The Weight of Waking

The male skeletal figure was getting ruthlessly pummeled by a four-meter-tall crimson monster. If Yuan Anqing hadn’t swiftly grabbed Zhuo’s thrashing tail, Zhuo likely would have made the ancient Savior’s ghost dissipate into nothingness.

“Why does it hurt so bad even when you hit someone in the mental void?!” the male skeleton wheezed, clutching his skull.

Zhuo ignored him. He thoroughly detested this former Savior.

Yuan Anqing, who was still tightly embraced by several of Zhuo’s red hands, adjusted his glasses and met the hollow gazes of the two former Saviors. “I am only one year older than Zhuo,” he corrected the ghost calmly. “We are in a romantic relationship.”

The male skeleton paused, looking back and forth between them. “How old are you?”

Given how exceptionally well-developed Yuan Anqing’s mental domain was, the ghost speculated that this Savior had to be at least one hundred and thirty years old. On the other hand, Zhuo appeared much younger. His impulsive, violent, and unreasonable behavior suggested he had only recently reached adulthood.

“Thirty-five,” Yuan Anqing said, patting Zhuo, who was still clinging to his neck. “And he’s thirty-four.”

“So young?!” The female skeleton beside them gasped in shock. “You’ve only been ‘awake’ for a year, so how can your conscious power be so dominant?”

“Awake? What do you mean by ‘awake’?” Yuan Anqing seized upon the word. “Do you mean coming to this world from Earth?”

The female skeleton and the male skeleton exchanged a silent, heavy glance.

Then, the male skeleton began, “This world has no nations, only regions, and its language and culture are highly consistent. Are you absolutely certain the writing here is familiar to you?”

“What do you mean?” Yuan Anqing didn’t understand.

“Has your language system not been replaced?” the male skeleton asked.

“Replaced by whom?” Yuan Anqing was baffled.

“By yourself,” the female skeleton pointed at him. “Do you have any idea what a Savior truly is, kid?”

“Stop speaking in riddles!” Zhuo interjected angrily, lifting his massive, scaled head. “If there’s something you know, say it quickly. Stop asking questions in return!”

The two former Saviors exchanged another hollow look, then admitted, “We don’t know either.”

Yuan Anqing: “…”

“I should know, but I’m already dead,” the male skeleton gestured to his empty face. “I possess logic, yet my memories remain a chaotic, fragmented mess. These brief moments of clarity do nothing to alleviate my eternal suffering.”

His current state resembled that of a ghost, though they were much more potent than ordinary spirits; at the very least, they could comprehend complex human speech.

“I was dismembered into countless pieces, constantly living and dying. The fact that I can still speak with you now is quite remarkable,” the male skeleton expressed with deep regret.

As he spoke, his bones began to turn transparent. The ghost’s temporary clarity was ending; he was about to dissipate once more.

In the physical world, Yuan Anqing’s eyes regained their clarity. He blinked, looking at Zhuo, whose expression was uncharacteristically grim.

Yuan Anqing quickly reacted, first sending a message to Bai Tian on his phone. He suspected the rebel organization was using the harvested bodies of his predecessors to widely spread mass mutations.

“Make Bai Tian explain clearly what ‘waking up’ means,” Zhuo growled, sitting close beside him on the park bench.

“What could Bai Tian possibly know?” Yuan Anqing replied helplessly. “He said himself they don’t even know what a Savior truly is. They’re just bureaucrats.”

Zhuo grew even more displeased, his tail lashing the grass. He detested this feeling of complete uncertainty, especially when it concerned Yuan Anqing’s life.

Yuan Anqing gently stroked Zhuo’s back—a quiet, domestic gesture of comfort.

“No matter what happens, you absolutely cannot die,” Zhuo mumbled, buryng his face in Yuan Anqing’s shoulder.

“I’ll try my best. I’ll be relying on you to protect me,” Yuan Anqing smiled softly.

Zhuo wanted to nuzzle closer, but the sudden ringing of a phone interrupted him. He saw Bai Tian’s name on the screen. He genuinely wanted to bite Bai Tian’s head off.

