Luo Beiyao drove at full speed along the route where they had previously gathered supplies, urging the spiritual energy within his body to surge as he expanded his divine sense to its limit.
The divine sense of a Nascent Soul cultivator spread out, covering more than half the city.

His gaze paused slightly. Locking onto a specific location, Luo Beiyao immediately adjusted direction and sped toward it.

Zombies crossed the road along the way, only to be run over directly. The tires crushed rotten flesh and brittle bones, producing crunching, grinding sounds that were eerie and skin-crawling.

The flower shop had glass doors.

Fang Yiyang felt his body growing colder by the minute. He rubbed his arms, glancing at the wound where the blood seeping out had begun to darken. A wave of despair and unease he couldn’t suppress rose from the depths of his heart.

Then came the sound of a car engine, approaching from afar—until it finally stopped right in front of the flower shop.

Fang Yiyang stared blankly as Luo Beiyao got out of the car. The man pounded on the door several times before Fang Yiyang sluggishly reacted and opened it. He didn’t even have time to ask how the other had found this place before he was shoved aside, Luo Beiyao rushing urgently toward the back room.

Fang Yiyang was completely dumbfounded.

What the hell was going on??

The moment Luo Beiyao pushed the door open, he saw the young man dressed simply, quietly leaning against a wooden chair. Long lashes cast shadows beneath his eyes. In the dim light, the face that usually carried a sharp chill looked unexpectedly gentle—unchanged, just as it always had been.

It was as if he had gone back to the time when they had just confirmed their relationship.

They lived together in a small rented apartment back then. On his days off, after Luo Beiyao came home from part-time work, he would see Su Mu—having finished cooking—dozing off against a chair.

The same face.

Yet that gentleness towards him was long gone.

There was no table now. No steaming hot food. No Su Mu, who would cook and wait for him to come home.

With a darkened expression, Luo Beiyao went to pick Su Mu up. When that warm body naturally settled into his arms, his heart began pounding uncontrollably. His movements unconsciously slowed, and he held the man as if cradling a priceless treasure, the darkness in his eyes gradually washed away by tenderness.

After taking a few steps, he couldn’t help lowering his head to place a light kiss on Su Mu’s smooth forehead—

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And then, unintentionally, his fingers touched something sticky and cold on Su Mu’s back. At the same time, the faint scent of blood reached his nose.

Luo Beiyao’s rationality snapped back instantly. Only then did he remember why he had come here in the first place. He had actually forgotten something so important.

A chill ran through his heart. With lingering fear, he pushed aside the stiff-bodied Fang Yiyang standing at the doorway, carried Su Mu out, and pulled a bottle of diluted water mixed with spiritual liquid from his backpack. Only then did he carefully tear open Su Mu’s clothes and begin disinfecting the wound.

The claw marks on Su Mu’s back were deep. While the bone wasn’t exposed, the torn flesh was horrifying enough—and black blood was still flowing out, making it look both disgusting and terrifying.

Fabric and flesh were stuck together at the wound. Su Mu was already unconscious and felt nothing, but to Luo Beiyao, it looked as though Su Mu was frowning even in his sleep.

In reality, it was Luo Beiyao himself whose brows were tightly knit as he treated the wound, his whole body radiating an aura that warned strangers to keep their distance.

Fang Yiyang had always thought the relationship between Su Mu and Luo Beiyao was strange—like they were close, yet also like they had deep grudges. He hadn’t expected to accidentally uncover the truth like this today.

As a straight guy who had liked girls since childhood, Fang Yiyang was having a hard time processing it. With a conflicted expression, he cautiously stepped closer.

“Boss… is that disinfectant?” he asked. “Can the zombie virus really be treated with that?”

Luo Beiyao ignored him, continuing to carefully clean Su Mu’s wound. The heartache written all over his face—like he wished the injury were his instead—was far too obvious.

Fang Yiyang felt like their brilliance was going to blind him.

The cold in his body grew worse. He really couldn’t hold back anymore. Stretching his hand out in front of Luo Beiyao, he said, “Boss, disinfect me too. I don’t want to die.”

Luo Beiyao pulled out another bottle of spiritual liquid water from his bag and tossed it to him, then continued carefully bandaging Su Mu’s wound.