Chapter 12

Lin Zao woke up dizzy twice that morning.

Even though he had eaten some sugar and felt a bit better, his head was still swimming, and his body ached all over. His whole body felt light and floaty.

It did not feel like low blood sugar. Instead, it seemed more like he had caught a cold from the chill.

Lin Zao did not dare delay. He went upstairs, found a mercury thermometer, tucked it under his arm, and took his temperature.

Thirty-seven point nine degrees Celsius.

A low-grade fever.

These past few days, he had always been running around outside in his pajamas and barefoot.

Not to mention that morning, when he had broken out in a sweat and then leaned over the windowsill, letting the wind blow on him for more than ten minutes.

He must have caught it then.

And of all times, it had to be now.

Lin Zao pressed a hand to his forehead, put away the thermometer, and rummaged out a spare cloth mask from the house supplies. He put it on.

It did not matter if he had a cold; he could tough it out and it would pass.

But he could not pass it on to Little Bao.

Children had weak immune systems to begin with. A cold could turn into a big ordeal for them.

Even though they had cold medicine at home, it was best not to give it to him if they could avoid it.

With the mask on and an apron tied around him, Lin Zao lacked the energy to make a proper breakfast. He simply added extra water to the rice cooker and set it to make a pot of plain congee.

Congee made in a rice cooker tended to separate into layers of water and rice, and the grains did not bloom open.

Of course, it was not as fragrant as congee simmered on the stove with constant stirring.

But this way was faster and more convenient.

Little Bao was not picky about food. No matter what Dad made him, he ate it with gusto.

While the congee cooked, Lin Zao pushed open the kitchen window and dug up two chunks of fresh ginger from the flowerpots on the sill.

Their kitchen faced north and got little sun, but the wide windowsill was fitted with a stainless steel anti-theft net outside.

Fu Cheng had set out several large pots there and planted green onions and ginger.

When washing vegetables or dishes, it was easy to water them at the same time.

And when cooking, he could just reach out and grab some.

Lin Zao washed the ginger clean, took out a cutting board and knife, and smashed it flat with a few thwacks, squeezing out the juices.

He set a small pot on the stove, added cold water and the ginger, and simmered it slowly.

He really hated taking medicine and did not want to waste their cold remedies.

It was just a low fever. He would drink some ginger soup first, work up a sweat, and see how it went.

Twenty minutes later, the plain congee was done, and so was the ginger soup.

The wet, sticky congee went perfectly with crisp pork meat floss or a tin of salty, fragrant dried anchovies.

Little Bao tucked in eagerly and wolfed down two big bowls in one go.

Lin Zao had no appetite but forced himself to eat a small half bowl.

After breakfast, Little Bao washed the lunchbox Fu Cheng had used the night before clean. Lin Zao packed the leftover congee into it.

As usual, father and son headed downstairs to deliver the meal to Fu Cheng.

But this time was different.

Little Bao stuck close to his dad, holding his little hands up in the air, ready for action.

The brave Little Bao Bao was prepared at every moment to catch his fainting dad!

Lin Zao turned his head and met his son’s tense, worried gaze. He could not help laughing.

Through the mask, Lin Zao’s eyes crinkled in a smile as he ruffled the boy’s hair.

“No need to worry. Dad’s fine. I won’t faint again.”

“Dad, you don’t need to worry either.” Little Bao looked deadly serious. “I just ate a ton of food! I feel full of strength now. I can totally hold you up!”

“Alright then.” Lin Zao nodded, playing along. “I’ll have to trouble Little Bao to protect Dad.”

“Dad, you got it!”

Chatting as they went, father and son arrived outside the utility room.

“Dad, let me deliver the meal to Big Daddy!”

Little Bao dashed ahead a couple steps, reaching the window first. He wanted to climb onto the stool.

But…

Little Bao jumped up, grabbing the edge of the stool with both hands and hanging there in midair.

He kicked his legs furiously! Kicked harder!

Come on! Keep trying! Yah!

The stool was too high. He could not climb up.

Darn it! He would not give up! More effort!

Lin Zao tugged on the little bear hood of his clothes and set him back down on the ground.

“Wait until you’ve grown a bit taller, then you can help Dad.”

“Okay.”

Little Bao pouted, looking all aggrieved as he mumbled his agreement.

He had eaten so much food. How come he still had not grown taller?

If only he could be as tall as Dad. Dad could step right onto the stool with one leg.

Or as tall as Big Daddy. Big Daddy did not even need the stool—he could reach the windowsill just by standing on tiptoe.

So unfair!

Meanwhile, Lin Zao climbed onto the stool.

Lately, Fu Cheng had always been asleep when they came, so Lin Zao did not call out to him. He simply pushed the window open.

But the next second, in the dark corner—

Two red gleams flashed suddenly.

Fu Cheng jerked his head up, his sharp gaze unmasked as it locked straight onto Lin Zao’s face.

The utility room was pitch black, and Lin Zao himself was feeling woozy. He could not make out what was inside and assumed Fu Cheng was still sleeping.

Fu Cheng lurked in the corner, one with the shadows, yet he could see Lin Zao outside the window crystal clear.

