Chapter Eleven: Teammates

Cao Mengmeng's tone was calm, but the expression on her fairly delicate face turned considerably more sinister in Qin Changsheng’s eyes as she uttered those dreadful words.

Her meaning was clear—murder.

To be killed by a monster, or to kill proactively to increase one’s chances of survival? Although Qin Changsheng instinctively shied away from pondering this question, to some people, it hardly seemed like a dilemma at all.

That mysterious figure wearing an emoji mask had done just that. If luck hadn’t been on his side when he first arrived in this world, Qin Changsheng might have been blown to smithereens by that bastard.

Is human nature really so fragile here?

“So what about you?” Qin Changsheng raised his head and looked seriously at Cao Mengmeng, who had somehow popped a lollipop into her mouth. “If you’d wanted to kill me before, it should’ve been easy, right?”

If Cao Mengmeng had stayed silent at the start, she could have easily taken Qin Changsheng down from behind while he was mourning Chen Yuanyuan. But she hadn’t done so—was it because she also hesitated to kill?

“It would have been easy,” Cao Mengmeng admitted generously, “If you had truly wanted to die back then, I would’ve killed you without hesitation. But you didn’t want to die, and if that’s the case, forming an alliance with you suits my interests better.”

“Your Shanhai Beast is incredibly powerful.” Cao Mengmeng took the lollipop out of her mouth and suddenly leaned in close enough that her nose nearly touched Qin Changsheng’s.

Suddenly being so close to a girl, feeling her breath on his face, made the usually reserved Qin Changsheng instinctively recoil, his cheeks flushing bright red.

He quickly stepped back and, to mask his embarrassment, raised his voice loudly: “What are you doing? There’s a line between guys and girls—get away! That’s really gross!”

“I wanted to seriously observe your soul,” Cao Mengmeng said unexpectedly, her words oddly cryptic. “The eyes are the windows to the soul. I can see the shape of your soul through your eyes.”

“Uh…” Qin Changsheng took another step back. That fluttering rush of youthful hormones was suddenly doused as if with a bucket of cold water, disappearing entirely.

The stereotype of the white-haired schoolgirl deepened—seriously spouting such strange nonsense. Was she some kind of delusional teenager?

Cao Mengmeng seemed earnest, staring at Qin Changsheng for a long while, making him feel uneasy. Only then did she slowly close her eyes, settle back into a more comfortable posture, and pop the lollipop back into her mouth.

Qin Changsheng waited a long time, but Cao Mengmeng didn’t speak, which only piqued his curiosity further: “So, what does my soul actually look like?”

Cao Mengmeng still didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she opened her eyes slowly and gave him a meaningful look.

The sensation was uncomfortable, like when Qin Changsheng nervously refreshed his college entrance exam results page—eager to know, yet afraid the outcome wouldn’t be what he hoped.

His heart raced, and his breaths grew shallow. Finally, after staring at him for a while longer, Cao Mengmeng spoke: “I can’t see it.”

“Huh?” Qin Changsheng was stunned. He had considered many possible answers, but never this one.

What did she mean she couldn’t see? Could she see at all? Or was this so-called soul-seeing just a fanciful phrase from a chuunibyou girl?

“Your eyes are pure darkness,” Cao Mengmeng said, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve never encountered this before.”

“Uh…” Qin Changsheng didn’t know what to say, scratching the back of his head. “So… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. No one knows.” Cao Mengmeng jumped down from the counter, walked to the door, then glanced back at Qin Changsheng. “But I heard that the power of a Shanhai Beast is bound to the soul of its contract holder.”

“Maybe that’s why your Shanhai Beast is so strong.”

“Strong, huh…” Qin Changsheng thoughtfully touched the hair on his head—that was actually Mo Mo, disguised as strands of hair.

Come to think of it, Mo Mo had indeed boasted about being the strongest. But coming from Mo Mo’s own mouth, it sounded a bit like bragging.

