Chapter 65

A big pot of nourishing notoginseng and American ginseng soup.

Lin Zao had originally planned to divide it up for Little Bao and Grandpa Zhang first. Then he and Fu Cheng would split the rest—half a bowl each to sip over three or four days.

But he’d forgotten to tell Fu Cheng. In the blink of an eye, Fu Cheng had gulped down two full bowls!

Not only had he drunk the soup, but he had also…

He had also closed his mouth, as if chewing on something.

Crunch crunch.

But this time, when stewing the soup, Lin Zao had used pure lean meat, not ribs.

So…

Lin Zao realized immediately. He grabbed an iron ladle and fished around in the soup pot.

“Ah! Brother Cheng, why did you chew up and eat all the notoginseng and American ginseng?!”

Lin Zao’s face filled with horror. He lunged forward, cupped Fu Cheng’s face, and made to pry open his mouth.

Fu Cheng blinked his eyes innocently, his gaze pure and guileless.

Little Zao, what did I do wrong?

You can eat the corn in corn soup, and the kelp in kelp soup.

So why can’t you eat the herbs in this soup?

Lin Zao smacked him anxiously. “Idiot! Big idiot! Who eats this stuff raw?!”

Fu Cheng’s throat bobbed as he swallowed the chewed-up herbs.

He could eat it, and he already had.

It didn’t taste like much, but it had a nice chew to it.

“Whatever. If you’ve eaten it, you’ve eaten it. Maybe humans and zombies have different constitutions.”

Lin Zao sighed helplessly and sank back into his chair. He puffed out his cheeks and studied Fu Cheng seriously.

“If you feel off at all, tell me right away. I’ll head downstairs and mix up some dog meds for you.”

“Grrr…”

Little Zao was so bossy.

He couldn’t eat human herbs, but he could eat dog pills.

Fu Cheng pouted. Fine. As long as it was something Little Zao gave him, he’d eat it all.

Lin Zao ladled the remaining soup into his own bowl—half a bowl only. No more for Fu Cheng.

In truth, Fu Cheng still adored his wife.

He’d drunk two bowls of soup but left more than half for Lin Zao.

He’d fished out and eaten the notoginseng and American ginseng, leaving all the small chunks of lean meat behind.

For a zombie, meat was the best thing ever.

Fu Cheng had deliberately suppressed his instincts, leaving every bit of meat for Lin Zao without taking a single piece for himself.

Lin Zao stared into his bowl, torn between exasperation and amusement. He swatted Fu Cheng playfully.

“No more of that next time!”

After dinner, the family of three tidied up and headed upstairs.

They’d napped that afternoon, so they weren’t sleepy yet. They could do some other activities.

Fu Cheng and Little Bao wanted to watch TV again, but Lin Zao wasn’t in the mood.

Just those same few discs—they’d watched them dozens of times!

So Lin Zao pulled out a key and unlocked the study door.

Little Bao had mentioned before that he wanted to play computer games, but things had been too hectic lately. Lin Zao hadn’t had time to boot up the computer, let alone hunt down games for him.

Tonight was perfect. He could let the kid play for a bit.

Lin Zao hit the power button and fired up the computer.

Fu Cheng stood behind him, while Little Bao obediently perched on his dad’s lap.

“Dad, is there internet now?”

“Nope, still nothing.”

Lin Zao sighed and wiggled the mouse.

The zombie outbreak had only lasted a few days before the internet went down. The service providers must have shut it off.

If there were internet, he’d search for news on the outside world right away.

“Then what do we do?” Little Bao hugged his dad’s leg and tilted his head, pressing his chubby cheek against his dad’s knee. “No games.”

“Let Dad check if there’s any downloaded installer. Maybe we can play offline.”

“Okay, Dad, you got this!”

Lin Zao slipped on his glasses and opened a folder.

“Got one! Red Alert… Nah, that’s the one Dad and Big Daddy play. Not for you.”

