"I just wanted you to know—I have a heart too."
Zhou Jiao wasn't someone who was easily moved, but that sentence sent a chill crawling across her scalp.
What Jiang Lian didn't realize was that his words revealed a startling truth:
He had learned empathy—for her.
Why are antisocial individuals considered outcasts?
Because they lack the ability to empathize. They can't put themselves in others' shoes.
And empathy is the foundation of humanity, the cornerstone of conscience, the beginning of all human connection.
She didn't have empathy. So she had no friends. No lover.
Her affection for Jiang Lian wasn't born from him giving her the capacity to feel—it was because she enjoyed being pursued, craved, watched by him.
But upon hearing that sentence, it felt as if the cold, hard armor she always wore had been ripped away, leaving her exposed in a frozen wasteland, trembling with a chill that reached her bones.
His transformation shook her.
And the burning, pulsing heart in her hand felt unbearably heavy. Too much for her to accept.
Zhou Jiao had always lied without the slightest guilt. She had deflected Jiang Lian with all kinds of falsehoods, watching him reel, watching him ache.
Now, a dozen perfect lies flashed through her mind—any one of them enough to return his heart and plug the bleeding hole in his chest.
But she couldn't say them.
Some spark of human decency ignited in the dead ashes of her soul—rare, but blazing.
And even so, it wasn't as warm as the living heart in her hand.
She didn't want to give it back.
…And she didn't want to lie to him again.
Zhou Jiao raised her free hand and removed the military-grade mask from her face.
Countless translucent particles, like starlight, drifted off her skin and vanished.
In truth, it didn't matter whether she wore the mask or not. Jiang Lian never recognized her through her facial features. And to a higher-dimensional being, it made no difference whether her features were arranged according to three-dimensional human norms.
But she wanted to take off the mask—to say something real to him.
"Jiang Lian," she said softly, "have you ever considered that the gap between us might be more than just about being small, inferior, or fragile?"
Jiang Lian's first instinct was: she's rejecting me again.
He stared coldly at her. From the bleeding hole in his chest, a tangle of tendrils squirmed and extended—they were watching her too, casting resentful, heartbroken glares like abandoned monsters.
He had laid his heart bare for her. And still, she was rejecting him.
He didn't care about her being small, inferior, or fragile anymore—but she was now using that very excuse to push him away?
His heart started beating wildly in her hand, louder and faster with each thump. Zhou Jiao could barely keep hold of the squirming, living organ.
Worse, the tendrils surrounding them were also losing control, releasing a violent, dizzying hum that surged like a cold, unnatural shockwave.
"Why reject him? Why reject him?"
"You made him into something not-quite-human…"
"He belongs to you now."
"You cannot abandon him…"
Zhou Jiao's carefully prepared confession was nearly ripped out of her throat by the psychic storm.
"...Fuck," she muttered, then abruptly grabbed Jiang Lian's neck and pulled him down into a kiss.
The moment their lips touched, all the maddening noise vanished.
Her tongue flicked slightly, feeding him a drop of saliva—just enough to steady his spiraling emotions.
"You're in such a rush," she scolded lightly, "Just listen to me—who said I don't want you?"
Jiang Lian stared at her, eyes still cold, resentful, and disbelieving.
But the low-frequency humming was gone.
Obedient enough.
Zhou Jiao couldn't help but chuckle.
Jiang Lian said quietly, "I'm calm. Speak."
(A subtle way of telling her: stop laughing, get to the point.)
She was still smiling, but her gaze turned pensive.
Due to natural law, Jiang Lian held a certain contempt for humans—detached and superior. He always viewed human problems from a lofty, removed distance.
And yet, this not-quite-human creature had taken every one of her words to heart.
She once said she couldn't be with a predator.
So he forcibly suppressed his instincts, no longer consuming her saliva without restraint.
She told him to consider how to make it up to her.
Most men, hearing "I kind of like you," would have pressed for more—kissed her, escalated things.
But not Jiang Lian.
He said she shouldn't like him yet—not until he figured out how to make amends.
He was cold, ruthless, socially inept. Lacked human finesse. But he held the purest heart she had ever seen.
And a true heart deserves a true heart in return.
