Cangzhou City — Outer garrison of the Yakuza apocalypse base.
Li Benfen was in a rotten mood.
He had awakened the rare post-apocalyptic talent [Pig Spirit]. On paper that sounded enviable. In practice it had ruined him.
Once a slim, decent-looking kid, Li Benfen had become a rolling mass of meat almost overnight. Friends stopped calling him by his name and started calling him Fatty. The nickname stuck.
When the apocalypse made fresh pork scarce and strange to the palate, Li Benfen found a niche: his talent could produce edible meat. For a while his "Benfen Pork" was the hot brand across Cangzhou. He went from nobody to small-time entrepreneur—until the day the Yakuza Witch took an interest.
The Witch of Cangzhou was a legend: ruthless, cold, and as efficient as winter frost. After she kidnapped him, his "promotion" was immediate. The Witch forced him to produce seven, eight pigs a day. Officially he was a team leader; in reality he was livestock, shackled by seven guards and scheduled like a slaughterhouse.
"My life is a living hell," Fatty groaned, sprawled in a corner while the guards played cards in the shade.
"What's your problem now?" one guard asked without looking up.
Fatty puffed Himself up with mock dignity. "Reporting! This captain needs to use the restroom!"
"Go. Don't waste time." The guard waved him off.
He waddled off to the bushes. Just as he was relieving himself, a tall figure in black slipped into view and watched him. Fatty, furious at the surveillance, tried to assert dominance—aiming his stream as close as possible to the stranger.
The reply was absurd and unnerving: a three-meter high, five-meter long arc of water, steady and controlled, like a fountain choreographed in slow motion.
"Is this even human?!" Fatty staggered back, horror on his face.
He spun to flee, only to bump into the same man again. The stranger leaned down and smirked.
"Brother Yuan, you really don't have to be that strict," Fatty muttered, trying to recover bravado. "Next time give me a Mizone, will you?"
The man's voice was soft but impossibly familiar. "Brother Yuan? So because someone can pee far they're a brother now?"
Fatty went pale. "No way—Chen Xiao?!" Tears sprang to his eyes. He lunged forward and hugged the man like he'd found a lifeline.
Chen Xiao hugged back with one arm, smiling faintly. "Of course I recognize you. You're unforgettable."
Fatty sobbed his tale: captured by the Witch, made to churn out pigs like a factory, guarded day and night. Chen Xiao listened, then asked the key questions with a grin: "How's the Witch? And what animal did you awaken?"
"Don't say that about her," Fatty squealed. "You'll—don't be stupid!" He swallowed. "And I—Pig Spirit, obviously."
Chen Xiao cocked his head. "I woke something like… a Teddy."
Fatty's eyes widened a mile. "A Teddy?! Holy—never thought you'd wake that."
Chen Xiao's expression went quiet. "Take me to your boss. I have business."
Fatty gulped. "You're not going to die, right? She's… dangerous. People who meet her often don't come back."
"Good," Chen Xiao said calmly. "Then I'm exactly the wrong person to be ordinary."
With Fatty as an uneasy escort, Chen Xiao entered the Witch's compound. It was absurdly luxurious—white gravel paths, manicured hedges and a vine-covered villa that could have been lifted from a bygone aristocrat's estate. In a ruined world the Witch had built a paradise.
A maid in a crisp black-and-white uniform opened the door and announced, "Master, Li Benfen has returned." She led them into a high hall and retreated to her chores like a stage player exiting quietly.
Chen Xiao took in the decor with mild amusement. Once Tang Shirou's back, he thought, I'll hire half a dozen of these maids.
Footsteps echoed on the stair. A woman descended.
She wore a deep purple gown cut for a queen. Silver threads ran through her hair, which flowed to her waist. A translucent veil covered the lower half of her face; only a pair of sharp, cold eyes showed through. Each step she took carried the weight of command; the air around her smelled faintly of iron and winter.
She stopped three paces away, assessing Chen Xiao like an officer inspecting a prisoner.
"The little pig said you want to speak with me," she said, voice like stone. "What business requires my personal time? Fail to satisfy me—don't expect to leave this villa alive."
Her warning had the kind of casual cruelty that came from habit. Even the guards had learned not to joke with her.
Chen Xiao didn't flinch. He folded his hands behind his back and smiled, slow and deliberate.
"I'm here," he said, voice even, "to dual-cultivate with you."
For a heartbeat the room froze. Then the Witch's eyes flashed—part amusement, part appraisal, part deadly interest. The Yakuza villa held its breath on the edge between laughter and violence.