Fertile Soil for Despair

When the spark of consciousness reignited, the first thing Liu Zhipeng felt was "love."

But this "love" was utterly unlike the warm, rotting love of Grandfather in Nurgle's Garden, steeped in lethargy and contentment. This was a cold, fanatical "love," filled with anticipation and obedience. Like a vast, invisible net, it enveloped his thoughts and drew his will toward a distant, mighty being. He could sense countless minds like his own whispering prayers within that net, all singing the same silent hymn.

"For the Four-Armed Emperor..."

"For the day of ascension..."

"For the Savior of the Stars..."

Then came the physical sensations. He was no longer that soft, springy Nurgling, whose body had been one seamless whole. He had "limbs" now, long, sturdy, and brimming with strength. His skin was tough and cold, as though covered in a fine layer of chitin. There also seemed to be something extra on his back...

He struggled to open his eyes.

His surroundings were dim, and the air reeked of a sour mixture of machine oil, sweat, and low-grade nutrient paste. He lay in a narrow metal incubator, coated in slippery amniotic fluid. He tried moving his body, then saw his "hand"-a claw with three fingers and an opposable thumb, covered in pale purple chitin.

"Holy shit..."

He let out a strange cry somewhere between an infant's wail and an alien hiss.

A figure immediately leaned over him. It was a woman in a miner's uniform, her eyes vacant and her face bearing a smile both saintly and numb. Her forehead bulged slightly, and her skin had an unhealthy, waxy pallor, yet her gaze brimmed with maternal warmth as she looked at Liu Zhipeng.

"My child... my little savior..." Speaking in a dreamy murmur, she reached out with a slightly trembling hand and stroked Liu Zhipeng's head.

Only then did Liu Zhipeng realize that he was now a newborn. A... fourth-generation hybrid newborn of the Genestealer Cult. A "Genestealer."

He closed his eyes, and the cold notification voice arrived in his mind right on cue.

[Second life: started]

[Current identity: fourth-generation Genestealer Cult hybrid (male)]

[Current location: Hive World - Viridia Prime - Third Mining District - Lower Residential Zone]

Genestealer... Liu Zhipeng's mind reeled.

This was a much "better" start than being a Nurgling-and a much "worse" one.

The good news was that he finally had hands and feet, and his appearance was practically indistinguishable from a human's. Apart from minor abnormalities in skin color and bone structure, fourth-generation Genestealer hybrids could blend almost perfectly into human society. Their physical abilities and reflexes also far surpassed those of ordinary humans.

The bad news was that he had been burdened from birth with an inescapable fate. His genes and his soul were branded with absolute loyalty to the Tyranids. His entire purpose was to work from within, coordinate with the invaders, and turn the whole planet into a buffet for the Hive Fleet.

And the "love" that linked all the faithful was the so-called "broodmind," a psychic network formed by every believer, with the cult's Patriarch at its center. It could convey emotions, share beliefs, and coordinate actions, but it was also a psychic shackle that made betrayal impossible.

This could be a little tricky. Feeling the lingering impulse in his mind to prostrate himself before the stars, Liu Zhipeng grinned. The sight of a newborn baby wearing a mischievous smile left his "mother" utterly entranced.

"Look, he's smiling! He's answering the Patriarch's call!"

Time passed in a dull, oppressive rhythm.

Fifteen years went by.

Liu Zhipeng, now known within the cult as "Brother Peng," had grown into a tall, lean but sturdy young man. Like the others his age, he worked as a miner in the underground mines of Viridia Prime.

Viridia was a typical Imperial mining world. The planet's surface was a hostile wasteland, and ninety-nine percent of its population lived in vast mining cities deep underground. Life here could be summed up in just two words: despair and numbness.

The miners worked sixteen hours a day in oxygen-starved, dust-choked conditions in exchange for barely enough nutrient paste and recycled water to survive. Safety regulations existed in name only, and mining disasters were commonplace. Even the slightest illness could rapidly worsen without treatment, until the sufferer was disposed of as "biological waste." Above them stood the Planetary Governor and the agents of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Ecclesiarchy. Like enormous leeches clinging to this world, they drained its minerals and manpower while begrudging it anything in return.

This was fertile soil for despair, the perfect breeding ground for the Genestealer Cult.

The cult had been secretly growing here for centuries. It promised the miners that the "Four-Armed Emperor" would descend from the distant sea of stars. He was a merciful savior who would liberate all those who suffered and lead them into a paradise without oppression or hunger.

For people living in hell, this was an irresistible hope.

Liu Zhipeng spent every day among these miners. He worked efficiently and spoke little, but he always lent a hand when others needed it most.

When someone collapsed from exhaustion, he was the first to rush over, using his far-superhuman strength to carry them to the rest area. When someone fell ill from malnutrition, he quietly slipped them a small nutrient block he had saved from his own rations and secretly doctored. When a taskmaster servitor malfunctioned and lashed out indiscriminately with its electric whip, he always managed to appear "by chance" at just the right spot, smashing its controller with a piece of "falling" ore.

The passive ability Grandfather's Watch and Love was in its element here, proving far more effective than it ever had in Nurgle's Garden.

The Nurglings were merely simple-minded, but these miners were truly desperate. Like people on the verge of drowning, they instinctively clutched at any straw within reach. And Liu Zhipeng was the straw that seemed warmest and most dependable.

He never delivered grand speeches or promised some distant future. He simply cared for everyone around him through practical deeds. His innate warmth allowed him to reach easily into the closed-off hearts of these miners. They trusted and loved him, even more than they revered the cult's lofty high priests and bishops.

"Brother Peng, you've saved me again." A one-armed miner named Old He gratefully accepted the water pouch Liu Zhipeng handed him.

"It's nothing, Uncle He. We're all family. Helping each other is only natural," Liu Zhipeng replied with a smile. In the dim mine tunnels, that smile looked especially sincere.