The Savage Within

Chapter 10 — Wasting Food

On his way home with the food, Ethan couldn’t get the image of the qipao-clad woman bending over to pick vegetables out of his head.

He hadn’t wanted anything to happen with her — it was just the most primitive reactions and urges inside him after the mutation.

Back in his apartment, Ethan put the food down and stepped on the scale. He’d lost 0.2 kilograms since yesterday; the readout showed 75.6 kg.

Maybe he’d shed a little body fat. He could definitely feel his limbs were stronger, his walk lighter and more athletic — like someone who’d been training. He clenched his fists and thought about testing his new strength at the gym once he went back to work.

Even though he hadn’t felt hungry for two full days, his mouth still felt off. He’d bought a lot of pig trotters and roast duck and packed a portion of salted rice.

While he was eating, two phone calls came in. One was from the site supervisor: the client wanted to adjust the plan and asked Ethan to go to the construction site tomorrow to discuss. The other was from a hometown buddy and coworker, Deng Wenzhong — apparently his client had called and couldn’t reach Ethan, complained to customer service, and the general manager was involved. He told Ethan to be ready with an explanation when he came into work tomorrow.

After he hung up, Ethan finished the roast duck. His former apprentice, Tong Feifei, pinged him on WeChat:

“Master, what are you doing? Why aren’t you answering my messages? sad face”

Ethan thought a moment and replied, “Lots of messages, missed it—sorry!”

“Oh… I’m off today too. Where are you?”

“At a friend’s place.”

“I’m so bored at home, can I come find you?”

“Not convenient right now. Gotta go eat with a friend.”

“Okay… sad face”

Ethan sighed. Tong Feifei had a lot of good points, but she was young and immature — not the settling-down type. He’d long since passed the phase of salivating at every pretty face; if he were to date seriously it would have to be someone who could be a real partner. Besides, he had a bad feeling the loss-of-control episode on the 11th might recur. Until he solved that problem, he dared not get involved with anyone.

A revealed mutation would be bad — losing control and injuring or worse, biting or eating a partner, would be catastrophic.

By the time he finished eating it was almost one o’clock. He planned to pick up his hospital results in the afternoon, but for now he had time.

Ethan sat on the couch with nothing to do. He switched his attention to his hearing, tuning into every sound in the building.

Yen Qiaorong next door was probably done eating; he could hear her practicing singing, getting ready for an afternoon stream. The couple across the hall were eating late and sounded like they were wolfing down something spicy. Upstairs, Mrs. Tsui and her husband had finished, and were talking about Detective Li’s morning visit.

When they mentioned other missing pets, Ethan finally understood why detectives had been assigned — this wasn’t just a stray-theft issue.

Humans are curious creatures, and eavesdropping like this — picking up neighbors’ conversations from your couch — felt oddly thrilling. After listening for half an hour, he grew a little tired of it.

Leaning back on the sofa, Ethan wondered again what had triggered his mutation. He couldn’t remember being bitten by any animal, nor had he been exposed to radiation. He opened his laptop to research genetic mutation… when suddenly his bowels tightened.

“Two days without food… I just ate not long ago. No way it’s this fast, right?”

He went to the bathroom, sat down, relaxed — and with a sudden pop the stool came out in an instant.

That was absurdly fast.

Wiping himself, he glanced into the bowl and felt something off: the waste looked abnormal, like chewed food with all the water sucked out; the material still looked freshly nutritious. In other words, most of what he’d just eaten — save for the water — had been expelled.

“Damn — what a waste.”

Watching the flush carry it away, Ethan made a mental note: if he wasn’t hungry, don’t waste food — could save some money that way, at least.

It was almost two. He pulled himself together, put his pants on, and headed out to the hospital to get the report. On the walk to the company lot, the urge to urinate returned, but not as violently as that morning.

Half an hour later he had the checkup report in hand. As expected, every indicator was healthy.

That settled it — no bone cancer. Relief washed over him. Now the real problem was how to deal with the mania and the risk of losing control.

On the walk home he felt the urge to mark again, so he bought a wide-mouthed sports drink — easier to use if he suddenly needed to mark territory while in bed, he joked to himself.

The entire afternoon he stayed in, surfing forums and medical literature, trying to pull any useful leads. He also worked out. Exercise releases dopamine, which improves mood — something he needed. For someone who’d barely exercised, a sudden heavy workout would normally be brutal. But Ethan’s extraordinary healing meant he felt fine.

He did notice one thing: his recovery wasn’t as quick as it had been at 4 a.m. that morning. Back then, to relieve mania he’d done fifty push-ups and fully recovered after ten minutes. Now fifty push-ups took him more than twenty minutes to recover. His senses felt about the same as at night, so it bothered him that his recovery rate had slowed. He decided not to test it with self-harm; he’d wait until after dark to try another set of push-ups.

This would be the first night since his mutation finished. After days of that unbearable itch and swelling, he felt nervous about the approaching dark. He feared the sensations would return.

When night fully fell, though, he felt no discomfort — instead his mood surged, like an adrenaline shot. As time passed, the sort of mania he’d felt before dawn did indeed come back. Ethan checked the time: 6:51 p.m.

Now he was fairly sure the mania was related to wolf behavior. Knowing this, he felt calmer than that morning. He didn’t immediately do exercise; instead he closed his eyes and tried to feel how tonight’s mania differed from the morning’s.

After about ten minutes he noticed the difference. Tonight’s mania was definitely milder — not nearly as destructive or inclined toward violence. Because he’d used up energy during the day, the evening flare was weaker than the morning one.

“Maybe a walk will help — get some fresh air and settle it.”

He couldn’t be stuck inside every night doing push-ups; his job often required late hours and client meetings. He dressed and walked to West Lake Park beside Muchuo.

After a few blocks, the mania began to fade.

“This is just like a husky — can’t be cooped up. Needs to move.”

He wandered the park for a few laps, then headed back and arrived home close to ten. The mania hadn’t vanished completely, so he switched things up and did more push-ups until almost eleven, at which point the feeling finally abated.

He worked up a sweat and felt great — a strangely pleasant exhaustion. Even though he’d only started forced training, he was beginning to like that taut, muscular feeling. If he kept this up every day, a month from now he’d be noticeably ripped.

“If I could just get rid of the mania and the loss of control, this body would be perfect.”

Just after Ethan finished his workout, Detective Li Yanchiu and her junior partner were reviewing surveillance footage at a ramen shop on the south end of Muchuo Street. On the feed they saw Ethan — carrying a suitcase — walking toward Xiufeng Plaza.