Doomsday Spiritual Artifact Master

Chapter 162.1 – Key (5)
◎ After I die, I won’t care about the raging flood ◎

 

Two hours before the riot at the Silver Ring Arena.

In the Ancient Street villa area.

Lucia and Ming Gang, who worked in the living room, exchanged a few words. Lucia picked up the flower spray pot and walked towards the courtyard.

Just as she descended the steps, the access control system reminded her of a visitor. Lucia felt a bit surprised. They had refused visitors for many years, and their friends were aware of their habits and wouldn’t disturb them casually. On this special day, who could be coming?

Lucia opened the terminal, and real-time images came in. A charming young girl’s face was looking at the camera, with round eyes like a certain small animal, curiously looking around. Behind her was a tall young man.

Lucia sighed silently, signaled the access control to allow entry, put the flower spray pot aside, and adjusted her bun and outfit.

Not long after, Song Ke came over with a large bouquet of fragrant and vibrant lilies. Due to radiation, most plants had mutated after doomsday. She intentionally bought the restored version, several times more expensive than the ordinary ones.

Zhuang Qingyan gently pushed her back, and Song Ke awkwardly spoke, “Hello, Professor. Wishing you both a happy pearl wedding anniversary.”

Extending her hand, Lucia took the bouquet and handed it to the robot butler for trimming and arranging. She then turned around and picked up the flower spray pot.

“Come in first; I’ll go water the flowers.”

Song Ke, with a smiling face, eagerly approached, “Let me help you!”

Before Lucia could react, the pot was taken away, and Song Ke happily ran away. Her enthusiastic attitude made it impossible for people to refuse.

Lucia could only lead Zhuang Qingyan inside first. When Ming Gang saw the newcomers, his face instantly turned serious, “If you want to inquire about Ming Zhi’s news, I have nothing to say.”

Zhuang Qingyan nodded slightly, with a polite attitude, “Professor Ming, rest assured, I won’t do anything to upset you. I’m just here as Ming Zhi’s colleague and friend to visit you on his behalf.”

Ming Gang snorted coldly but didn’t say anything to drive him away.

Zhuang Qingyan turned gently to Lucia, “Professor, I have a somewhat unpleasant request. May I see Ming Zhi’s childhood photos?”

Lucia was somewhat surprised but agreed. She opened a dynamic photo album on the projection, apparently flipping through it regularly. She cherished every page and couldn’t help sharing because of her longing as a mother, “This is when Xiao Zhi was just born, thin as a monkey… After much effort to fatten him up, you can see how cute he was at five, all chubby. This one is Askar’s graduation photo; he was the youngest student in that year…”

Lucia’s eyes gradually moistened, “I’m sorry; this album only goes up to the age of twenty. I didn’t have the chance to see what he looked like afterward.”

“It’s not like there’s no chance,” Zhuang Qingyan pondered slightly, looking calmly at Lucia. “I’m quite good at drawing. If you don’t mind, I can try to draw Ming Zhi’s later appearance.”

He carefully observed the photos and videos in the album, from the innocent childhood to the teenage years, flipping through until Ming Zhi was twenty and entered the Qinglan Research Institute. His life record stopped here.

After a moment of contemplation, Zhuang Qingyan took out a light screen and began to sketch. He first copied the appearance of Ming Zhi at twenty, as it was the most accurate with visual references. Then, based on bone structure and muscle development, he drew Ming Zhi at thirty, with a mature and stable face. The last sketch depicted Ming Zhi at around seventy, with gentle eyebrows and eyes drooping slightly, wrinkles covering his face, lips slightly pursed, surrounded by a faint academic aura.

Lucia stared at the portrait of seventy-year-old Ming Zhi in a trance, “Ming Gang, this one looks a bit like you.”

Ming Gang glanced at it proudly, raising his chin, “Of course, my son looks like me.”

He pointed his finger, hovering over the sketch of thirty-year-old Ming Zhi, “Also like you, similar eyebrows, similar personality, the same soft heart.”

A tinge of melancholy and sadness surged in Ming Gang’s heart. He couldn’t bear it, turning his head away, eyebrows furrowing. Then, he covered his mouth, almost gasping for breath, “Stop—cough!! Is this your way of watering them? Are you trying to drown them?”

In the courtyard, several carefully cultivated biotic camellia plants by Lucia were soaked from roots to leaves. Song Ke, who was happily watering the flowers, looked up in confusion, startled by Ming Gang’s loud voice. She shivered, and the flower spray pot accidentally released a stream of water.

