RHWHEG -Chapter 44 The Second Form of His Power

She Lulang felt that something was off.

What had happened that morning was just a small incident — it only indirectly caused him and Yu Qunqing to be apart for a few hours. When he returned, Yu Qunqing didn’t show any special reaction, likely having already forgotten about the morning entirely.

But She Lulang was like a patient with withdrawal symptoms — as soon as he was away from Yu Qunqing, something inside him would start slipping toward chaos.

While out on a mission, Dong Changxin cautiously asked, “Did you two really have a big fight?”

She Lulang calmly replied that they hadn’t argued.

The moment he said that, the black bird beside him sliced through an electric pole. The straight pole fell with the cable, crashing down with a bang. His three teammates exchanged intense glances midair but dared not question him further.

She Lulang knew he was in the wrong state. If he didn’t see that person soon, he would completely revert to the version of himself from the shelter—unable to tell friend from foe, right from wrong—letting the inner demon take control.

That wasn’t right.

The moral lessons ingrained in him told She Lulang to correct himself, to push back the surging emotion once more. It was normal for friends to have disagreements; normal to be apart for a while. He and Yu Qunqing’s relationship had always been within a healthy range: idle chats, generous sharing, mutual trust in battle—all signs of a steadily deepening bond.

In this life, he had chosen a gentler way to stay by Yu Qunqing’s side, and their relationship had progressed quickly, proof that his approach was working. He didn’t mind keeping up the act a little longer.

He knew too well the consequences of rushing things—he didn’t want to end up unable to even remain friends.

He had to maintain that line of normalcy.

After greeting everyone, She Lulang’s body dissolved into a white egret and vanished. The other team members each went their own way—Sun Min and Lin Luyi to Building Four, and Dong Changxin to Yue’s lab.

Yu Qunqing thought for a while and decided to have a nice meal with She Lulang tonight. In his mind, eating something good was the best activity in the world. Neither of them were great cooks, but the community had plenty of chefs selling ready-to-eat dishes through the delivery system. Yu Qunqing grabbed a small cart and went on a shopping spree at the trading center.

He suspected She Lulang was troubled, because the system wouldn’t stop beeping.

“Mental power reached threshold. Your friend She Lulang has encountered a gameplay issue. Parsing… parsing error… re-parsing…”

Yu Qunqing sighed. “Maybe you should run maintenance.”

“Initial parse: romance game — rejected. Second parse: action game — rejected. Re-evaluating mental power—rising, rising!”

Yu Qunqing frowned. “Did something happen to him…?”

Just as the elevator doors opened, he saw She Lulang standing there.

The man seemed to be enduring some kind of pain—his expression calm, almost too calm. Yu Qunqing knew those little tells well; the calmer She Lulang looked, the worse it was. He immediately suspected some lingering injury from the shelter days.

“Here, this is for you,” She Lulang said unexpectedly. “You might need it.”

Yu Qunqing followed his gaze to the opposite side of the corridor, where the entrance of an unoccupied unit was piled high with all kinds of jade—shimmering green bracelets, translucent sculptures—all practically radiating money.

“We found a lot today,” She Lulang said, trying not to overexplain. “Just take it.” The white egret earlier had been him transporting all this loot.

Yu Qunqing was stunned—instant fortune!

“Thanks?” he said, and the moment he did, She Lulang visibly relaxed. Yu Qunqing pointed to the cart. “Then this meal’s on me.”

It seemed like they’d returned to normal conversation, but the system kept beeping, and Yu Qunqing knew that meant She Lulang’s emotions were still unstable. As a friend, he couldn’t think of a better way to help, so he simply endured through dinner and pretended everything was fine through the night.

“Parsing result too complex. Unable to classify game type. Contains elements of romance, action, and others.”

Yu Qunqing pondered aloud. “Could it be… Mario?”

Rescuing a princess—classic side-scrolling gameplay. Fit perfectly.

“No match.”

Ignoring the system, Yu Qunqing went to She Lulang’s study, knocked a few times, got no reply, waited three minutes, then assumed permission and opened the door.

The study was large, still spacious even with a bed inside. On the bed, a pale, elegant hand clutched the blanket tightly—definitely awake.

In the apocalypse, privacy was a luxury. The two had shared a room for a long time before, and Yu Qunqing’s subtle need for control, mixed with worry about She Lulang’s condition, made him speak up. When there was no reply, he went to the bedside and lifted the blanket.

Cold sweat covered She Lulang’s forehead. His voice was icy, completely unlike the calm vice-captain Yu Qunqing remembered. Through clenched teeth, he rasped, “Get. Out.”

Something twisted inside Yu Qunqing. He suddenly remembered the night in their last life when they’d fought over the only bed. He leaned down slightly. “This is my house.”

“Also, um…” Yu Qunqing hesitated, choosing his words. “You can talk to me about this kind of thing.”

