“Don’t say things like that!” Lin Anran’s eyes were bloodshot. The bloodstain spreading beneath Lin Wuyang was growing larger and larger, the pain making it impossible for him to breathe.
Shi Yuxing felt Lin Wuyang’s wrist pulse—it was weak. “Anran, do your best to keep him conscious. Whatever you do, don’t let him fall asleep.” If he closed his eyes, there would truly be nothing left.
The light in Lin Wuyang’s eyes was slowly fading. Lin Anran gritted his teeth and nodded, taking a deep breath to steady his trembling voice: “Back at the orphanage, when you got covered in shit from that latrine explosion—that was me.”
Lin Wuyang: “…”
Everyone: “…”
Lin Anran continued: “That time I accidentally wiped my feet with your face towel—but you can’t blame me, both towels were the same color. I washed it and put it back.”
Lin Wuyang: “You…”
“That rich kid ex you dated in high school—he went to the same university as me.” Lin Anran gritted his teeth and confessed his biggest secret. “You always called me a virgin nobody wanted, but actually, I haven’t been one for a long time.”
“Pfft—” Lin Wuyang was so enraged he spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. Shi Yuxing quickly soothed his breathing. Maybe the blood clot blocking his throat had cleared—Lin Wuyang seemed more alert, his throat letting out a hoarse, furious sound: “What?”
“You were studying far away and rarely came back during breaks, so through undergrad, I was his simp for four years behind your back. But don’t worry—I just simped, didn’t spend any money. He was a scumbag, but we paid off our student loans with the breakup money he gave me, so no loss.” Lin Anran just kept saying things that made people want to die.
Even Shi Yuxing’s eyes showed disbelief. He’d gone to the same school as Lin Anran—he’d heard rumors in undergrad about some legend who knelt at the front gate all night to win back his rich boyfriend’s forgiveness.
Lin Wuyang’s face flushed red, his breath stuck halfway. “You, you…” Then he choked and wilted again. Lin Anran was terrified. “Wuyang, don’t scare me.” He kept gently patting Lin Wuyang’s face, telling him not to sleep. He pried open one of Lin Wuyang’s eyelids—his pupils were starting to dilate unconsciously.
“Don’t sleep! I have so many more secrets I haven’t told you!”
This shock tactic only kept Lin Wuyang going for a short while—the wound on his back was real, and the blood loss was real. Lin Wuyang’s heartbeat grew fainter and fainter. Shi Yuxing could barely feel his pulse anymore.
Lin Wuyang’s hand wrapped around the piece of gum. Leaning in Lin Anran’s arms, his hoarse, weak voice pierced everyone’s hearts: “Brother… let me tell you a secret too. That time I was testing drugs—I actually wanted to die on purpose so the clinic would pay you compensation… cough!… You looked so ugly crying back then, just like now… Suddenly I didn’t want to die anymore.”
“Don’t die now either.” Lin Anran sobbed. He thought his brother was really stupid—even though the world called him a genius. He couldn’t help scolding him: “Are you an idiot? Why did you block for me? You could have just kicked that Zerg away.”
The person in his arms didn’t answer. The crowd fell silent for a long time. The wrinkles at the corners of the man’s eyes deepened, his thoughts in chaos.
Lin Wuyang curved his lips. “Because you’re my brother. Because I…” His voice faded. The last few words were only heard by Lin Anran, who was pressed close. Lin Anran’s eyes widened—crystal droplets immediately fell onto Lin Wuyang’s forehead, the warmth seeming to pierce through his skin, then quickly turning ice-cold.
“Brother, I’m so… cold.” Lin Wuyang was drenched in cold sweat, his eyelids heavy. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, the blood in his vessels about to freeze—like a firework about to burn out. Looking at Lin Anran’s face, fuzzy and distorted, he realized his brother was crying too. Lin Wuyang thought: I can’t bear to leave Lin Anran. So in a very small voice, he said: “Hold… me tighter.”
Lin Anran held him without hesitation, wanting to transfer all his warmth to Lin Wuyang. Lin Wuyang forced his eyes open to trace the face identical to his own. Though they looked alike, Lin Anran’s eyes were soft—unlike his own, cold and hard. It was better that Lin Anran survived instead of him. Lin Anran had warmth.
The breathing in his arms ceased. Lin Wuyang’s final thought was that dying in his brother’s arms was much better than dying on an operating table. The luckiest thing in his life was being Lin Anran’s brother—it was just that the time was too short. He hadn’t had time to say enough kind words to Lin Anran.
“Wuyang!”
“Wake up. Don’t sleep. Don’t sleep, please—what am I supposed to do if you leave me?!” Lin Anran saw his closed eyes and his heart was crushed flat. His breathing grew short and rapid. The blood in his fingertips suddenly reversed, turning frighteningly cold. He pried open Lin Wuyang’s eyelids—large patches of white showed, making everyone’s hearts sink. Even the children fell silent, heads bowed.
Lin Wuyang’s pupils were dilated. His pulse was gone. Shi Yuxing refused to give up and tried another spot—still nothing. “CPR, now!” Lin Anran snapped back to reality, wiping his tears messily with his arm. Following Shi Yuxing’s instructions, he laid Lin Wuyang flat, his body trembling uncontrollably. He knelt on the ground, as if his spine had been ripped out, barely propping himself up with his elbows.