“Aww…”

“Don’t be sad—there’s another! Plants vs. Zombies!”

“Yay!” Little Bao’s eyes lit up. He scrambled excitedly onto Lin Zao’s lap. “I wanna play!”

“Alright, hold on.”

Fu Cheng stood silently behind father and son, staring at the computer screen.

Something felt off to him.

Were zombies the same as those zombies in the game?

Why were his wife and son fighting zombies?

How could this be?

Lin Zao adjusted the game music, grabbed the kid-friendly mouse, set an alarm, then scooped up Little Bao and stood.

He pulled over a baby chair just like the one in the dining room and settled Little Bao into it.

“Go ahead and play. Half an hour max.”

“Dad’s not playing with me?”

“Dad has other stuff to do, but I’ll sit right here with you.”

“Okay.”

Little Bao reached out with his chubby little hand and gripped the kid mouse.

Click. The game started!

A low, guttural zombie groan emanated from the speakers.

The zombie shuffled forward on its tattered body, lurching toward the house.

Little Bao hurriedly collected sunlight and planted defenses.

Fu Cheng’s eyes widened in shock.

Lin Zao patted Little Bao’s head. “Don’t lean in so close.”

He glanced back at Fu Cheng. “Don’t worry, it’s not you they’re fighting. Wanna play games with your son, or stick with me?”

Fu Cheng didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Lin Zao’s arm and clung tight.

Little Zao! With Little Zao!

That kid was terrifying!

Lin Zao burst out laughing. He dragged over the swivel chair, pulled out a fountain pen and his notebook.

It was his Zombie Husband Feeding Diary.

He didn’t make a show of it, but every night before bed, he made a point to jot things down faithfully.

Major events got recorded too.

Fu Cheng eating notoginseng and American ginseng that evening—he had to note any adverse reactions.

Lin Zao uncapped the pen and flipped to the latest page to start writing.

Fu Cheng scooted in behind him—little husband squeezing onto the same chair. He rested his head on Lin Zao’s shoulder.

Glancing between Lin Zao’s writing and Little Bao’s gameplay.

The scratch of pen on paper mixed with the game’s pop-pop of pea shots. It actually sounded pretty nice.

As long as you didn’t look at the screen.

“Dinner tonight…

Fu Cheng ate raw notoginseng and American ginseng. Current reaction…”

Lin Zao didn’t turn around. He just reached back and patted Fu Cheng down.

“Reaction: good.”

He’d just finished dotting the “good” when the overhead light flickered twice and plunged them into darkness.

Then Little Bao’s voice rang out.

“Dad! The game’s gone!”

“Don’t be scared. Hold on…”

Lin Zao jumped up and switched on the charged flashlight on the desk.

A beam cut through the dark. Lin Zao positioned Little Bao under it, then took Fu Cheng to the window for a look.

The streetlights ran on solar and were still on.

But the neighbors’ houses were pitch black.

One of the two sisters—it was hard to tell who—called out, “Power outage!”

Grandpa Zhang replied, “Yeah, out here too.”

They’d held out for nearly two months.

Even with their hydroelectric setup, the grid was collapsing…

Just then, the lights behind them flickered again.

Lin Zao whipped around. The study light blazed back to life, and the powered-down computer hummed to boot up.

Power was back!

Probably a lack of skilled maintenance staff—the circuits were unstable now.

This surge was temporary.

Lin Zao sighed and switched off the desk lamp.

Too bad they didn’t have a battery bank to store power.

He’d have to scavenge for one soon.

Meanwhile, Little Bao asked, “Dad, where’s the game? I can’t find it.”

“I’ll restart it for you.”

“I barely played. Gimme an extra minute.”

“Deal, added on.”

Lin Zao returned to the desk and kept writing.

But the mood wasn’t as lighthearted anymore.

As he wrote, Lin Zao mentally tallied spots to hunt for batteries or generators.

Darkness bred all sorts of evil.

