Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]-Chapter 213 - Poor soul

Ghostly Yunfeng stood frozen beside the stretcher, staring blankly at the frail body before him.

The boy—the real Lin Yunfeng—lay there, his thin chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow. His skin had turned an alarming shade of pale, a faint sheen of sweat gathering at his forehead.

Behind him, the machines began to beep erratically.

Sharp, jarring noises filled the sterile room.

The heart monitor displayed rising numbers—spiking heart rate, unstable blood pressure—until it dipped, then rose again frantically.

The boy gasped for breath, each intake more desperate, more painful than the last.

His restrained limbs jerked weakly, wrists straining against the cold leather straps pinning him down.

Ghostly Yunfeng stumbled closer, helpless panic welling inside him.

I have to help—!

Please... someone, help him!

But no one came.

No one cared.

Yunfeng turned to the machine, feeling useless, furious at his own powerlessness.

Instinctively, he slammed his ghostly palm against the console.

A small, bright spark snapped from his fingers.

The machine fizzled.

The steady, maddening beeps died out into a flatline.

Startled, Yunfeng stared at the lifeless monitor, realizing—he had caused that.

Almost immediately, the door burst open.

The men in contamination suits stormed back in, glancing at the machine and then at the boy.

One checked the failing heart rate. Another brought in a new machine, swiftly connecting fresh cables to the boy’s chest.

Cold efficiency. No urgency. No emotion.

The readings flickered back to life.

And there it was—clear as day.

The numbers plummeted.

Heart rate: dangerously low.

Oxygen levels: falling.

Body temperature: dropping.

The boy twitched slightly, a tiny whimper escaping his cracked lips.

One of the men checked the data, then gave a short laugh that barely sounded human.

"This one’s a failure," he said, almost bored. "Dump the body somewhere. He’ll die in a few days anyway."

Yunfeng’s entire being screamed in silence.

No—NO! He’s still alive! You can’t just—!

But the men had already begun moving.

He watched in horror as they unstrapped the limp boy, wheeled him casually out like broken equipment. They shoved him into the backseat of an unmarked black car, no care for his fragile, failing body.

Yunfeng had no choice but to follow—the tether between him and the original boy yanked at his soul.

The car drove far—beyond the city limits, to a forgotten, rotting corner of nowhere.

A dirty dumpster lay hidden behind rusting fences and collapsed buildings.

Without ceremony, they dragged the boy out and dumped him like trash.

The car sped away, kicking up dust and leaving the battered figure behind.

Ghostly Yunfeng hovered there, staring at the boy he had once been.

A sickening hollow grew in his chest, filling him with something worse than rage—guilt.

And then—

Movement.

The boy’s fingers twitched.

Weakly, agonizingly, the original Yunfeng pulled himself up.

His legs wobbled. His lips were cracked and bloodied.

But somehow, somehow, he found the strength to stagger toward a pile of discarded belongings nearby.

There, lying amidst the garbage, he found an old cap. He pulled it over his messy hair, hiding his face.

He limped forward.

Each step was a battle.

Every breath rattled in his lungs.

But he went home.

Home—a cramped, dusty apartment barely clinging to the edge of the city.

He fumbled with the key. Dropped it once. Twice.

Finally managed to shove the door open.

Inside, everything was silent. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Yunfeng watched, heart breaking, as the boy shuffled inside.

The young man crawled to the first floor onto the narrow bed in the corner of the room, collapsed onto it, and pulled a blanket over his broken body.

His breathing was ragged.

His chest rose—

Fell—

Rose—

Fell—

And then—

Stopped.

A soft exhale left his lips, almost like a sigh of relief.

And Lin Yunfeng—the original, the boy who had fought so hard just to come home—took his last breath alone.

Ghostly Yunfeng dropped to his knees, reaching out with trembling hands that couldn’t touch, couldn’t save.

Tears streamed down his face.

"I’m sorry..." he whispered into the cold, uncaring night.

"I’m so, so sorry..."

He knelt there beside the bed, the tether between them slowly fading.

Until there was nothing left.

The room seemed to ripple, like the very air was unraveling.

Ghostly Yunfeng felt a pull—gentle at first, then stronger, more insistent. His transparent hands, still reaching helplessly toward the boy’s still body, began to fade.

"No—wait—" he gasped hoarsely, but there was nothing he could do.

The edges of his body dissolved into mist. His tether to the broken young man snapped.

And in the final moments, he watched—watched as he himself, the Yunfeng from the future, stirred awake inside the boy’s body.

The cracked, exhausted body that should have died—

Lived.

Yunfeng—the new Yunfeng—blinked confusedly, gasping softly as he was pulled back into life.

A sliver of warmth spread through the cold room.

