Chapter 138: The Dead and the Living

"What did you just say?" Hearing the words of the three clones, Liu Chang came to a sudden halt. Although he had known this day might come, he still looked at them with an expression of pure disbelief. "What did you say just now?"

"Li Qingshui is dead," the eldest repeated.

"Yes, it’s a very distinct feeling. Completely dead," the second added.

"He's dead?" A lump formed in Liu Chang’s throat, his heart constricting with a sharp, agonizing pain. His gaze drifted instinctively toward the south—the direction of Zhengzhou City.

"Impossible! You three little liars!" Xiao Jing, hearing this, rushed over to them and shouted, "How could he be dead? Didn't that shameless guy say that even if everyone else in the world perished, he would be the last one left? He can't be dead! Don't spout nonsense—aren't you his children?"

"Xiao Jing, stop it," Liu Chang said, his mood plummeting to the depths of despair. He tugged at her hand, signaling her to be silent.

"Brother, is Li Qingshui really dead?" Seeing Liu Chang’s expression and feeling his distress, the young girl’s face twisted in concern. "Is he really dead? How do you know?"

"He’s definitely dead," the third one said. "There isn't a single trace of life left. His death means the Willow Tree has reached Zhengzhou!"

"Ah, such a brilliant, powerful man, how could he..." Liu Chang’s heart felt heavy. He no longer had the strength to walk and sat down on a tree stump.

"Liu Chang, is he... really dead?" He Zhizhi and Mo Sanpang also realized the gravity of the situation and looked at him.

"It must be true," Liu Chang nodded. "The Willow Tree has arrived, and he was still in Zhengzhou. There is no way he could have survived. He himself admitted he was no match for it. When I asked him to leave and he refused, he was already as good as dead..."

"This can't be true." Tears welled up in Xiao Jing’s eyes. "That guy is so abominable—he used me as a test subject—how could he die so easily? They say weeds grow long, and he was the one who should have outlived everyone..."

"Mr. Li, such a powerful man actually died?" Mo Sanpang and Qinyin, who had been listening from the shadows, looked on in disbelief. Unlike those close to him, they viewed Li Qingshui as an even more formidable figure: the ruler of Zhengzhou, the man who slew Zhao Zhuo, a fountain of advanced technology and legendary tales.

To them, he wasn't just a hero; he was a mad scientist, a super-genius. And such a genius, as he often claimed, should have been the last person left standing on Earth.

But what they didn't know was that behind his cold, calculating intellect lay a soft, vulnerable heart.

"Can you guess how he died?" Liu Chang asked the three children.

"We don't know. He was too crazy; we couldn't predict his thoughts," the eldest replied. "One possibility is that he synthesized the Devil Moss gene into his own body, then used other substances to restrict and control it, turning himself into a weapon. When the Willow Tree consumed him, it would have been worse than swallowing poison."

"The Willow Tree is so intelligent, would it really eat him?" the second asked.

"Why wouldn't it? The Willow is smart, but not omniscient. How could it know about the Devil Moss? And even if it did, how could it anticipate Li Qingshui’s plan?" the eldest replied. "We understand the Willow because we see it as a colossal entity, but the Willow doesn't understand us because it never needed to care about ants like us."

"And what about Li Qingshui’s brain? Such a valuable thing, surely the Willow wouldn't pass that up?" the third asked.

"It probably wouldn't. But his brain was also a poison. Would the Devil Moss genes within it paralyze the Willow's neural system for a time? And Li Qingshui wouldn't have just used the moss; he likely used those forbidden Red Fog synthetic agents and other strange concoctions he’d been hoarding," the eldest said. "Who knows? Neither of them were beings we could fathom. All we can do now is run—run as far as we can."

"Is there any chance Li Qingshui is still alive?" Xiao Jing muttered to herself. "Didn't he always have a way out?"

"No chance. One hundred percent impossible," the eldest said. "Don't think about it."

"Aren't you his sons?" He Zhizhi asked, looking at the children with confusion. "How can you talk about your father like that?"

"We are just stating facts," the three children said, not even glancing at her. "And if you want to blame someone for his death, besides himself, the people who influenced him most were the ones present at the scene. If you want to question someone, you should question them, not us!"

