Chapter 102: Replication Experiment 26
The twisting, roiling muscles seemed to possess a life of their own, deeply interlocking with each other, nerves reconnecting, blood surging.
“Quick!” The director made a snap decision. “Remove all external life support systems. Leave only the monitoring equipment. Do not interfere with his self-healing!”
The rigid breathing tube inserted into the chest cavity was hurriedly disconnected. The skin around the incision in the trachea looked somewhat moist and swollen due to prolonged exposure. A nurse quickly helped clear away the ointment covering the wound surface. In less than two minutes, new flesh and blood had basically filled in that circular breathing port.
On the heart rate monitor, a green curve was undulating across the LCD screen in an extremely healthy and stable state. None of the medical staff filling the room spoke; the ward was so quiet one could hear Yi Ke’s breathing. Although the vast majority of Evolvers possessed self-healing abilities, the level of evolution powerful enough to reshape life still caused a huge cognitive shock to everyone present. Moreover, Yi Ke’s self-healing this time was not only astonishingly fast but didn’t even leave the most common scarring seen during repair processes. Even at the site of the most severe gunshot wound, the skin color had merely lightened slightly.
The director took off his gloves, suppressing the excitement in his voice: “Report all data to the Management Center!”
Zhuang Ningyu slept deeply amidst a sea of pure white clouds, motionless, having lain like this for three whole days.
That day in the parking lot, when his phone started vibrating unexpectedly, he stared blankly at the number displayed on the screen. It was with the feeling of awaiting a sentence that he swiped the green answer button. His heart was numb, devoid of any sensation, and his brain was dazed. Through the fog, he only heard the chief physician’s voice, bordering on ecstasy—”evolution,” “self-healing,” “heartbeat restored.” He desperately grasped at these keywords, trying his utmost to analyze the meaning behind them. After repeatedly confirming that Yi Ke was truly out of danger, he seemed to hear a hollow, thunderous noise in his mind. Immediately after, his fingers loosened, letting the phone slip to the ground as he fell into a completely unconscious coma.
Huo Ting rushed over as soon as he got off work. Looking through the glass of the ward at the person lying quietly on the bed, he turned and asked, “Ningyu wasn’t seriously injured, was he? Why hasn’t he woken up after so long?”
The director explained, “Three days ago, Captain Zhuang’s emotions were on the verge of losing control, and he was already showing somatic symptom disorders. So we injected him with a double dose of Evolver-specific sedative. Theoretically, he should have slept for at least two days, but he woke up without even lying there for two hours.” Not only did he wake up, but he also took a taxi over ten kilometers away and beat an Evolver—a professional assassin known for close-quarters combat—nearly to death on the spot. He heard the guy was still half-dead, vaguely howling about filing a complaint.
If Yi Ke’s self-healing counted as Miracle A, then Zhuang Ningyu’s series of anti-medical, anti-common-sense actions could at least count as Miracle B. The director continued, “However, Captain Zhuang’s vitals remain stable, and his life is not in danger. once the sedative in his body is metabolized, he will wake up on his own.”
The window of the ward was opened a tiny crack. A weak breeze blew in, gently swaying the blue curtains, achieving a sense of “ventilation” that was more ritualistic than effective. Zhuang Ningyu felt like he had slept for a very, very long time—so long that he didn’t want to sleep anymore. So, he struggled to rotate his eyeballs, wanting to withdraw completely from the colorless world.
Yi Ke covered his continuously trembling eyelids, bending down to plant a kiss on his forehead. The intention was to comfort, but it only made the person in the deep sleep more agitated. The nightmare wrapped around his legs like thick asphalt. During his arduous trek, Zhuang Ningyu suddenly stepped into empty air, his body instantly plummeting uncontrollably. He finally opened his eyes in terror, staring blankly at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. His heart beat so fast it felt like it would burst out of his chest. His hands groped blindly, trying to grab something, but were tightly held in mid-air.
A familiar touch—warm, dry, gentle, and strong. Zhuang Ningyu stiffly turned his head, staring dazedly at the grinning person beside him. The nightmare from a few days ago seemed to sweep back in, and a massive wave of unease struck again. His palms were instantly slick with cold sweat, and the blood drained from his face, leaving it white as a sheet. Yi Ke was startled. Just as he moved to pull the person into his arms, Zhuang Ningyu had already rushed off the bed with a panicked expression. He wanted to go to the ICU, but the unending, excruciating pain in his brain robbed him of mobility. In the end, he could only stumble into the bathroom, leaning over the sink and dry-heaving violently.
“Wifey!” The bathroom door was locked from the inside. Yi Ke banged on it anxiously from the outside. “Open the door!”
The noise made Zhuang Ningyu’s headache worse. He fumbled blindly to turn on the tap. Icy water instantly gushed out. He submerged his entire face in it. The cold water choked into his windpipe, bringing a stinging pain. The next moment, accompanied by a slightly piercing metallic sound, the bathroom door was forcefully pushed open, and he was hauled up with a splash.
