Chapter 9

That reincarnated deadbeat ghost of a bastard!

Sleeping all day—only knows how to sleep!

We’re out of here. Never coming back to see him!

It was midnight.

The night was deep and still, with not a sound to be heard anywhere.

Lin Xiaobao lay sprawled on the bed, his little bottom lip stuck out in a pout even in sleep, snoring away peacefully.

Beside him, Lin Zao lay flat on his back, hands raised above his head, blinking up quietly at the ceiling.

Yeah, he couldn’t sleep.

That evening, when he’d brought food to Fu Cheng and said those things outside the utility room, the words kept echoing in his ears.

He’d called Fu Cheng a dead ghost. Said he was annoying. Said he’d never come see him again.

Thinking back now, it was a bit much.

Fu Cheng was injured, after all. It was normal for him to sleep a lot. And yet Lin Zao had been so harsh.

Truth be told…

He’d regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

He hadn’t meant it. He was just a little mad, that’s all.

Fu Cheng could obviously get up to eat but always waited until Lin Zao and Little Bao weren’t around.

Whenever they showed up, Fu Cheng would turn his back on them.

It was like… he was deliberately avoiding them.

They hadn’t seen his face all day.

Lin Zao knew Fu Cheng had been scratched by a zombie. It was likely he’d turn into one soon.

But since he’d decided to keep Fu Cheng at home, he’d prepared himself for that.

He wouldn’t abandon Fu Cheng. He certainly wouldn’t hate him.

And yet Fu Cheng kept dodging him, acting like he wanted to cut ties and keep his distance.

It was heartbreaking.

Lin Zao sniffled and pulled his arms down, rolling over.

He stretched out an arm and hugged Lin Xiaobao close.

Whatever. Time to sleep.

He’d said he wasn’t going to check on Fu Cheng, and he wouldn’t.

What was there to see in the middle of the night anyway?

Even if he went, all he’d get was that damn back.

Lin Zao made up his mind, adjusted his position, closed his eyes, and turned his head, burying his face in the soft pillow.

Sleep. Deal with it in the morning.

He wasn’t going to see Fu Cheng.

No way, no how!

He absolutely wouldn’t…

Then, in the distance, a beastly howl pierced the night.

It was far off, faint by the time it reached them—like a dog’s distant bark.

But it still startled Lin Zao. He bolted upright in bed.

No… he couldn’t just leave it.

He had to go check.

Brother Cheng’s arm wound was so deep, and the zombies outside were so vicious.

How could he really ignore him?

Lin Zao pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart pounding away inside.

Come on. Go take a look.

Even if it was just Brother Cheng’s back, it’d be something.

Lin Zao steeled himself, threw off the covers, slipped out of bed, and pulled on his cotton shoes and military coat. He fished the keys from the coat pocket, eased open the bedroom door, and stepped out.

Jingling the hefty key ring, he unlocked the third-floor security door, then the first-floor one, then the garage door, until he stood outside the utility room.

Good. It was dead quiet inside. Not a peep.

Brother Cheng wasn’t like the other zombies, howling up a storm at night.

Lin Zao relaxed a fraction and, with practiced ease, climbed onto the stool to peer through the window.

The room was pitch black, save for a sliver of moonlight filtering through the vent slats onto the floor.

No surprise there. By that faint glow, Lin Zao spotted the man’s tall back once more.

Fu Cheng lay on the bed, still facing away from the door and window.

Nothing but the back. Always the back.

Lin Zao wasn’t mad anymore. He just sighed, rested both hands on the windowsill, and gazed at him steadily, like a schoolkid in class.

He watched like that for a few minutes.

Lin Zao licked his lips and called out tentatively, “Brother Cheng?”

Fu Cheng’s body tensed slightly, but he held himself back, refusing to turn.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Lin Zao got it.

“You haven’t slept all day, have you?”

Fu Cheng clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes to stay glued to the wall in front of him. No distractions.

But Lin Zao clearly wasn’t letting him off that easy.

His voice stayed gentle, probing.

“Are you hiding your face because you don’t want me and Little Bao to see it?”

“Can’t you talk anymore? Don’t want us to know?”

“Can’t control yourself? Scared you’ll frighten us?”

