Run the Plot Ch.42

Chapter 42: The Final Plot

Beep! Critical plot point cleared.

Qi He rushed to a safe distance, stopped, and promptly dumped Yan Chuanbai—upright and all—back onto the ground. He studied him and asked, “How do you feel?”

Yan Chuanbai took a moment to steady his breath. “Just like the first time.”

Back when Qi He’s ability had just awakened, he had also carried that tree the same way.

Qi He automatically clipped the words ‘like the first time’ in his mind and, once Yan Chuanbai had recovered, turned to face the dark, surging tide of zombies. He tossed over two upgraded nutrient vials. “Top up.”

Yan Chuanbai caught them with a crisp snap.

Another item came flying his way—a mid-range handgun, his usual weapon. “Use this first.”

“Got it.” Yan Chuanbai grabbed it in one hand, twisted open the nutrient bottle cap with the other, and while doing so, pulled the trigger again and again. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bullets tore into the zombie horde.

The replenished mental power was entirely spent maintaining the frozen earth overhead.

Beside him, Qi He kept his gaze locked forward.

He raised a hand—instantly, clusters of zombies were lifted high through the collapsed opening, then smashed violently back down. BOOM!!!

The shattered ice below was like a field of blades, stabbing through the zombies’ torsos and skulls.

Wave after wave of carnage washed through.

The system still hadn’t recovered from the shock of clearing the plot with only one second left. Trembling, it asked:

[If you hadn’t had that cigarette, what would you have done?]

Qi He replied calmly, “I would have been filled with heroic passion.”

[……]

The system choked: [Must you be this abstract?!]

Snap! A mutant vine whipped out, slamming a group of zombies into the air.

Qi He said gently, “I can start a fire with something else too.”

…

At last, the final wave of the mutant horde was cleared.

Qi He withdrew his hand, and Yan Chuanbai holstered his gun.

“Let’s go. Back to the city.”

The two walked in through the newly rebuilt city gate.

Once they passed through, the entire underground city came into view. It wasn’t much different from an ordinary metropolis—houses and streets spread out in neat grids, most buildings rising three to five stories high.

Overhead, several sections of the ground had collapsed. Massive craters were sealed with layers of ice, and great shafts of daylight refracted down through the translucent surfaces, scattering light across the city below.

Everywhere, ability users patrolled the streets.

They had only walked a short distance when an adjutant led a small squad up to meet them. Spotting Qi He, the man’s face lit up. “Mr. Qi!”

Then he turned toward Yan Chuanbai. “Colonel, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Yan Chuanbai’s expression was calm—no trace of exhaustion or strain. He stood unshaken before the military personnel.

The adjutant exhaled in relief. “This wave of the attack is over. The S-rank ability users from the other fronts should be returning soon as well.”

Yan Chuanbai strode forward. “We’ll talk in the lounge.”

The lounge was located at the center of F City.

It served as a temporary meeting room and a place to restock ammunition and nutrient supplies.

When they pushed open the door, a young man was already sitting inside. His face was pale and tired, his spirit clearly worn thin from days of battle.

Qi He asked, “Who’s this?”

“This is F City’s—” The adjutant corrected himself, “—now it should be called Base III. He’s the only remaining S-rank here, Tang Ying.”

Then he turned to make introductions. “This is Mr. Qi He from Base I—combat type, Super-4S.”

Tang Ying’s eyes widened in disbelief.

As an S-rank ability user, he was already at the top of F City’s power scale. He had expected reinforcements of a few 3S-ranks at most—but not only had many arrived, even Base I had produced a Super-3S-rank ability user.

And now, there was a Super-4S.

The outside world… truly had skies beyond skies.

Qi He asked again, “Only one S-rank left?”

At that, the shock on Tang Ying’s face faded a little. He pressed his lips together and replied quietly, “There was another—combat type. He fell defending the city during the first outbreak of the zombie tide.”

Qi He was silent for a couple of seconds. “My condolences.”

—

Just then, the door to the lounge swung open.

The other three S-ranks had returned.

Accompanying them were personnel from the military department—the same ones who had come on the helicopter with Qi He—carrying in a silver preservation case.

Le Yunyu greeted Qi He briefly, then turned to ask, “What’s that?”

Qi He looked at them, paused for two seconds, and said, “Antibodies.”

The entire room trembled with shock.

“Antibodies? Base I developed antibodies already?”

The shield-type ability user gawked. “Wait—does your Base I have to be this monstrous in every field?”

Everyone else: “……”

Qi He opened the case. “This is the first batch. We rushed straight here as soon as we got them.”

The antibodies were to be used first by frontline combat units.

