Chapter 1: The Apocalypse
Gurgle.
Water rushed in from all directions, pressing on his chest. Wrapped in a suffocating feeling, his heartbeat thudded heavier and heavier.
He tugged a few times with one hand, finally bracing against the bottom of the tub and breaking through the surface.
Splash—!
Qi He wiped his face, pushed his wet hair back, and coughed violently a few times.
He was going to die.
No — he’d already died. After staying up for half a month straight doing game reviews.
‘…Work kills,’ Qi He thought inwardly.
Anyway, staying up late wasn’t wrong.
His eyes were watery and a little sore; he blinked hard and finally made out his surroundings.
This was a shabby bathroom. The white ceramic floor tiles were splashed with water. He was kneeling on the floor with his upper body draped over the edge of the bathtub, and the tub was still more than half full.
It looked like that just-now “chugging” pose was how he nearly didn’t make it out.
But that didn’t matter. The important question was: where was this?
Qi He pushed himself up from the tub and realized his knees hurt—probably bruised. The collar of his shirt was soaked and stuck to his skin; he unbuttoned two buttons and tugged at it.
There was a mirror on the washstand behind him.
Qi He went over and glanced at it. With his wet hair pushed back, his features were clearly handsome—his brows slightly raised, nose bridge straight, giving him a naturally careless air.
It was definitely his own face.
Before he could figure out what was going on, a panel suddenly appeared in front of his eyes.
[Beep! System loading…]
[■■■ Load successful ■■■]
[Hello.]
A mechanical voice sounded in his mind.
A spherical electronic device appeared on the washstand.
Qi He stared for a few seconds, tugged at his dripping shirt, and said, “I’m not doing so well. You are?”
He hadn’t expected such bluntness to a greeting; the mechanical voice hiccuped slightly: [System. Host Qi He, your identity in the original world is deceased. This is another-dimension world—the apocalypse.]
In the apocalypse, Qi He’s brows twitched slightly.
Before his death, he had worked twelve years as a game reviewer, specializing in bug-hunting across all sorts of games: shooters, action, puzzle adventures, simulation and management… but the ones he tested the most were MMORPGs—open-world multiplayer role-playing games.
An “apocalypse” setting wasn’t unfamiliar to him.
In just a few words, the system had roughly explained the situation:
After he died from overwork and sudden cardiac arrest, an important side character in this world—also named “Qi He”—had coincidentally died as well. And in a rather pathetic way: after starving for four days, dizzy and faint from hunger, he tried to scoop some water from the bathtub… passed out, and drowned.
[Setting the uselessness level too high was our mistake.]
The system even reflected on this, then went on emotionlessly: [Now you’ve replaced this character and gained a second life. You must strictly follow the script and advance the key plot points—word for word.]
Qi He, rebellious by nature: “What if I’m off by just one word?”
System: …
The next moment, a surge of high-voltage electricity blasted through his body!
“Damn it!” Qi He’s brows knitted, his muscles spasming from the pain.
The electronic sphere before him reflected a cold, inhuman gleam as it mocked: [Heh…]
But the very next second, a hand snatched it up.
Without thinking, Qi He, body still aching, turned and shoved the sphere straight into the tub of water behind him. Splash!
The current instantly coursed through the entire tub.
[werua! werua! werua! werua—]
The mechanical voice shrieked and crackled under the shock, but the current running through Qi He’s body didn’t weaken. He understood then: this “punishment” wasn’t coming from the system itself, but from some higher dimension…
Thankfully, it seemed meant only as a warning—the current soon subsided.
Qi He fished out the half-dead sphere, casually shook out his arms twice, and walked out of the bathroom.
Outside was a one-bedroom apartment, with a dining table facing the front door.
He walked over to the table, sat down, and tossed the sphere onto it.
“First let me see—what’s the plot?”
[Alright.]
The system had just been drenched, so its voice now carried an ultra-bubbly tone.
