The plushie fell to the ground. The tiny figure stood frozen, staring up at the massive scythe above, trembling and wailing in terror. But the Zerg showed no mercy—the blade closed in. Shi Yuxing gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet, his mind blank, helpless. Anyone could see that one strike would kill the little girl instantly. Rushing in now would either leave two corpses or splatter him with blood.
But in this seemingly hopeless situation, someone charged forward. Not Gu Lingzhou. Not Shi Yuxing.
That beta who ate anything and everything. That senior who ignored rumors and stayed true to himself. That hardworking doctor who saved lives—Dr. Lin. He rushed in.
Only a second had passed, but it felt like a light-year to Shi Yuxing.
Lin Anran scooped up the little girl. Just as Shi Yuxing thought he would dodge the attack, Lin Anran pushed the girl away the next moment—but he himself didn’t move. His back to the terrifying scythe, he was about to throw his life away for nothing.
“Lin Anran!” Two voices cried out simultaneously. Shi Yuxing was furious—what was he doing?! Why didn’t he dodge?!
The blade that could cleave a person in two was only an arm’s length away. Shi Yuxing couldn’t bear to watch. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away—he didn’t want to see his friend being severed. It was too cruel. Far too cruel.
Thankfully, the scene he dreaded never came. The wind whistled past just above Lin Anran’s head, radiating 360 degrees from that point. In that instant, a ray of light split through the pitch-black clouds covering the sky. Warm sunlight spilled into the center of the aquarium, golden halos illuminating the unsettled dust particles in the air like a light drizzle.
The sunlight that was once taken for granted now felt precious—as if after surviving a disaster, the sky had opened once more.
The rushing airflow tugged at clothes and hair. Shi Yuxing crossed his arms in front of his face, forced to shift his weight to keep balance. His white coat billowed, the inner lining outlining his lean figure—like a white butterfly.
Shi Yuxing opened his eyes against the strong wind. His tea-colored pupils saw the orb of light hovering above Lin Anran’s head. The next moment, the double-headed mantis’s two heads and body crashed heavily to the ground. The orb had severed both heads and the arm that had been attacking Lin Anran.
The sunlight shrank. Dark clouds gathered again. In the dim, cold gloom, that orb was the only light source. Everyone’s gaze was fixed above Lin Anran’s head—Lin Anran included. He strained his eyes and turned to look at whatever had saved him. His heart was still racing from the fear just moments ago. When he’d lunged forward, his leg muscles had cramped instantly, the pain so intense he could only push the girl away. Just as he thought he was about to die, a miracle occurred—something unknown had saved him.
The light soon faded. The orb vanished as if it had never been there. If Lin Anran hadn’t been unharmed, everyone would have doubted their own eyes.
“What was that thing?!”
“You all saw that, right? Something terrifying—it sliced off that monster’s hand and head in one clean cut!”
“Brother, do you know what that was?” An Bao frowned, his eyes filled with shock no less than the survivors beside him. Gu Lingzhou’s brows twitched. After a long moment, he shook his head slightly. “Unknown creature.” He had no idea what it was either. It had appeared out of nowhere to block the fatal blow for Lin Anran, and could sever a giant Zerg’s limb in the blink of an eye. Such a thing didn’t belong to this timeline.
He watched the two alphas help Shi Yuxing up and walked over. Shi Yuxing was still in a state of extreme shock, unsettled. “I need to go check that mantis,” he said.
Supported on both sides, Shi Yuxing’s weak legs barely held steady. The mantis’s blood covered the ground, sticky and thick, coating the soles of his shoes.
The two fallen heads happened to face each other across the carcasses of smaller Zerg, creating an eerie scene. Shi Yuxing crouched down. The cut was clean with a slight scorch mark—the neck vessels severed without any jagged edges. He concluded that whatever had cut the double-headed mantis was extremely sharp. Given the speed and precision, it was likely a laser.
But why would something so illogical suddenly appear?
Xiao Zhou: “Wife, did you find anything?”
