chapter 3

Xie Kai drifted on the edge of consciousness, his mind a tangled web of fragmented memories. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, his body burning with an unbearable heat, as if a wildfire had been ignited within his very bones.

The last thing he remembered was the grenade—the explosion that should have obliterated everything, the horde of undead and including himself. He shouldn't be alive.

But the pain he felt was not the aftermath of an explosion. It was deeper, more insidious, a searing fire that coiled in his lower body like a venomous serpent. His mind recoiled, struggling to make sense of it. He tried to move, to shift even slightly, but his limbs remained unresponsive, weighed down like iron shackles.

A crushing wave of darkness threatened to drag him under once more. No. He could not succumb.

With desperate instinct, his trembling hand shot up to his throbbing forehead. His fingers brushed against something—cold, metallic. What it was mattered not. Without hesitation, he yanked it free and, in a reckless bid to anchor himself to reality, drove it into his own thigh.

Agony ripped through him like a lightning strike. His eyes snapped open, bloodshot and unfocused, breath ragged. This action of his seemed to draw blood but it did not matter, His thoughts remained muddled, but his body tried to moved on raw instinct, driven by a singular, desperate urge—escape.

His first attempt to stand ended in failure. His legs buckled, sending him crashing onto the cold, unyielding wooden floor. Pain jolted through him, rattling his skull and momentarily clearing the haze clouding his mind.

Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself forward, inch by inch, toward the door ahead. His trembling fingers fumbled for the bronze handle, slick with sweat. With a final, desperate effort, he twisted it open. The heavy wooden door groaned on its hinges, revealing a dimly lit corridor beyond.

Xie Kai clutched the lacquered doorframe, hauling himself upright. His balance wavered, his vision swimming with dark spots. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sandalwood and lotus incense—ordinarily pleasant, but now suffocatingly strong. His stomach churned in protest.

He staggered forward, barely registering his surroundings. The corridor stretched ahead, narrow yet lavish, lined with silk draperies embroidered with golden dragons and phoenixes. Intricate wooden lattice screens cast shifting shadows under the flickering lantern light. The polished floor, though sturdy, creaked beneath his faltering steps. And yet, despite the grandeur, an eerie silence blanketed the space. No footsteps. No movement. Nothing.

And yet... voices. Faint, distant murmurs, carried on an invisible breeze. When he strained to listen, they faded into silence, leaving behind only the pounding of his heart.

Xie Kai's mind refused to process anything. There was no logic, no urgency—only one thought burned within him.

Water. Cold water.

He had to find it.

Driven by that singular need, he stumbled forward, his body moving as if guided by unseen forces.

Then—footsteps.

The rhythmic sound cut through the silence, steady and deliberate.

Xie Kai froze, his head tilting slightly as his unfocused gaze tried to track the approaching figure. The thick haze warped their form, rendering them little more than a shifting shadow gliding toward him. His heart pounded erratically, yet his mind remained blank, detached from the urgency of the moment.

Then, another silhouette emerged beside the first. Two figures, their presence looming over him like wraiths against the dim corridor's flickering lantern light.

The first man carried himself with a distinct air of authority—tall, imposing, his movements deliberate and measured. Was he undead or living? Xie Kai could not tell. Yet something in his steady gait defied the notion of the undead, though Xie Kai's fever-addled mind struggled to trust his own senses.

As the man moved past him, instinct overrode reason. Xie Kai's trembling hand shot out, gripping the stranger's sleeve in a desperate bid for stability. His knees threatened to give way, and without thinking, he leaned forward, his weight pressing against the man's firm frame.

A sharp intake of breath. The man stiffened, muscles tensing beneath the layers of embroidered silk. For a moment, it seemed he would shove Xie Kai away—but instinct won out. A strong arm came up, steadying him just as his burning forehead rested against the cool fabric of the stranger's robes.

A hoarse whisper escaped Xie Kai's lips, barely more than a breath against the man's chest.

"Help..."

The sound startled even himself—raw, unfamiliar. But before he could register the vulnerability in his own voice, the fever surged violently, threatening to drag him back into darkness. His grip tightened involuntarily, fingers curling into the intricate brocade of the man's outer robe. The coolness against his skin was grounding, a tether against the consuming heat.

"Physician."

The word cut through the silence, spoken by a second figure.

Xie Kai flinched. The word rang through his fevered mind like a warning bell. A physician? A doctor? Here? In this place?

Disgust coiled in his gut. There were no doctors in this world anymore—they had been devoured, torn apart by the undead, just like everything else.

A doctor meant the Organization.

Why would those bastards help him now? They had let his mother die.

No—no, he wouldn't go back. He refused to go back. He would rather die than fall into their hands again.

A surge of adrenaline forced weak resistance. "No... not going," he mumbled, breath shallow, fingers trembling as they clung stubbornly to the man's robes. His grip, once desperate, began to loosen, fingers slipping from the embroidered fabric as his strength faded. Yet, just as his hand fell away, it hesitated—hovering in the space between them before sluggishly shifting forward.

With the last of his strength, his trembling fingers brushed against the man's chest, seeking something solid, something steady. Gathering what little willpower remained, he curled his fingers into a weak fist and drummed it feebly against the firm surface beneath the silk—an urgent, wordless plea to move faster.

