Chapter 256: Moon Terrace Revelations

At the Moon Terrace home, as Lu Xin pulled out that file, a special report was underway in a high-level conference room in Qinggang Main City. In attendance were Su Xinzhing, Chairman of the Qinggang Administrative Hall; Shen Lei, Head of the City Defense Department; Colonel Chen Jing, Leader of the Special Action Team of the Special Pollution Cleanup Department; and two other top officials from Qinggang Main City.

The report was presented by Professor Bai, Director of the Special Pollution Research Institute.

Although Qinggang still had many issues left over from the Sea Country attacks, to these officials this report was far more critical than any subsequent retaliation. Their faces were taut with tension.

“Before I begin this report, I must warn you,”

Professor Bai cut straight to the chase: “What you’re about to hear might exceed our own scope of authority.”

“Knowing these details might not be beneficial. I hope you’re prepared for what you’re about to learn,”

He continued, his gaze turning solemnly toward those present: “When I first reviewed the report submitted by Chen Jing, which contained materials on Single Soldier — or rather, Lu Xin — along with accounts linking him to the ‘Red Moon Orphanage,’ I began to suspect his true identity. And it wasn’t for his sake but because of that orphanage.”

“Later, while investigating that orphanage, I uncovered a critical piece of evidence. With mutual confirmation, I began to suspect that the unassuming orphanage in Qinggang Satellite City No. 2 may be connected to the Escaped Lab of the Alliance Research Institute.”

“…”

Minister Shen interjected coldly, “You need to explain this in greater detail. I want to know exactly what you discovered.”

“It was a signature,”

Professor Bai, as if prepared, then displayed a file encased in a transparent plastic bag to everyone.

It was a worn, even moldy file bearing a handwritten application for the establishment of an orphanage.

At the time when Qinggang was rebuilding and order was still in chaos, many such files existed.

After all, even printing was a luxury back then.

The file ended with a hasty signature: “Wang Yuanjing.”

“That handwriting reminded me of someone I knew, and I started taking notice,”

Professor Bai explained calmly, “Once it caught my attention, I searched for more clues to support it. Moreover, the Knight Orders’ surveillance of Single Soldier later confirmed that this Ability User is no ordinary case.”

“Thus, deducing that the Red Moon Orphanage may be linked to the Escaped Lab isn’t far-fetched.”

“…”

“All because of a signature?”

His words evoked murmurs and expressions of disbelief among those in the room.

“If you had studied handwriting carefully, you’d know that everyone’s penmanship is distinct,”

Professor Bai added, “And besides, his writing is indeed rather sloppy.”

“…”

A brief silence fell over the room as several attendees clearly didn’t know how to respond.

Mr. Su then said, “So, the person you’ve identified is…”

“The Escaped Lab Director, Wang Jingyun,”

Professor Bai replied matter-of-factly, “He was also one of the top four scholars at the early Moon Eclipse Research Institute. I even took some courses under his guidance when I was an intern there, so he left a strong impression on me.”

The conference room fell even quieter.

Mr. Su pressed, “Then why didn’t you warn us back then?”

“…”

“First, I had signed a confidentiality agreement when I left the institute,”

“So I could only inform you once you had identified problems with Single Soldier, in order not to breach that agreement.”

“Second…”

Professor Bai paused before adding, “There were certain matters that I needed to verify.”

“…”

“Everyone knows how highly the Moon Eclipse Research Institute values the ‘Escaped Lab,’ but what you might not realize is that it isn’t just because an entire train car mysteriously vanished—nor merely because the lab housed nineteen of the most unique experiment subjects. There’s an even more critical reason:”

“The lab also housed a special mental entity codenamed ‘Tyrant.'”

“…”

“…”

After reading the introduction on the first page, Lu Xin’s face remained impassive.

He continued reading quietly under the cool, detached gazes of his family.

The second page contained additional details about the ‘Escaped Lab’ investigation—a collection of notes, perhaps from Qin Ran, Zhang Sihuo, or other researchers who had followed the lab’s trail over the years.

These clues, too detailed for a simple bounty notice, were all laid out plainly.

For example, the lab’s director: Wang Jingyun, one of the four most authoritative experts when the Moon Eclipse Research Institute was founded.

There were speculations on the nineteen experiment subjects, along with various investigation reports.

Also noted were accounts from bounty hunters and teams who had long been on the task—their experiences and final outcomes.

Most ended in death; only a few went mad.

“…”

Lu Xin skimmed through these pages hastily and moved on.