He was deeply grateful they’d cleared out a horde of threats that afternoon.

The power stayed glitchy, lights flickering nonstop.

Little Bao couldn’t enjoy his gaming.

The family wrapped up and went to bed.

Around one or two in the morning, while it was still dark, the minivan returned.

The Tri-Colored Trio and Fat Uncle had actually hauled back the auto factory’s sliding door.

It was originally a remote-controlled folding gate—one button press to open.

But they couldn’t detach the track, so they removed the door itself.

No auto function, but it had wheels underneath for manual sliding.

An extra layer of security.

Lin Zao listened for the sounds outside. Once everyone was back, he told them to rest. He and Fu Cheng went down to unload and install the door.

This gate protected all of Happiness Street—they couldn’t just sit it out.

With dawn still distant, Lin Zao slipped out with Fu Cheng to handle it.

Maybe from all that tonic soup, Fu Cheng hadn’t slept a wink and brimmed with extra strength.

Lin Zao didn’t need to lift a finger—Fu Cheng hefted the door alone.

The iron gate had hidden rollers underneath. Lin Zao gritted his teeth, gripped the handle, and shoved it into place.

The long metal slab stretched like a dragon across the street mouth, nearly as tall as Lin Zao.

No cars could squeeze through now. Zombies, with their clumsy limbs, shouldn’t manage it either.

Even people—if they were bulky—would struggle to climb over.

Lin Zao dusted his hands and turned to Fu Cheng. “All set. Let’s head back.”

“Roar.”

Little husband strode home side by side.

When they’d left, Little Bao had been snoring away.

Worried he’d wake up alone and panic, Lin Zao had wrapped the little dog in a towel and left it beside him.

Back home, Little Bao had shifted in his sleep, sprawled on the bed with one hand draped over the little dog.

Still dead to the world.

Lin Zao tucked in the covers, then met Fu Cheng’s wide-awake gaze.

He couldn’t sleep.

That medicated soup was too potent. A wave of heat coursed through him all night.

Lin Zao swatted him and whispered, “Can’t sleep? Go cook breakfast downstairs. Don’t get in my way here.”

Fu Cheng spread his arms toward Lin Zao, tilting his head with unwavering certainty.

Little Zao wasn’t asleep either, right?

He’d felt it when holding Little Zao—his body warm, tossing and turning in his arms.

Otherwise, at this hour, Little Zao would’ve been out cold. He wouldn’t have noticed the neighbors’ van.

Lin Zao puffed his cheeks and swatted him again. Finally, he whispered, “C’mon.”

Should never have stewed that tonic.

Lin Zao led Fu Cheng downstairs and set the congee to cook.

There were leftovers from last night’s preserved vegetable stewed pork too—ready to eat once the congee was done.

But congee took time, and dawn was nowhere near. He wasn’t hungry yet.

Lin Zao stood at the stove, gazing at the pitch-black sky outside. He idly toyed with the spatula.

Fu Cheng stood behind him, dipping his head to wrap his arms around Lin Zao’s waist.

As if trying to enfold him completely.

They stood there hugging quietly.

Until Lin Zao slyly rolled his eyes back at Fu Cheng.

He didn’t know if it was the heat or exhaustion.

Fu Cheng rested his head on Lin Zao’s shoulder, eyes closed as if meditating.

His breaths came steady and cool, but the heart pressed against him thumped too hard.

Lin Zao suddenly recalled that Brother Cheng hadn’t shown his zombie side in ages.

Before, whenever Brother Cheng saw him, he’d bare his teeth, lunge, pin him down, and bite hard.

Since releasing him, though, his moods had evened out.

Zombies really could be tamed.

That thought hit Lin Zao—he sensed something off and scooted forward.

What was that hard thing? It was poking him…

Fu Cheng sensed his escape and tightened his arms, pulling Lin Zao closer.

Lin Zao tried to wriggle free, then remembered something. He twisted back, smacked him, and hissed, “Dead ghost! Pervert!”

