Chapter 38: The Past of Lu Yao

Jiang Qiyu’s gaze drifted slowly upward from Lu Yao’s back, resting on the graceful lines of his neck and his slightly bowed head. The room was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of Lu Yao’s breathing echoing in the air. The atmosphere was subtle and heavy with unspoken tension, taut as a string stretched to the point of snapping.

His slender neck turned slightly, as if sensing something, and he spun around abruptly. An expression of pure innocence graced his face, as if nothing had just occurred, his clear eyes shimmering with a childlike curiosity.

"Sister, why didn't you call me?" he complained with a touch of coquettishness, his tone laced with a hint of playful pouting.

Jiang Qiyu ignored his antics. Her eyes remained fixed on his back, her tone calm and devoid of emotion. "Put your clothes on."

Lu Yao quickly pulled on his shirt, masking the shocking scars on his body, and walked toward Jiang Qiyu with a light, nimble step.

Jiang Qiyu blinked hard, trying to erase the harrowing image of Lu Yao’s back from her mind. She took a deep breath, warning herself to stop overthinking, and asked, "What did you do to Sister Wang?"

Lu Yao blinked, tilting his head in feigned confusion. "I didn't do anything."

He arched his brows slightly, his eyes clear and guileless, a harmless smile playing on his lips as if to say, "I really know nothing about it." At the same time, he cast his gaze away without a trace, his fingers brushing against his chin in an attempt to mask his true guilt with a look of nonchalance.

"Stop playing dumb," Jiang Qiyu said, her tone still flat but carrying an undeniable sense of certainty. "You have secrets, don't you? What exactly is your ability?"

Jiang Qiyu frowned slightly; Lu Yao’s reaction had truly caught her off guard.

In her past life, she had encountered similar ability users who could heal wounds to a certain extent, but their powers were always severely limited—merely delaying the worsening of injuries, far from the miraculous nature of Lu Yao’s gift. His ability was more like… a rebirth from the ashes, capable of restoring a dying person to their original state.

What exactly was Lu Yao’s ability? Could it truly be some form of… resurrection? The thought seemed incredible, yet she felt a faint intuition that this might be the truth.

As Lu Yao heard her question, the innocence on his face vanished, replaced by an etched, deep-seated hatred. His dark pupils seemed to reflect a vision of hell—the agonizing memories of being treated as nothing more than a test subject.

*

Under the pale, harsh light of the operating room, Lu Yao lay naked on a cold metal table, his limbs tightly bound. His gaunt body was covered in wounds of all sizes; some still oozed blood, others had scabbed over, but most were grotesque scars that told the story of the inhuman torture he had endured.

A man in a white coat stood beside him, holding a scalpel that glinted coldly in the light. A detached smile played on the man's lips, his eyes filled with mockery and cruelty. He dragged the tip of the blade lightly across Lu Yao’s skin, savoring the sensation of the steel slicing through flesh and relishing the sound of Lu Yao’s pained groans.

"Let’s try a new reagent today," the man said, injecting the green liquid from a syringe into Lu Yao’s body.

The moment the fluid entered his veins, Lu Yao’s body convulsed violently. He felt a searing, burning agony spread from his veins throughout his entire being, as if every cell in his body were being set aflame. He roared in agony, unable to break free from his restraints.

The man watched Lu Yao’s suffering with a satisfied smile, picking up a notepad to meticulously record his reactions.

"Double the dosage," the man commanded.

An assistant immediately handed him another syringe filled with the green liquid. Without hesitation, the man plunged the needle into Lu Yao’s vein and pushed the plunger.

Lu Yao’s body shook violently again; his muscles went into spasms, and his bones creaked as if they were on the verge of shattering. His consciousness began to blur, and the world before his eyes descended into darkness.

He did not know how much time had passed when he finally awoke.

The operating table was as hard and cold as iron. Lu Yao found himself still pinned down, his limbs tightly secured by specialized restraints. Numbness washed over him like a tide; the once-searing pain had receded, replaced by an eerie lack of sensation, as if his body no longer belonged to him. He tried to move his fingers, but there was no feeling—they were as stiff as stone. He looked around blankly; the pale lights were still blinding, and the smell of disinfectant in the room made him feel nauseated.

The man stood beside him with an excited smile. "It seems the new reagent is quite effective."

Lu Yao closed his eyes powerlessly, surrendering to the man as he continued his experiments.

He did not know how long this life would last; he only knew that every second he remained alive was a form of torment.

*

His gaze was cold and sharp, as if it could pierce a person’s soul and send a chill down their spine. But he quickly masked this hatred, replacing it with a silly, vacant expression as he said innocently to Jiang Qiyu, "Yes."

Lu Yao tilted his head in confusion. "Why?"

"Because..." Jiang Qiyu paused as the scenes from her past life—the laboratory, the cold instruments, the vacant, numbed eyes—flashed through her mind, making her shudder. "Even if you can be reborn, getting hurt still hurts."

Lu Yao’s previously relaxed body went rigid, like a block of stone. A flicker of complex emotion—pain, fear, and an unspeakable sorrow—flashed through his deep eyes.

He walked slowly to Jiang Qiyu and hugged her gently, burying his head in the crook of her shoulder like a small animal seeking comfort. Jiang Qiyu did not refuse his embrace; she simply patted his back, as if soothing a frightened child.

Lu Yao’s arms tightened slowly, wrapping firmly around Jiang Qiyu’s slender waist as if he wanted to meld her into his own body. He buried his head deeper into the soft hollow of her neck, greedily inhaling her faint, clean scent, as if trying to draw warmth and strength from her to dispel the persistent fear and despair lurking in the depths of his heart.

Jiang Qiyu said nothing, continuing to pat his back, again and again, like a mother lulling a child who could not sleep soundly. She felt the slight trembling of his body within her arms.

The room fell into silence once more, with nothing but the sound of their soft, intertwined breathing, like a wordless melody flowing slowly through the air.