No matter the era, it seemed impossible to escape this strange cycle.

On the damp, moldy floor of the room lay a creature—half human, half beast—a monster. A biting cold wind swept in through a window without glass, carrying with it the pale reflection of snow from outside. In that light, a grotesque, deformed mechanical face was exposed, terrifying in its malignancy, green liquid coursing through its metallic veins like flowing light.

Beneath the mechanical face was a body overtaken by vegetation, sprawling across half the room. It was plant-like—the enormous form coiled like vines throughout the space, tiny shoots sprouting from the tendrils.

Lu Feng frowned; he had never before seen such a being. In his understanding, humans and plants could never merge—something called reproductive isolation existed for a reason.

"It's plant-type contamination," Qing Zhou whispered.

"Plant-type? How does that happen?" Lu Feng asked sincerely.

"He must have been infected by a plant-type Transcender. Of all the traversal abilities, only the plant-type can cause this kind of infection. Judging by his condition, the contamination is severe," Qing Zhou explained as he analyzed.

Transcenders could infect people?

The thought sent a chill through Lu Feng. According to Lin Doudou, Transcenders were an unspoken secret, meant to remain hidden, never revealing their true identities. Yet Qing Zhou insisted this person had been infected by a Transcender—was there some conspiracy forcing them to expose themselves?

Only now did Lu Feng realize how little he truly knew of traversing. His understanding was but a drop in the ocean. Clearly, he needed to study more.

"Is there any hope?" he asked.

"None. I think he knew that himself, but couldn't bear the pain, nor the thought of infecting others, so he asked Xiao Mu to kill him," Qing Zhou replied, glancing over at Xiao Mu.

Lu Feng turned to look at Xiao Mu as well.

Now, Xiao Mu looked even more tormented than before; tears shimmered in his eyes, refusing to fall.

"How did your father become like this?" Lu Feng crouched down, holding Xiao Mu by the arms.

"My dad used to work at the 'Citywide Express' delivery company in the Fifth Ring. One day, he came home muttering to himself, and then strange bark-like scars started appearing on his body. Gradually, he turned into this."

"And the mechanical face...?" Lu Feng left the question unfinished.

"My dad sold his face to pay for my treatment," Xiao Mu said, and at last, the tears spilled over.

He was a remarkably stoic child, stubbornly holding on.

"And your mother?" Lu Feng continued.

"That wretched woman—she ran off with the man who bought my dad's face." Xiao Mu's eyes reddened, smoldering with fury.

To call his own mother such a name—his hatred ran deep.

Lu Feng and Qing Zhou could understand and sympathize. The disparity between the inner and outer Rings of Sector 17 was immense. Those with power and wealth could strip others of their homes, their families, even their very faces.

When would this world ever be less cold, less cruel? Lu Feng felt a growing disappointment in everything around him.

"Xiao Mu... kill me... quickly..." The monstrous face twisted further in agony.

Lu Feng and Qing Zhou could almost feel his pain and struggle.

Hearing his father's voice, Xiao Mu collapsed into Lu Feng's arms, wailing in anguish. In the small room, three people and a monster played out a scene of absurd tragedy.

"Don't... cry..." The mechanical face snarled, green liquid flowing faster across its surface.

At the sound, Xiao Mu fell silent, glaring fiercely at the curved knife at Lu Feng's waist, then looking up at him with desperate hope.

Lu Feng's heart ached. To ask an eight- or nine-year-old boy to pick up a knife and strike down his own father—such cruelty was beyond comprehension.

He couldn't do it.

Clutching Xiao Mu tightly, Lu Feng nodded at Qing Zhou.

Qing Zhou immediately understood, gripping the curved blade and walking sorrowfully toward the suffering face.

"No... wait..." the face rasped.

Qing Zhou stopped, uncertain.

"Xiao Mu... be brave... you do it..." The face turned its empty eyes toward Lu Feng, silently pleading.

Lu Feng trembled. He understood—the face wanted Xiao Mu to become resolute, courageous, ruthless. Only then could the boy survive in a world without a father.

But it was unbearably cruel.

To make a child kill his own father—it was a horror beyond words for one so young.

"Please..." The voice faded.

Tears streamed from Lu Feng and Qing Zhou's eyes.

Slowly, Lu Feng loosened his embrace, each movement tearing at his heart.

He did not look at Qing Zhou, but simply nodded and bowed his head.

Xiao Mu took the curved knife from Qing Zhou's hand; it was heavy, and he gripped it with both trembling hands, inching painfully toward the monstrous face.

Standing before his father, Lu Feng gritted his teeth and whispered, "Don't worry, I will always keep him by my side."

At these words, the twisted face relaxed, a trace of solace crossing its features. Two drops of green tears slipped from its eyes, filled with gratitude.

The face quivered uncontrollably. "Xiao Mu... listen... to your brother... from now on..."

"Papa... loves you..."

With that, the luminous green eyes slowly closed.

Xiao Mu raised the curved blade high overhead, let out a furious cry, and plunged it deep into his father's skull.

As the blade fell, viscous green fluid oozed out, evaporating into a green mist that filled the entire room.

"Papa, I'm sorry!"

No one is born ruthless; it is only reality that forces us so.

The face taught his child to survive through his own resoluteness.

And the child, in turn, redeemed his father through his own.