Chapter 3: Private Medicine

An Mo slept for a full day and night. When he opened his eyes again, it was still light out.

He stared at the ceiling for several seconds through the gap where sunlight streamed in before struggling free from that overly comfortable daze. So it hadn’t been a dream.

This should be Chu Jiu’s home.

The blanket slid off him as he sat up. The bruises on his body had grown lighter. An Mo breathed a sigh of relief, but then his attention was caught by faint red marks on his wrists and ankles. They didn’t hurt, but there was a sticky sensation—as if something moist had wrapped around and licked them, leaving residue behind.

He instinctively rubbed at them with his fingertips, but there was nothing there.

Yet the feeling remained. Something lurched in his heart.

An Mo began to observe carefully. The faint red marks looked like they had been pressed into his skin, with neat edges. This wasn’t something a sleeping position could cause, and it was completely different from the bruises.

He sat on the bed in a daze for a while, then finally shook his head.

Probably just not used to the new environment, or some kind of reaction during the bruise-healing process. He comforted himself, but that strange feeling at the bottom of his heart wouldn’t go away.

The room wasn’t small—far more comfortable than a cubicle. He suddenly felt something was off, that something wasn’t right. A few minutes later, he realized it was because the place was excessively tidy.

A bed, a wardrobe, and a table. Not even a single nail on the walls. It was so clean it looked like no one had ever lived here.

An Mo got out of bed and walked to the window. Surely it couldn’t be this tidy outside too.

Outside was a small courtyard with very high walls. He could actually see the rooftops of other buildings in the distance—villas of various sizes were nearby.

This was A District? He was on the third floor?

He had already been fading into unconsciousness at the time and hadn’t even noticed how he’d been brought up here. Chu Jiu had brought him back—did the base know?

He needed to go find Chu Jiu to thank him, and maybe ask about these marks too.

He pushed open the door. The corridor was very quiet. A dark carpet received his steps, completely swallowing the sound of his footsteps. There were several closed doors on either side.

The whole house was frighteningly quiet, as if he were the only living person in it.

As An Mo passed a door that was slightly ajar, a reflection caught his attention. He paused and curiously peeked inside.

It seemed to be a study. Several metal shelves stood against the wall, but there were no books on them—instead there were instrument parts he didn’t understand, and several sealed glass jars containing dark, murky liquids. In the center of the room was a large metal tabletop so clean it reflected light.

This room matched the impression Chu Jiu gave him—orderly, cold, clean.

An Mo didn’t intend to go in. After just two glances, he continued forward to the staircase.

The wooden handrail felt very smooth under his touch, and the sense of unreality grew stronger and stronger.

After being crammed into a cubicle in C District for over two years, suddenly stepping into a complete, clean, empty house like this.

It felt like returning to a previous life.

When he reached the second floor, voices began to become clear.

There were people in the living room—and more than one.

An Mo couldn’t make out the specific content, but he could distinguish several men’s voices, and their tone wasn’t particularly polite. One of them sounded somewhat familiar.

He stopped and hesitated over whether he should go down.

He didn’t know who the visitors were, but as a troublesome burden that had been picked up, would his sudden appearance make things difficult for Chu Jiu?

After all, this was the apocalypse. He might cause trouble.

Just as he was thinking this, the familiar voice suddenly grew louder: “Captain Wang, I really don’t know what his situation is now! At the time, the thing on his arm was glowing. I followed the rules and told him to leave—that’s not wrong, is it? How was I supposed to know Mr. Chu would bring him back?”

An Mo’s blood ran cold. This was Old Zhang’s voice. What was he doing here?

Before he could react, another man had already cut Old Zhang off: “Old Zhang, don’t be so nervous. No one’s saying you did anything wrong. Rules are rules, after all.”

Here, the voice paused.

“But then again, Chu Jiu, you picked up an infected ordinary person from outside in the middle of the night and brought him straight into A District—that’s an operation I really can’t understand. What, have S-class privileges gotten so big now that you can ignore base regulations?”

The living room went silent for a moment.

An Mo held his breath, his fingers unconsciously gripping the handrail tightly.

The owner of that rough, hoarse voice should be another S-class superhuman in the base, named Wang Li.

He was known for his hot temper and loud voice, but was said to be very loyal and righteous, with some ordinary-person brothers. When An Mo worked in C District, he had seen him a few times, always helping ordinary people.

So Chu Jiu had been seen when he brought him back in the early morning, and Wang Li had called Old Zhang over to identify him?

He really had caused trouble for Chu Jiu—and with an S-class looking into it, no less.

“The person, I brought.”

Chu Jiu’s voice still betrayed no emotion.