At least now—she was willing to try.
"Where was I?" Zhou Jiao mused. "Oh, right. Jiang Lian, have you ever thought that maybe… the gap between us is even deeper than you imagine?"
"No," he replied bluntly.
She smirked, then went on.
"I'm not what most people would call a 'good person.' I was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder when I was twelve. No one really knows why. My parents were good people—no psychopathic tendencies in their genes."
"For a long time, I had no friends. To make friends, you have to share your feelings. I never shared mine, and I couldn't connect to theirs."
"The AI flagged me as a potential threat. But honestly, I'm no different from most people. If you really want to find a difference… it's that I can't feel empathy."
"Jiang Lian," she said quietly. "That's a kind of defect."
Jiang Lian said nothing. But the heart in her hand beat a little more gently.
"I can't feel what's beautiful in music or poetry. I can't perceive the emotion in a painting. I was born cut off from all forms of art. All I'm fit for are rational, calculated tasks."
"There's a theory—antisocials are increasing because corporations need them to perform inhumane jobs."
"That's exactly the sort of thing a company would do. But I don't feel outraged," she added with a bitter smile. "When Lu Zehou told me about their atrocities, all I wanted was to extract useful intel and leave."
Her voice faltered: "Your heart is warm, Jiang Lian. Mine… might not be.
And you might not be a monster, but I—I'm a certified aberration."
It might've been her first honest moment. For once, her expression showed a trace of shyness.
"Forget it. I don't even know what I'm saying. I guess I just realized—I've never said many true things to you… You probably don't even understand."
But Jiang Lian did understand.
It was something the original Jiang Lian had been investigating all along: with gene editing so widespread, why had he still inherited a low-activity MAOA gene?
The answer, most likely, was what Zhou Jiao said.
Corporations wanted antisocial agents.
Because turning a normal person into a cold-blooded killer costs too much.
Even seasoned soldiers can't kill without guilt.
Zhou Jiao, though, was colder, sharper—able to look into someone's eyes and pull the trigger without blinking.
Not talent. A manufactured defect.
The company stole her empathy. Then killed her parents in an explosion.
And so—she couldn't even feel sad or angry about her own trauma.
She could talk about it lightly. Jiang Lian… could not.
His eyes brimmed with a murderous fury.
If she thought herself an aberration—he'd erase the world that made her one.
In a world with only the two of them, she would become the most normal person alive.
Zhou Jiao, unaware of his thoughts, looked down at the burning heart in her hands, wondering how to give it back.
…Could she just shove it in?
Was a magic chant required?
Just then, a message popped up:
"Look up."
Her brow twitched. She looked outside.
The city had changed.
Once a brilliant sprawl of steel, sapphire glass, neon lights, and dizzying holograms—it now resembled a sunken abyss. The colors had dulled, the light twisted.
Slithering tendrils clung to skyscrapers like monstrous seaweed, creeping along their surfaces. Cracks spread along the buildings—many of them looked like they might collapse.
From the skyline came a terrible, thunderous sound—half storm, half low-frequency rumble that made her guts clench.
The clouds were an unnatural purplish-black. Looking closer, she saw a massive shadow—like a celestial body—descending slowly.
It was suffocating. Awful.
Zhou Jiao: "…"
What the hell was Jiang Lian doing?
She rubbed her temples and muttered, "What are you doing?"
Jiang Lian looked at her. His expression was calm. But his words were terrifying.
"I've decided how to make it up to you. I want to create a new world for you."
"A world that doesn't label you a freak. That doesn't hurt you. That never interferes with us."
Of course, not interfering with them was probably the real reason.
But ever since merging with Jiang Lian's consciousness, he'd picked up a little finesse. He put the romantic part first.
That way, she'd be moved.
Then kiss him.
The thought dried his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed sharply. He stared at her lips, hoping to catch her tongue when she kissed him.
But Zhou Jiao didn't kiss him.
Instead, she raised her hand—
Smack!
Slapped his head, then shoved his heart back into the gaping hole in his chest.
"Put your freaky shit away," she ordered coldly.
"I'm antisocial, not a supervillain. I don't need you to destroy the world just to make it up to me."