Two votes against one.
Fu Cheng finally conceded, nodding ever so slightly.
He agreed to stay.
Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao high-fived in delight and started heading upstairs to tidy up a room.
“Brother Cheng, you take Little Bao’s room. Little Bao, is that okay? Big Daddy will recuperate in your room, and you can sleep with Dad.”
“The bed in my room is too small. Big Daddy won’t fit. Big Daddy’s the patient—he should get the big bed.”
“That works too. Let’s go, then.”
Lin Zao took Lin Xiaobao’s hand, just about to head upstairs, when Fu Cheng spoke up.
“I’m not going upstairs.”
“Huh?” Father and son whipped around in unison.
“I’m not staying upstairs,” Fu Cheng said gravely. “You two stay up there. I’ll take the garage storage room.”
Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao spoke as one: “How can we let you do that?”
“It’s fine.” Fu Cheng’s expression was deadly serious. “Zombies shout and scream, go berserk and rabid. The upstairs doors are thin, the rooms are right next to each other—no soundproofing, not safe at all. One day, I’ll smash right through the door and bite you both.”
“I’ll stay in the garage while you two are upstairs. With the garage door, the security doors on the second and third floors, and your room doors blocking the way, you’ll be safe enough.”
“But…” Lin Xiaobao piped up softly, “there’s no bed in the garage.”
Fu Cheng fixed his gaze on Lin Zao. Lin Zao pondered for a moment, then finally nodded.
He hadn’t gone to such lengths to convince Fu Cheng to stay just so the three of them could turn into zombies together.
“All right. But you can’t sneak off while Little Bao and I aren’t looking.”
“Mm.” Fu Cheng inclined his head.
“Little Bao and I will grab some bedding for you, along with a couple sets of clean clothes. Take off that shredded rag you’re wearing.”
Fu Cheng glanced down at the black tank top on his body, torn into ragged strips.
The zombie virus was steadily creeping into his system. Since last night, he hadn’t been able to feel hot or cold anymore.
For freer movement, he’d ditched the military coat.
His one remaining tank top had snagged on the stones atop the wall when he’d scaled it.
Lin Zao instructed him with utmost seriousness: “Even as a zombie, you have to stay clean and presentable, got it?”
Fu Cheng tugged at the corner of his stiff mouth and let out a faint chuckle. “Got it, Teacher Little Zao.”
“Can zombies take baths? Do you want to wash up in the bathroom while you’ve still got your wits about you?”
“I washed last night.”
“Really?” Lin Zao blinked in surprise.
“Washed with the truck.”
He had stood beside the pickup truck, hose in hand, and doused himself from head to toe.
The truck was clean. So was he.
Lin Zao puffed out his cheeks. “Bathing together—you and that truck are getting awfully cozy.”
Fu Cheng felt helpless, amused despite himself.
Lin Zao wrapped up with, “Clear out that storage room. Move whatever you can carry; leave the rest. I’ll… I’ll give it a shot.”
“Okay.”
With that, Lin Zao tugged Lin Xiaobao upstairs.
Fu Cheng glanced around.
Little Zao had those skinny little arms and legs, not much strength to speak of—how could he leave the heavy lifting to him?
Their self-built house was fairly spacious; the ground floor alone spanned over a hundred square meters.
Fu Cheng had bought the land himself, hired the construction crew himself, and even drawn up the floor plans.
He had tied the rebar for the foundation with his own hands.
The front of the first floor housed Fu Cheng’s auto repair shop, while the back was the garage.
The garage was roomy enough to park a pickup truck, a motorcycle, and an electric scooter, with a neat little square utility room partitioned off to the side.
The utility room wasn’t large—just two big iron shelving units and a long stainless steel table.
It held Fu Cheng’s repair tools, Lin Zao’s kindergarten crafts, and Lin Xiaobao’s toys he had outgrown.
Fu Cheng approached the shelves and gripped the iron uprights on either side, giving them a shake.
Not too heavy. He seized the uprights and dragged the whole unit out.
The metal frame scraped harshly against the concrete floor.
In one go, Fu Cheng hauled both shelves out and set them against the wall, leaving only the stainless steel table behind.
He looked down at his palms.
He couldn’t shake the feeling—maybe it was his imagination—that ever since the zombie had scratched him, his strength had…
“Brother Cheng!”
“Big Daddy!”
Right on cue, Lin Zao came huffing down the stairs with an armful of bedding, while Lin Xiaobao clutched a pillow.
Seeing that Fu Cheng had cleared both massive shelves, father and son stared in shock, eyes bulging wide and mouths agape.
Fu Cheng could practically see the reds of their throats.
“Brother Cheng, unless I’m mistaken, weren’t those shelves screwed right into the floor?”
“Big Daddy, are you some kind of strongman? Oh, wait—no, you’re Big Monster now.”
Fu Cheng frowned, realization dawning late. “Don’t know.”
“Whatever.”
Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao exchanged a glance before stepping forward with their burdens.
Lin Zao spread the bedding out on the table, and Lin Xiaobao plopped the pillow on top.
Lin Xiaobao asked, “Is this Big Daddy’s room from now on? Will Big Daddy sleep here?”
Lin Zao nodded. “That’s right.”
“Do monsters need to sleep?”
“Probably…” Lin Zao mulled it over. “Yeah, they do.”
Fu Cheng stood by the door, drawing in a deep breath before pressing a hand to the wound on his right arm.
Pain was the only thing keeping him clear-headed.
“All right, this is my room now. Enough chit-chat—you two, out.”
“Nope. One more thing—”
Lin Zao drew out the words, then held up a medicine bottle and bandages. He turned back to Fu Cheng and gave them a little wave.