“I know you brought him. The question is, why did you bring an infected person back? Think A District is too clean and wanted to add some spice? Or is it that,” Wang Li laughed, teasingly, “you’ve taken a fancy to him? Chu Jiu, I didn’t know you were into that.”

On the stairs, An Mo’s face went pale, then red. Wasn’t Wang Li supposed to be a righteous person? Why was he speaking so glibly and rudely now?

“Captain Wang, you can’t put it that way…” Old Zhang tried to smooth things over with a laugh.

“Then how should I put it? An ordinary person infected with an unknown virus should, by the rules, be thrown into the quarantine zone or left to fend for himself. Chu Jiu, even if you only arrived half a year ago, don’t you understand the rules? Or do you think the base’s regulations can’t reach an S-class?”

The living room fell silent again. This time it was longer, so oppressive it made one’s chest tighten.

An Mo’s hands and feet were cold as ice, frozen stiff. In the shadows, he was like a small, helpless animal.

Turn back and hide.

A voice shouted in his head. But his feet seemed to have taken root, nailed firmly in place.

What would Chu Jiu do with him, this burden he had picked up? An Mo had developed an instinct during the apocalypse—before real danger arrived, one had to gather as much information as possible.

Fragments of information could often save your life at a critical moment.

He couldn’t hide.

And besides, there was something else in Wang Li’s voice besides the deliberate difficulty—curiosity?

Everyone waited for Chu Jiu to speak.

“He’s, better.”

Three words, simple and deliberately blocking off all further conversation, making it clear he didn’t want any topic about An Mo to continue.

Wang Li acted as if he hadn’t heard clearly: “What?”

“He’s, well. Infection, under control. No spread, no risk.”

Chu Jiu emphasized it to him again.

“You say it’s under control and it’s under control? You think I’m a three-year-old child? I’ve seen similar cases of glowing bruises—in the end, the whole person rotted from the inside out! Chu Jiu, I’ll say this upfront: if something goes wrong with him and it spreads through the base, you take full responsibility!”

Wang Li’s voice flared with anger. How could the base have an S-class like this—someone who couldn’t understand plain speech and still had to be communicated with?

“I’ll take responsibility.”

This time Chu Jiu answered extremely quickly, naturally, without a single gap.

On the stairs, An Mo was stunned.

Wang Li in the living room was clearly choked up too, unable to speak for several seconds.

Finally, he let out a cold snort: “Fine, you take responsibility. You said it. But talk is cheap. Where is he? Call him out and let me see. If he really is ‘better’ like you say, then I’ll shut my mouth. If there are still problems—Chu Jiu, don’t blame me for not being accommodating.”

An Mo’s heart clenched sharply.

He still didn’t know whether he should go down on his own initiative. He struggled for no more than three seconds before he heard Chu Jiu’s voice.

“He’s, resting.”

Wang Li tapped his fingers on the armrest of the sofa twice, the rhythm carrying a deliberate impatience. He paused for a few seconds, then leaned his body slightly forward.

“Chu Jiu, let’s not beat around the bush.” His tone had lost some of its spectating quality and gained a more businesslike air. “Today it’s me here. I just need to take one look at him. The epidemic prevention regulations are right there—you and I both know that. An unknown infection source being brought directly into A District by you is against the rules.”

Seeing Chu Jiu’s calm expression, the fire in his heart suddenly subsided again. As expected, no S-class was easy to deal with.

“I’m not deliberately trying to make trouble for you, but since I’ve run into this, there has to be an explanation. Otherwise, if word gets out, what will others think? When everyone asks, I won’t be able to explain it either.”

His gaze swept toward the staircase, his voice carrying an implication of I understand you, but don’t make things hard for your brother: “The person is here with you. You keep an eye on him—I believe you. But I also have to answer to the rest of the base. Let me take one look, confirm there’s no problem. After that, if anyone gossips about this again, I’ll deal with them for you.”

After saying this, he leaned back and crossed his legs, his eyes fixed tightly on the staircase.

The meaning was clear: I’ve made my terms, the way out is here. Whether you take it is up to you. But the consequences—you’d better think them through.

The air grew even stiffer from this conversation that seemed like negotiation but was actually pressure.

An Mo was caught in a dilemma.

He was afraid of facing Wang Li’s scrutiny, and even more afraid that his appearance would put Chu Jiu in a more passive position.

Wang Li had already spoken this far. If Chu Jiu refused again, it would confirm the charge of sheltering a suspicious infected person, and the subsequent trouble would only grow.

If he didn’t appear, more people would come looking for him anyway.

Wang Li was getting a bit impatient. His fingers kept tapping the armrest, but those sharp eyes darted toward the staircase—this time lingering two seconds longer.