He took them out one by one, distributing injections to everyone present. When he was done, there was one dose left. Qi He hesitated for two seconds, then drew it out and handed it to Yan Chuanbai beside him.

Yan Chuanbai glanced at him and reached out his hand.

The instant their fingers brushed, a warning blared in Qi He’s mind:

[Warning! Host influence detected—]

Qi He yanked his hand back like lightning.

Everyone around them froze, confused. Qi He remained calm, tucking the syringe back into his pocket. “You’re clumsy with your hands,” he said evenly to Yan Chuanbai. “I’ll give it to you later.”

Yan Chuanbai: “……”

Everyone else: “……”

The shield-user’s hand trembled, nearly skewering himself with the needle. “???”

Antibody collection required real-name registration.

Once everyone had finished receiving their antibody injections, they went to the adjutant nearby to register their information.

Qi He was closing the case when the shield-user spoke up: “Headquarters, Zhuge Dun. Injected Type-I antibody on September 18, 6:08 p.m.”

Qi He turned his head—he hadn’t known the man’s name before, since he’d always seen him guarding his chest with layers of rock.

“So your name’s Zhuge Dun?”

Zhuge Dun looked over, surprised. “You didn’t know?”

He seemed to realize something, then scratched his face awkwardly. “I thought you did—since you were calling me ‘Dun’ so warmly before…”

Qi He: “……”

Everyone else: “……”

Yan Chuanbai shot a cool, amused glance in their direction.

The system gasped in awe: [So this is where my “Wolong” was hiding!]

Qi He paused briefly, his tone calm as still water. “So you still haven’t shaken off your ‘Pang Tong’ identity.”

Le Yunyu tugged the hopelessly oblivious teammate by the arm. “All right, let’s get back to the defense quarters.”

—

The defense quarters were located near the four city gates.

They served as rest areas for the S-rank combat types and allowed them to stay on guard at any time. Qi He and Yan Chuanbai returned to the one by the East Gate.

Inside, there was a small sitting room at the front and a bedroom in the back.

Qi He set the preservation case down on the coffee table.

Clang. The sound made Yan Chuanbai glance over.

Perhaps sensing something, he didn’t mention the antibody injection. Instead, he sat down on the sofa, his gaze tracing from Qi He’s lowered lashes to the clean curve of his cheek.

The memory of that moment—when Qi He had suddenly appeared before him—surged up again like a restless tide.

Yan Chuanbai gently suppressed the feeling and asked, “How’s the base?”

Qi He placed the case down properly and sat beside him. “Orderly.”

“How long is the production cycle for the antibodies?”

“They’re currently carrying out large-scale grafting,” Qi He said. “Each batch is spaced about half a month apart. Combat types have priority, followed by others according to registration order.”

Yan Chuanbai’s gaze rested on the table. “Mm.”

In the quiet atmosphere, he was just wondering whether to find another topic of conversation when Qi He suddenly leaned toward him—

A hand landed on his cheek, the soft pads of the fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just behind his ear. Qi He was very close; his fingertips shifted slightly at the base of Yan Chuanbai’s ear. Yan Chuanbai’s heartbeat spiked, his breathing faltering for a moment.

He tilted his head, voice low and restrained. “…What are you doing?”

But Qi He’s expression was grave. “Don’t move.”

Yan Chuanbai froze instantly, not daring to shift.

“Yan Chuanbai,” Qi He said, his eyes fixed on a barely visible mark behind the man’s ear, “where did this cut come from?”

Yan Chuanbai was taken aback.

The next instant, he grabbed Qi He’s wrist sharply—pulling him back with force.

Qi He hadn’t expected that reaction and was momentarily stunned. Yan Chuanbai stared straight at him.

“There’s a wound behind my ear? Go disinfect your hands, Qi He.”

Qi He rarely blanked out, but for a few seconds, his thoughts emptied.

Wasn’t the normal reaction to first check oneself?

He gathered his thoughts. “…Before I came here, I already injected the antibody on the helicopter.”

Yan Chuanbai seemed to exhale a quiet breath of relief, releasing Qi He’s wrist. He pressed a hand to the skin behind his own ear. “The antibody’s not one hundred percent effective.” His tone was steady but firm. “Go disinfect.”

Qi He stood and went to wash his hands, disinfecting them carefully.

At present, the virus only spread through blood contact; that brief touch shouldn’t have caused any harm.

When he returned, he saw that the side of Yan Chuanbai’s neck was already rimed with a thin layer of frost.

If infection had occurred, the virus would already have entered his body. What Yan Chuanbai was doing wasn’t to freeze—it was to isolate.

Qi He walked up to him. “When did you get hurt? You don’t remember?”