Yuan Anqing, while still comforting Zhuo with one hand, pressed the answer button. “What is it?”

Bai Tian’s voice was frantic, accompanied by a lot of background noise. “Mr. Yuan! How did you know they were using the bodies of former Saviors to spread the mass mutations?!”

“Those gray mists carried a strong stench of decay,” Yuan Anqing replied. “And I encountered their residual spirits in the mental void.”

“Two of the former Saviors?” Bai Tian gasped.

“Not exactly,” Yuan Anqing said, finding their state quite peculiar. “They were split into countless fragments, and those fragments could continuously generate auras, each independent of the others. The two Saviors I met were more like two groups of people, with completely different personalities.”

“Different personalities?” Zhuo had hadn’t noticed that.

“The first two versions of them I met were completely insane and aggressive, while the second two confessed everything after you threatened them in the void,” Yuan Anqing said, patting Zhuo’s tail near its base—a habitual gesture. “Their personalities changed.”

“That shouldn’t be biologically possible,” Bai Tian said, having overheard. “They are resentments born from the death of a Savior. There shouldn’t be any opportunity for a personality split.”

“So it’s highly possible they were simply different from birth,” Yuan Anqing mused, finding the word ‘birth’ amusing. Had the Saviors fragmented into different ‘facets’ of themselves after death?

“We’ll investigate the organizations’ food supplies,” Bai Tian said grimly. “If possible, we’ll need your help again later.”

“No problem,” Yuan Anqing agreed. Afterward, they hung up.

Zhuo wanted to say something, but Yuan Anqing immediately dialed Chen Jiao. Zhuo could only silently purse his lips and watch him.

“Why are you calling me, kid?” the retired math teacher asked.

“Dongzhou Province, Xinzhe City,” Yuan Anqing said, testing his theory. “Do you know it?”

“Dongzhou Province? Xinzhe City First High School?” Chen Jiao repeated. “You’ve never heard of it?”

“I’ve never heard of those places in my life,” Yuan Anqing admitted.

“Aside from that,” Chen Jiao continued, “our province’s GDP is among the top five nationwide. You’ve really never heard of it?”

“No,” Yuan Anqing’s brows furrowed. “Do women in your area retire at fifty?”

“Of course,” Chen Jiao seemed to grasp Yuan Anqing’s meaning. “You suspect we’re not from the same Earth? But our linguistic habits, our idioms, our cultural references—they are completely identical.”

“I’m not sure,” Yuan Anqing pressed a hand to his forehead. “If I hadn’t brought a laptop containing my old files when I transmigrated, I might now doubt the reality of my own past life.”

“A fabricated dream?” Chen Jiao asked quietly.

“Or something even more exaggerated.” Yuan Anqing found that with his current understanding, he couldn’t fully comprehend what a Savior truly was.

“Look. Our idioms are all the same,” Chen Jiao added. “It couldn’t be that coincidental, could it? If we were from entirely different parallel universes, our languages should have diverged.”

“I don’t know,” Yuan Anqing’s voice was tinged with deep, existential weariness.

Chen Jiao, on her end, clearly didn’t care much for these existential crises. “Do you have anything else? If not, I’m hanging up. My show is starting.”

“Go ahead and hang up.” Yuan Anqing put away his phone and turned his gaze back to Zhuo.

“Zhuo. What do you think I am?” Yuan Anqing asked.

“A very handsome, delicious Savior,” Zhuo answered without a fraction of a second of hesitation. “And most importantly, I like you.”

“Thank you,” Yuan Anqing grasped the tip of Zhuo’s tail. Zhuo was also considered a descendant of the Saviors, even if he was an unconventional one. “If I’m actually a monster too, then we’d be a perfect match.”

“I wouldn’t dislike you at all if you were a monster. On the contrary, I’d be very happy,” Zhuo said, trying his best to comfort him. “You’re a monster, and I’m a monster, so aren’t we a match made in heaven?”

“Then, thank you,” Yuan Anqing gently touched Zhuo’s horn. “Until I figure out who I truly am, I’ll have to rely on you to provide me with a sense of reality.”