Sweat beaded on Shi Yuxing’s forehead. He pressed his hands together over the center of the lower half of the sternum. “01, 02, 03… 27, 28, 29, 30—can you… can you do it?” He looked at Lin Anran, who was nearly limp.
“I’ll do it.” A man’s voice came from behind him. Da Ling knelt across from him, opened Lin Wuyang’s mouth, cleared away as much blood as possible, then used a very professional technique to open the airway, pinched Lin Wuyang’s nose, and breathed air into his mouth.
They repeated the alternating compressions and rescue breaths, but there was no effect. Shi Yuxing was drenched in sweat, gritting his teeth as he watched Lin Wuyang’s chest rise with each breath blown in, hoping that the next second he would move on his own—but nothing happened. Not even a little. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging, but he didn’t dare stop. He’d lost count of how many sets of thirty he’d done. He silently begged: Please, wake up. Your brother needs you. After a long moment—or maybe an eternity—just as Shi Yuxing started counting again, Lin Anran’s voice cut through—
“Enough. Let him go.” Lin Anran’s eyes were hollow, as if his soul had drained out with his tears, leaving only a broken shell shallowly drawing breath.
Shi Yuxing refused to give up. “Anran, let me try again.”
“No need. It’s been fifteen minutes.” His choked voice carried unimaginable grief. “Can you move aside? He said he wanted me to hold him. He’s cold.”
His eyes met Shi Yuxing’s—like a pool of still water. This wasn’t the Lin Anran he knew.
“He’s cold. I need to hold him to keep him warm…”
Shi Yuxing was pulled up from behind by Da Ling. He watched Lin Anran cradle his brother’s head in his arms, then looked around at the people surrounding them. Suddenly, he noticed something. His gaze swept across the faces again, then landed back on the one who had just lost his closest kin. The dull ache in his chest deepened.
Lin Wuyang wasn’t the only one who had died.
The faint sound of Lin Anran’s sobbing reached his ears, calling his brother’s name over and over.
“Lin Wuyang… you’re so cold. Let me hold you tighter—you’ll warm up soon.” The piece of gum fell from Lin Wuyang’s hand. Lin Anran saw it and froze. The next second, he buried his face in his brother’s cold chest and wailed.
For the umpteenth time, Shi Yuxing felt the cruelty of this war. His body trembled slightly. The alpha pulled him into an embrace without a word. Shi Yuxing leaned against his shoulder, his nose stinging as he blinked rapidly, trying not to let the tears fall.
The alpha’s wound was still leaking pheromones. Shi Yuxing breathed in that reassuring scent, and the tears broke free—falling onto the alpha’s shoulder. He couldn’t save Lin Wuyang. The wound was too large, too deep. The bleeding couldn’t be stopped. Even with a medical kit, he couldn’t have saved him—he wasn’t a specialist in that area. All he could do was bandage. He’d done his best with CPR—the most standard technique, the most appropriate pressure…
Da Ling patted his back, his lashes lowered.
The overcast sky rumbled with thunder. He’d seen this same scene before—Lin Anran holding Lin Wuyang’s body, screaming like a madman.
“Brother!!!” The young man, whose abdomen had been pierced by the double-headed mantis, had blood streaming from his mouth and nose, letting out pained “uhh” groans. The gurgling blood wouldn’t stop. Lin Anran had only held on for a moment before dying.
Da Ling withdrew his thoughts. When Lin Anran had charged out that time, he’d called out to him. He’d thought he would die like in that other timeline—but unexpectedly, he survived. And the one who should have lived, Lin Wuyang, had died instead.
At this moment, Gu Lingzhou, who had gone to find a medical kit, didn’t dare slow down. He sprinted through the narrow corridor. From the moment he’d started running to find the kit, he’d been racing against time for a life.
The footsteps pounded on his heart. Gu Lingzhou saw the faint light at the exit.
“General Gu is back!” someone shouted. The crowd parted to make way. Gu Lingzhou didn’t stop—he pulled off his backpack and unzipped it as he ran, breathless and sweating, not pausing for even a moment to catch his breath. “I got it—huff—the medical kit—huff huff.” His breathing gradually steadied. The metallic sting in his throat suddenly cleared his dizzy vision.
Taking in the scene before him, he froze. Shi Yuxing looked up, tears streaming down his face. He wanted to blame Gu Lingzhou for being too late, but he knew it had nothing to do with when Gu Lingzhou returned. The kit only contained simple bandages and disinfectant—nothing that could extend Lin Wuyang’s shattered life.
Soldiers who had gone to scavenge for medical kits and defibrillators trickled back one by one—but it was all too late.
Wuyang was gone. Only Anran remained.
An Bao sighed. He hated to see such an outcome. He didn’t want anyone to die. “Sometimes I wonder—why is the universe so cruel, tearing apart those who love each other?”
Gu Lingzhou beside him didn’t know what he was thinking, his dark eyes fixed on the devastation.
“Of twins, when one dies, the one left behind suffers the most.” An Bao continued, looking at the man still holding his brother’s body in a daze. All he could do was sigh.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life: “This is District 3 Team, this is District 3 Team—shelter found—” The voice cut off. An Bao’s face went pale in an instant. “Hello? Hello? District 3 Team?”
An Bao called out a few more times, even tapping the radio. The other end only returned crackling static—no signal.
“It’s the team I assigned to your duplicate—something’s happened!” An Bao’s chest heaved. “Let’s go! To the shelter!”
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