Shi Yuxing slowly shook his head, lost in confusion over this bizarre phenomenon. “I don’t know. Maybe only magic can explain it.”
An Bao’s voice came from behind them: “Alright, you guys. Don’t you think it’s time you explained what’s going on here?” The four turned around in unison. Only the one on the far right was still obediently wearing a mask. An Bao raised an eyebrow and scoffed: “What’s the point of wearing a mask? Everyone knows who you are, Gu Lingzhou. I could recognize you from just your eyes. Spill it—what’s really going on?”
The four fell silent again, standing in a row like students being scolded by their teacher.
An Bao took a deep breath, furrowed his brows, and fixed his gaze on the center. “Sister-in-law, don’t be shy. I need to know what’s going on with you guys, right?” He remembered what Gu Lingzhou had said before—that two robots had been sold for three hundred bucks. An Bao joked: “Don’t tell me you two are the robots Gu Lingzhou sold for scrap at five hundred?”
“Who are you calling scrap?” Da Ling caught the insinuation and turned his head, eyes scanning. Gu Lingzhou remained expressionless, as if the one who’d called himself two hundred fifty was someone else.
Xiao Zhou clung to Shi Yuxing’s arm, resting his head on his shoulder: “Wife, look at him. Don’t sell me off—I’m way more useful than a robot.”
Officer An’s lip twitched. He remembered scoffing at the idea of Gu Lingzhou having robots, even thought it was just some couple’s game. He never imagined there were actually two one-to-one replicas of Gu Lingzhou—and both at that.
The scrutinizing gaze made Xiao Zhou uncomfortable. Even though he’d been found out, he still didn’t take off his mask, just quietly pressed against Shi Yuxing.
After a moment, Shi Yuxing gave Officer An a strained smile. “Officer An, as you can see—all three of them are Gu Lingzhou. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but to make a long story short, two of them are travelers from other timelines.”
“Travelers?”
Shi Yuxing spent some more time explaining it to him. An Bao looked thoughtful. “So in the future, there’s a time machine, and it brought Gu Lingzhou from other timelines here.” After a moment, a flash of realization crossed his eyes. He shifted his gaze and fixed it on the original Gu Lingzhou at the far end. A laugh escaped An Bao’s nose. “Heh, I see. I see now. That explains a lot of things.”
Gu Lingzhou finally spoke: “The situation is complicated. I didn’t want to cause more trouble, so I didn’t tell you.”
“Fine then. Didn’t treat me like a brother.” Officer An’s tone carried a hint of reproach. “This is what I get for being sincere.”
Recalling Gu Lingzhou’s strange behavior before—the cheating wife, the home confrontation, and then the compromise the next day—An Bao teased: “Brother, that ‘third party’ you mentioned before… it wouldn’t happen to be them, would it?” Shi Yuxing’s back stiffened. His light-colored eyes rippled with surprise as he looked at An Bao, then shifted his gaze past Da Ling to Gu Lingzhou.
What did he mean by third party?
???
!!!
In just half a second, Shi Yuxing understood—his temples throbbed. When did An Bao find out?!
Just then, a cry of alarm came from the crowd. A survivor clutched their arm, trembling as they pointed at the ground, voice urgent: “Zerg—those Zerg on the ground—they’re moving again!” A few scattered small Zerg were wriggling back to life like zombies. One survivor accidentally stepped on one—it was a female—and its bodily fluids and the even smaller Zerg inside quickly crawled up their pant leg.
Shi Yuxing’s attention was diverted. Goosebumps covered his entire body—these small Zerg caused no less psychological damage than the big ones. Gu Lingzhou fired several shots. After the smoke cleared, his sharp eyes fixed on the last spot he’d shot. The Zerg, whose abdomen he’d just blown open, twitched its antennae slightly after a dozen seconds—as if… playing dead.
Shi Yuxing’s gaze followed the same path as Gu Lingzhou’s. He repeatedly scanned the spots Gu Lingzhou had shot, observing these “resurrected” Zerg. Da Ling said calmly: “Some of these Zerg have the ability to ‘resurrect.’ Later researchers dissected them and found that apart from their heads, their bodies were filled with flowing, jelly-like fluid. A few bullets weren’t enough to kill them. That’s why I said—only severing their heads can truly kill them.”