“You… need someone else to provide a sense of security?” Zhuo was surprised. After all, Yuan Anqing was a remarkably mature, unbothered person—certainly more mature than Zhuo. Yuan Anqing didn’t seem to need anyone to tell him who he was.

Yuan Anqing had caught some startling details from the minds of the two former Saviors—details he couldn’t quite articulate. He just felt the discrepancy between his memories and reality was too immense. He feared his memories of Earth were fabricated lies.

“I need you to tell me who this person you see is,” Yuan Anqing whispered. “I need you to tell me who it is you firmly love. Because I don’t trust my own mind anymore.”

Yuan Anqing lifted the corner of his mouth slightly. “Can you do that?”

“Of course I know who I like,” Zhuo said, always confident. “But the way you’re acting right now is a little scary to me. You look like you’re about to fade away.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Yuan Anqing shifted slightly, then lay back down on the park bench, resting his head on Zhuo’s lap. “I’m scared myself.”

“If you weren’t actively scaring yourself, I would have already started fighting those organizations,” Zhuo said, mimicking Yuan Anqing’s comforting gesture by gently patting his back. “You’re so mean to yourself. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either,” Yuan Anqing closed his eyes.

“I just dislike the ‘cold’ you slightly less,” Zhuo corrected. “But compared to other humans, even that cold you is pretty good.”

Yuan Anqing smiled, then felt his glasses being carefully removed by Zhuo.

“You rest here for a bit. Those high school kids are still playing in the park. I’ll take you down the mountain later,” Zhuo said softly.

“Later, I’ll secretly eat you up. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else see. I can create an illusion of us walking down, you know,” Zhuo patted Yuan Anqing’s head. “You just need to sleep peacefully.”

Yuan Anqing couldn’t actually sleep; he merely wanted to lie down and enjoy Zhuo’s special treatment. So he didn’t refuse.

Yuan Anqing lay with his eyes closed for a moment, then felt the ambient temperature change. The cold mountain wind vanished. He was now lying in a warm, soft living room.

Zhuo had swallowed him into his domain again.

Perhaps sensing Yuan Anqing’s existential dread, Zhuo began to devise ways to ground him. “You won’t turn into tiny pieces of meat like those Saviors, okay? Even if you turn into minced meat, I can put you back together.”

“You don’t have other, hidden personalities either. You’ve always been half-dead, only becoming a little more lively recently since we started dating.”

“And even if you became a little more lively, you didn’t suddenly become a master chef. Your cooking has never been particularly tasty; it just stays at a level that’s not bad, but entirely uninspired.”

“Normally, you don’t talk much. You’re very introverted and hate crowds.”

“Your life used to revolve entirely around work, and recently, I’ve been successfully added to it.”

Yuan Anqing opened his eyes, looking up at the pile of small red hands gently massaging his back. “…Do you have some latent resentment toward me, Zhuo?”

The small red hands paused their movements. “Huh? No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

“You’re listing my flaws.”

“You’ve always been like that, you know,” Zhuo said. “Those are the things that make you you. They aren’t lies.”

Yuan Anqing’s lips curved. Zhuo was using his mundane flaws—his bad cooking, his social anxiety, his exhaustion—to prove that his identity was real, not an illusion.

“Perhaps my workaholic past on Earth was just self-deception,” Yuan Anqing said.

Zhuo immediately responded, “I don’t believe that. Your stress-induced stomach ulcer and the bleeding weren’t fake. I felt the pain.”

“Speaking of stomach problems, I want to throw away all the alcohol at home,” Zhuo suddenly changed the subject. “You bought more liquor a couple of days ago, didn’t you?”

Yuan Anqing remained silent.

“See? Your love for drinking and self-destruction must be real too!” Zhuo gloated.

“I’m so tired,” Yuan Anqing closed his eyes again, burying his face in the white cat’s fur.

“You’re avoiding the topic again,” Zhuo huffed, yet his red hands still reached out to gently pat Yuan Anqing’s back. “So annoying.”