LCFM Chapter 4

“You’re not eating?” Jiang Xinghuai stuffed a mouthful of beef into his mouth, tilting his head back to look at the man walking over with a glass of water.

“You eat.” Fu Yan set the glass down beside him.

“Thanks, Uncle.” Jiang Xinghuai lowered his head. His voice was soft. He took a sip of water.

“You’re welcome.” Fu Yan pulled out his phone to reply to a message.

“I don’t mean polite thanks.” Jiang Xinghuai struggled to swallow the beef, then looked straight at him, speaking seriously: “I mean it. Thank you.”

Fu Yan’s gaze shifted from his phone to the boy’s face. He nodded, then let his eyes drop, catching sight of those bare legs.

Jiang Xinghuai tugged at the oversized suit hanging off him and gave an embarrassed little laugh: “I’d just finished showering when Xiao Xu knocked on the door. Don’t know how he managed to pick the perfect timing.”

“Wait here.” Fu Yan turned, went upstairs, and came back down with a pair of athletic shorts.

“Yours?” Jiang Xinghuai took them, surprised. “A man in a suit also wears shorts like these? Doesn’t look serious at all.”

“Put them on.” Fu Yan gave the order.

Grinning, Jiang Xinghuai bent over to pull them on, chatting as he did: “My name’s Jiang Xinghuai. Xing as in ‘star’, Huai as in ‘embrace’.”

“Fu Yan.” After giving his name, Fu Yan pointed at the Bluetooth earpiece in his ear to indicate an incoming call, then turned to leave—

“Hey, we were just talking!” Jiang Xinghuai stood up and grabbed his arm, frowning. “Where are you going?”

Fu Yan looked back at him, his gaze uncontrollably dropping again to those bare legs.

Fu Yan: “…………”

Jiang Xinghuai followed his gaze downward and saw the shorts sliding down to the tops of his feet.

Jiang Xinghuai: “…………”

Fu Yan’s expression didn’t change. “Put them on.”

“They fell by themselves…” Jiang Xinghuai bent down and tugged them back up. “No, seriously, these shorts are way too big.”

Fu Yan glanced at his legs, estimated his waist size, then brought over a belt.

“Not enough holes.” Jiang Xinghuai buckled it to the very last notch, but his waist was still loose.

“Hold them up yourself,” Fu Yan said, then tilted his head slightly toward the earpiece. “Didn’t I tell you, there’s a kid at my place.”

“Oh, actually, they won’t fall off.” Jiang Xinghuai let go of the waistband and spread his hands, demonstrating. “See? They can…”

“Judging by the situation, it doesn’t look good.” Fu Yan held up a palm toward Jiang Xinghuai—a clear sign of refusal.

“They can just catch on my butt…” Jiang Xinghuai’s voice grew weaker and weaker.

Fu Yan turned away. “What time exactly tomorrow? Bring the documents and…”

Jiang Xinghuai watched him walk off, then sat down, suddenly reminded of his dad.

His dad was always on the phone, never listening to a word he said.

“Now let’s take a look at this poor steak. As you can clearly see, this is an Australian steak. He’s traveled thousands of miles to China. He must have a lot he wants to say. Let’s interview him. What’s he saying?” Jiang Xinghuai poked the meat with his fork. “I’m so lonely, I’m so lonely…”

After sending this lonely-souled Australian steak back to Australia, Jiang Xinghuai went to the bathroom to wash his hair and face.

Because he couldn’t find a hair dryer, he sang Nunchucks eight times in the bathroom before finally shaking his head dry.

Wearing the loose sports shorts, he walked around the living room eight times. From this experiment, he concluded: the shorts really wouldn’t fall off.

At last, with nothing left to do, Jiang Xinghuai leaned back against the sofa and let out a long sigh.

So boring, so boring, so boring, so boring—

“You don’t get bored being here alone?” Jiang Xinghuai clung to the doorframe, poking his head in to look at Fu Yan sitting behind the desk. “Do you need me to keep you company?”

