Zhou Jiao hadn't noticed anything strange about Jiang Lian—she was still fretting over how to explain the room full of slime to the hotel owner when they checked out.
…Should she just say she was a black-market octopus dealer?
But seriously, what kind of octopus leaves sticky silk threads hanging from the ceiling?
It looked more like a giant spider had spun a web!
Zhou Jiao's mouth twitched. She was genuinely tempted to ask Jiang Lian:
As a monster from the ultra-abyssal zone, why the hell do you nest by spinning silk?
Does that even make sense?
She'd never stayed in a cheap motel before and didn't realize this kind of mess barely registered there. Nestled deep within the slums, those places were filled with society's lowest rungs—the kind who either ran illegal livestreams or sold contraband drugs in the rooms. Sometimes, full-on brawls broke out, with blood splattered across the walls.
—It was precisely because this room reeked of perfume, sweat, cheap cigarettes, narcotics, and gunpowder that Jiang Lian had wrapped her in his tendrils.
He didn't want her contaminated by that rotting stench, saturated with sin, death, and despair.
It would make her smell… disgusting.
Besides that, some black-market clinics were also hidden within these motels. For those too poor to afford legitimate neurochips, they offered bootleg implants—usually factory rejects from official production lines, but with twice the risk of neural damage.
Still, people did it—because it was either that or die.
Suddenly, Zhou Jiao remembered that slum-dwellers often hacked frozen credit chips. She needed to look into that. Pawning off her stuff wasn't going to sustain her forever.
…She couldn't even afford the room cleaning fee.
So, nestled within Jiang Lian's tendrils, she shifted slightly and pulled up her browser to search "credit chip defrosting."
Maybe because she had kissed him earlier, Jiang Lian's tendrils seemed restless—wrapping around her waist one moment, coiling around her ankles the next, or curling around her neck and tightening gently… like he was about to strangle her.
But there was no killing intent, just a vague restlessness. Zhou Jiao frowned, baffled by his behavior.
After a moment's thought, she grabbed one of his tendrils and gently rubbed it with her cheek.
Ignoring the horrifying appearance, the tendril's texture felt more like silk sheets than monster flesh—cool and slippery, with a faint chill that was a rare pleasure in a world plagued by global warming.
She rubbed her cheek against it without a second thought—completely unaware that the moment her skin touched him, Jiang Lian's tendril froze like it had been flash-frozen.
It didn't move for a long time.
Jiang Lian's expression, meanwhile, had gone as rigid as marble.
There was a low buzz and a crack—and the fluorescent light above them suddenly flickered out.
The room dimmed instantly, since the window only looked out onto a mountain of trash heaps.
Zhou Jiao didn't pay it any mind.
The same thing had happened in the lab before. She figured it was caused by some powerful magnetic field Jiang Lian emitted that disrupted the voltage nearby.
What she didn't know was that this only happened when Jiang Lian experienced intense emotional agitation.
The last time she'd seen it…
…was also the last time Jiang Lian had truly wanted to kill her.
If she had looked up at that moment, she would've seen Jiang Lian's face carved in inhuman coldness—muscles frozen in place, his eyes devoid of life, looking like something that had never been human to begin with.
Yet every few seconds, spasms would twitch across his skin, as if something beneath it was violently squirming—like he was losing control.
Zhou Jiao, still caught up in the moment, nearly forgot what she was doing. She snapped back and refocused on her browser.
Corporations, understanding that repression breeds explosion, had long since embraced the philosophy of "divert rather than block." If the public's real lives were miserable, then they needed a place to vent.
Social media was just one such outlet.
Another was the dark web.
There, you could buy black-market neurochips that had passed through unknown hands; strange full-sensory videos recorded by livestreamers under massive bribes; even bootleg clinic footage.
Some watched these to see the rich stripped of their chips and organs.
Some watched just to see humans carved up like livestock.
Zhou Jiao found a seller called "ChipDefrostPro" and sent over her situation.
A few seconds later, the seller sent her a chip sharing request.
Zhou Jiao: "???"
"Chip sharing" sounded a lot like screen sharing—except instead of sharing your desktop, you were sharing your brain.
Some thrill-seekers would randomly share chips with strangers online.
