"So, you mean that Zhang Ge, the man who was eaten by the spider mutant, used the liquid from this vial to drip onto a small spider, which caused the mutation?" Lin Dao almost frowned, trying to be patient and understand the whole story from Bretta's terrified and incoherent words.
As for what he cried about, saying he didn't break the bottle on purpose, all he could say to comfort the child was, "I won't blame him."
Looking at Blaita, whose eyes were red-rimmed and filled with glistening tears, he couldn't help but feel a headache coming on.
Bretta didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't want to cry, but the clear liquid just kept coming out of his eyes. He sobbed and gave a rough account of what had happened that day.
Lin Dao also understood that it was Zhang Ge who was using the instruments to control the spider aliens.
Something suddenly flashed through his mind, and he abruptly asked, "Do you know how he died? He was pierced through the chest by a sharp weapon..."
Upon hearing this, Britta's face turned pale, and she fearfully covered her chest.
Xiao Bai seemed to sense what he was saying and was talking to him.
Bryta instinctively followed the words Little White had taught him and said, "He and the spider were chasing me, I...I don't know."
Lin Dao recalled that when he received the boy who broke in through the window, he was already on the verge of death and indeed did not have the ability to turn back and hurt Zhang Ge, who was chasing closely behind.
He thought for a moment and then asked again with doubt: "How did you get from such a far place to the opposite side where I was?"
"Jumped, using... a rope."
"Where's the rope?"
"have no idea."
Lin Dao: "..."
In places like slums, with a large transient population, the rope would likely have been picked up by scavengers long ago.
He looked at the vial in his hand, carefully scanning the embossed pattern on the bottom. Suddenly, he paused, a thought flashing through his mind. He took a few steps forward and picked up the drink that Bretta had just placed in front of the tombstone. The base's best-selling drinks didn't have the fancy advertising plastic wrap of the San Francisco era; they only had simple embossed patterns on the bottle.
Lin Dao examined it carefully and concluded that the medicine bottle was likely produced by the same model of machine as the beverage bottle.
He had just turned on his communicator to try and contact Cheng Cheng when he discovered there was no signal.
Looking down, he noticed that Britta was still staring at him with a conflicted expression, or rather, at the drink in his hand.
Finally, he almost mustered up his courage to say, "Mr. Lin Dao, this is... for Colonel Klindall. You can buy more if you want to drink it."
"..." Lin Dao put the drink back on its original spot expressionlessly, and finally said, "He wouldn't like to drink this kind of thing."
Bretta was stunned for a moment upon hearing this. With her eyes still wet with tears, she bit her lip and asked, "...Really?"
Lin Dao suddenly realized what he had just said, looked away, and said awkwardly, "I don't know, maybe I'll like it."
"Does Mr. Lin Dao like it?"
Lin Dao looked up at his tombstone and nodded: "Yes."
A smile immediately appeared on Bryta's face: "Brother Cheng Cheng likes it too."
"Brother?" He frowned at the address. When did they become so close?
“Yes, yes!” Britta nodded seriously. “He doesn’t like me calling him ‘sir’.”
Lin Dao chuckled through his nose upon hearing this, remaining noncommittal.
Bretta cleared the snow off the tombstone, put away her belongings, and then bowed deeply to the tombstone.
"Mr. Klindall, thank you for saving me. It's a pity there's no picture of you on your tombstone; I don't know what you looked like." But I suppose you were very handsome. That's what the girl who bought the flowers earlier said.
"Don't worry, I will try my best to live on." To repay you, I am willing to try to be a good person as well.
He bowed deeply again and stood up.
Lin Daozhe glanced at his quiet face, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.
"Mr. Lin Dao, does Colonel Klindall like white roses?" Bretta asked, feeling a little regretful that she hadn't actually given him a single one.
Having learned from past mistakes, Lin Dao did not deny it: "Yes."
"oh."
Bleta wanted to ask him if he liked it, but then she remembered that the flowers she had sold him had been given to him by the other party, so he might not like them that much. Therefore, she absolutely couldn't let him know about Xiaobai's existence.
“What’s written on the tombstone?” Britta suddenly asked.
Lin Daowei looked up at him.
Britta explained awkwardly, "I can't read."
Lin Dao instantly understood.
Six months of base education and labor internships could at most help him learn some basic common sense and rules and a little simple handicrafts. Most of the migrant population at the Mixi base had no opportunity to receive education; they might never have even seen a book. The mechanical and simple labor did not require them to know any words that the wealthy and upper class needed to use.
He looked at the tombstone and, in a low, steady voice, read his epitaph to the boy beside him:
"Humanity will eventually see the light of day in the abyss and live on despite death."
Bretta stood quietly beside the man standing before the cold tombstone, unable to decipher the emotions lurking in his deep, dark eyes.
"Let's go back."
On the way back on the motorcycle, Bretta naturally wrapped her arms around the man's waist. She hadn't expected to be delayed for so long; it was almost evening, and the vegetation along the deserted roadside was withered and desolate. In the distance, the winter sun gradually set behind the snow-capped mountains, casting a fading glow.
Even with a helmet on, Britta could feel the cold wind blowing in his face as he drove at high speed.
He instinctively hugged the person in front of him even tighter.
Feeling the hand gripping his waist, the man under the helmet snorted slightly, a low chuckle escaping his lips. He tightened his grip on the motorcycle handlebars and sped away.
Author's Note: I need to control the word count these next few days, keeping it a bit shorter and more concise. Tata's off with the pot lid on!
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