Fu Cheng’s throat tightened. His eyes burned, bloodshot.

So Little Zao knew.

Little Zao was the smartest one in the family. He knew everything.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’ve seen zombie movies. I know what happens—teeth get sharp, eyes turn red, lose control.”

“I know all that. I’m not scared. Not one bit.”

“Because I also know you’re my husband. My Brother Cheng, who’s always protected me.”

“I made vows at our wedding, remember? In sickness and health, no matter what you become, I’ll love you.”

Lin Zao stood on tiptoe, propping his chin on one hand. He chuckled softly, lost in thought.

“Good thing you insisted on that trendy Western-style wedding back then. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have vows to quote.”

“You might really be asleep, but I just feel like you’re not.”

“Turn around or don’t—I couldn’t sleep and wanted to chat.”

“I want to tell you, seriously—”

“I’m not afraid of you. Really.”

That said pretty much everything. Lin Zao lowered his gaze. “Brother Cheng, I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air, silencing both room and hallway for a beat.

Fu Cheng’s fists clenched on instinct. His heart squeezed tight, aching with every throb.

Why was Little Zao apologizing to him?

Had he upset Little Zao again?

Lin Zao puffed out his cheeks and mumbled, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you this afternoon. I just wanted to talk, didn’t think about your feelings at all. I’m awful. Sorry.”

No! That’s nonsense!

Little Zao was great. Little Zao wasn’t awful at all!

Little Zao had nothing to apologize for!

Fu Cheng bellowed it in his mind, deafening himself.

But in reality, he opened his mouth, throat bobbing wildly—and no sound came out.

His throat was stiff and raw. Even if he forced it, it’d just be beastly gasps.

Fu Cheng ground his teeth, battling the virus as hot tears streamed from his eyes.

Speak! Answer!

Talk to Little Zao!

Tell him you’re not mad, you weren’t sleeping.

That you love him too!

Fu Cheng struggled on.

Lin Zao waited outside a bit longer. Seeing no sign of a turn, he gave up.

“Alright.” Lin Zao forced some cheer into his tone. “I’m heading back to bed then. You get some sleep too. Anyway…”

“Anyway, we’ve got a long time ahead, right?”

With a soft clink, Lin Zao turned and left.

Fu Cheng collapsed onto the bed, strength gone.

The next instant, he rolled off, staggering back to his feet.

Meanwhile.

Lin Zao locked the garage door and first-floor security door, pocketed the keys, and climbed the stairs.

He knew Brother Cheng was stubborn as hell.

In over twenty years, no matter what life threw at him, Brother Cheng had never admitted defeat. Never shown a hint of weakness or breakdown in front of Lin Zao or Little Bao.

Now that he was like this, he’d never let them see his wounds.

Lin Zao wasn’t angry anymore.

On the contrary, his heart ached fiercely.

Back in the third-floor bedroom, Lin Zao grabbed the thermos and poured himself a cup of hot water.

He cradled the ceramic mug in both hands and sat at the desk by the window.

Lin Xiaobao slept on the bed behind him. Not wanting to wake the boy, Lin Zao left the ceiling light off and just turned on the desk lamp at its dimmest.

Warmth seeped through the mug into his palms.

Steam rose, clouding his vision.

Lin Zao bowed his head, blew away the mist, and took a sip.

The heat spread through him, easing the tension.

That’s when he noticed Lin Xiaobao’s wall calendar on the desk—

The Lettuce Growth Diary.

The afternoon before, they’d planted a big basin of lettuce in tap water, plus some roots in mineral water bottles.

Lin Xiaobao didn’t believe lettuce could “drink” on its own, so he’d agreed to Lin Zao’s idea: make a Lettuce Growth Diary.

Observe it daily, draw its progress every day.

Lin Xiaobao took it seriously. Since he was just a three-year-old who couldn’t read or write yet, he’d grabbed a black crayon and begged Dad to title the cover.

Lin Zao had written the six big characters in neat, square regular script.

The first page showed Lin Xiaobao’s wilty lettuce scribbles in yellow crayon, plus bald roots.

Lin Zao smiled at his son’s childish doodles.

Couldn’t take Little Bao out to play, but having him stick with the lettuce would build some curiosity and patience.

