Chapter 4: Fever

Everyone was frightened and did not react to what had happened.

“Are you a dog!?” Jiang Ye cursed in horror, quickly released his grip on Bai Chen Zhu’s hand, and instead landed a heavy iron fist on the middle-aged man’s forehead. The force was so great that one of the man’s yellow teeth was knocked out and flew to the ground.

However, the middle-aged man seemed to have no sense of pain. After staggering to steady himself with a reddened forehead, he lunged at the boss again. The boss dodged quickly, so he failed to catch him, but he grabbed Bai Chen Zhu, who had tripped over a table and chair.

Bai Chen Zhu propped himself up using the overturned table, twisted the man’s wrist and flung him away, while kicking him off with his foot through the chair.

Even so, his arm was still scratched. Bai Chen Zhu’s expression turned ugly as he looked at the wound on his arm and then at the middle-aged man.

He knew that this was probably one of the first batch to be infected.

While the four people at the barbecue stall were putting on a chase scene,

the reassuring sound of police sirens rang out. A van with flashing red lights sped over quickly. The boss breathed a sigh of relief and frowned at the other three. The experienced boss had called the police early.

All four ended up at the station.

The middle-aged man, who had been biting people everywhere, was suspected of having the recently popular new type of rabies and was rushed to the hospital. The remaining three went through mediation: compensation where due, apologies where due.

No sooner had they walked out the door than Bai Chen Zhu heard Jiang Ye snort coldly.

Bai Chen Zhu covered the treated wound on his arm and turned to see Jiang Ye’s bruised and swollen face. He figured his own face was not much better.

“Tch.” He touched the swollen spot at the corner of his mouth and frowned in dissatisfaction.

Jiang Ye had already taken off his jacket, revealing a white tank top underneath. His smooth yet not exaggerated muscle lines screamed “don’t mess with me.”

He slung the dirty floral shirt over his shoulder and declared to Bai Chen Zhu, “Bai, you’re dead meat.”

“Oh.” Bai Chen Zhu did not take his words seriously. His gaze slid over Jiang Ye’s bandaged arm and looked ahead.

The farce had to end eventually. Bai Chen Zhu knew that this body had an incurable congenital heart disease; whether he could even survive until the apocalypse was a question. Jiang Ye, as the favored protagonist, would not die even if bitten—he was definitely different.

Thinking of this made him even angrier. Bai Chen Zhu expressionlessly prodded the rusty-tasting inner wall of his mouth and stated, “We won’t see each other again.”

“Ha? In your dreams.” Jiang Ye sneered, the ruthless intent in his eyes to devour the man before him not diminished by half—instead, it grew stronger.

The way he stared at Bai Chen Zhu was like a wolf that had spotted its prey, unwilling to stop until it bit him to death. “No matter where you hide, to the ends of the earth, I’ll dig you out.”

Bai Chen Zhu merely gave him a listless glance. Due to exhaustion, the social mask on his face had long been removed, revealing the cold indifference beneath. He rolled up his sleeves and turned to walk away.

His tall back gradually merged into the darkness, without a single echo.

That dismissive attitude left Jiang Ye with a stifled frustration in his chest, an itch that clawed at his heart, unbearably uncomfortable, yet he had no idea how to relieve it.

Perhaps it was from being pissed off, but when he got back, he started burning with a high fever. He buried his head and slept, his irritable temper making those around him afraid to disturb him easily, allowing him to sleep until he lost track of time.

It hurt.

His whole body ached as if it had been dismembered. His already volatile temper grew even more uncontrollable. The room was trashed, littered with debris from smashed furniture, with only the four walls still intact.

In the darkness, Jiang Ye tossed and turned in a full sweat. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest, his skin burned red, covered in sweat, as he panted hot breaths.

When his heartbeat reached a certain peak with thumping thumps, he was like a tiny grain of sand thrown to the summit, suddenly plummeting into boundless darkness with no bottom in sight.

In the panic of constant falling, the man in a coma on the bed raised his hands and clawed desperately at the air upward, but grasped nothing. Veins bulged on his arms, and painful low groans echoed in the room.