Fu Yan kept his eyes on the computer screen, not even lifting his head. “If you’re still hungry, there are cookies and milk in the fridge.”

“I’ve already successfully sent the steak’s soul back to Australia,” Jiang Xinghuai said.

“Hm?” Fu Yan looked up, puzzled.

“I mean, I finished eating it,” Jiang Xinghuai explained, stepping straight into the study.

The study was huge, the left wall lined with an entire row of black wooden bookshelves.

Jiang Xinghuai walked closer, reaching out to pull out a book. But the moment he saw the title, he drew his hand back.

Pharmacology Experimental Methods, Biopharmaceutics and Pharmacokinetics, Microbiology and Immunology Techniques, Atlas of Human Anatomy, Biochemistry, Pharmacognosy and Pharmaceutical Analysis, Medicinal Chemistry…

What kind of messy, boring books were these? He knew people in suits didn’t read comics, but not even a magazine?

“Are you a doctor?” Jiang Xinghuai asked.

“No,” Fu Yan replied.

“Then…”

“I used to work in pharmaceutical research,” Fu Yan explained simply.

“You’re a total expert then!” Jiang Xinghuai rushed excitedly to his desk. “Do you know what kind of virus this is? What’s really going on right now? How come this virus popped up out of nowhere without the slightest warning? And why do they bite people like zombies? Are they zombies? Is the end of the world coming?”

“I don’t know.” Fu Yan shut the computer. “But judging from the current situation, this virus spreads rapidly, with a very short incubation period. The series of abnormal behaviors in those infected is associated with an unrecorded, new type of virus. As for what you mentioned—the biting, zombie-like aggressive behavior—the reason is not clear.”

Jiang Xinghuai didn’t understand a single word, but he nodded anyway. “I think you’re right. That was my guess, too.”

Fu Yan kept to himself another suspicion that it might be a man-made viral leak.

Given the violent, sudden outbreak of a brand-new, highly virulent pathogen, the most likely cause was human interference.

“You know, zombies only die if you hit the head? That’s how it works in all the games,” Jiang Xinghuai explained, then frowned. “But we don’t even know if they’re really dead. If they aren’t, does that mean what we did counts as self-defense?”

“They’re dead,” Fu Yan said.

“…No wonder you just chopped without hesitation,” Jiang Xinghuai muttered.

“I wasn’t sure when I chopped.” Fu Yan’s voice was calm.

Jiang Xinghuai: “……”

“That’s why I didn’t chop the head,” Fu Yan added.

“…Xiao Xu wants me to tell you thank you,” Jiang Xinghuai said.

Fu Yan rose from behind the desk. “He will…”

The incandescent lamp high on the ceiling suddenly went out. In an instant, the room was pitch dark. Beside them, the air conditioner gave a single drip and shut off.

The room sank into an especially heavy silence.

Jiang Xinghuai blinked, instinctively taking two steps closer to Fu Yan. “Wh…what happened?”

“Power outage.” Fu Yan frowned.

“It’s so dark outside.” Jiang Xinghuai tilted his head toward the window. “It’s usually not this dark at this time, right?”

“There are candles in the living room.” Fu Yan stood, glancing toward the study window that had been left open for ventilation.

In the distance, rows upon rows of tall buildings went dark one after another. A fierce wind swept across the city, carrying with it the shrill sound of horns from below and muffled, faint cries.

A large-scale viral outbreak would inevitably trigger public panic and social disorder. At worst, even the collapse of order altogether.

Fu Yan had anticipated a power outage, but not so soon.

The news had reminded everyone to keep their doors tightly shut, the first barrier to stop the virus from spreading.

But without a solution to the virus, staying inside wasn’t enough. Eventually, the food at home would run out. And with the blackout, a water shortage crisis might follow right behind.

When food and clean water were exhausted, the next massive wave of crisis would break out.

Fu Yan cast one last look at the gridlocked, honking streets below.

In the darkness, it felt as though some enormous beast was crouching there with its jaws wide open, waiting for these panicked, fleeing people to stumble right into its trap.