Then something hit him, freezing the smile on his lips.

Right! Observation diary!

He should make one too!

Lin Zao snapped to attention, bent down, yanked open the desk drawer, and pulled out a brand-new, unused lesson plan book.

He uncapped his pen, opened to the first page, thought carefully, and wrote down the date and events precisely.

—February 4, 3000, New Year’s Eve. People’s Square, zombie virus outbreak.

—February 9, 3000, Fifth Day of the First Lunar Month. Fu Cheng went out for supplies, returned safely that day.

—February 14, 3000, Tenth Day of the First Lunar Month. Fu Cheng went out for supplies.

Lin Zao hadn’t gone along for the stuff in between, so he didn’t know.

He skipped a few lines and continued.

—February 19, 3000, Fifteenth Day of the First Lunar Month, Lantern Festival. Around midnight, Fu Cheng returned home.

—Scratched by zombie, three wounds on outer right arm, depth approx…

Lin Zao shut his eyes, recalling.

—Wounds approx. eight centimeters deep; one twenty centimeters long, other two fifteen centimeters; bone exposed.

—February 20, 3000: Applied Yunnan Baiyao to Fu Cheng’s wounds, clear hemostatic effect; bandaged with gauze.

—Today’s meals: Lunch—rice noodles, braised pork, stir-fried lettuce. Dinner…

—All eaten. Fu Cheng today seems to retain self-awareness, still avoiding us.

Lin Zao hunched over the desk, writing every detail he could remember, stroke by stroke.

No one knew exactly how the zombie virus worked yet.

So he noted every medicine he’d used on Fu Cheng, every meal he’d eaten.

If Brother Cheng got worse later, he could pinpoint the issue here.

If he improved, he could find the reason.

If—if some skilled doctor or scientist passed by, they could use this record to help.

Even if none of that happened, he’d learn the zombie’s habits better, take better care of Brother Cheng.

This was Brother Cheng’s medical log.

This was his—

Lin Zao flipped to the cover, pulled out a marker, and scrawled across the original “Little Sun Kindergarten Lesson Plan Book” title:

Zombie Husband Feeding Diary.

Eight bold characters.

Lin Zao let out a long breath, looked up at the window, and for the first time glimpsed a ray of hopeful dawn.

Finish this diary, and Brother Cheng would get better.

No matter what, he’d keep meticulous records.

The moonlight shone bright, bathing the earth—

Slipping through curtain gaps to fall on the paper before Lin Zao.

And through vent slats onto the wall before Fu Cheng.

In the utility room, Fu Cheng sat in the corner, clutching a screw, scratching at the wall.

The screw had come loose when he’d moved the shelves.

Now his joints were stiff, vision blurry. It had taken forever to pick up the dropped screw.

He sat on the floor, left hand outstretched holding a few screws, right hand clumsily gripping one, etching a character stroke by painstaking stroke—

Zao.

The final stroke done, his hand went slack. The screw clattered to the ground.

Tentatively, he reached out with numb, icy fingertips to trace the hard-won character.

Fu Cheng bowed his head, forehead to the wall.

Little Zao, Lin Zao.

His most, most, most beloved wife.

Never forget. Could never forget.

And… and Little Bao.

Fu Cheng repeated “Zao” silently in his mind a few times, then snatched another screw and scratched beside it.

Bao…

How do you write “Bao”?

He’d forgotten! Just like that!

How could he forget?

Damn it! Should’ve named the kid something simple like “Little One” or “Number One.”

Easy strokes, easy to remember.

No help for it now. Name was set.

Fu Cheng gritted his teeth, bashed his forehead against the wall twice, and dragged the “Bao” character from his memory.

There. Done.

Little Bao, Lin Xiaobao.

His beloved son. Never forget.

Fu Cheng renewed his resolve, chanting his wife and son’s names without pause, carving them into his heart.

Outside, night lingered, zombie roars unending.

Lin Zao sat at his desk, Fu Cheng slumped in his corner.

Lin Zao’s pen flew; Fu Cheng’s hand scratched.

Lin Zao wrote; Fu Cheng recited inwardly.

In that moment, the moonlight wheeled across both of them.

Never forget. Never betray.