Until a certain moment, he abruptly opened his eyes, sat up straight, clutched his neck, and coughed violently as if to hack out his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys. He coughed until his throat tore, his windpipe itched and burned, gasping endlessly.

In the quiet night, Jiang Ye’s eyes were full of red veins as he looked around the room in shock and uncertainty.

Time seemed to have stopped. The man on the bed remained motionless, like a stone sculpture drained of life, only his pair of black pupils rolling.

Jiang Ye suddenly turned and lunged toward the bedside table, trembling as he picked up the phone there. The screen light illuminated his frenzied face.

The time displayed on the phone confirmed his bold guess.

At the same time, a name popped up with a software notification.

Wang Xin Xin: Jiang Ye, why are you ignoring me? Are you feeling better?

Who was this? Jiang Ye arduously dug this Wang Xin Xin out from his distant memories and confirmed she was just an insignificant passerby, then tossed her aside.

He ruffled his sweaty head, got out of bed barefoot, staggered along, picked up the cigarettes from the bedside table, and stepped over the mess to the balcony.

The night was brilliant with lights: colorful traffic streams below, rare tranquility above.

Jiang Ye leaned on the cold railing and deeply inhaled the fresh air, utterly infatuated, utterly intoxicated, utterly nostalgic.

No zombie roars, no unease of impending doom, no companions turning on each other.

It was like a beautiful dream before death.

Click. A tiny flame lit up Jiang Ye’s calm face.

But his hand shook; the flame flickered without touching the cigarette tip.

Jiang Ye tugged at his pale lips, revealing a bitter smile. He tossed the lighter aside casually. The cigarette tasted bitter; he braced both hands on the ornate railing and greedily, lingeringly overlooked the night view.

A gust of wind blew, sending chills over his body covered in fine sweat.

Jiang Ye calmed from his joy and belatedly opened the phone, carefully checking the calendar and recalling the past.

The screen light reflected Jiang Ye’s gradually dimming eyes. Immediately, he flung the phone back in disappointment and leaned against the railing.

The current Jiang Ye could not say whether he had gained memories of the future or if the “he” from ten years later had returned to the start of the apocalypse.

But one thing was certain—the night hid all filth. Overthrowing bloodbaths had already occurred in the leadership of various countries; the virus’s spread was an inevitable trend.

At this point in time, he could prevent nothing.

He could do nothing. Jiang Ye felt exhaustion and powerlessness surging from the depths of his soul. He desperately longed to return fully to dust, to vanish into darkness, rather than endure this absurd ordeal again.

Meaningless, truly meaningless. Fatigue filled Jiang Ye’s brows and eyes; he was utterly dispirited.

The cigarette tip flickered faintly in mid-air, thin white smoke rising and drifting into the unknowing night.

The next day, Jiang Ye, still with a fever-reducing patch on his forehead, brought people to wait in the woods by the teaching building and sent a lackey to “invite” the person over.

The lackey eagerly found Bai Chen Zhu’s class schedule and went to his classroom, but unexpectedly, this rare “model student” in the university had skipped class.

The lackey returned to the woods and told Jiang Ye that he had come up empty, hesitantly adding, “Young Master Jiang, he’s just a small fry. Is he really worth you searching everywhere?”

Jiang Ye had changed into an even more flashy floral shirt that day, its vibrancy accentuating the wickedness in his features. He crushed the beer can in his hand with a bang. “Small fry?”

He glanced at the beer spilling from his hand, downed the rest in two gulps, and tossed it casually, landing perfectly in a trash can several meters away.

Jiang Ye lazily pointed to the fever-reducing patch on his forehead, his voice tired and casual. “He’s an anomaly.”

An “anomaly” that had caused him to get infected early.

An “anomaly” that should not have appeared in his life.

Everyone looked baffled, not understanding his meaning. Jiang Ye had no intention of explaining. He narrowed his eyes. “Keep looking. Dig three feet if you have to and flip him out for me.”

“Alive or dead, I want to see him. Even if he’s dead,” Jiang Ye said with hands in his pockets, gazing at the sports field under the blazing sun, “I’ll dig him up myself and see just what the hell this thing is.”

That night, Bai Chen Zhu had only busied himself going through the original owner’s old things upon returning home and was still unaware that the protagonist had set his sights on him.

