Under the blinding glare of the surgical lights, Lam Linh gripped her scalpel, took a steadying breath, and made a decisive incision across Thien Anh's left chest. Fresh blood welled up. She moved quickly with forceps to retract the muscle, preparing to access the shattered ribs.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
The moment the blade pulled away, the cells at the edges of the wound acted like sentient organisms, instinctively pulling and weaving themselves back together. Within seconds, the ten-centimeter incision had sealed itself, the bleeding stopped, leaving only a faint, ghostly line of a scar.
"What… what in the hell is this?" Lam Linh's eyes bulged, her hand trembling. She understood the body's natural healing mechanisms, but this speed defied the laws of physics. It violated every medical tenet she had ever studied.
"It closes as fast as I open it… How am I supposed to operate? Do I have to saw through him while he heals?"
Lam Linh was on the verge of a breakdown. She made the incision again. The result was identical. Thien Anh's regenerative speed was so aggressive that it treated the surgery as an 'injury' that needed to be neutralized immediately.
As she stood there, frustrated and lost, Thien Lang—lying nearby—suddenly raised his head. He seemed to grasp the doctor's dilemma. He remembered his prey, how once bitten, they would bleed incessantly from wounds that refused to close.
"Woof."
Thien Lang let out a soft bark, then extended his long, wet tongue and dripped several droplets of translucent saliva into the surgical tray. Lam Linh stared at him, then at the pool of saliva. "You mean…"
She suddenly recalled the traits of mutated beasts. Their saliva often contained anticoagulants or cellular inhibitors to ensure their prey bled out.
"It's a gamble, then."
Lam Linh used a cotton swab to soak up Thien Lang's saliva and coated the planned incision line on Thien Anh's chest.
She brought the blade down. This time, the wound gaped open and… stayed open. Blood flowed sluggishly, but there were no signs of the flesh knitting back together.
"It worked!" Lam Linh whispered in a cheer.
But immediately after, her professional instincts flared. She worried: "But dog saliva… I mean, wolf saliva is teeming with bacteria. Applying it directly to an open surgical site like this… what if he goes into septic shock?"
She hurriedly took a sample and placed it under the digital microscope.
The result left her stunned for a second time.
There were no harmful pathogens in Thien Lang's saliva. On the contrary, it contained a massive concentration of enzymes capable of annihilating foreign bacteria—it was cleaner and more sterile than a Betadine solution.
"Monster master, monster pets," Lam Linh muttered, shaking her head in weary disbelief. Regardless, the surgery proceeded smoothly. She reset the pulverized bone fragments, drained the pleural fluid, and sutured the mangled muscle tissues.
Finally, to allow the wound to close, she simply used saline to wash away the layer of Thien Lang's saliva. Instantly, Thien Anh's regenerative mechanism re-engaged, sealing the incision perfectly without the need for stitches.
Lam Linh dropped the scalpel and collapsed into a chair, her back drenched in sweat. She pulled out her camera to record this miraculous recovery process. This was invaluable medical data.
...
The next morning.
At precisely 6:00 AM, Thien Anh opened his eyes.
The searing pain in his chest had vanished, replaced by a faint, tingling itch—the telltale sign of bones knitting together.
He sat up, stretching his torso. Crack-crack. His joints popped with a crisp resonance.
"Seventy percent recovered. Good."
Thien Anh walked into the living area. He found Lam Linh sitting there, clutching her camera, eyes glued to the screen, muttering to herself like a woman possessed.
Hearing footsteps, she spun around in a startle.
"You… you're walking already? After only one night?"
Thien Anh poured a glass of water, drained it in one gulp, and smirked.
"Thanks to your touch. Not bad, doctor."
Lam Linh stared at him as if he were an extraterrestrial.
"It wasn't me. It's your body; it's irrational. A normal person would be bedridden for at least a month; you took a night. Look, what exactly did you eat, or inject, to become this powerful? Tell me?"
Her eyes burned with a feverish desire for knowledge. In this world, power was the only currency of life.
Thien Anh sat on the sofa, and Azure Sky immediately slithered over to coil around his neck like a warm scarf.
"Your body is currently too weak. You want to be like me? Dream on," he said, dousing her with a cold splash of reality. "You're an office worker who's only ever buried her face in books. If I gave you a mutation serum to drink, you'd either explode or turn into a mindless freak instantly."
Lam Linh's face fell, but she persisted: "But… but I can train! Teach me! I can handle the hardship!"
Thien Anh glanced at her gaunt frame and let out a cynical chuckle. "Fine. Let's see how many days you last. I don't harbor useless people; you must learn to protect yourself."
Lam Linh beamed with joy, staring at him intently before blurting out a question that was… quintessentially clinical:
"By the way, you're so strong, so muscular… Why did I see zero physiological response from you yesterday? I had you shirtless, I was touching you all over… Are you even a man? Or… did that atrophy as a side effect of the medicine?"
Thien Anh nearly choked on his water. He set the glass down, looking at the girl before him with a gaze of 'three parts helplessness, seven parts disdain.'
"You're overthinking it. I am one hundred percent a man. It's just that…"
He swept his gaze from her head to her toes.
"Looking at your skeletal frame and hollowed face… it kills my mood. In my eyes, you currently resemble a mobile, cooking skeleton—and a bad cook at that—more than a woman."
"You…!" Lam Linh choked with indignation, her face turning crimson. "You have a mouth like a dog that'll never grow ivory! Hmph!" She spun around, pouting and refusing to speak another word.
Thien Anh shrugged and picked up the remote to turn on the TV. Thien Lang obediently padded over to lie down, acting as a footstool for his master.
A special news broadcast was airing.
"...Ladies and gentlemen, the climate crisis is escalating into an unprecedented extreme..."
The screen was split into three, displaying three polar-opposite visions of despair within the nation of Linh Nam.
The North: A funeral shroud of white. Blizzards so dense they buried skyscrapers in ice. Temperatures had plummeted to negative 20 degrees Celsius in the height of summer. Citizens were freezing to death in droves or buried alive in avalanches.
The Central: A vast, endless abyss of water. Floods upon floods. Waves dozens of meters high swallowed coastal cities. Gargantuan aquatic horrors prowled the depths, turning the region into a Forbidden Zone.
The South: A terrifying drought. The earth cracked and groaned; vegetation turned to ash. Outdoor temperatures soared to 50-60 degrees Celsius. The scorching heat incinerated all life, transforming fertile plains into a dead desert.
The news anchor, with a gaunt face and a trembling voice, read the statistics:
"...The nation's population is estimated to have dropped below forty percent. The death toll continues to rise exponentially as epidemics break out. Cholera, Typhoid, and unknown viruses from animal carcasses are spreading uncontrollably..."
Thien Anh narrowed his eyes, staring at the climate map.
"Earth is resetting its ecosystem," he murmured. "This harsh environment will screen out the weak genes. Only those who adapt have the right to survive."
With those words, he looked down at his hand, then at Thien Lang and Azure Sky.