The Judge believing in a heterogeneous species or a heterogeneous species believing in the Judge, it was unknown which one was more absurd—for whatever reason. Perhaps the day they met was the beginning of the most ridiculous story in the world.

However, in the darkness where no one’s face could be seen, it didn’t seem to matter what they did in this isolated place at this unknown time. Everything was forgotten, everything was acquiesced.

Listening to this gentle breathing sound, Lu Feng closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 62

An Zhe dreamed.

Rain, the sound of rain.

Water droplets hit the broad leaves, flowing down the staggered veins and dripped at the edges, falling into bushes or down the roots of old trees, seeping into the wet soil. In the wet rain season, he seemed to have experienced many such scenes. His memory started from there, when the whole world was raining.

He floated down from a mushroom umbrella cover and was blown into the soil by the wind before it rained. He seemed to be asleep until he smelled the damp water vapour after the rain.

Everything was out of his control. In the moist soil, the mycelium stretched out, grew, split, spread outward and converged. He grew from a spore smaller than gravel into a mass of mycelium and then pulled out the stalk to grow an umbrella cover.

Everything was logical. Mushrooms, unlike humans, didn’t need to be taught generation from generation. He had no impression of the mushroom who produced him. He just clearly knew what he wanted to obtain in the soil, as if this was his own experience. He also knew when he should be born, what he should do and when he should die. His mission in life was to produce a spore.

Then it would grow, he would die and the spore would continue to grow. In the rain, since ancient times, countless spores had fallen in turn.

The sound of rain rang in his ears and all around him. It was in his body, his mind and his memories. It was everywhere, as if urging something to happen. What followed was a type of fluctuation from the distant sky, a boundless void, a boundless horror—until he opened his eyes.

The quartz clock hanging on the wall showed it was nine in the morning. No one was around him and he was wrapped in the quilt. However, the feeling of being embraced by Lu Feng seemed to still linger, the heat staying on his skin and burning him. Lu Feng had originally held An Zhe’s upper body and shoulders down but in the middle of the night, An Zhe was uncomfortable at being pressed and pulled out. The man’s arms lowered a bit and were placed on his waist, the palm of his hands close to An Zhe’s belly.