Chapter Twenty-One: Cries in the Night

On the dim, chilly street, Rat crouched with his back against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible, hugging his knees tightly.

“So… so cold!”

The inky darkness of night flowed around him.

Amid the obscurity, Rat thought he could hear a series of broken, muffled sobs. The sound drifted from some hidden corner of the night, like the muttering of a nightmare, piercing through the blackness straight into his mind.

Closer and closer it came…

A sudden shiver ran through Rat’s body. He cupped his hands over his mouth and nose, slowing his breathing. Straining his ears, he realized with a start that the sobbing had suddenly ceased.

After a moment, it began again—clearer than before.

Rat longed to stand up and flee this place, but a cold dread gripped his spine and his legs felt limp.

All around him was utter darkness; that slow, encroaching black now surged towards him like a tide.

Still, the sobbing continued—a person stifling their cries, low and miserable, but not the wailing of grief.

Surrounded by darkness and the unknown sound of crying, Rat felt even the air he breathed into his lungs was colder, as if it might freeze his very heartbeat.

At some point, Rat realized the sobbing was separated from him by only a single wall.

Whoever it was had stopped right behind him.

His face turned ashen with fear, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

He fought to control his trembling muscles, afraid that even the faintest vibration of the air might give him away to the source of those sobs.

After a while, the sound seemed to recede.

A little longer, and it vanished completely into the night.

Rat had no idea how long he’d remained in that crouched position. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a trash can being trampled from beyond the wall.

He felt on the verge of collapse, a formless terror pressing against his tear ducts.

Had… had he been discovered?

A loud crash—a heavy object hitting the ground.

He wanted to scream, but his throat felt blocked, as if stuffed full by the very thing called fear.

It wasn’t until a bald figure appeared beside him and gave him a kick that he snapped back to himself.

Only then did Rat realize that Stinky Scar and Dullard had returned.

Never before had Stinky Scar seemed so dear to him—even the rank odor coming off him was, in this moment, almost sweet.

Rat threw his arms around Stinky Scar’s thigh, tears and snot streaming down his face like a breached dam.

Stinky Scar looked at his little sidekick, clinging to his leg and wiping his nose with wild abandon, completely bewildered and disgusted. He gave him a shove with his foot.

“Come on, let’s get back—hurry up!”

Watching Stinky Scar’s retreating back and Dullard disappearing into the darkness with a big sack slung over his shoulder, Rat scrambled after them, crawling and stumbling in his haste.

…

After leaving Zhou Peng’s tavern, Ye Chen went straight home.

Turning the corner, he could see from a distance that the light was still on in Ye Shanshan’s room.

A shadow moved behind the window, the orange glow lighting up a small patch of the night outside.

A moment later, the light went out—Ye Shanshan had gone to bed.

Ye Chen quietly slipped his own door open. A sudden, faint glow from the power core slot beside the door caught his attention.

He made a small sound of surprise—it was a newly installed, fully charged power core.

He flicked the light switch inside—click!—and the room flooded with brightness.

His room hadn’t been lit for a long time. The sudden clarity made the familiar space feel almost unfamiliar.

Where there had once been clutter, everything was now spotlessly tidy. The trash in the bin by the door had been emptied, his homemade little desk wiped clean, and the scattered items on its surface arranged neatly.

Even the old sofa he’d brought from Jin Yinghui was now clean and silent, resting against the wall.

Ye Chen nodded in satisfaction, feeling utterly relaxed and content.

And yet… something felt off.

“Damn it!”

He strode over to the sofa, squatted down, and ran his hand carefully over the seat.

“The stains are gone!”

A sudden thought struck him. He rushed back to his bedroom, dropped to his knees, and reached under the bed.

“The dirty sheets I hid under the bed are gone too!”

He slumped down on the sofa, covering his eyes with one hand, his head thudding repeatedly against the backrest.

With a groan of embarrassment, Ye Chen muttered, “This is just too damn awkward… There’s no way I’ll ever explain this…”

His toes curled inside his shoes, scratching at the insoles.

His reputation was ruined—there was no saving it now!

…

Ye Chen spent the latter half of the night training.

Before leaving the Patrol Office that afternoon, he’d asked Captain Dai about Awakeners and the concept of innate value.

Captain Dai hadn’t been secretive about his own abilities, smiling as he said, “I’m just an E-ranked Awakener. My innate value is thirty-nine, and my talent is mainly supportive.

“Most of the time, I use it to observe things at a distance, or during interrogations.”

Ye Chen had grumbled inwardly at that—so when I first reported in, you used it on me too, didn’t you?

Captain Dai continued, “An Awakener’s capabilities are measured on three axes.

“First, rank. Second, skill. Third, the rate at which your innate value recovers.

“Your innate value is fixed at the moment you awaken.”

He went on, “The higher your innate value, the higher your rank and, more directly, the more often you can use your abilities or the stronger they become each time.

“Some skills can even be charged up and released all at once, going from quantity to a qualitative breakthrough.”

Ye Chen nodded along, absorbing every detail.

“How you use your skills depends entirely on your own development and exploration after awakening.

“And as for recovery speed, that’s crucial too.”

But as soon as he mentioned recovery, Captain Dai paused, only smiling at Ye Chen.

He finished with a cryptic, “Some things are best learned in the Inner City yourself.

“After all, the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs has come up with quite a few interesting things.”

This conversation gave Ye Chen a clearer understanding of Awakeners.

It also made him even more eager to reach his current limit.

After all, he had a new skill waiting to be unlocked.

But there was something odd—why was the requirement to unlock it “57/58” instead of “58/58”?

Was there some secret behind this?

…

At dawn, Ye Chen’s eyes snapped open.

Innate value: 57/58.

After a night of intense training, he had finally met the condition to unlock “Eyes on the Back.” At the same time, he discovered a problem.

No matter how much he practiced his breathing technique, that last point of innate value simply refused to fill up.

He couldn’t figure out why…

But at that very moment, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder blades, as if his flesh was being torn open.

Ye Chen rushed to the bathroom, turning to look at his back in the mirror.

There were no gaping wounds as he’d expected. Instead, two dark lines began to surface beneath his skin.

The markings grew clearer, gradually outlining a pattern.

Ye Chen realized, with growing shock, that the simple lines were forming a pair of enormous eyes.

These eyes seemed as if they could pierce the very essence of all things in the world.

But why did they have to appear on his back?

The next instant, the markings on his back completed their shape, and two pillars of light burst forth.

His Eyes on the Back had awakened!

In that moment, Ye Chen perceived everything around him in a whole new way…