“Cough, cough, cough, cough!” Zhuang Ningyu coughed as if he were about to cough up pieces of his lung. Yi Ke half-held him in his arms, patting his back while continuously comforting him: “It’s me, I’m okay now. Don’t be afraid, baby, don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”
Zhuang Ningyu’s Adam’s apple bobbed painfully, his breathing still rapid. He was soaked through; water dripped down from the ends of his hair. The oversized hospital gown clung tightly to his body, revealing large patches of pale, damp skin. His collarbones and blue veins stood out starkly. His cheeks were flushed with an abnormal, sickly red due to the violent coughing just now. His eyes were red and swollen, and his hands and feet were icy cold. One of his arms was being held by Yi Ke, while the other hand barely supported him against the sink. It took a long time before he slowly raised his head.
The mirror, splashed with water, was somewhat blurry.
And Yi Ke was standing in that blurry mirror.
Zhuang Ningyu looked at him, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. Tears fell unexpectedly with a plip-plop. He tried opening his mouth, but no sound came out of his throat. His mind was originally a muddled mess, but suddenly, as if remembering something, he turned urgently to tug at Yi Ke’s hospital gown. Yi Ke cooperated by unbuttoning it, revealing a complete, smooth chest. He lifted his lover’s hand and pressed it firmly against his chest, wanting to prove his health. Thump, thump. The heartbeat was steady and powerful. The heat of his boiling blood transferred through the skin to the palm. Zhuang Ningyu’s slender fingers flinched back as if burned, as if he dared not touch the person right in front of him.
Yi Ke didn’t let him hide away again but hugged him tightly, leaving no gaps.
Experts conducted a new round of consultations on Zhuang Ningyu and finally concluded: because he had engaged in prolonged, high-intensity physical confrontation instead of resting when the sedative concentration in his body was at its peak—acting contrary to the drug’s effects—the sedative’s inhibitory effect on the central nervous system was disrupted. The drug’s side effects were infinitely amplified, subsequently affecting the nervous system’s function. Clinically, this generally manifested as temporary aphasia, neuralgia, significant aggressive emotions, and hypervigilance.
“How long until he recovers?” Yi Ke asked.
“It’s hard to say. Normally, it ranges from a week to three months,” the expert said. “However, compared to medication, emotional comfort might be more effective.”
“Can we go home?”
“Yes, a familiar environment is more conducive to the patient’s relaxation. You can be discharged too, but remember to come back on time for check-ups.”
That very evening, Yi Ke took him home.
Zhuang Ningyu’s brain was actually lucid most of the time, but aside from being lucid, he remained in a state of high anxiety. Zhong Yu sent over some freshly cooked sweet porridge, a plate of boiled shrimp, and a plate of sliced boiled chicken. Yi Ke held him on the sofa, feeding him spoonful by spoonful. Jincheng in the rainy season saw night rain eight days out of ten. Fine threads of rain drifted in through the screen window, carrying a refreshing scent of tender grass that smelled very nice.
“Want more?” After feeding half a bowl of porridge, Yi Ke lowered his head to ask the person in his arms.
Zhuang Ningyu nodded.
“What do you want to eat?” Yi Ke asked deliberately.
Zhuang Ningyu frowned, seeming to struggle to organize his language. In the end, having failed to produce a sound, he simply slapped Yi Ke and weakly mouthed: “Rice.”
Yi Ke laughed, leaning down to lick a bit of sweet vinegar sauce from the corner of his lips. Zhuang Ningyu actually didn’t like kissing right after eating, so he turned his head to dodge, but Yi Ke forcibly turned his chin back. A fiery tongue tip immediately probed into his mouth, scraping over the sensitive palate. Zhuang Ningyu struggled weakly a couple of times but ultimately opened his mouth, forced to accept his demands. It wasn’t until he was kissed into a coughing fit that Yi Ke was finally willing to let go.
Zhuang Ningyu raised a hand to wipe his mouth, continuing persistently to mouth silently: “Rice.”
Having not eaten for three or four days, he was truly starving, his stomach rumbling. He looked at the leather sofa cushions like he wanted to hug them and take a bite, resembling the suffering people of the dark Tsarist era. Zhong Yu knew her son’s tastes well; the sweet porridge she made was smooth and soft, with a bit of fragrant osmanthus jam added—very delicious. But Yi Ke wouldn’t let him eat too much. Or more accurately, the doctor wouldn’t let him eat too much, saying he needed to take it “step by step.” Because of these four damn words, the unsatisfied Zhuang Ningyu rolled himself up in the duvet when sleeping at night, presenting the back of his head to Yi Ke for the entire night.
The “one week to three months” mentioned by the chief physician didn’t seem accurate, because on the second day after returning home, Zhuang Ningyu’s various symptoms had alleviated significantly, and his emotions appeared relatively stable. During lunch, he even used his phone to type out an order for five heavy dishes for himself.