The hand on his shoulder suddenly shifted, firm and unyielding. With a rough push, the stranger forced some distance between them, though not enough for Xie Kai to collapse entirely. Even through the haze, he could feel the weight of the man's gaze—scrutinizing, assessing.

The second figure, personal attendant judging by his deferential yet clipped tone, hesitated before speaking again. "Young Master, please reconsider. Our lord may not take responsibility for the consequences."

Xie Kai let out a shaky breath, his frown deepening. "No responsibility necessary," he muttered, his fevered gaze flickering toward the man still supporting him.

Then another wave of heat crashed over him like a tidal surge. His thoughts scattered, instincts overriding reason. The unbearable fire within him clawed for relief, and without thinking, he sought the nearest source of coolness. He leaned his face toward the man's hand on his shoulder, and the man's grip loosened slightly.

Seizing the opportunity, Xie Kai forced himself to lean in further. His fingers slid lower, clutching the firm curve of the man's waist.

The movement was subtle yet intimate—too intimate. The servant inhaled sharply, his face paling.

"This... this..." he stammered, torn between propriety and horror.

A heavy silence stretched between them before the man finally spoke, his voice smooth yet unreadable.

"You," he murmured, "I hope you do not regret this."

A subtle nod to the servant, and the decision was made.

Without another word, he scooped Xie Kai into his arms as if he weighed nothing. The lingering scent of sandalwood and ink clung to his robes, grounding Xie Kai in the brief moment before exhaustion overtook him.

The servant hesitated, casting a final glance at the fevered young man before hastily leading the way through the courtyard.

The door closed behind them with a quiet finality, the lanterns flickering in the wind as if whispering secrets to the night.

Inside, the man paused, his eyes scanning the room with uncertainty. Sensing it, Xie Kai pressed closer, his burning body seeking any relief it could find.

Then, as if realizing something, the man abruptly turned. His gaze landed on the bed behind him, its silk curtains hanging like a veil. In one swift motion, he dropped Xie Kai onto the mattress, letting the fabric cocoon around him.

What happened afterward? He had no idea.

He jolted awake, the searing heat of his fever still clinging to him. But this time, there was something different. The room around him had changed. The silk curtains that had once shimmered with an eerie coldness were gone. The chill of the night air had been replaced by the comforting warmth of a familiar space. His own bedroom.

A laugh escaped him, shaky and disbelieving. "Ah, it was just a dream."

The vividness of the dream lingered for a moment, but the edges of it began to fade. It felt so real, so distant now—as if it belonged to another lifetime. Like he'd slipped between two worlds, only to find himself back here. What kind of dreams was he having these days?

His body ached, the heaviness of the nightmare still clinging to his senses, but the mundane sounds of the house settling into the rhythm of morning began to fill the silence.

"Xie Kai!" A voice called from the hallway—warm, familiar, and full of urgency.

It was his mother, with her usual tone, both concerned and matter-of-fact. "Get up! You have an exam today!" There was a slight edge to her voice, but no panic—just the gentle, insistent expectation of a mother who knew her son all too well.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as the haze of sleep lifted. The dim morning light filtered through the curtains, and for a brief moment, he lingered in the warmth of his bed. But there was no time for that now. His mother's call was soon joined by the rhythmic footsteps of his older sibling, Yifan, who was already out of bed, always quick to rise even on school days.

"Don't make Mom shout at you again, Kai," Yifan shouted, leaning against the doorframe with her usual authority. She was a senior in high school now, preparing for the college entrance exams, but still had time to scold him.

Xie Kai, still half-asleep, rolled his eyes at her. "I know, I know. I'm up. Can't you see I'm busy and rushing to shower now?" he replied, his voice dripping with the usual annoyance he reserved for her.

"You're just lazy," Yifan shot back, rolling her eyes. "She's worried about your exams, you know."

"Well, I'll pass with flying colors. It's just another one of those routine tests." Xie Kai chuckled, standing up and stretching, his feet hitting the cool floor.

He got ready and went downstairs, finishing his breakfast before anyone else had even sat down.

"Slow down, slow down," his mother chided. "The food's not running away."

But Xie Kai's father, ever the pragmatist, simply said, "The time is what's running out."

Xie Kai stood up from his chair, still with a baozi in his mouth, heading toward the door.

His mother appeared in the doorway, her face lined with worry, but softened by her usual affection. She kissed his forehead as he stood, wearing an apron, wiping her hands, and combing his hair. "Concentrate today, Xie'er. I know you'll do well, but please don't get distracted."

"I won't," he promised, offering a grin. "You'll see. Easy peasy."

She sighed, her smile showing a mix of relief and affection. "Make sure you reach on time," she reminded him, her eyes still holding a trace of concern, as if his whole future depended on this one exam.

His father, always the more laid-back of the two, appeared in the hallway with his usual calm. "Let's not waste any more time. I'll drive you to school." He gave Xie Kai a gentle push, signaling it was time to hurry.

Xie Kai grabbed his shoes, fumbling to put them on in a rush. "I'll be downstairs then, waiting for you," he muttered, hopping on one foot, trying to keep up with the flurry of activity around him.

As he looked down at his shoes and pushed open the door, he didn't see it coming.

A scream rang out from behind.

His head jerked up—too late.

A hand—if it could even be called that—lunged toward his face. The skin was a sickly mix of blue and green, the nails elongated and jagged, still clutching scraps of torn flesh.

Without warning, it grasped for him, as if determined to drag him down into the abyss.

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