“Master, rude thought,” Mo Mo suddenly spoke, catching Qin Changsheng completely off guard.

“Whoa, you’re awake?” Qin Changsheng exclaimed. After driving away the mysterious figure, he hadn’t heard Mo Mo speak and assumed the little creature had fallen asleep.

“Mo Mo tired, Mo Mo hungry,” Mo Mo said, still speaking in clipped words. “Mo Mo eat!”

So Mo Mo hadn’t spoken earlier because it was hungry.

“Your Shanhai Beast actually needs to eat?” Qin Changsheng lifted the basket where he kept food. “What do I usually feed you? Any dietary restrictions?”

Mo Mo ignored him, and several tendrils made of hair plunged into the basket. Soon, it selected several packets of potato chips, deftly tore them open, and poured out all the chips.

“Don’t eat on my head!” Qin Changsheng was exasperated as crumbs fell onto him, hastily brushing them off.

Mo Mo devoured the chips in a whirlwind, letting out a long burp and sounding much happier: “Crunchy chips, delicious!”

“Yeah, yeah, as long as you like it,” Qin Changsheng said helplessly.

It was hard to imagine this creature on his head, eating chips and burping incoherently, could be so highly rated by Cao Mengmeng. Could it be that among Shanhai Beasts, Mo Mo was truly exceptional?

By the way, Qin Changsheng suddenly realized he hadn’t yet seen Cao Mengmeng’s Shanhai Beast.

When they first met, Cao Mengmeng had swiped a claw at Qin Changsheng. He’d only vaguely glimpsed a bright red, scaly claw but hadn’t caught any details.

The only Shanhai Beasts he’d actually seen besides Mo Mo were Chen Yuanyuan’s Tang Qianxiang—too small a sample size. If he could see more, maybe he’d better understand Mo Mo’s strength?

Without hesitation, Qin Changsheng called after Cao Mengmeng: “By the way, you said my Shanhai Beast is very strong. What about yours? Can you call it out so I can see?”

“No way, are you stupid?” Cao Mengmeng’s refusal was blunt and accompanied by a look that suggested she was dealing with someone utterly lacking common sense.

Qin Changsheng was baffled: “W-why? You’ve already seen mine, what’s the harm in me seeing yours?”

“That’s because you’re dumb enough to show your Shanhai Beast to others,” Cao Mengmeng said, pressing a finger firmly against his forehead. “Listen carefully. The abilities of a Shanhai Beast are our most private secret. We’re about to face all kinds of unknown enemies who will stop at nothing to kill you to survive.”

“If you expose your Shanhai Beast’s abilities, you’re also revealing your weaknesses to them. Do you really think you’d still have a chance against them then?”

Her words left Qin Changsheng speechless—he hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Anyway, remember this,” Cao Mengmeng said solemnly, “A Shanhai Beast is like the underwear you wear closest to your skin. You absolutely cannot let anyone see it—not even your allies. If one day you have to be completely honest with someone about your Shanhai Beast, that will be the day you fight to the death.”

“Any questions?”

“Just one,” Qin Changsheng raised his hand weakly. “Could you please stop making me sound like some exhibitionist?”

“…”

This was the first time since meeting Cao Mengmeng that Qin Changsheng saw her wear a perfectly exasperated expression.

Finally, she gave up with a dismissive wave: “Forget it, it’s like talking to a wall. Let’s go.”

“Where are we headed now?” Qin Changsheng glanced at the countdown tattoo on his arm—ten minutes remained before the corpse horde would resume its attack. Where could they hide to escape the onslaught?

“Back to my base first,” Cao Mengmeng said. “Others are waiting for me there.”

“Wait, you have other teammates?” Qin Changsheng suddenly realized.

“Not really teammates,” Cao Mengmeng replied, grabbing Qin Changsheng’s hand and pulling him along, then glancing back at him. “Just people gathered together to survive.”