Hearing this, An Bao cursed: “Holy shit! No wonder they wouldn’t die no matter how many times we shot them. They’re sneaky bastards.” As he finished, Gu Lingzhou fired off a few more shots at the playing-dead Zerg. The crowd covered their ears and backed away.
Sure enough, after their heads were shattered, the playing-dead Zerg were truly dead.
Before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief, a piercing scream came from the corner—a dry, hoarse sound. Gu Lingzhou’s arrow-sharp eyes shot in that direction. The next moment, a bullet grazed Lin Wuyang’s neck and exploded with a “bang,” blowing a Zerg’s head off.
“Wuyang! Wuyang, are you okay?!” Lin Anran knelt in panic, catching his brother who had lost strength and nearly collapsed. He looked at Lin Wuyang’s back—a bloody hole had been torn through his clothes at the shoulder blade, a chunk of flesh gouged out by a Zerg, deep enough to show bone.
Witnesses said a surviving Zerg, startled by the gunfire, had leaped up—originally targeting Lin Anran—but Lin Wuyang had blocked it with his body. Shi Yuxing steadied Lin Wuyang’s body and couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath at the horrific wound.
The air was thick with the smell of blood. Lin Wuyang gasped for breath, sweat and tears mixing on his forehead. His chapped lips moved, his voice small and faint: “Bro—brother… I’m… going to die.”
Lin Anran’s hands trembled as he tore strips from his own clothes, tears streaming down like broken pearls, dripping from his chin and soaking into the uneven strips of cloth. “You’ll be fine! With your brother here, you’ll be fine! Believe me—I became a doctor to heal you! We got through your illness before—this time will be fine too…” Lin Anran had seen many partings between life and death—families holding onto weakening lives, trying to keep them. Just like he was holding his brother’s hand now.
“Lin Wuyang, slow your breathing. I’ll save you.” Shi Yuxing’s white coat, laid on the ground, was soon half-soaked red. Lin Wuyang was bleeding out too fast, and Lin Anran’s emotions were too unstable—this would only lead to death.
Through Lin Anran’s blurred vision, Lin Wuyang suddenly gripped his hand tighter. His lips had gone pale from blood loss. “Brother…” His voice trembled, tears streaming sideways from his eye sockets. “This time… I might not be Wuyang [without illness].”
“Don’t say that!” Lin Anran bit his lip, his fingertips white from pressure. “We’re both going to make it. Just hold on—they’re getting the medicine kit. Dr. Shi and I will save you. Dr. Shi is an amazing doctor. This is just a small wound—it’ll be fine in no time.”
Lin Wuyang’s lips quivered. “I’m… cold.” Lin Anran held him carefully, tears falling steadily.
“Brother… Lin Anran…”
“I’m here. I’m here.”
“In my pocket… there’s gum…” Lin Wuyang’s lashes fluttered. Lin Anran, thinking he wanted to eat it, stammered even worse than his brother: “Okay—eating gum will make you less scared.” He tried to suppress the trembling in his hands like a seizure patient’s, and pulled out the gum Lin Wuyang had given him the night before the Zerg attacked. As he was about to unwrap it, Lin Wuyang forced out two words with all his strength: “For—you.”
Lin Anran’s heart felt like a knife studded with spikes had been thrust in and twisted. His stomach churned. He knew what Lin Wuyang meant by giving him this. His tears fell harder. He pressed his lips together and shook his head, shoving the gum back into Lin Wuyang’s hand—and when that wasn’t enough, he wrapped his brother’s fist tightly, as if forcing him to keep it. “I don’t want your apology. You have to live. We have to live together.”
Holding his brother’s gradually cooling body, his own chest began to grow cold. Lin Wuyang lowered his eyes, looking at the face so similar to his own, and forced out through clenched teeth: “I… with my name… wish you ‘Anran Wuyang’ [safe and sound]…”
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