Yi Ke stood by the stove, reading them out one by one: “Spicy Diced Chicken… no, this is too spicy. Duck Blood Curd in Chili Sauce… you want Duck Blood Curd? That’s a no too. Water-Boiled Fish, Stir-fried Pork Aorta… Sad Jelly Noodles with extra millet peppers? No, absolutely not. The doctor said you can’t eat spicy food, not even a tiny bit!”
Zhuang Ningyu expressionlessly took back his phone to type. Yi Ke thought he was going to get a “Get lost,” but instead, he saw a kitten crying rivers of tears on the screen.
Yi Ke: “…”
Yi Ke: “???”
Yi Ke: “!!!”
Zhuang Ningyu leaned against the refrigerator door, locking eyes with him.
Yi Ke: “Don’t look at me like that, looking at me won’t… won’t… n-no… Wait, wifey! Wait for me! Just five minutes! Give me five minutes!”
Director Wang, who was in a meeting, was forcibly dragged into the hallway by his phone call. At first, he was quite panicked, thinking something had happened again, but the more he listened, the more speechless he became: “…What do you mean Spicy Diced Chicken isn’t spicy… No… I said no means no… Uh, well, it won’t have such severe side effects… Not to the point of vomiting blood… Not to the point of causing mutations just by eating some chili… Then just eat a little bit, make sure it’s not too spicy… Where did Duck Blood Curd come from… Say that again, Stir-fried what?”
Yi Ke: “Okay, then Spicy Diced Chicken it is.”
Even a reduced-spice version of Spicy Diced Chicken was still Spicy Diced Chicken. Zhuang Ningyu’s tongue, which had been suffering in bitterness for days, finally tasted something stimulating. After the meal, Yi Ke washed a few large strawberries for him. The dishwasher hummed as it worked. Zhuang Ningyu craned his neck to look at Yi Ke, still busy in the kitchen, then slipped into the study and turned on the computer.
“Wifey!” Before he could log into the work system, a figure dashed in and snapped the laptop shut with a clap. “The doctor said you can’t work these couple of days; you need to relax your brain as much as possible!”
Zhuang Ningyu mouthed word by word: “The doctor also said I can’t eat spicy food.”
Yi Ke: “Didn’t catch that.”
Zhuang Ningyu grabbed the phone nearby and started typing rapidly, determined to accurately convey the meaning of this sentence. But Yi Ke refused to read it. What is that? I’m illiterate.
Seeing the computer about to be snatched away, Zhuang Ningyu fiddled with his phone again and turned the screen toward him—
“Hubby.”
Upon clearly seeing those two small characters, Yi Ke’s pupils dilated abruptly. Blood rushed to his brain with a whoosh. An indescribable burning sensation climbed rapidly up his spine. His scalp tingled with pleasure almost to the point of explosion. His heart beat frantically along with it, his pulse tugging at his eardrums, even causing him momentary deafness.
Zhuang Ningyu discovered the benefits of text communication. Many words difficult to say normally became much easier when converted into typing, outputting with zero pressure. So, he satisfiedly admired his lover’s instantly burning red face and ears, as well as the visible shock and ecstasy. Just as he was preparing to push further, Yi Ke suddenly jerked his head away with a swish.
“No, no, wifey, take it back quickly! I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything! You can’t use such an important thing as a bribe to let you work! No! Absolutely not! I have amnesia! I have amnesia!”
He ran away screaming gibberish like werwerwer.
And while running, he didn’t forget to carry off his wifey’s computer.
Leaving Zhuang Ningyu standing alone in the study, reflecting: Did I lack a sense of ceremony?
Five minutes later, he walked out of the study. Yi Ke, true to his word, had “amnesia.” Although the blush on his face hadn’t faded, his expression was natural as he sat on the sofa and waved. “Come eat your strawberries quickly. Apparently, your father-in-law went specifically to the greenhouse to hand-pick them.”
Zhuang Ningyu sat over, bent down, and took a bite of the strawberry from his hand. He didn’t mention work again and obediently watched two episodes of a TV drama. Yi Ke patted his head. “Do you like watching this?”
Zhuang Ningyu didn’t recognize the old acquaintance on screen—maybe the drug side effects hadn’t worn off yet. In any case, he was incredibly sleepy and shook his head repeatedly.
Yi Ke was busy wanting to give his wife a bath, so this time he didn’t bother going to the praise group to advise his friend to change careers. The bedroom lights were dimmed to just the right level. Yi Ke leaned against the headboard, originally intending to read a romantic bedtime story, but the book was snatched away. The next moment, a fragrant and soft person burrowed into his arms.
“Sleepy?” Yi Ke looked down and asked.
Zhuang Ningyu buried his face in his chest.
A moment later, the bedroom went completely dark.
The heavy curtains blocked out most of the neon lights outside, leaving only a hazy glow, like moonlight. After Yi Ke fell asleep, Zhuang Ningyu propped himself up halfway, touched that high nose bridge with his fingertips, then leaned down and silently mouthed three words into his ear.
Unrelated to work, not a bribe—only brimming, inseparable love.