Having said that, the three children continued walking north.

"Are you coming or not? We can confirm Li Qingshui is dead, but we can't guarantee he stopped the Willow," they called back. "They weren't on the same level. Even with his best preparations, there was at most a fifty-fifty chance of stopping that monster. Forget about it, let's go!"

With those words, the three children vanished into the depths of the thick fog.

Watching them go, Qinyin felt speechless. From the conversation, she seemed to have guessed the children's identity. Seeing their cold indifference toward their father's death, she pulled her own children’s ears and scolded, "You little brats, if you ever dare to treat me like that, I’ll wring your necks, you hear?"

"We know, Mommy, it hurts!" the boy cried.

"We won't, Mommy, we wouldn't dare," the girl promised.

"Hmph, you better not!" She let go, rubbing their reddened ears, and smiled. "Actually, when I first gave birth to you, it felt so strange, but the more I look at you, the more I like you. At least you're much cuter than those three little monster-things."

"Yes, Mommy, we are good kids," the boy nodded.

"Good kid, my foot! I'm the good kid—" the girl slapped the boy on the head, "—you're not!"

...

The team rested for a while.

Liu Chang adjusted his emotions, smoked a cigarette, and forced his suffocating grief deep into his heart before standing up.

"Let's move, everyone." He called out, ruffled the hair of Xiao Jing, whose eyes were still red, shouldered his pack and his sorrow, and continued north.

"Let's go. Those kids are right—the dead are dead. The living must keep trying to live."

The team pushed onward.

Since the news of Li Qingshui’s death, the group had grown much quieter. The three children remained silent, Liu Chang had no desire to speak, and Xiao Jing walked with red-rimmed eyes, trapped in a cycle of wanting to cry but finding no tears. He Zhizhi and Mo Sanpang were slightly better off, as their emotional bond with Li Qingshui wasn't as deep.

As they traveled, the north was no longer perfectly quiet. Sensitive animals seemed to sense the changes occurring in Zhengzhou, and the herds fleeing from the south slowed their pace. Meanwhile, the massive beasts from further north that had passed through Zhengzhou had not yet caught up to their small group.

It was, all things considered, a peaceful night.

Campfire, iron pot, biscuit porridge.

The food was as monotonous as ever, but the atmosphere around the pot was suffocatingly heavy.

Midway through the meal, the eldest of the three children finally spoke: "We need to be careful from here on. Judging by the movement of the bird flocks in the sky these past few days, the Willow Tree has indeed stopped moving south. The beast herds it drove from the north should be right on our heels. Once those hundreds of millions of creatures arrive, this region won't be peaceful anymore. Our easy journey ends here."

No one responded, but his words sent a chill through everyone.

Except for Liu Chang, everyone looked at the child with strange eyes—no one could fathom how a three-year-old could be so analytical, so calm, and so heartless.

After the meal, everyone lay down, hoping for a peaceful sleep.

Liu Chang and Xiao Jing were in low spirits, so no one bothered them, but some were not so miserable—like Mo Sanpang.

After all, he had only met Li Qingshui once. While he felt a sense of regret for the man's death, he also felt a sliver of relief knowing the giant Willow might have been stopped.

Unable to sleep, he wandered around for a bit and ended up doing something trivial: spying on the two-headed child as he went to relieve himself.

Ever since they met, he had been curious whether this two-headed child was a boy or a girl.

So, once it was fully dark, he saw the child head toward the bushes and silently crept after him.

"Hey, you take control for a while during this," the girl's head said, closing her eyes. "I'm sleeping. Remember to wipe clean when you're done."

"You do the eating and drinking, and I have to handle the wiping," the boy grumbled, pulling down his pants.

Mo Sanpang, crouching in the grass and breathing in the stench, squinted his eyes to get a look at the child's crotch—and was shocked to find his eyes widening in surprise.

"So, it's a boy." Because his vision was poor, he had crawled quite close. As he shifted to get a better look, the child noticed him.

"What are you doing?" The child shrieked as he saw the grass rustle. "Mom! Someone's peeping at me!"