She Lulang’s golden pupils shimmered. Dark green scales spread from his collarbone to his ear. His hair had grown longer, tangled with sweat. The air around him felt heavier—more dangerous.

A serpent.

His ability had always had three forms—just as its name implied: Snake, Egret, Wolf. But he’d only ever acknowledged the bird, dismissing the others as useless.

Just as Sun Min’s analysis had shown his power matched Fruit Ninja, She Lulang’s first parsed game had been Snake, foreshadowing these alternate forms.

And Yu Qunqing had known this in their previous life.

Back in the cramped dormitory of the shelter, one day She Lulang suddenly stopped fighting for the bed and curled up on a bench instead. Yu Qunqing couldn’t stand it and pressed him until they argued. Finally, She Lulang admitted that his ability had one flaw — perhaps from overusing the egret form, at certain times he would forcibly transform into one of the other forms.

Since those other forms weren’t well-trained, their animal instincts often took over…

Yu Qunqing’s voice softened. “If you’re cold…”

She Lulang’s pupils slit into vertical lines, bristling. “None of your business.”

Yu Qunqing said gently, “It’s because of your power. You can tell me. We live so close, after all.”

He found himself repeating the same words he’d said in their past life—except back then it had been “we sleep so close.” Their relationship then wasn’t nearly this easy.

That time, She Lulang had just snorted, saying it was rare for Yu Qunqing’s overflowing compassion to reach him.

Now, She Lulang’s eyes were hazy, the moisture on his serpent pupils giving them an illusory tenderness. After a long silence, he murmured, “Because we’re… friends?”

The scene overlapped with the past, but the choices differed. Something heavy welled up in Yu Qunqing’s chest. He nodded hard. “Because we’re friends.”

She Lulang’s heart ached, torn in two by emotion. In a voice almost hopeless, he asked, “Then… do you know how to help me?”

Yu Qunqing took his hand.

She Lulang flinched, muscles tensing. Time blurred—the pain of memory and the haze of the present tangled together, bittersweet and disorienting. Then Yu Qunqing leaned down and wrapped his other arm around him, pressing him into a firm embrace.

She Lulang froze, his cheek against Yu Qunqing’s shoulder. The steady human warmth seeped into his scaled skin, and for the first time in a long while, the burning phantom pain under his skin eased. He heard Yu Qunqing’s heartbeat—strong, real—and felt alive again.

Yu Qunqing whispered softly,

“There. It’s all right now.”

This was the same Yu Qunqing who always fought head-on, who joked carelessly, who was covered in scars—and yet, tonight, his voice was gentler than ever.

The world had truly gone mad.

She Lulang felt as though he were back in that tiny dorm of the shelter, the night he’d first confessed his weakness. They’d argued, thrown insults—until Yu Qunqing finally lost his patience, pushed him down, and said:

“Why are you so difficult? I’m trying to help you and you won’t let me. I must’ve used up eight lifetimes of luck to end up rooming with you. If I just hold you, won’t you be fine?”

His wrists had been pinned; their skin had touched—heat against cold. After so much hardship, that warmth had felt intoxicating, leaving the younger She Lulang speechless, heart pounding furiously—he told himself it was anger.

Under the faint light of the moon, everything had seemed dizzyingly bright. He must have been furious—furious enough that his soul floated like mist. Using his serpent night vision, he’d seen Yu Qunqing’s face clearly, and in that overwhelming rush of emotion, one stray thought had slipped through:

He’s actually the best-looking one in the whole shelter.

In the present, She Lulang instinctively returned the embrace—the gesture he hadn’t dared make for countless silent nights.

Warm arms.

A living Yu Qunqing.

…

It was late into the night.

Back in his own room, Yu Qunqing could still feel the lingering chill on his hands. They had hugged countless times in their past life—so why did it feel completely different now?

He looked out the window and sighed to the system. “My friend can come to me when he’s troubled. But when I’m the one with problems… who do I go to?”

“Humanized customer service, always here for players!”

Yu Qunqing deadpanned. “Maybe I should just find a therapist.”

The best therapist was, after all, a game. Maybe tonight he’d play The Father and His God of War Son 4?

“Ding! Unknown game seed detected. Empty game slot available. Begin download?” the system chimed.

“You mean this?” Yu Qunqing lifted a sealed syringe. He knew it well—last life, one injection had boosted him straight to Level 3. He’d seen it in the study earlier and taken it with him. No one understood better than him how dangerous the shelter’s experimental drugs were—it was safer in his hands.

He hadn’t expected it to be the very game seed he lacked.

Yu Qunqing asked, “You’ll at least tell me what kind of game this is first, right?” He wasn’t about to take random risks.

“Player may inject the syringe. The system will then identify the game seed type, and the player may decide whether to download. Extremely user-friendly!”

The syringe gleamed coldly in Yu Qunqing’s palm.