Chapter 9: Master, help

After applying the Band-Aid, Xie Qiaoqiao told Zhang Xueji to go back home.

Zhang Xueji actually still had a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but when he saw Xie Qiaoqiao yawn sleepily—he realized it was already very late, so he obediently went home for now.

The place on his arm where the Blood had dripped, even after being wiped with tissues, still had faint red stains left behind.

Xie Qiaoqiao went to the bathroom to run water and rinse it off, only changing into her pajamas and lying down in bed after she was clean.

She quickly drifted off to sleep.

After a hazy nap, Xie Qiaoqiao was startled awake by the sound of someone pounding loudly on her door.

She instinctively sniffed the air as she opened her eyes, but all she could smell was the scent of floral cologne in her bedroom.

No monsters, no Ghosts—so who was knocking so late at night?

Xie Qiaoqiao rolled out of bed, expressionless, and shuffled over in her slippers to open the door.

To her surprise, it was Zhang Xueji standing outside, his face full of fear, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

In a fluster, he thrust his left wrist in front of her.

There was a large patch of wet, fresh Blood on Zhang Xueji’s left wrist, trickling down the lines of his forearm muscles, drip by drip, all the way to his elbow.

A few drops of Blood had splattered along the short path from his own door to Xie Qiaoqiao’s, illuminated clearly under the voice-activated light.

But the skin on Zhang Xueji’s wrist was perfectly smooth and clean.

There was only Blood, but no wound.

Zhang Xueji stammered, “The wound, the wound—it healed itself!”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “…Did you slit your wrist?”

Zhang Xueji looked utterly miserable, his already downturned eyes appearing even more pitiful: “I just saw the flesh start to grow back… It was so scary, wuwuwu… Am I going to mutate? Will I turn into a Zombie, wuwuwuwu—”

The more he spoke, the more frightened he became.

All the scenes from those Biochemical Crisis and Train to Busan movies he’d watched before surged up in his mind.

Except, his current situation was definitely not that of a protagonist—at best, he’d just be one of the horde of Zombies.

At that thought, Zhang Xueji couldn’t hold it in anymore, and burst into tears: “Wuwuwu, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have worked out so much… Why did I even run that marathon, wuwuwu… After I turn into a Zombie, I’ll probably run a bit faster than the regular ones… But the Zombies at the front always get shot first, wuwuwu—”

His crying was almost rhythmic, making the already sleepy Xie Qiaoqiao feel even more drowsy.

She hugged her own arms, leaning sideways against the doorframe, quietly waiting for Zhang Xueji to finish crying.

He must have drunk some water to rehydrate after going home just now, because he cried even longer than he did in the Teaching Building last time.

By the time he finished, the Blood on his wrist had dried completely.

The winding, dark red stains had congealed on his arm, visually quite alarming.

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Is there anything else?”

Zhang Xueji wiped his tears: “No.”

Xie Qiaoqiao nodded, straightened up, and began to close the door—only for Zhang Xueji to quickly wedge half his body inside, gripping the doorframe in disbelief: “You’re just going to shut the door like that?!”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Should I invite you in for a midnight snack instead?”

Zhang Xueji thought for a moment, then wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand: “That’s fine, I’m a bit hungry from all the crying.”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “………………”

For the few seconds she stood there, expressionless and silent, Zhang Xueji even imagined she might just kick him out and slam the door shut.

But Xie Qiaoqiao opened the door wider, revealing a kindness that was completely at odds with her cold exterior.

Xie Qiaoqiao: “First, mop up the Blood in the corridor, then wash the Blood off your arm.”

Zhang Xueji: “Okay—”

He borrowed the mop from Xie Qiaoqiao’s place to clean the corridor, making sure all the Blood stains were gone before going to rinse his arm.

While washing his hands, Zhang Xueji heard the sound of a kitchen knife chopping in the kitchen.

He was instantly moved, his nose tingling, nearly on the verge of tears again.

Xie Qiaoqiao diced up the leftover, nearly expired sweet peppers, mixed them into the leftover rice, and shaped it all into balls, then wrapped them in seaweed.

But there wasn’t much rice left in the pot, just enough for her to make two rice balls.

She placed them on a plate and carried them out to the coffee table—Zhang Xueji was still sitting on the sofa by the table, his freshly washed arms folded over his knees.

He stared at the ‘midnight snack’ Xie Qiaoqiao brought out, silent for a moment.

Zhang Xueji wavered between ‘Did she make this on purpose to drive me away’ and ‘Is she trying to torture my taste buds and stomach,’ and then remembered the sandwich stuffed with green peppers and jam that Xie Qiaoqiao was holding the second time they met.

Zhang Xueji: “……………Qiaoqiao, do you not know how to cook?”

Xie Qiaoqiao, still sleepy, answered in a slower tone than usual: “I just don’t know how to make complicated food, that’s all.”

Zhang Xueji: “Like what?”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Like stir-fried dishes.”

Zhang Xueji really couldn’t stomach eating this kind of thing, especially raw sweet peppers.

He borrowed the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and after glancing around and not finding an apron—he gave up and opened Xie Qiaoqiao’s fridge.

Luckily, there were still eggs and ham sausage.

Ten minutes later, Egg, Ham Sausage, and Diced Sweet Pepper Fried Rice was ready; the seasonings were ones Zhang Xueji had fetched from his own place, since Xie Qiaoqiao’s kitchen only had salt, and her fridge only had various flavors of jam.

The aroma of Fried Rice wafted from the kitchen into the living room.

Xie Qiaoqiao thought it smelled even better than the Fried Rice takeout Hua Lingyue had ordered—just smelling it made her a little hungry, so she went to the kitchen to get herself a bowl.