Even after realizing he was injured, Yan Chuanbai’s expression remained calm. He frowned slightly, thinking back. “I didn’t come into contact with any mutants. The only possibility… was when the ground collapsed during the zombie tide.”

Shards of ice or stone must have grazed his skin when they fell. The mutants had already rooted themselves into the soil by then, contaminating that whole area.

Qi He’s eyes darkened. The collapse.

According to the original storyline, the protagonist and Yan Chuanbai were both caught at the point of collapse. Was it possible that he—the original version of Qi He—was also supposed to be infected at that moment?

Or perhaps when he pushed Yan Chuanbai earlier, that was the moment the man was scratched.

But just now, he had lifted Yan Chuanbai up and run—clearly avoiding that crucial plot trigger.

Yet there had been no system punishment. That could only mean one of two things:

The key event was still yet to happen; or—Yan Chuanbai had already been infected, and the outcome had been fulfilled through another route.

One word surfaced in Qi He’s mind: — irreversible.

Perhaps because he’d gone silent for too long, Yan Chuanbai glanced over and said, “It’s just a wound. Doesn’t necessarily mean infection.”

Qi He’s gaze refocused. “I’ll keep watch over you tonight.”

Yan Chuanbai’s lips seemed to curve faintly. “All right.”

There was also a sofa in the bedroom, just beside the bed, separated by only the width of a person.

Qi He stood before the sofa. “I’ll sleep here tonight.”

Yan Chuanbai said, “It’s just a scratch. Doesn’t affect my rest.”

—implying he’d take the sofa instead.

Qi He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Are you looking down on me?”

Yan Chuanbai looked at him for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. “Wouldn’t dare.”

In his mind, the earlier scene rose again—Qi He descending from above, eyes bright and sure, composed and confident.

For that brief instant, he’d turned the tide of the battle.

No one had the right to look down on him.

Suddenly, Yan Chuanbai remembered the fingertips that had brushed past his lips.

He pressed his lips together; they felt dry. The thump in his chest surged up again—only to be forced back down.

If he really had been infected…

His gaze darkened. He took half a step back and said to Qi He, “Go to sleep.”

Qi He lay down on the sofa.

When the bedside lamp clicked off, the room sank into darkness.

In the dim light, Qi He suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu—it was as if the scene had been reversed from when he had first arrived:

He was the one keeping watch on the sofa now, and Yan Chuanbai was the one suspected of infection.

A feeling—like fate quietly turning its wheel—rose and faded.

Then Qi He closed his eyes.

—

In the still of the night, a muffled groan broke the silence.

Qi He’s eyes flew open. He sat up in an instant and switched on the bedside lamp.

“Yan Chuanbai.”

The warm yellow light spilled across the room.

A faint flush colored Yan Chuanbai’s sharp, cold features. His eyes opened, immediately locking on Qi He.

There was a fierce edge in his gaze, a clear mind pressed taut with aggression. Beads of sweat slid from the scar that split his eyebrow, slipping past his lashes.

His stare was enough to swallow Qi He whole, but his voice came out hoarse: “Stay away from me.”

Qi He didn’t move back. “You’re burning up.”

Yan Chuanbai propped himself up slightly. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met—and the system held its breath: [Fever could also mean infec—]

The voice in his mind cut off mid-sentence.

Qi He’s gaze shifted to behind Yan Chuanbai’s ear. Under the lamplight, beneath the faint frost of his skin, a bluish-purple pattern was emerging—like creeping vines, spreading outward.

Yan Chuanbai seemed to sense it too; he raised a hand and brushed the spot.

For several long seconds, the room was utterly silent.

Then Yan Chuanbai leaned back against the headboard, lifted his eyelids slightly to look at Qi He, and curved his lips into a faint smile.

“Find me somewhere with a better view.”

Qi He: “?”

He looked back at him quietly. “…You’re already making a bucket list?”

Yan Chuanbai chuckled. “Didn’t you say that if I ever turned into a zombie, you’d hang me up somewhere no one could find me?”

“……”

Qi He thought back. There really had been a conversation like that. Yan Chuanbai actually remembered it?

Maybe because they’d both been mentally prepared, when this moment truly arrived, neither of them was shocked or horrified.

After a long silence, Qi He seemed to think for a moment and said softly:

“I’ve decided to listen to your wishes.”

“If you became a conscious zombie, what would you want to do?”

Yan Chuanbai leaned lazily against the headboard, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that familiar, slightly roguish smile.

“With my level of spiritual energy, I’d at least be a zombie king. I’d summon all my ‘subjects’ together—and wipe them out in one go.”

Qi He gazed at him calmly. His fourth “fragment” had been obtained.