[“You” are a good-for-nothing waste. After becoming an adult, you moved to H City to rent a place and live alone. While alive, your parents once supported someone named Yan Chuanbai. After learning he later joined the army, you repeatedly went behind your parents’ backs to ask him for money.]
[Yan Chuanbai despises you, but out of gratitude for your parents’ kindness, he always gave it.]
[After the zombie virus broke out, your parents unfortunately died. And you, selfish and despicable, once again leveraged that old debt and demanded Yan Chuanbai—who was in faraway Y City—to come pick you up and escort you to a safe base.]
Only, before he could arrive, communication was cut off. And before the original host could wait for Yan Chuanbai, he had already died in such a bizarre way.
…
Qi He leaned back against the table, tapping his fingertips lightly.
That was his professional habit when analyzing information.
According to the system, he was an important cannon-fodder character—constantly courting death, with plenty of scenes.
Qi He was actually pleased.
If he was always courting death, that meant he would live quite long.
And since all of this cannon fodder’s storylines revolved around Yan Chuanbai, that most likely made Yan Chuanbai the protagonist of this world.
[Yan Chuanbai has arrived.]
The sudden voice in his head sped up noticeably, as if the man’s presence was near.
The system summarized in two or three sentences: [After Yan Chuanbai arrives, he gives you food. But when you see it’s expired, you throw it out right in front of him.]
Qi He found that unreasonable. “But ‘I’ was about to starve to death.”
Besides, throwing it away was fine.
The room was so small—just pick it back up after tossing it.
As if reading his thoughts, the system warned: [The script in a moment will contain more precise wording. Remember! You must act according to the “script,” word for word.]
No sooner had it spoken than a panel floated up before Qi He’s eyes.
『Script Loading:』
『In the cramped rental room, Yan Chuanbai kicked the door open. His cold gaze was full of disdain as he tossed a bag of bread at your feet. It was the last bit of food on him, yet you still wast▇▇▇▇』
Rip— A tearing sound.
Beep beep, the panel showed a malfunction.
System: ?
Qi He: ?
Qi He, with pointed meaning: “…Wasn’t there supposed to be a more precise description?”
[……]
A series of beeps sounded, but the final few words still didn’t appear. The system’s bubbly voice quivered in panic: [What’s going on? Could it be because you threw me into water just now, and the current…]
[You broke me!?]
Well, that was broken indeed.
Qi He grabbed the sphere, stirring trouble as he soothed it, “What nonsense are you saying?”
What answered him was a shrill, alarm-like screech.
Qi He lifted his gaze back to the panel above, his eyes settling on that final word, “waste.” He pondered.
…Waste?
Perfect. Wasting was what he did best.
He stroked the system lightly, smiling faintly. “Then I’ll just follow my own understanding of the plot.”
[Wait—]
The next instant—Bang!
A loud sound cut off the system’s voice.
In the cramped rental room, Yan Chuanbai had kicked the door open.
Qi He raised his head, and his gaze met that of the tall man standing at the doorway—
Yan Chuanbai was fully armed, his lowered eyes cold and disdainful.
His brows were thick, one marred by a shallow scar cutting across the tail. His gaze lingered on Qi He. With the lingering smoke and stench of blood still clinging to him, he tossed a bag of bread in front of him.
His tone was languid as he said, “Oh, still alive?”
Qi He shook his head. “As good as dead.”
“……”
Yan Chuanbai narrowed his eyes.
He had never seen Qi He before.
In his imagination, the man should’ve been timid, cowardly, and spineless.
But now, the young man sat casually at the table, two buttons undone at his collar, revealing elegant collarbones. His features were striking, and his brows and eyes especially resembled the Qi couple, carrying a sense of calm.
Yet the faint curl at his lips carried a touch of careless nonchalance.
That was all, though—Yan Chuanbai withdrew his gaze.
There were far too many two-faced people in this world.
He folded his arms. “Eat. Once you’ve eaten, you’ll be ready for the road.”
Qi He accepted the bread with friendly ease. “You have such a nice way with words—doesn’t sound human at all.”
Yan Chuanbai: “…”
Qi He tore open the bag, ready to eat.