Fu Cheng froze for a beat before looking down.
All three of their gazes landed on his arm.
Lin Zao’s eyes went perfectly round. “Who said you could claw at your wound?”
Lin Xiaobao chimed in, “Big Daddy, you’re being naughty!”
Only then did Fu Cheng understand—they wanted to bandage it.
He refused on instinct. “No need. It’ll heal in a few days. Save it for you and Little Bao—you’ll need it someday. Don’t waste it.”
Zombies roamed the streets everywhere. Who bothered bandaging wounds?
“We need it right now.”
“Big Daddy, when you’re hurt, you put medicine on it. Even a three-year-old like me knows that.”
“Exactly! Get over here!”
Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao closed in, one on each side. They grabbed Fu Cheng’s hands and dragged him over to sit on the edge of the makeshift bed.
Lin Zao bent down and used a cotton swab to meticulously clean the crusted blood and dead flesh from Fu Cheng’s wound.
Lin Xiaobao stood solemnly by with the fresh white bandages cupped in both hands, awaiting Dad’s instructions.
“Brother Cheng, does it hurt now?”
“Nope. Can’t feel a thing.”
“Then I’m disinfecting with alcohol, okay?”
“Mm.”
With Dad and Big Daddy talking, Lin Xiaobao thought for a second, then leaned in to offer encouragement.
“Big Daddy, you’re even braver than the bravest little dog in the cartoons.”
Fu Cheng’s brows knit. Something felt off, but he nodded politely anyway. “Thanks.”
Lin Xiaobao wiggled his hips happily. “No problem!”
Once the disinfecting was done, Lin Zao set the used swabs and alcohol aside and took the medicine bottle from Lin Xiaobao.
He unscrewed the cap and shook out a sprinkle of snow-white medicinal powder onto Fu Cheng’s wound.
Nice—this stuff worked on humans and zombies alike.
The bleeding stopped almost immediately.
Finally, Lin Zao picked up the bandages and wrapped them around with painstaking care.
Lin Xiaobao held his breath, leaning in closer and closer. “Dad, you’ve got this! Big Daddy’s life is in your hands!”
Lin Zao nudged his little head away with an elbow. “Well, well, you little cub—when did you sneak off to watch those ‘his life is in your hands’ dramas behind our backs?”
“Huh? What ‘life in hands’?” Lin Xiaobao looked baffled. “That’s just what they say in cartoons.”
Fu Cheng’s lips curved up as he watched his wife and son so focused and earnest. His heart turned utterly to mush.
It was his fault. He had screwed up.
He should have been careful—more than careful—from the very start.
With the zombie outbreak crumbling the world, not only could he not protect his wife and son, but now they were the ones taking care of him.
Fu Cheng turned his face away, hiding it in the shadows as his shoulders began to tremble.
For days, he had been battling the zombie virus ravaging his body from within.
He could feel his limbs growing stiffer by the hour, his mind growing more muddled.
The only way he stayed in control was by silently repeating his tasks over and over to dictate his actions.
Like—foraging for supplies, muttering “food” to himself.
Driving home, muttering “home.”
Getting ready to leave, muttering “go out.”
Unyielding resolve, mechanical repetition.
That was how he had held on.
But now, he was afraid he couldn’t hold out much longer.
He could sense his body slipping further from his control, his consciousness being eroded bit by bit by the virus.
—”Brother Cheng, all done.”
That familiar, upbeat voice snapped Fu Cheng back to reality. He lifted his head and met Lin Zao’s smiling eyes, crinkled at the corners.
“No more messing with it now that it’s bandaged. Little Bao and I are heading upstairs to make food. You rest. We’ll bring yours down in a bit. Sorry it’s late—I slept in.”
“Okay…” Fu Cheng hesitated, his voice coming out hoarse beyond his control.
Lin Zao took Lin Xiaobao’s hand and left the garage.
The instant the door clicked shut and locked, just before darkness swallowed Fu Cheng whole—
His last words were—
“Little Zao, lock the door.”
No. That wasn’t the last.
No sooner had the words left him than a surge of strength came from nowhere. Fu Cheng’s eyes snapped open, and he shot to his feet.
He strode to the door and barked through it, “Little Zao, Little Bao—lock the door!”
“Little Zao, I don’t need food. If you insist on bringing it, pass it through the window! Do not come in!”
“Wear my military coat, put on the helmet and hat, and keep the cleaver and iron stick on you at all times!”
“Hit me when you have to! No holding back!”
“Did you hear me? Did you? Little Zao!”
Lin Zao stood just outside, his face lost to the shadows, expression unreadable.
He replied softly, “Loud and clear. Don’t worry, Brother Cheng.”
The garage door shut with a final click of the lock. Fu Cheng could no longer hold himself up. He staggered back to the bed and slumped against the wall.
Sunlight filtered through the slits in the overhead exhaust fan, casting a patch of light and shadow on the floor before him.
Fu Cheng wiped his face and clutched his forehead. The wound throbbed fiercely, rotten to the core.
He raised his hand to yank off the bandage wrapped around his arm, but his fingertips brushed a small knot instead.
Fu Cheng drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to endure as he felt it carefully.
A butterfly bow.
Little Zao must have tied it.
He couldn’t undo it.
Fu Cheng lowered his hand and stilled.
He closed his eyes, the back of his head against the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently.
He didn’t know if agreeing to stay home with his wife and son—listening to them—was the right call.
He didn’t know if, once he fully turned into a zombie, he would still recognize his wife and son.
But turning into one right here in their warm home, surrounded by familiar scents, with his wife and son by his side…
It didn’t sound half bad.
He wondered if silently repeating their names in his mind would turn him into a zombie whose head was filled—
Only with them.