They said it felt like racing down a mountain highway, electric currents rushing down their spines.
This guy's request felt dangerously close to digital groping.
Then he replied with his own question marks: "??? Sis, what are you thinking? I just wanna see your chip model."
Seller: "Only official chips can do mind-links. Knockoff ones can just send money. The market's flooded with shady brands—if you don't share, how am I supposed to know what kind of junk you've got? Come on, we're all broke here, don't be as uptight as some Corp Lady."
Zhou "Corp Lady" Jiao: "..."
Seller: "..."
Years of black-market chip dealing had trained this seller well—he instantly deciphered the fury behind her ellipsis and apologized profusely.
Seller: "Oh crap, you are using Corp stock? Sorry, really sorry. I'm just a small-time shop, barely get any Corp execs in here. Your chip's way more complex—has to be done in person. I'll send you the location."
Zhou Jiao: "...Send it."
He sent her an encrypted link that took ten full seconds to load.
When it finally did, it revealed a city map covered in green dots.
Each one marked a physical black-market shop.
It was only now, looking at the map, that Zhou Jiao realized these chip-hacking joints had infested the entire island city like mold after rain.
Maybe she'd been browsing too long, because Jiang Lian's deep voice suddenly echoed in her head:
"Chip sharing request?"
Zhou Jiao: "Yeah, my credit chip's frozen, so I wanted someone to help me unfr—…"
She trailed off as she glanced at the top-left corner of her vision, where it said: Connected.
"…Can I ask why the hell you're in my head right now?"
Jiang Lian's voice remained calm, almost puzzled:
"I called you, and you didn't respond."
"So then," Zhou Jiao ground out, "you saw that my chip was waiting for a connection… and just connected?!"
Jiang Lian nodded, still not seeing what the big deal was.
Zhou Jiao's eyelid twitched hard.
Her chip had only been in "waiting" mode because of the seller's request earlier.
She had declined, but the AI had detected a "known associate" nearby and assumed she wanted to proceed, so it auto-enabled the feature.
Once it's active, there's no more "accept or reject."
If someone near you has a compatible chip, they just… connect.
Zhou Jiao was speechless.
She couldn't exactly tell a monster, "Hey, don't link into someone's chip without permission—it's kind of an intimate thing."
Because he'd definitely ask: Why is that intimate?
And she didn't even know why!
Even today, biotech companies hadn't formally explained or regulated this feature—but somehow, humans just knew.
They'd even coined the perfect name for it: mind-sex.
Zhou Jiao sat frozen, overwhelmed by the realization of how filthy human thoughts could be.
Next to Jiang Lian, monsters were practically innocent puppies with water droplets on their noses.
Her nerves were fraying fast—and when she was anxious, her mind tended to wander.
She started spiraling into thoughts like: Why does he act so much like a dog?
Dogs are expensive—you need ten grand just for the pet tax.
Can you keep an octopus as a pet?
Is he even really an octopus??
Jiang Lian stared at her for a few seconds, then abruptly said:
"I understand now."
Zhou Jiao: "…Understand what?"
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully:
"The chip modulates neuron activity… mimicking sensations of excitement or euphoria. The effect is similar to—"
OH MY GOD HE REALLY DID UNDERSTAND.
Zhou Jiao quickly cut him off:
"Yes yes yes, exactly that. Let's talk out loud, shall we? This brain-chatting thing is weird."
This zero-distance kind of communication made her skin crawl.
All she could think about was how to get him to disconnect.
Sure, she'd done chip-sharing before at the Bureau—but that was with humans.
Normal people who understood the sanctity of mental privacy.
Now Jiang Lian was strolling through her brain like a toddler let loose in a shelf of collectible figurines.
She was terrified he might suddenly reach out and smash something irreplaceable.
Worst of all, she couldn't end the link herself.
Partly because that might piss him off, and an angry Jiang Lian could kill her.
Partly because… forcing a disconnect might make him even more curious.
He knew enough to mention "neuron modulation," after all.
If he wanted to, he could figure out exactly what mind-sex was in seconds.
All Zhou Jiao could do was wait—pathetically—for him to leave on his own.
She hated the feeling of not being in control.