From the corner of the room, Ghostly Yunfeng—now only a formless echo—watched.

A door creaked.

The faint sound of footsteps—light, hurried.

"Yunfeng! Get up already!" a girl’s voice whined, teasing, familiar.

His sister. Her face younger, softer.

She tugged at his arm, annoyed but affectionate, trying to get him out of bed for school.

She had no idea that the brother she loved had changed in that instant—that a stranger, carrying the memories of two lifetimes, now inhabited the broken shell she thought she knew.

Yunfeng stared at her dazedly, his mind swimming in a thick fog of pain, grief, and disbelief.

He let her pull him up.

He moved robotically, half-listening as she nagged him about being late.

And then—

The world blurred.

Faded.

Everything went dark.

When light returned, Yunfeng’s senses were flooded by movement—the rush of cold air, the rattling of wheels against concrete, the muffled growls of the dead not far behind.

His eyes opened slowly, heavily.

Cameras?

No—

No, it was real.

He was moving.

The world bounced and jolted around him.

Warmth.

A strong, familiar presence in front of him.

He realized—he was tied to someone’s waist, arms loosely wrapped around them.

He smelled leather, sweat, and something uniquely comforting—Muchen.

"...Muchen..." he croaked hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the wind.

He tightened his weak arms around Muchen’s waist, pressing his cheek against his lover’s back.

"I’m sorry..." he whispered brokenly.

"Did I faint for long?"

Muchen nearly veered the bike off course in shock.

"Yunfeng?! Oh thank God—!" Muchen gasped, his voice thick with emotion.

"I thought—" His voice cracked. He quickly steadied the bike, weaving it through the broken streets, dodging overturned cars and shambling zombies.

"I thought you died."

Muchen’s hands clenched the handlebars tighter, white-knuckled, his whole body trembling not just from the ride, but from the storm of feelings crashing through him.

Yunfeng, weak but alive, hugged him tighter, feeling Muchen’s frantic heartbeat under his palms.

The world around them was still chaos—zombies groaned in the distance, ruins of the city loomed like gravestones—but right now, for the first time in what felt like forever—

Yunfeng was home.

Alive.

Held by someone who refused to let him go.

He buried his face against Muchen’s back, letting silent tears fall as they sped forward.

Everything made sense now.

The pieces that had never fit, that had always nagged quietly at the back of his mind, finally slid into place.

He had always wondered.

Why had he, after transmigrating into the past Yunfeng’s body, suddenly carried the scent of pheromones—so strong that even Muchen, even others, had noticed it immediately?

He had thought, foolishly, that it was a quirk of fate, a blessing accidentally carried from the future when he crossed through time.

But after what he had seen—

After that vision—

He knew the truth.

It wasn’t fate.

It wasn’t luck.

It was suffering.

The original Yunfeng—the real owner of this body—had been experimented on, injected with the Tera virus against his will.

Alone. Helpless. Strapped to a bed while strangers decided whether he lived or died like he was just another lab rat.

While his body fought, while cells shifted and evolved inside him, while something powerful and terrible was awakening within—

He had died.

He had simply crawled home, laid on his bed—

And taken his final breath.

No one there to mourn him.

No one there to save him.

And then—

He had entered this body.

He had stolen a life that was already shattered, unknowingly stepping on the graves of someone else’s pain.

The thought hit Yunfeng like a knife.

His chest ached. His throat burned. His fists clenched so tightly around the fabric of Muchen’s jacket that his knuckles went white.

The fire in his blood, the strength that allowed him to burn away zombies, the pheromones that made him stronger—it wasn’t a blessing.

It was the result of the original Yunfeng’s suffering.

The wind howled around them.

Above, the jets roared louder, a reminder of distant wars, new bombs being dropped, new cities falling.

Yunfeng lifted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening.

Far to the west, was that warehouse district.

The place where it had all begun.

The place where Yunfeng had died, forgotten.

He could almost feel the pull, the gnawing urge inside him to go there.

To burn it to the ground.

To rip every last one of those monsters who called themselves scientists apart.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t risk it.

He had Muchen now. He had Hana. He had people who needed him.

And vengeance—vengeance could wait.

But that didn’t mean he would forget.

His fingernails dug into his palms, trembling with a quiet, terrible fury.

’I swear it,’ Yunfeng thought, staring into the blood-red horizon where the sun struggled to break through the clouds.

’I swear on you, Yunfeng— I will make them pay.’

’For what they did to you.’

’For what they did to all of us.’

’I’ll make them suffer a death worse than yours.’

The fire inside Yunfeng, once a mystery, now burned with purpose.

Not just for survival.

Not just for revenge.

But for justice.

For the boy who died alone.

For the life that was stolen.