Qi Xia frowned and slowly stood up.
The situation before him seemed a bit strange.
In his memory, he had never recalled “ants” actively tapping on windows—they mostly avoided the living.
And now, with a bonfire burning in the room, it was hardly a place “ants” would enter. So what did this continuous tapping mean?
He glanced back at Chen Junnan and Qiao Jiajin, who were deep in sleep. Both seemed exhausted, undisturbed by the tapping sounds. Left with no choice, he walked to the window to investigate.
In just two steps, that pale hand tapped the window twice more.
Qi Xia narrowed his grayish-white eyes and looked down—this was the first time he had observed an “ant” up close.
Its appearance was no different from the others.
Its eyes were two black, hollow pits. Having been gouged out long ago, the surrounding skin had wrinkled into dried-up folds.
Its mouth hung wide open, clearly missing all its teeth. Only a stub of a tongue remained, and even its nose and ears had been sliced off. Its smooth skull bore no protrusions, resembling a skeleton wrapped in parched skin.
Not a single strand of hair covered its body—just skin clinging tightly to bone.
Now, it lifted its head, wide-eyed and gaping, “staring” directly at Qi Xia.
He could clearly see the dried blood smeared across its face.
Who would have thought that the most terrifying-looking creature in the “Land of the End” bore suffering far beyond what anyone else here could imagine?
Qi Xia and the “ant” stood separated by a pane of glass. He wasn’t sure if it had any visual system or if it even noticed him.
Yet the “ant” seemed to sense something. Slowly raising its head, its gaping mouth emitted a sound like the chirping of an insect.
Then, it lifted its skeletal, pallid arm—this time not striking the window, but pressing its dust-covered palm against the glass.
Intrigued by its behavior, Qi Xia reached out as well, placing his hand against the glass.
Their hands aligned through the barrier—then, in an instant, both recoiled.
Qi Xia felt the bone-chilling cold of the palm on the other side.
Meanwhile, the “ant” flinched as if scalded, cautiously withdrawing its hand to its chest.
Its touch was as cold as a corpse’s.
“Who… are you?” Qi Xia asked softly.
The “ant’s” hollow eyes widened further before it hesitantly reached out again.
Qi Xia knew it likely had no vision—it was acting purely on instinct. Even it couldn’t predict what it might touch, so the sudden warmth of his palm must have startled it.
Seeing the creature press its hand to the glass once more, Qi Xia grew even more curious.
Why was this “ant” different from the others?
What made it special?
Lost in thought, he reached out again, aligning his palm with the creature’s.
This time, the “ant” didn’t retreat. It seemed to be feeling the warmth of Qi Xia’s hand through the glass.
Its grotesque face twisted with shifting expressions—but without eyes or discernible features, Qi Xia couldn’t decipher its meaning.
“Are you looking for me?” he asked again.
The “ant” kept opening and closing its mouth, its raspy throat producing sounds like crickets rubbing their wings—yet no coherent words formed.
After a moment’s consideration, Qi Xia unlocked and opened the window. The “ant” recoiled the instant it sensed the movement.
Its reflexes were eerily insect-like.
Qi Xia stepped forward, resting a hand on the windowsill as he stared directly at the creature.
This humanoid-insect hybrid crouched outside the first-floor window. Now, with no glass between them, it neither reached out nor fled.
“Can you not see or hear me?” Qi Xia asked.
He knew its ears had been severed, but it seemed its entire auditory system had been destroyed.
The “ant” tilted its head, confused, then inched forward.
After a long silence, it tentatively extended its hand, groping blindly ahead.
Qi Xia studied it closely, an indescribable unease creeping over him.
If it were human, he could at least guess its motives—but what was this thing?
Within seconds, that trembling, pale hand hovered before Qi Xia’s face.
Kneeling on the ground, the creature raised its once-broken arm in a disturbingly unnatural pose.
Watching its trajectory, Qi Xia understood its goal.
It wanted his eyes.
“Strange…” he muttered. “Aren’t you all supposed to be after ‘chips’? Why aim for my eyes?”
As those frostbitten fingers inched closer, Qi Xia abruptly seized its wrist.
Startled by the scorching touch, the “ant” struggled but couldn’t pull free.
Its face contorted exaggeratedly, as if analyzing the situation.
“Wait…” Qi Xia said. “I think I’ve misunderstood something.”
After a panicked struggle, the “ant” yanked its arm back with surprising force—and in that moment, realization struck.
“I was wrong…” Qi Xia narrowed his eyes, murmuring, “I assumed becoming ‘ants’ meant losing your minds. But Qinglong never said he took your sanity—only that he destroyed your senses and planted an ‘idea’ in your heads.”
The “ant” rubbed its wrist with its other hand, as if savoring the lingering warmth.
“So… you’re conscious?”
Even as he spoke, Qi Xia found it hard to believe.
Yet this creature’s movements were deliberate—reacting to stimuli, displaying thought and judgment unlike the mindless “lunatics.”
“This is eye-opening. I knew you suffered, but not like this.”
As the “ant” crouched on the ground, its throat emitting faint rustling sounds, a flicker of pity stirred in Qi Xia’s eyes.
What kind of wretched existence was this?
“Here, the ‘lunatics’ have all their senses intact—just no sanity,” he murmured. “But you’ve lost every sense, yet remain fully aware? You’re far worse off than them. Is this the price of serving those two?”
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