In just those two seconds, every hair on An Mo’s body stood on end. That gaze seemed to have already pierced through the shadows and landed precisely on him.

Had he been discovered? Or was it an illusion?

An Mo didn’t know when he had let go of the handrail. His nails were digging deeply into his palms.

He couldn’t hide anymore.

Every second the silence downstairs dragged on, the pressure on Chu Jiu grew heavier.

He couldn’t let Chu Jiu face this alone—especially when Chu Jiu had ended up in this situation because of him.

His heart beat heavily in his chest. An Mo took a deep breath, forced his fingers to release their grip on the handrail, and prepared himself. He lifted his foot.

His steps were slow, but the sound of his footsteps rang out exceptionally clearly in the silent living room.

In an instant, all three people in the living room turned their heads at once.

Wang Li sat in a single armchair facing the staircase. He looked around forty, wearing a tight combat vest, his arm muscles bulging. As he crossed his legs, he scanned An Mo from head to toe like he was appraising goods, making no attempt to hide it.

Old Zhang stood beside the sofa, face ashen. When he saw An Mo, his eyes darted away, his lips moved, but in the end he said nothing.

And Chu Jiu stood by the window in the living room. Still in dark clothes, back straight, hands hanging casually at his sides. Hearing the footsteps, he turned his head, his silver-gray eyes landing on An Mo.

“Oh, awake?” Wang Li spoke first, scanning An Mo up and down. “You look to be in good spirits. Come here, let me see.”

An Mo walked over on cold hands and feet, stopping a few steps away from Wang Li.

Old Zhang’s hesitant gaze didn’t frighten him. Instead, it was Chu Jiu’s calm, flat gaze resting on him that gave him even more courage.

No—it gave him confidence.

A check. It wasn’t hard.

“Your arm,” Wang Li raised his chin.

An Mo pressed his lips together and slowly rolled up the sleeve of his left arm.

The bruises that had once covered his forearm had now faded to just a few faint blue marks near his elbow—almost unnoticeable unless you looked carefully.

His skin was now smooth, neither glowing nor writhing.

Wang Li squinted and looked carefully, then pointed at An Mo’s neck and his other arm: “What about the rest? Lift them up and let me see.”

An Mo pulled his collar down a bit and rolled up his other sleeve, stiffly letting him examine.

Apart from those fading marks, his skin was clean and pale, with no abnormalities whatsoever.

Wang Li stared for a long time. The expression on his face slowly shifted from scrutiny to confusion, and finally twisted into obvious dissatisfaction. He clearly hadn’t expected this—an infected person who should have been on the verge of death, even rotting, now looked, apart from being a bit thin and pale, practically disgustingly healthy.

“Are you sure this is the same person from the day before yesterday?” Wang Li turned to ask Old Zhang, his tone unfriendly.

Old Zhang hurriedly nodded. “It’s An Mo. I recognize him.”

“Strange.” Wang Li rubbed the stubble on his chin, his gaze turning back to An Mo, this time with deeper inquiry. “Kid, what medicine did you use? Hm?”

An Mo’s throat went dry. He didn’t know how to answer.

What was he supposed to say? That Chu Jiu had saved him, that he hadn’t taken any medicine since coming back, that he’d just stayed by Chu Jiu’s side? Or that last night something seemed to touch him, and there was still evidence on his wrists and ankles?

He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

“He used, my medicine.”

Chu Jiu’s voice came from by the window. He had walked over at some point and now stood between An Mo and Wang Li, cutting off that uncomfortable gaze.

“Compounded it. Private medicine. Problem?” Chu Jiu looked at Wang Li.

Wang Li, blocked like this, looked even more displeased. He stared at Chu Jiu, then glanced at An Mo shrinking behind him, and suddenly pulled out a smile with no humor in it.

“Fine, you’re impressive. Your medicine is impressive too.” He stood up, half a head taller than Chu Jiu, like a small mountain.

He didn’t head straight for the door. Instead, he paced two steps, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over the slightly ajar door on one side of the living room—the room inside filled with Chu Jiu’s strange instruments.

His gaze lingered there for an instant, so quick it was almost impossible to catch, then fell back on An Mo. The inquiry in his eyes had almost solidified into a tangible probe.

He clapped Chu Jiu hard on the shoulder, then gave something completely contrary to what he had just promised: “I’ll be watching. An unknown infection source appearing in the base is no small matter. Especially when some things of unknown origin have effects that are ‘too good’—that actually makes people uneasy. Kid, we might meet again.”

That last sentence was directed at An Mo. After saying it, Wang Li strode toward the door.

Author’s Note:
Anxious and uneasy