A prompt suddenly chimed: [Don’t forget the plot.]
He paused. Oh, right—he was supposed to first confirm that this was expired food, then, right in front of Yan Chuanbai, waste it—
So he stopped, glanced at the date.
A few steps away, sarcasm flashed in Yan Chuanbai’s eyes. “What are you looking at?”
“It’s a bit vintage.” Qi He checked the expiration date, then praised, “Good stuff!”
Yan Chuanbai: “……”
Qi He ignored the indescribable look on him, ripped the bread open, and in just a few bites polished it clean—even shaking out the crumbs to eat them.
The system wailed with alarms: [What happened to wasting it!?]
“Who promised that?” Qi He replied. “The script didn’t say what came after.”
[Then what exactly are you ‘wast…’ about!?]
Before Qi He could answer, a voice asked from across the table:
“What’s this?”
At some point, Yan Chuanbai had walked over, his gaze falling on the round sphere that housed the system. In an apocalypse, resources were scarce and communications broken—any usable device had to be maximized for efficiency.
Since Qi He didn’t stop him, he picked up the sphere and fiddled with it.
Then, with a press along a seam—click.
The sphere unfolded into the shape of a wristwatch.
“…” Qi He, just worrying over how to explain, said smoothly, “My Little Genius kids’ smartwatch.”
System: […]
Yan Chuanbai looked up.
Qi He smiled at him. “If you like it, I’ll give it to you.”
Yan Chuanbai smiled back. “Oh, really?”
He lowered his eyes with an unreadable expression. “Since when… have you become so generous? I must’ve missed the memo.”
Qi He sighed regretfully. “That’s because you don’t know me well enough.”
“…”
“Besides, you’re the most important person to me right now.” Qi He gazed earnestly into his eyes. “Without you, I wouldn’t want to live either.”
Yan Chuanbai sneered, “It’s not that you wouldn’t live. It’s that you couldn’t.”
Exposed, Qi He let out a faint smile.
Yan Chuanbai clearly wasn’t interested in what he had to offer, and tossed it back at him. “I’m heading out.”
Qi He slipped the system—its alarms blaring in his mind—back onto his wrist with casual indifference. He didn’t care about Yan Chuanbai’s attitude. After all, he’d already “played out” the scene according to the plot.
From the moment he’d turned on the honeyed words, the system had been in a foul mood: so that’s the kind of “playing around” he meant!
Its voice was icy: [Attention. Five minutes left until the end of the key plot point.]
Qi He’s hand paused slightly: ?
The system, gloating: [In the original storyline, the host threw away the food Yan Chuanbai gave him. That was their first real conflict.]
Qi He: “They argued for five minutes?”
Yan Chuanbai didn’t strike him as the type to drag things out. More likely, he’d wrap it up in five seconds with force.
[In the original plot, the host was very clingy.]
“…” Qi He got it. “Fine. In the new version, I can be clingy too.”
System: [?]
He stood up as he said it.
Yan Chuanbai was right in front of him, one hand resting on the gun at his side, head tilted as he scanned the room for anything useful.
Qi He called out softly, “Yan Chuanbai.”
Yan Chuanbai turned toward him.
As he stood, the distance between them closed. Yan Chuanbai furrowed his brows. “Something you need?”
Qi He leaned back slightly. “Mm.”
He braced one hand on the edge of the table and looked at Yan Chuanbai’s tactical harness. The straps were snug against his chest, the muscles beneath subtly taut. Without thinking, he reached up and pinched one of the strap ends between his fingers.
The nylon webbing was smooth and sturdy, clearly high-quality.
He ran his fingertips over it twice.
Yan Chuanbai’s eyes darkened, a mix of danger and warning flashing in them. “What are you doing?”
Qi He acted as if oblivious, his gaze fixed on him.
Water streaks still clung to his face, his eyes shining as if freshly washed. Amid the ever-present threat in Yan Chuanbai’s gaze, he smiled in a deliberately ambiguous, teasing way.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said.