Fu Cheng ducked his head and let out a couple of pitiful whines.

Little Zao, he didn’t know. He knew nothing.

It was all that soup’s fault!

Cool breaths ghosted Lin Zao’s neck. He squirmed uncomfortably, trying to break loose.

But he couldn’t.

Fu Cheng had him—and Lin Zao’s heart stirred a little.

The night was so dark, so long.

Lin Zao turned, mustered his courage, and planted a kiss on Fu Cheng’s chin.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before.

Fu Cheng’s eyes lit up. The corner of his mouth quirked above the bite guard.

Lin Zao hooked a finger in his tank top and tugged. “C’mon, let’s reclaim our territory!”

Back in the master bedroom, Little Bao and the little dog slept soundly.

Lin Zao scooped up Little Bao.

Fu Cheng mimicked him, picking up the little dog.

They carried them to the children’s room across the hall.

Kids and dogs slept in the small room—they couldn’t hog the big bed from Dad and Big Daddy.

That was their routine.

Once Little Bao and the little dog were settled, Lin Zao shut the master bedroom door. He pounced, wrapping his arms around Fu Cheng’s neck, hanging off him, and kissed him again.

Fu Cheng caught him steadily and headed for the bed without guidance.

How could he know nothing? He knew plenty.

Even without human memories, his love for Little Zao flowed from instinct.

Fu Cheng laid Lin Zao on the bed. Lin Zao clung to his neck, peppering his face and chin with nonstop kisses.

Fu Cheng reeled from the onslaught but clung to his senses. He ruffled Lin Zao’s hair and reached for the buttons on his sleep shirt.

Last time, Little Zao had kissed him senseless and left him hanging.

Not this time. This time, they had to…

Snap. A button from Lin Zao’s collar popped off in Fu Cheng’s grip and clattered to the floor.

Lin Zao pouted, looking at him unhappily: “What are you doing? So… so rough…”

So Fu Cheng changed his approach, directly lifting up Lin Zao’s pajamas to reveal his lean waist and abdomen.

Fu Cheng lowered his head, wanting to give a kiss, but was blocked by the bite guard.

He lifted his head and looked at Lin Zao pitifully, seeking his opinion.

Lin Zao was very resolute: “You cannot take it off. You have to keep wearing it.”

Alright, he compromises.

Fu Cheng knelt on the bed, blocking in front of Lin Zao. He straightened up, took off his tank top, still wearing the icy cold bite guard on his face, and all-black gloves on his hands.

They hadn’t done anything yet, but Lin Zao had already gone limp, collapsing onto the bed and quietly watching him.

Fu Cheng’s large, dark hand with prominent knuckles gripped Lin Zao’s fair and tender inner thigh, yanking him toward himself.

Fu Cheng lowered his head and leaned in closer.

Lin Zao knew what was about to happen. He instinctively struggled a bit, reaching out to push his head away, not letting him kiss. “Brother Cheng… no…”

But the next second, the ice-cold bite guard was pressed against Lin Zao’s hottest spot, freezing him so much that he jolted.

Fu Cheng raised his head again, this time no longer feigning grievance.

His eyes were scarlet red, with flames leaping within them, fierce and domineering.

Why can’t I kiss?

Can’t kiss here, can’t kiss there either.

What’s the point of this marriage?

Fu Cheng lifted his other hand and gently pressed down on the bite guard.

Only two “crack crack” sounds were heard, and just as he was about to crush the bite guard, Lin Zao shot up from the bed like a little fish and hugged Fu Cheng.

“We can’t do the full thing yet. What if… what if it spreads? Listen to me.”

Lin Zao sat on Fu Cheng’s lap, lowered his head, and grasped it with both hands together.

Like this, for now…

Fu Cheng’s chest tensed, his Adam’s apple bobbed, he opened his palm, grasped Lin Zao’s hand, and enfolded it in his palm.

Like this, yes, like this.