When Yan Chuanbai finished, he added, “Don’t keep watch over me. Go.”

Qi He hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked toward the door.

Behind him came another question: “The antibody… I can’t use it, can I?”

Qi He stopped and turned his head. “I’ll find a way.”

Something unspoken but understood passed between them. He was just about to face forward again when he heard his name—

“Qi He.”

Yan Chuanbai was looking at him. Though a faint bluish-purple hue had already crept across his cheek, and the signs of the infection had spread through his face, his eyes were uncharacteristically gentle—like the softness of a quiet night.

“Every person is important. And to me, you’re important too.”

Qi He’s heart gave a sudden thump. His fingers curled slightly.

Then he nodded. “Of course. You don’t need to say it.”

Yan Chuanbai’s lips curved faintly.

Qi He turned his head back, pushed the door open, and stepped out.

At the very moment the door closed, there was a soft click behind him—Yan Chuanbai had frozen the lock himself.

—

Qi He left the guardroom.

Outside, several patrol teams were taking shifts. He turned to glance back, then leapt up lightly onto the roof of the guardroom, sitting by the eaves directly above the bedroom.

From the collapsed opening above, a faint trace of moonlight spilled down.

After a long while, Qi He spoke: “System.”

The system had fallen utterly silent since confirming Yan Chuanbai’s infection. Now, a muffled voice, thick with unclear emotion, finally answered: […Hmm?]

“The storyline of this world is already clear enough.”

First, the parasitic organism lay dormant inside Yan Chuanbai’s body. Because it didn’t cause an infection at the start, no abnormalities were detected in the early stages.

Then, when the zombie virus entered his system, it fused with the parasite—like a sperm and egg combining to form a final “fruit.”

The plot’s “combo move” was to make Yan Chuanbai a conscious zombie through this process of parasitic fusion.

Qi He didn’t know what kind of emotion was running through him when he said with certainty, “Yan Chuanbai’s words weren’t a joke.”

He would rally the zombies, leading them with the strongest power to wipe out their kind.

But by the time he finished all of that—the antibody would no longer work.

…

Qi He spoke again: “System. The final storyline… never intended for Yan Chuanbai to live.”

The ending written for him was that of a tragic hero.

In Qi He’s mind, the system’s heavy breathing sounded. Though it was only lines of code, it seemed as though there were a heartbeat, pounding softly against his thoughts.

After a long silence—

[…Why?]

The system suddenly felt something like anger.

The first time it had ever felt such an emotion was when the warning program had classified “Qi He’s disappearance” as a minor issue.

The second time—was now.

Its protagonist—the one it had watched from the very beginning, step by step until this point—why should he be forced to face such a cruel “final storyline”?!

The code fluctuated violently, streams of data leaping chaotically across its interface.

The control panel flickered red, warnings flashing at the brink of a high-level alert.

“—Disconnect,” Qi He suddenly said.

The system froze: [What?]

Qi He’s thoughts were crystal clear.

If he forcibly changed the plot—if he injected Yan Chuanbai with the antibody—he would die first.

And afterward, the world itself might correct the deviation again, erasing all their efforts.

“Besides,” Qi He added quietly, “if my prediction is right, after the next story point… my time’s about up anyway.”

Under the brilliant, clear night sky, a soft breeze passed by.

The system seemed struck by a deeper, heavier silence.

It said nothing.

Qi He looked up, and suddenly smiled.

In his eyes burned a wild, unrestrained kind of freedom—a reckless courage that shone like starlight.

It was breathtaking, intoxicating.

“I’ll take you to bet on freedom,” he said.

“If we lose, we all go offline.

If we win—we live together.”

The system, made only of code, still felt its pulse surge at those words—

As if, after walking beside Qi He all this time, watching him, Yan Chuanbai, and the human base, it too had learned what defiance and grief meant when it finally saw the truth of the final act.

Less than twenty-four hours remained before the scheduled antibody injection.

For a long while, even the night seemed wordless.

Then Qi He heard it:

[…All right.]

[To be born a system—I’m sorry.]

[I choose to rebel.]

—————————————————————

Author’s Note:

System: Optimize! Optimize! Optimize everything!

<< _ >>

**TN

“卧龙” (Wòlóng) literally means Crouching Dragon, which was the nickname of Zhuge Liang, a legendary strategist from Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

In that classic story, there are two famous strategists often mentioned together:

卧龙 (Wolong) → Zhuge Liang

凤雏 (Fèngchú) → Pang Tong

They’re a matched pair of geniuses. People would say: “Gain one of them, and you could rule the world.”

The System (统) is pronounced as ‘Tǒng’, so Qi He followed the joke by calling it ‘Pang Tong’.