The slender young man wore a plain white mask, revealing only a pair of slightly reddened, weary eyes.

He did not look well.

Like a wilted rose or a sick little kitten.

And yet, he looked so very good—

Delicious.

His pale, graceful neck and slim wrists practically glowed in the dark.

The scent wafting from him was intoxicating, promising an explosion of flavor with one bite. He had to taste divine.

Lin Zao was completely oblivious to Fu Cheng’s burning stare. Just like yesterday, he kept his head lowered, eyes downcast, and gently pulled on the string to haul up the basket.

He had no idea that this motion exposed his delectable neck and wrists even more blatantly.

Nor did he know that Fu Cheng, watching from the shadows, was grinding his teeth to the breaking point and clenching his fists until they nearly snapped.

So fragrant. This man smelled so good.

Of course he does. He’s my Little Zao!

So tasty. This man has to taste amazing.

No! You can’t eat my Little Zao!

Snap out of it. Your Little Zao is mine too!

Little Zao tastes good, but Little Zao is scared of pain, so we can’t eat Little Zao.

His brain, under relentless assault from the zombie virus, was a chaotic mess.

Fu Cheng felt like he was being torn in two.

He could not even explain to himself what he was thinking.

All he knew was that an indescribable sadness and heartache welled up in his otherwise emotionless heart.

But he could not tell if the sorrow came from not being able to devour this tender youth before him or from the pain of seeing the youth so ill.

Zombie virus versus human reason.

Rationality versus bestial instinct, hunger versus desire.

All tangled together, brewing the most primal, instinctive urge deep in his core.

He liked this youth. Liked him so much!

No matter the method—even just one bite, or devouring him whole.

Fu Cheng crouched in the corner, lips still stained with blood curling slightly as he licked his newly grown, razor-sharp canines.

He was like a wolf lurking in the underbrush, eyes fixed on his beloved prey, poised and predatory.

He wanted to pin this youth to the ground, sink his teeth into that neck, gnaw on those cheeks.

He wanted to meld with this youth, flesh and blood entwined.

Just then, breakfast arrived.

Lin Zao closed the window and turned to leave.

Fu Cheng sprang up and lunged forward.

Pure beast pouncing on prey!

At the same moment—

Lin Zao hopped down from the stool. Fu Cheng hit nothing but wall.

The prey had escaped.

Fu Cheng lowered his head and stared silently at the pink heart lunchbox his prey had left him.

After a moment of silence, Fu Cheng turned away.

What kind of nonsense was letting his prey deliver meals like this?

And such an ugly lunchbox too. He would not eat it!

The next second, Fu Cheng turned back, snatched up the lunchbox, leaned against the wall, popped the lid with practiced ease, and started eating.

Eat! He would eat the meal his wife brought him!

After delivering breakfast, Lin Zao took Little Bao back upstairs.

The ginger soup on the stove had cooled enough not to scald.

The ginger Fu Cheng had planted was old ginger, pungent enough to smell all the way up the stairs.

Lin Zao ladled out a bowl and took a tiny sip. The spice hit him like fire, turning his eyes red and bringing tears.

“Cough cough… No way, it’s way too spicy…”

Lin Zao coughed and waved his hand, trying to dispel the burn.

Little Bao stood on tiptoe, wanting to pat his dad’s back, but he was still too short.

He could only ask with concern, “Dad, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” Lin Zao set down the bowl, fetched the brown sugar jar, and stirred in two spoonfuls.

Once the sugar dissolved, the ginger soup turned reddish-brown and lost some of its bite.

Lin Zao took a sip and nodded.

Better now.

Little Bao hovered by his dad’s side. Seeing no more coughing, he relaxed.

He craned his neck, peering curiously to see what Dad was drinking.

Unable to get a good look, he asked, “Dad, how spicy is it?”

“Super spicy.”

“Spicier than spicy strips?”

“Not the same kind of… Huh?” Lin Zao caught on and turned to him. “When did you sneak some spicy strips?”

“Uh…” Little Bao blinked innocently at his dad. “I didn’t.”

Lin Zao eyed him suspiciously. “Really? Little Cub can’t lie.”

Little Bao quickly confessed, “Big Daddy gave them to me!”

Lin Zao ground his molars. “Then we’ll beat up Big Daddy!”

Little Bao nodded vigorously. “I support that!”

Lin Zao took another sip of ginger soup. “Want to try some? Dad will get you a bowl.”

“Yeah!” Little Bao kept nodding. “I do! I do!”

Spicy stuff had to be tasty.

Like the broth from instant noodles or spicy hot pot.

“Alright, but this soup is really spicy, and it’s a different kind of spice from the strips—even hotter. Dad will give you half a bowl, but you have to finish it all. No wasting.”

“No problem!”

Lin Zao smiled and used Little Bao’s small bowl to scoop him just a tiny spoonful.

Ginger soup chased away chills. On a day this cold, a little for the kid would help prevent catching cold.

“Here.” Lin Zao handed him the bowl. “Hold it steady.”

“Okay.” Little Bao took it gleefully and peered in. “So little! I can finish it in one gulp!”