Ming Gang was so angry that he couldn’t speak, and Song Ke, summoned by Lucia, nervously entered the house. The couple stared at her in silence for a while, but in the end, they couldn’t bear to scold her. After all, this child meant well and didn’t intentionally cause trouble. Lucia pushed the tea set toward them, “Have some tea.”

Song Ke, with her head shrunk, dared not touch anything.

Lucia spoke softly, “It’s okay; the flowers I raise never bloom.”

Song Ke was surprised, “Huh?”

Lucia, seemingly recalling something, smiled lightly, “At that time, Xiao Zhi was just like you, always insisting on helping but unable to control the water properly. He often ended up drowning the flowers. I got used to it a long time ago.”

At her words, Zhuang Qingyan lowered his gaze, subtly moving his fingertips, “Song Ke, can I borrow the light screen?”

Song Ke retrieved the old light screen left by her grandfather and handed it to him. Zhuang Qingyan stood up and gestured, “Sorry for the interruption; I’ll be back in a moment.”

After leaving the living room, Zhuang Qingyan glanced at those drooping and seemingly lifeless camellia plants, shaking his head with a smile. Then, he put away his smile and brought up the portrait of Song Zhiyuan, drawn according to Song Ke’s description, placing it next to Ming Zhi’s portrait.

Clearly, Song Zhiyuan appeared even older, with numerous wrinkles and lines, a gray and lifeless complexion. To anyone looking at it, he seemed to be a pitiable old man tormented by illness. However, when Zhuang Qingyan overlaid the two images, the features of Song Zhiyuan and Ming Zhi mysteriously aligned.

Zhuang Qingyan hesitated for a moment, then placed the portrait of twenty-year-old Ming Zhi on top. His gaze gradually fixed.

Despite the noticeable differences in facial conditions, the alignment of bone structure and muscle development was consistent.

Zhuang Qingyan switched to another system on the old light screen, which contained a vast amount of cutting-edge research papers and data on genetics.

If Song Zhiyuan was from District F, could he have obtained this knowledge and understanding of the content? Unless… he didn’t belong there at all, but instead came from District B, where knowledge access was easily available. Moreover, he might have been the once-acclaimed genius young doctor in genetics.

Ming Zhi, Zhiyuan…

Is it not true that without a tranquil heart, one cannot have a clear aspiration? Without peace, one cannot achieve far-reaching goals, right?

But why would a promising researcher turn into an elderly man plagued by incurable illness within a few years?

Zhuang Qingyan fell into silence for a moment, the clear answer forming in his mind.

Radiation.

Excessive exposure to radiation in a short period can lead to organ failure, causing rapid aging in the human body. So, Ming Zhi… became Song Zhiyuan.

There is only one possibility: after the Loak accident, Ming Zhi must have returned to the research institute or approached the nuclear explosion site, facing excessive radiation exposure, resulting in severe damage to his bodily functions.

But why did he go back? He clearly escaped with an experimental subject privately. Knowing the accident had occurred, why return to such a dangerous place?

What about LAK0017, taken away by him? With the initial cells dead, the experimental subject should not have survived. How did Ming Zhi handle it?

Zhuang Qingyan closed his eyes and then pulled up Song Ke’s genetic report. Among the hundreds of unknown DNA sequences, only two were clear: Hook Snake and Wildcat. This did not prove anything, as he could list over a thousand cases of experimental subjects with a fusion of these two genes, including LAK0017.

In the prolonged silence, Zhuang Qingyan sighed deeply, his voice barely audible.

“You succeeded, Prometheus.”

“You found the true fire.”

In ancient myths, Prometheus stole the fire to rekindle the light for humanity, angering the chief god Zeus. As punishment, Prometheus was bound to a rock on Mount Caucasus, where an eagle would daily feast on his regenerating liver. Prometheus became a tormented martyr.

“But in this world, there has never been a Hercules.”

Zhuang Qingyan’s next sigh came instantly.

The myth ends happily, with Zeus’s son, the brave and strong Hercules, shooting the eagle with a bow and freeing Prometheus from his chains.

However, reality took an unexpected turn. Prometheus faced punishment for stealing the fire, and the greedy humanity transformed into the eagle, seeking his last moments of life.

Zhuang Qingyan lowered his brows, a hint of resentment emerging in his eyes.

He systematically deleted all the portraits, like an indifferent deity indifferent to the suffering of all living beings.

In the laboratory of Qianzhan City, Ning Rong questioned him about why he refused to hand over the Fire Seed data.

At that time, Zhuang Qingyan’s response was: he couldn’t become a saint.

In fact, he lied. Not only did he not want to become a saint, but he also desired to be the tyrannical Zeus who actively extinguishes the flames.

“Après moi, le déluge. (After me, the deluge.)”