Chapter 7: The Illusion of Bonds

Qian Hui's breath hitched as Nan Tingjian's grip tightened around his throat, a sensation both terrifying and achingly familiar. This was the man he'd thought he'd lost just days ago—his scent, his presence, everything about him was unmistakable. Yet Nan Tingjian's gaze was cold, devoid of recognition as he studied Qian Hui's face. Tears welled in the boy's eyes, his（grievance）palpable even in the oppressive silence.

Nan Tingjian's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the boy's features. Though Qian Hui bore（zombification）traits, his skin was unnaturally pale yet faintly flushed, his pupils clear and guileless. He looked less like a（zombie）and more like a mischievous sprite（subchief）escaped from ancient tales. "Xiao Jing…" Qian Hui stammered, voice trembling with emotion, "It's me… Don't you remember?"

The pressure on his throat lessened fractionally, but Nan Tingjian's gaze remained clinical. His（gaze）slid down to Qian Hui's wrists and pockets, where the chili plant struggled to conceal itself while Soft Vine's tendrils peeked out from his sleeve. The disparity in power was stark—Qian Hui's fragile frame seemed ready to crumble under pressure, and the（mutated plants）around him couldn't mask their presence from Nan Tingjian's senses.

"An experiment?" Nan Tingjian's voice was devoid of emotion. Among the major bases, only the Sky Base was known for its bizarre experiments, having recently captured numerous（mutated plants）for unclear purposes. Their leader, Wen Jue, a former scientist, had developed drugs to alleviate the disorientation of（psykers）, but Nan Tingjian refused to use them or allow his subordinates to purchase. The Sky Base had tried to curry favor with him, offering all manner of oddities, but Nan Tingjian was notoriously unpredictable and uninterested—until now.

Qian Hui's confusion deepened as Nan Tingjian's expression darkened. The man had appeared out of nowhere at the start of the apocalypse, swiftly rising to power as the leader of Black Ridge Base. Rumors swirled about his past—perhaps Wen Jue had uncovered some truth and crafted a "gift" to manipulate him. Nan Tingjian's patience frayed as the scent of fresh blood from nearby（zombies）distracted him, his thoughts consumed by violence.

Just as Qian Hui's despair peaked,（the chili plant）sprang into action. It launched two searing chili seeds at Nan Tingjian, their fiery（husks）scorching anything they touched. But the attack did nothing to the man, who merely flicked his head aside and loosened his grip. In that moment, Soft Vine lunged forward, its tendrils snatching Qian Hui back to safety.

Nan Tingjian's attention shifted to the exposed chili plant. He made no move to harm it, but his disdain was clear. Meanwhile,（zombies）began to converge from above, drawn by the commotion. Nan Tingjian dispatched them effortlessly, each kill more brutal than the last. Qian Hui, huddled in a corner with his plants, watched in a mix of awe and fear.

When the last（zombie）fell, Nan Tingjian prepared to leave. Qian Hui lunged after him, his voice breaking as he called out, "Xiao Jing!" The man didn't slow, but（the chili plant）tugged at his sleeve, urging caution. Yet Qian Hui couldn't shake the feeling that Nan Tingjian was hiding something—or someone. The（mutated plants）hadn't been his only companions; there was also…

As they climbed through the ruins, Soft Vine's tendrils lashed out, propelling Qian Hui forward with surprising speed. He marveled at the plant's newfound strength, but his elation was short-lived. Nan Tingjian reappeared, a jagged piece of concrete hovering inches from Qian Hui's throat. "Stay away from me," he ordered coldly.

Qian Hui's heart sank, but he held up the（crystal cores）they'd harvested. "You don't need these?" he asked, voice trembling. Nan Tingjian's lip curled in disdain. "I don't."（the chili plant）snatched the bag back, but Qian Hui pressed on, his（grievance）turning to determination. "Then why… why did you save me?"

Nan Tingjian advanced, the concrete still hovering. "Tell me," he said, voice low and dangerous, "who am I?" Qian Hui's breath caught. He looked into the man's crimson eyes, searching for any flicker of recognition. "You're… you're my boyfriend," he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Nan Tingjian's expression didn't change, but the concrete wavered. "Boyfriend," he repeated, each syllable heavy with skepticism. Qian Hui's heart shattered as the man stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. In that moment, he understood: Nan Tingjian might look and smell the same, but he was a stranger—one who held both his life and heart in his hands.