Once she figured out how to send him back to whatever abyss he came from…
She was going to take every curse she'd swallowed down in the last few days and launch them at his smug face.
Just then, one of Jiang Lian's tendrils tilted her chin up.
He lowered his head and stared at her from above.
In that moment, the weirdness bloomed to its peak.
He's still in my head.
She could feel him there.
Even the soft sounds of him swallowing echoed in her skull.
Everything about him was converted into electrical signals, flowing lightly through her brain.
She wasn't imagining it—his emotions were even stronger than hers.
His eyes dropped to her lips, and Zhou Jiao saw his neuronal network burst to life—
like a split-second firework exploding inside his mind.
She went completely stiff.
No helping it.
She was terrified of him by instinct.
And she couldn't tell where fear ended… and attraction began.
Not to mention… he was in her head.
Even though he had no idea how to manipulate neuronal activity through a chip, just being invaded by a terrifying, unknown, uncontrollable entity was already an overwhelmingly intense stimulus.
Ah, she really was a freak.
Only someone like her—this strange little freak—would find the experience of sharing a brain with something inhuman exciting.
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration lit up her mind. She realized she did have a way to take back control.
She had no desire to deepen whatever bizarre relationship she had with Jiang Lian, but she certainly wouldn't mind letting him experience the filth and danger of the human world firsthand.
Think about it—an ancient creature, who knows how many years old, slumbering in the pitch-black depths of the ultra-abyss before entering the human realm. A being who had done nothing in all that time but feed. No thoughts. No emotions. No distractions.
Now, out of nowhere, his neurons were firing—assaulted by wave after wave of raw, unfamiliar sensations.
What would he think?
What kind of expression would appear on that eternally indifferent face of his?
Shock? Confusion?
Or maybe… a kind of terror, like someone who thought they were about to die?
Just imagining it made Zhou Jiao's whole body light up, her organs practically bubbling with excitement.
But she was cautious. After turning the thought over for a while, she ultimately forced the impulse down.
Because judging from Jiang Lian's behavior so far, yes—he would be shocked, yes—he would be confused… and yes—he'd probably get addicted to the feeling, too.
No need to go looking for that kind of trouble.
Zhou Jiao thought fast, her mind racing, and decided to stick with an old trick.
She tilted her head up and gave him an obedient little smile. "...Doctor Jiang, disconnect the link. Talk to me in person, will you?"
Jiang Lian had no real interest in the shared chip. The only reason he connected in the first place was because he didn't like seeing Zhou Jiao's attention consumed by anything else.
Nightmares? Not allowed.
Tentacles? Absolutely not.
Strangers on the internet? Out of the question.
She was his.
Her hair. Her eyebrows. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her saliva. Her sweat. Her pheromones…
The air around her, the fingerprints she accidentally left behind—they were all his.
Even her fear… was his.
He hated that her fear could be caused by something other than him.
He preferred her when she was vibrant, scheming, full of bad ideas.
She smelled better that way.
Jiang Lian stared hard at Zhou Jiao. Behind his glasses, his pupils slowly contracted into an inhuman vertical slit—razor-sharp, uncanny—radiating a kind of hunger that only beasts were capable of.
He was irritated. Deeply dissatisfied.
He wanted her to look at him.
—She was looking at him.
He wanted her by his side.
—She was lying on his tentacle. She'd even nuzzled it with her cheek a few minutes ago, and the place where she touched still tingled all the way up to his throat and chest.
She'd done everything he wanted.
But it wasn't enough.
It still wasn't enough.
What else did he want?
What more could he take from her?
The irritation in him surged. That urge to kill something—it was back again, rising like a tide.
Jiang Lian's face turned grim and cold.
Murderous intent rampaged through his veins, violent and explosive, like it would tear him apart from the inside.
But deep down, he knew—this wasn't just killing intent.
At least… not entirely.
Killing intent didn't come with that strange, electric tingle in his chest.
And it didn't make him feel so… hungry.
Did he want to eat her?
No. Not quite.
The sensation was similar to hunger—but not the kind you satisfied with food.
If it wasn't hunger, then what the hell was it?
Jiang Lian stared at Zhou Jiao with cold frustration.
What was this?
Could she give him the answer?