After flipping several pages, he came upon a photograph.

On the back of the photo, bold handwritten characters spelled out “Wang Jingyun.”

His heart skipped a beat as he slowly turned the picture over, revealing an image of a man in a white coat.

The photo showed a refined middle-aged man—presumably snapped during his time at a research institute or similar place. He was wearing a white coat, his lean visage complemented by a warm, inviting smile and a comforting aura.

Lu Xin stared silently at the photo as a jumble of memories and images flooded his mind.

He recalled a scene where a gentle director taught him and other children.

He remembered the director leading them in morning exercises.

And he saw a night scene under starlight where, before the advent of the Red Moon, the director nostalgically recounted life during the civilization era.

“…”

These images intertwined—some vivid, some surreal—flashing through his mind until they gradually faded. In the end, only the man’s face remained, overlaying with the face in the photo until they perfectly matched.

“Old Director,”

the name echoed in Lu Xin’s memories as the figure most vividly imprinted in his childhood.

He had taught Lu Xin everything about kindness and the beauty of the world.

“So he was once a director at the research institute. No wonder he knew so much…”

Seeing his face stirred a warmth in Lu Xin, yet also a hollow emptiness…

That revered director had perished in that disaster.

“…”

Lost in thought, Lu Xin instinctively pinned the photo to the table.

He flipped through the file until he reached its final page.

This last page was the newest and most densely packed with content—teeming with text and even a printed photo.

Lu Xin’s pupils suddenly contracted sharply:

“A temporary addition to the ‘Escaped Lab’ investigation mission,”

It read: Latest intel—traces of Chen Xun, assistant to Escaped Lab Director Wang Jingyun, were spotted in North Upper City by a Stalker.

Attempts to capture him failed; only partial data from several destroyed files were recovered.

Recovered materials indicated that Chen Xun had been corresponding with ‘a certain director’—monitoring Qinggang news trends, recording experimental data related to ‘Tyrant,’ and suspecting that the experiments were still ongoing, implying that the director in question was Wang Jingyun.

This suggests that the Escaped Lab is located in Qinggang Satellite City No. 2.

Please verify and report promptly.

“…”

Beneath this intel was a black-ink scanned photograph.

The image was blurry, but clearly showed a man in a duckbill cap walking along the street, captured by surveillance.

In the lower right corner of the scanned photo, a date was visible—just two months ago.

Those features struck an uncanny familiarity with Lu Xin.

Originally, Lu Xin hadn’t paid much attention to this man—one you might not recognize even if seen—but not long ago he had encountered him in a subconscious dream, where the man sported gold-framed glasses.

At that moment, the man was presiding over an autopsy experiment.

“…”

“Whoosh!”

Lu Xin suddenly sprang to his feet, his face hardening with an inexplicable, intense aura:

“He didn’t die?”

Frowning deeply, he muttered, “How could he possibly be alive?”

“If it’s him, then what does that say about the director?”

“They claim that the one corresponding with him is Wang Jingyun… so does that mean the director is also alive?”

“…”

At that moment, his family fell silent; even his normally hot-tempered father remained quiet.

In the empty house, Lu Xin muttered to himself.

Memories began to blur as he suddenly realized that some of the things he had recalled were filled with uncertainty.

His expression twisted—not only with bewilderment and strangeness but also with a hint of ferocity and gloom.

Those conflicting emotions seemed to split him in two.

A dull, echoing headache reverberated in the emptiness.

“Buzzing,”

The unstable voltage in the old house caused the light bulbs to flicker intermittently.

The calendar nailed to the wall, the kitchen utensils, and the plates on the table all began to sway gently.

Around the table, Mom, Father, and Sister simply stared silently at themselves.

It was rare to see such uniform expressions on their faces.

“…”

“Woof woof…”

Suddenly, a series of barking filled the room.

A hairless dog, tense and agitated, had clamped onto Lu Xin’s pant leg, tugging forcefully. Simultaneously, Lu Xin felt a cool sensation emanate from his glasses. This coolness spread as fine red filaments emerged from the frame, covering his entire forehead like an eerie net.

In that moment, the swirling emotions in his heart settled.

The throbbing headache subsided, and the vague disorientation in his mind finally lifted, pulling him back to reality.

“Why am I so surprised?”

Murmuring to himself, he said, “There’s still someone alive in our orphanage—I should be happy for him…”

He spoke calmly, unaware

that a strange, eerie smile was slowly spreading at the corners of his mouth.