The two of them each got half a bowl of Fried Rice, sitting quietly by the coffee table as they ate.

The comforting feeling of a warm meal filling the stomach did wonders to soothe the nerves.

Zhang Xueji washed the bowls after eating, but still frowned anxiously as he ran the water.

“Sigh, am I really going to turn into a Zombie? Or a Jiangshi? Can Jiangshi even eat Fried Rice?”

“Why am I so unlucky, could this be the work of that female Ghost? But isn’t it supposed to be that only if a Jiangshi bites someone, they become a Jiangshi? That’s what happens in all the Jiangshi movies I’ve seen.”

After talking himself tired, and not hearing any response from Xie Qiaoqiao, Zhang Xueji couldn’t help poking his head out of the kitchen to see what she was doing, and whether she was listening.

He found Xie Qiaoqiao with her back to him, slumped over the coffee table, not moving at all.

The ceiling light in the living room cast a halo over her dark hair.

Zhang Xueji put the clean bowls into the Disinfection Cabinet, then tiptoed over and crouched beside Xie Qiaoqiao.

She was asleep, not awakened even by his deliberately light footsteps, her arms hanging naturally, head pressed sideways against the glass surface of the coffee table, one cheek squished flat against the glass, making her look somewhat childlike.

She must have been exhausted, falling asleep as soon as her head touched the table.

Zhang Xueji softly called her name, but she didn’t respond, her face half-buried in the shadow of her hair and arm, breathing slow and even.

Xie Qiaoqiao slept soundly until she woke up naturally, only to find herself lying in her bedroom.

Zhang Xueji was already gone, but the living room and kitchen had both been cleaned spotlessly.

A lingering aroma of food drifted through the kitchen, a scent that hadn’t appeared in the nearly week since Xie Qiaoqiao moved in.

Following the smell, she found a serving of Ham Sausage Omelet kept warm in the rice cooker, along with a carton of Milk.

Xie Qiaoqiao took a bite and found the ham in the omelet wasn’t the twenty-yuan-a-bag kind she usually bought at the supermarket; it tasted a bit like smoked meat, but was even more tender, with none of the starchy texture.

Her fridge didn’t have this kind of ham sausage, so it must have come from Zhang Xueji’s fridge.

As she ate breakfast, Xie Qiaoqiao sat down at her computer and opened the Surveillance Software.

At this hour, Zhang Xueji wasn’t home either.

The furniture in the surveillance feed appeared complicated but peaceful.

Xie Qiaoqiao dragged the progress bar back, rewinding all the way to last night.

The first sign of movement in the living room camera by the door: it was Zhang Xueji coming home, the square Band-Aid still visible on the back of his right hand.

He poured himself a big glass of water, sat down on the living room sofa, and drank it all in one go, then sat there spacing out with the cup in his hands.

After a while, Zhang Xueji stared at his injured right hand for a long time, then scratched the back of his head with it.

The surveillance footage wasn’t clear enough to show Zhang Xueji’s expression, so Xie Qiaoqiao could only see his actions, not guess what he was thinking.

Probably fear.

She’d seen Zhang Xueji burst into tears after being frightened by the female Ghost; he’d probably never encountered monsters or Ghosts before, maybe not even seen a corpse.

On camera, the young man picked up a Fruit Knife from the fruit basket on the table and lined it up against his own wrist—unexpectedly, Zhang Xueji didn’t hesitate for long.

He only mimed it for a moment before the Fruit Knife slashed across his wrist and Blood spurted out like a fountain.

The Blood only gushed for about three seconds before stopping; the fatal wound on his wrist vanished, and he, scared out of his wits, threw away the Fruit Knife and rushed out the door.

Everything that happened after that matched perfectly with what Xie Qiaoqiao remembered before she went to sleep.

She stared at the surveillance footage, now back to real-time, and expressionlessly finished the last bite of Ham Sausage Omelet.

When she turned on her phone, Xie Qiaoqiao saw that Zhang Xueji had left her a few messages.

[Zhang Xueji: I have a Group Meeting this morning, so I’m heading out first. I left you breakfast in the rice cooker, remember to eat.]
[Zhang Xueji: Am I really not going to turn into a Zombie?]
[Zhang Xueji: I felt super dizzy when I went out into the sun this morning, is that a sign of mutation?]
[Zhang Xueji: Is it possible I’ll turn into a Vampire? Because I suddenly really want to eat Mao Xuewang.]
[Zhang Xueji: Master, is there any hope for me? I feel so dizzy right now, my heart’s racing, my sports watch says my heart rate’s up to 130, what should I do]

Each message was sent about ten minutes apart, and the last one had just come in, not even bothering with punctuation—it was obvious he was really scared.

Xie Qiaoqiao called him directly—a voice call. He picked up instantly, his voice weak.

“Master, I feel like I’m about to die.”

Xie Qiaoqiao sat on a low stool to change her shoes and asked, “Where are you?”

Zhang Xueji: “In the corridor outside the Conference Room in Qinxue Building……………The Group Meeting is over, but there’s a lecture I need to attend soon.”

Xie Qiaoqiao finished putting on her shoes, standing up and stamping her toes to make sure she was steady—it didn’t affect her talking at all.

“How long have you been standing in the corridor?”

Zhang Xueji: “About twenty minutes, I was scared I’d suddenly mutate and bite my group members.”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Just go back into the Conference Room for a while and you’ll be fine.”

Zhang Xueji was baffled: “Why is that?”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Because today’s outdoor temperature is 47 degrees. You got dizzy from standing in the sun too long.”