Lu Chen'an · Chat

Lu Chen'an was watching the rain by his office window when he received that call. 2:11 AM. The drainage system in the old city was as abysmal as ever; the sound of rain hitting the half-withered sycamore leaves was thick and fragmented. He gazed out the window with his bare eyes, an obsidian chess piece rotating between his fingers, the temperature of his fingertips lower than the glass. The phone rang. It wasn't a regular line. The indicator light for the encrypted channel flashed three times on the terminal screen—meaning the caller was an emergency contact from the Routi Association. Lu Chen'an set the chess piece down and put on his glasses, as data streams silently unfurled across the inner side of the lenses. "Lawyer Lu. Sorry to disturb you." The person on the other end was a middle-aged beastman, his voice kept very low, the reverberation of the background noise suggesting he was inside a vast, empty building. "Pier 6 in the east of the city. A cold-chain transport truck was seized tonight." The other party paused, seemingly choosing his words, "There is a freezer on the truck. Inside is a human cub." Lu Chen'an’s pupils constricted slightly. A snake's tongue flickered between his lips, tasting the suddenly intense pheromones in the air—his own. "Vital signs?" "Yes, but unstable. Dehydration, hypothermia, suspected long-term malnutrition. According to the captured driver's confession, it was to be transferred to at least six buyers within this week. It’s a 'pre-order' for the black market auction house." Pier 6 was a river transport hub with blind spots in regulatory coverage. The underground smuggling line using cold-chain trucks as cover had a history of at least two or three years—Lu Chen'an’s database contained three related reports, two rejected search warrant applications, and one shelved legislative proposal. All this information was retrieved within tenths of a second, forming a clear net in his brain. Yet tonight was missed. Tonight's truck took a dark line he had never monitored. "Who else needs to be brought back," he said, his voice flat and deliberate, "The truck, the sellers, the middleman, all pre-order buyers—give me the list." The other person's breathing hitched for a moment, as if stunned by the cold certainty in his tone. "...We are still investigating. However, there is a situation on-site that requires you to handle first. The human cub in the truck—both the Child Care Bureau and the police are on the scene, but by regulation, before being officially seized, a legal appraisal must be performed. We need you to come and do the appraisal." Lu Chen'an was already grabbing his coat. "Seventeen minutes." He hung up the phone without any redundant movements. Closed the window, took the keys, and went out. It wasn't until the moment he slammed the car door, isolating himself in the driver's seat, that he suddenly fell silent for a moment. The engine wasn't started; he stared at the steering wheel, his fingers gripping it a bit harder than usual. The pocket watch chain hung on his wrist, pressing coldly against his scales. A human cub. A cold-chain truck. A freezer. He knew the weight of a human cub in this world—fingertips the size of a fingernail, strength that couldn't hold one of your fingers, and those eyes that seemed to understand nothing yet could pierce right through your heart. He had rescued plundered humans and handled dozens of legal adoption procedures for them, but he always did those through documents and screens. But this time was different. Tonight, he had to open that container door himself. Not through documents, not through screens. He started the engine. His speed was twelve kilometers faster than usual. The pier had been temporarily cordoned off. Police hovering lights illuminated the container area like a cold white snowfield, raindrops passing through the light beams and falling on Lu Chen'an’s shoulders. He showed his ID and crossed the police line. Nobody stopped him. A few police officers even proactively stepped back half a pace—not because they knew him, but because they were pushed back by the pressure surrounding him. His vertical pupils narrowed into slits under the cold light, scales creeping up a centimeter from his collar, his snake tongue uncontrollably flickering between his teeth. He was reading all the scents in the air. Damp rust. Engine oil. Freon leaking from the cold-chain truck. And then— Fear. A slight, soft fear mixed with a milky scent. Not the fear of an adult human—the pheromones released by an adult human in fear are sharper and more pungent. This wisp smelled almost innocent. Like crushed dandelions. He walked past the police cars, past the ambulance, to the open rear compartment of the cold-chain transport truck. Then he stopped. The beastmen from the Child Care Bureau had already pried open the freezer. The door hung askew, with frost clinging to the broken metal edges. An iron cage had been half-dragged, half-lifted out, hastily placed on a waterproof tarp. It wasn't a cage. It was some kind of modified constant-temperature transport box, with residual medical markings on the side. An observation window was opened on the front, the inside of the glass covered in mist, where a small curled-up shadow could be faintly seen. "Lawyer Lu—" someone stepped forward. He raised his hand, signaling for silence. Then he knelt on one knee, staying at the same height as the iron cage. Do not look down. The difference in perspective isn't just a physical issue. For humans, it's a matter of trust. He had read enough materials to know that the first step is always to lower one's position. But the materials didn't tell him that when he actually knelt and saw the image behind that glass, his own breathing would stop. Tiny, abnormally thin, collarbones propped up under the skin like bird bones. Hair yellowed from malnutrition, messily stuck to the forehead. Wrapped in a piece of beastman children's clothing that clearly wasn't their own—the sweater was too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a small bruise from frostbite on the shoulder blade. He huddled in the corner of the iron cage, knees pulled to his chest, shrinking into the smallest possible ball, like a fledgling hidden deep in a nest. Those eyes—like the kind washed clean when the sun finally comes out after a long rain—were looking at him quietly through the glass.