“It’s plenty. Drink it up, and we’ll add more.”

“Fine.” Little Bao held the bowl in both hands. “Dad, cheers!”

Lin Zao smiled and clinked his bowl against it with the untouched side. “Cheers.”

Little Bao pursed his lips and leaned toward the bowl.

Here came the tasty spicy soup!

“Ah… Ah!”

The next instant, Little Bao’s mouth gaped wide, his red throat visible!

“Dad, fire! I drank fire!”

Little Bao set down the bowl and bolted around the room, spice overwhelming him.

Like a little dog with its tail stepped on, yipping and darting everywhere.

“I drank a ball of fire! It’s still burning in my mouth! Water! I need water to put it out!”

In the end, Lin Zao sighed, set his bowl aside, grabbed Little Bao, pinched his nose, and poured a mouthful of warm water into his mouth.

“Swish it around slowly.”

“Gulp gulp—”

“Better?” Lin Zao asked. “Want another sip?”

“Dad…” Little Bao slumped into his arms, weak as a kitten. “It really is so spicy.”

“Are you turning into a spicy strip?”

“I’m turning into a ‘spicy cub’!”

Lin Zao finished his bowl of ginger soup and broke a light sweat. He felt better.

There was still a huge pile of stuff Fu Cheng had brought back to sort. After a short rest, Lin Zao rallied and got to work with Little Bao.

Potatoes and onions kept well and needed no special handling.

They went into the burlap sacks, stacked in the corner. Just grab some when needed.

Potatoes sprouted easily, though, so best in a dry, dark spot.

Fu Cheng had thought of that while hauling them upstairs and piled the potatoes in the living room corner.

Cabbage was easy too, but needed a little prep.

“Hup! Hup!”

Little Bao, apron on and sleeves rolled up, stood on tiptoe, gritted his teeth, and hauled a head of cabbage out of the sack.

This one was about as big as his head.

Little Bao hugged it tight and wobbled to the window, finally setting it down in a sunny spot on the floor.

“Hup! Done!”

“Impressive.” Lin Zao gave him a thumbs-up. “Little Bao’s a real strongman.”

“Of course!” Little Bao put his hands on his hips. “But…”

He asked curiously, “Dad, why do we put the cabbage out in the sun to dry?”

Lin Zao explained, “Drying the outer leaves evaporates the moisture and protects the inner ones, so it lasts longer. Big Daddy and I used to help dry cabbage for the family when we were little.”

“Oh…” Little Bao tilted his head, nodding as if he half-understood.

“Keep it up. Get all the cabbage out to dry.”

“Got it!”

Little Bao ran back and hugged out another big head.

Lin Zao tugged at the sack but could not budge it, so he joined Little Bao in carrying them one by one.

The rooftop would actually be best for drying cabbage.

But with things as they were, going up there risked someone spotting them and realizing they had all this food. It could invite trouble.

So Lin Zao chose the sunniest spot by their windows.

The weather was decent that day.

Drying cabbage did not need blazing sun or hours of time.

Just flip them so every side got some sun, until the outer leaves were dry and leathery.

Father and son went back and forth.

After about half an hour of work, they had all two sacks moved to the window and lined up neatly like soldiers on parade.

Lin Zao stood there, surveying their cabbage kingdom, clapped his hands, and wiped the sweat from his face.

Little Bao dragged over two small stools and placed one behind his dad. “Dad, have a seat.”

“Thanks, Little Bao.” Lin Zao sat down and glanced back.

“What do we do now?”

“Take a break.” Lin Zao settled in. “And flip the cabbage while we’re at it.”

“Leave it to me!”

The father and son each cradled a large and small thermos cup as they sat in front of a huge pile of cabbage.

Lin Zao sipped his ginger soup while Lin Xiaobao drank warm water. The two of them basked contentedly in the sun alongside the cabbage.

“Dad.”

Suddenly, Lin Xiaobao called out to him.

“Mm?” Lin Zao turned his head. “What’s up?”

“We have two people.”

“What?” Lin Zao didn’t understand. “Yeah, you and Dad make two people.”

Lin Zao thought for a moment, then got it. He set down his cup and spread his hands out in front of him.

“Oh, we’re two cats—two little kittens guarding the cabbage. Meow meow meow! Right?”

“No, that’s not what I mean—” Lin Xiaobao lowered his head and said softly, “Big Daddy’s just one person.”

Lin Zao paused, the smile fading from his face.

“The two of us got so tired just moving this cabbage. Big Daddy must be exhausted hauling all of it back by himself.”

“Yeah.” Lin Zao pursed his lips. “So…”

He took hold of Lin Xiaobao’s small hand. “We can’t waste Big Daddy’s hard work. We’ll preserve the cabbage properly, Dad will turn it into delicious dishes, and we’ll eat every last bit of it—turning it into meat on our bodies and energy inside us!”

“Makes sense.” Lin Xiaobao jumped up from his little stool, thrusting his small hand high into the air. “Don’t worry, Dad! Don’t worry, Big Daddy! I’ll eat it all with everything I’ve got!”