Chapter 2: Am I Dead?

“Hurry up and make dinner! I’m starving to death! That rotten Zijing doesn’t even care about me,” Wang Jinjun muttered, not lifting her head as she continued reading. She stealthily pressed her finger over the page to hide the fresh cuts. Zijing glanced at the apples, peeled and neatly arranged on the coffee table by the door, then at Wang Jinjun’s hand. Faint traces of fresh blood and several scratches were visible on her fingers. Pained, he said, “We’re having spare ribs tonight, to make it up to you.”

“As if I’d be tempted by that… sniff… just go make dinner already!” Her voice was muffled, and the telltale tears at the corners of her mouth betrayed her resolve. Zijing smiled without a word, his gaze full of gentle indulgence. After watching Wang Jinjun for a moment, he hurried off to the kitchen.

Scenes like this played out every day. Both of them orphans, Zijing and Wang Jinjun had depended on each other since meeting at age two. From the orphanage to the wider world, Wang Jinjun had been by Zijing’s side through the hardest, most penniless days. After leaving the orphanage, life outside had dealt them countless hardships and bitterness. Yet, through it all, they clung to each other and persevered. Their optimism slowly brought about better days, and they had come to cherish this simple, shared existence.

After dinner, at eight o’clock, Wang Jinjun sat at the table, patting her stomach. The sharpness of her earlier tone was gone, replaced by a cheerful, teasing smile. “Brother Zi, you’re the best! Your cooking is as amazing as ever. Even my frail, delicate little body managed to eat a bit more tonight, heh.”

Zijing glanced at the three empty dishes and the bare rice cooker. The corner of his mouth twitched. Wang Jinjun looked delicate and refined, with enchanting almond-shaped eyes, full pink lips, and a charming, obedient oval face—a young beauty in the making, always pleasing to the eye. Her figure wasn’t bad either, but how could someone so lovely have so little grace!

Sensing Zijing’s awkward gaze, Wang Jinjun snapped, “Don’t look at me with those weird eyes. Sure, I’m stunning, and we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, but don’t even think about making a move on me!” Zijing raised both hands in surrender: “Alright, alright, I give up, my lady. You’re such a drama queen. I watched you ‘grow up’—I lost interest ages ago! Hahaha.” “You—!” “Hey, hey, don’t hit me! I was wrong, okay? I’ll go buy you a milk tea as an apology, how about that? Fine, fine, I’m going. Leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll wash them when I get back!” Zijing darted away as he spoke, vanishing in a blink.

At eight thirty, Zijing was on his way home, carrying Wang Jinjun’s favorite taro bubble milk tea. His thoughts drifted to the recent animal attacks. Ever curious, he had visited several of the crime scenes, but despite the traces left behind, not a single useful clue had surfaced.

Suddenly, a piercing blare sliced through the night. The world spun violently as a sharp pain exploded in Zijing’s side. He’d been crossing the street on the crosswalk when a magnetic-levitation freight truck slammed into him, sending him flying. In that moment, he had only one thought: Wasn’t I on the crosswalk? Wait, no—damn it, my kidneys! No, something’s not right. Am I about to die?

Just before losing consciousness, he seemed to see, after the runaway truck crashed into the guardrail, a gigantic spider crawling toward him. Then, everything went black.