The original owner’s home and university were in the same city, an old neighborhood where every house had a balcony with the same protruding iron mesh windows, bare concrete walls unlined with tiles exposed under the moonlight.

The first place Bai Chen Zhu checked was the medical records and medicine box. He knew this body had an illness, but he still wanted to live.

At this thought, Bai Chen Zhu’s movements stiffened, his lips pressed tight, and finally, he let out a powerless sigh.

Living was too hard.

Quick-acting heart-saving pills, something-something tablets, furosemide tablets… a whole pile of heart medications. Along with several stacked medical records in hand, Bai Chen Zhu rubbed his sore nose bridge and set the records down.

The latest page’s diagnosis was not optimistic.

The second place he looked was for the original owner’s information. The original owner had left him no memories; he had even found his way back by following the delivery address on his phone.

Finally, he pulled out a thick diary from the bedside table. A half-used pen was clipped to the side, and the cover bore four big characters: Joy Without Worry.

Bai Chen Zhu raised a brow, thinking the original owner actually kept a diary. He flipped over, leaning against the corner between the bedside table and the bed.

The diary was too thick and heavy; he could only prop his left leg to support it.

Bai Chen Zhu flipped through the first few pages. Each dated entry was very short, just a few sentences. Judging by the dates, they were from high school, recording nothing but the original owner’s dull student life.

One day, the original owner’s father remarried and sent him here to live with his grandmother, saying he would provide living expenses until he was eighteen.

But a few years later, the grandmother passed away, leaving the house to him alone. His life became studying and part-time jobs, busy, monotonous, and dull.

Bai Chen Zhu’s fingertip paused slightly, irritation floating between his brows. He skipped through the thick stack, and the latest page read: “Found a new waiter job. Hope everything goes smoothly.”

He closed the diary and stared blankly into space, his fingertips tapping lightly on the hard cardboard cover like playing piano.

That boy who lived with distinct joys and sorrows in the diary seemed to have vanished from the world after that kick, both in the original story and in reality.

Perhaps from the shaking, a Polaroid photo about the size of a palm fell out of the diary.

Bai Chen Zhu picked up the photo and examined it repeatedly. The date watermark was from the last two months. The skinny original owner awkwardly shouldered a backpack, stood in front of some scenic spot making a peace sign, an unsure smile on his youthful face.

Hm? Bai Chen Zhu’s gaze paused, focusing on the original owner’s left ear.

He… had no earlobe piercing.

This photo confirmed Bai Chen Zhu’s guess from the night he transmigrated. The mysteries were piling up; unable to figure it out for now, he put the photo back in the diary and set the matter aside for the time being.

He had originally worried about the original owner’s social connections, but now it seemed his life was so simple that no one would notice if he disappeared.

Not sure if it was pity for that boy or something else, Bai Chen Zhu inexplicably picked up his phone and found the contact labeled “Father.”

The latest message was still from a few days ago: Money has been transferred to your account. This is the last living expense. Since you’re grown up, you should earn your own keep. Don’t bother us if there’s nothing.

He had ended up using someone else’s son’s body, after all. Bai Chen Zhu thought for a moment and sent a message: “The apocalypse is coming. Try to stock up on as much food as possible.”

The message failed to send, repeatedly prompting SMS send failure.

This “father” had probably blacklisted this body’s phone number.

Bai Chen Zhu tossed the phone aside. Night wind blew in from the old house’s iron mesh window, and he sneezed.

Remembering the body’s fragility, Bai Chen Zhu swallowed a few cold medicine pills haphazardly, hurriedly washed up, and prepared to go to bed.

But when changing into pajamas, Bai Chen Zhu tugged at the sleeve that was obviously a bit short, feeling puzzled. So strange—the work uniform not fitting was one thing, but why were the original owner’s daily clothes not fitting either?

Wait. A possibility suddenly flashed in Bai Chen Zhu’s mind.

He quickly pulled out the commonly worn clothes from the wardrobe and tried them all on in front of the mirror.

Sure enough, they were all a bit short.

Was this body the original owner’s or his? Bai Chen Zhu harbored a secret hope: He needed to find a chance to go to the hospital for a checkup to confirm. He did not have heart disease.