The candle was lit.

Jiang Xinghuai leaned against the sofa, sitting on the carpet, quietly tugging down the throw blanket draped over the back and pulling it into his arms.

Fu Yan finished replying to a message and looked up at him.

“Do you have food at home?” Fu Yan asked.

“Does half a bag of chips count?” Jiang Xinghuai hugged the little blanket, tilted his head, and smiled. “I already ate some. Want it? But it’s probably gone soft, not crunchy anymore.”

The candle flame flickered. The curve at the corner of Jiang Xinghuai’s lips carried a hint of mischief. The light in his eyes shone with the clear, unrestrained brightness unique to youth.

Fu Yan knew this kid had no idea just how terrifying the rapid, large-scale spread of the virus truly was.

He let out a quiet sigh.

“Are you leaving?” Jiang Xinghuai suddenly asked. Before Fu Yan could answer, he added, “I heard you. Are you going to find your friend?”

“Yes. Tomorrow,” Fu Yan said. “Being on a high floor doesn’t guarantee safety. You…”

“I have to wait for my dad.” Jiang Xinghuai cut him off quickly. “My dad will come for me.”

“Alright.” Fu Yan pointed toward the guest room. “Go sleep.”

Jiang Xinghuai glanced at the pitch-black guest room. He didn’t dare go in, but he stiffened his voice: “It should be my game time right now. I’m not sleepy yet.”

“If you’d like, open the door. You’ll get a full-on immersive live-action game experience.” Fu Yan pointed toward the door.

As if right on cue.

Xiao Xu let out a howl.

Fu Yan nodded at him in thanks, then turned with the candle in hand and went upstairs.

“Can I sleep with you?” Jiang Xinghuai asked quickly.

“No.” Fu Yan refused.

“I can sleep on the floor. I don’t grind my teeth, I won’t even breathe.” Jiang Xinghuai tried his best to recommend himself.

“No.” Fu Yan rejected him again.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jiang Xinghuai shrugged. “I just don’t want you to get scared.”

“Thanks.” Fu Yan didn’t even look back.

“You’re too polite, Uncle.” Jiang Xinghuai grinned and waved toward his back. “Good night, Uncle.”

“Good night.” Fu Yan walked halfway up the stairs, then suddenly turned his head.

The living room was wide and empty, the candlelight illuminating only the space around the sofa.

The boy sat hugging the blanket, close to the candle, his head tilted. But his gaze was fixed on the pitch-black floor-to-ceiling windows.

Fu Yan turned and went upstairs.

Jiang Xinghuai turned back, watching Fu Yan’s figure disappear around the stairwell corner.

He lay down against the sofa, staring at the faint candlelight, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Were those people infected by the virus really zombies? Were they really dead?

Wouldn’t it be dangerous if his dad came looking for him?

He had no food. Would he even last until the day his dad showed up?

…Would his dad really come for him?

Jiang Xinghuai shut his eyes, heart in turmoil, feeling aggrieved.

“Jiang Xinghuai.” Fu Yan’s voice sounded.

Jiang Xinghuai’s thoughts cut off.

“…What?” Wrapped up in the blanket, Jiang Xinghuai didn’t show his face.

“Are you crying?” Fu Yan asked.

“No.” Jiang Xinghuai stiffened. “Just sniffing. I caught a cold. Hope you don’t mind me dirtying your blanket…”

“Come upstairs and sleep with me,” Fu Yan said.

“…Are you pitying me?” Jiang Xinghuai frowned.

“No.” Fu Yan’s face was cold and hard. Standing in the dark, he drew in a deep breath before speaking again: “I’m scared. Please come up and sleep with me.”

“I knew it.” Jiang Xinghuai let out a sigh of relief under the little blanket, then tried to comfort him. “You shouldn’t care so much about saving face. Adults are all like this now, but you don’t need to lie to me. I won’t laugh at you.”

Fu Yan drew in a long, deep breath. “………………”

“It was me trying to act tough,” Fu Yan said.

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