Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]-Chapter 211 - To the past

Muchen knelt shakily near the shattered window, the dizzying height behind him forgotten as he clung to Yunfeng with everything he had. his whole body trembled violently but the pain in his stomach reduced instantly. the familiar scent of oranges enveloped him completely. making his heart heart ease up.

Their bodies pressed close, hearts pounding violently against each other, desperate to prove that this—this moment—was real.

Yunfeng’s body was still unnaturally warm, faint tendrils of blue heat rising from his skin like mist. It didn’t burn Muchen, but the intensity of it made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

Gently, Muchen tilted his head up, his trembling hands cupping Yunfeng’s face. His fingers brushed through the strands of hair that had turned a startling, beautiful white, ghostly against the dark night.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

"What did they do to you...?" Muchen whispered, voice shaking with fury and helplessness. He ran his thumb tenderly over Yunfeng’s cheekbone. "Did they hurt you? Those bastards—" His voice cracked. "—I’ll fucking shoot them down myself."

Yunfeng’s gaze softened. Despite the exhaustion clouding his blue eyes, he shook his head slowly, strands of white hair falling over his forehead.

"They tried to sedate me," he murmured, his voice hoarse, as if scraped raw. "But I fought it off."

His brow furrowed deeply, his expression hardening. "They kept calling me Subject 7... over and over." His fists clenched unconsciously at Muchen’s shirt. "I don’t know what it means. But they weren’t just after everyone. They were after me."

Above them, the faint roar of jets still echoed across the sky, circling like vultures. If they were simply hunting anyone with powers, they should have gone after Muchen too, and the others. But they hadn’t. They had locked onto Yunfeng alone—as if he had been marked. Tagged.

Targeted.

It didn’t make sense.

And that made it even more terrifying.

Muchen shifted in his embrace, reluctantly easing back just enough to see his face more clearly. His lower lip jutted out slightly in a pout, masking the tremble of fear underneath.

"Let’s get out of here," he said, voice small but determined. "This building is full of zombies..."

He cast a wary glance over his shoulder. The rest of the floor was surprisingly empty—half-finished walls, dusty construction equipment abandoned in corners. Muchen guessed this floor must have been under renovation when the apocalypse hit. Maybe that’s why the zombies hadn’t crowded here yet.

Maybe they still had a chance.

"Come," Yunfeng said, his voice low but steady.

He started to rise, pulling Muchen up with him. But just as he straightened—

He collapsed.

"Yunfeng!" Muchen cried out, lunging forward to catch him.

Yunfeng clutched his head, his entire body seizing in agony. It was as if something invisible and vicious was gnawing into his skull, worming into his flesh. The pain was so overwhelming he couldn’t even scream—he could only fall, helpless, his knees buckling.

Muchen caught him clumsily, struggling under his weight.

"Yunfeng?!" he shouted, panic surging.

Yunfeng’s breathing was ragged, his face contorted in silent agony. His fingertips dug into Muchen’s shoulders, desperate for something, anything to ground him. But his strength was fading fast.

’Did they inject something into me...?’ Yunfeng’s muddled thoughts whirled in panic. ’Fuck...’

His vision blurred.

The last thing he heard before darkness swallowed him whole was Muchen’s screams echoing, raw and desperate, across the hollow remains of the building.

********

A haze drifted over Yunfeng’s senses, thick and cloying, like a dense mist pressing against his mind. He tried to move, to open his eyes, but his body felt heavy, unresponsive, as if he were sinking underwater.

Then, all at once, the weight lifted.

When Yunfeng blinked, he found himself transparent—in a familiar room. But it wasn’t Hana’s small, warm space where he usually ended up when he was in this strange, transparent state.

No... this was—

He frowned deeply, confusion knitting his brows together.

This is my room.

No... the room I used in the present timeline...

The soft glow of the desk lamp, the scattered papers, the half-open wardrobe—every little detail was unmistakable. It was his room... but it wasn’t. Something felt wrong, disjointed.

’Why am I here?’ he thought, anxiety crawling up his spine.

Before he could make sense of it, the bathroom door creaked open.

Yunfeng turned sharply—and froze.

Out walked a young boy, towel slung over his shoulder, wiping damp hands carelessly on his pants. His dark hair was still dripping, clinging to his forehead. He looked fresh, alive, radiant in a way Yunfeng hadn’t seen in so long.

Yunfeng gaped, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Because that boy—

That boy looked like him.

But he wasn’t.

Yunfeng staggered back a step, watching wide-eyed as the boy laughed loudly, tossing his head back in careless, uninhibited joy. His voice was soft, lilting, his speech relaxed and gentle in a way Yunfeng didn’t recognize in himself.

Jia’s voice chimed from the phone tossed carelessly on the bed, and the boy—the original Lin Yunfeng—bantered back, the corners of his eyes crinkling in easy happiness.

Yunfeng’s chest tightened painfully.

’No...’

’That’s not me.’

He could feel it, deep in his bones—the subtle but unmistakable difference.

This... Yunfeng swallowed hard, transparent hands trembling slightly. This is the original Lin Yunfeng.

The boy whose life he had stolen.

The boy whose existence he had overwritten without ever meaning to.

Yunfeng felt something raw rise in his throat, a sorrow so deep and wide it nearly swallowed him whole. He had always known—on some level—that this body wasn’t originally his. But to see it like this, to see the real Yunfeng, so vividly alive, so heartbreakingly himself...

It felt like a knife twisting slowly in his chest.

Guilt crashed over him, thick and suffocating.

He reached out instinctively, wanting to touch the boy, to apologize, to explain—though he knew it was useless. His transparent hand passed right through the scene without resistance.

A mere ghost.

He was just a ghost.