Chen Liu drifted through a vivid, endless dream. In it, he stood as a three-eyed, eight-armed demon god, towering over a primal continent. He battled ferocious beasts, shattering creatures the size of hills, and splitting the earth with his terrifying stumps. His massive hands could pluck stars from the sky, and his gaze, pierce thousands of miles. Yet, even a being as mighty as he fell before an unending swarm of savage creatures. They tore him apart, devouring him in a pool of his own blood.
Glug—Chen Liu awoke, choking on lake water, and frantically swam to the surface. The zombies on the shore had vanished. He dragged himself onto the bank, his mind heavy with thought. I didn’t turn. No strange powers from that scratch either. He paused, piecing together the truth. My bloodline woke up. His expression hardened with realisation.
At the moment of awakening, a torrent of knowledge buried in his blood had flooded his mind, offering clarity about the chaos around him. A week ago, perhaps longer, an invisible, undetectable substance had infected every living creature on Earth. Its purpose was to drive a massive evolutionary leap, akin to the Cambrian explosion over 500 million years ago. The planet’s biosphere teetered on the edge of a rapid upheaval, its ecological order about to be rewritten. This was an era of glory and tragedy. For humanity, the outcomes were threefold: those who failed to awaken became zombies, like Old Wang, comprising nearly half the population; those who succeeded, like Chen Liu, gained supernatural abilities, though they were rare; and those with thin bloodlines or poor timing remained ordinary, like the woman in black who had died, untouched by evolution. Yet hope lingered. Zombies could evolve further, potentially surpassing awakened humans, and ordinary people still had a chance to awaken if they seized the right moment.
From his bloodline knowledge, Chen Liu understood his own status:
Name: Chen LiuAbility: Special Type — Ability Replication (Grade S)Level: One-Star AwakenedAbilities fell into four categories—Physical, Elemental, Mental, and Special, with the last being the rarest. They were graded from S to E based on potential. But true strength depended on cultivation level, starting with One-Star to Nine-Star Awakened, followed by the mysterious Evolvers, whose details remained sealed in his mind.
Ability Replication sounds powerful, he mused, but it’s useless with these restrictions. His face twisted with frustration. At his current level, he could copy only one Physical-type ability, and the conditions—target, usage, environment—were brutally strict. Until he achieved that replication, he was barely stronger than an ordinary human, his body only slightly enhanced by awakening. A single zombie could overpower him. Distant screams carried on the wind, a grim reminder that even awakened abilities didn’t guarantee survival in this merciless world. A genius who doesn’t grow is just a corpse, he thought with resolve.
At the stone pavilion, Chen Liu pushed down nausea and searched the grisly remains of Old Wang’s shattered skull. He found a bean-sized, pure-white cylindrical crystal—a zombie’s crystal core. His bloodline memory explained that absorbing its energy could aid ability cultivation. He tucked it into his pocket, knowing the pavilion was no place to train. Then he retrieved Old Wang’s phone, swapping in his own SIM card since his phone had drowned in the lake. He considered calling family or friends, but stopped short. No one to call, he thought, a pang of loneliness hitting him. His expression grew sombre. An orphan, he had poured himself into work after graduation, leaving no room for connections. Old Wang, his only friend, lay dead at his feet.
The wounds on his shoulder had healed during his awakening. Chen Liu scanned the secluded lakeside—no zombies in sight. But zombies hunted actively. The woman in black, bitten earlier, now staggered to her feet, shambling aimlessly. Catching his scent, she turned toward the pavilion. Chen Liu remained calm. His bloodline memory clarified that those who failed awakening became First-Generation zombies—fast, strong, and capable of evolving through blood consumption, like Old Wang. Those who died without brain destruction, like the woman, became Second-Generation zombies, or “corpses.” These were slow, dull, and unlikely to evolve, resembling the zombies of old stories. Since the virus had already infected all life, secondary infection wasn’t a concern, making corpses far less dangerous.
Gripping the stone Go bowl, Chen Liu took a deep breath and approached the corpse. Grrghhh—the closer he got, the more agitated she became. Her neck, torn open, dangled shredded flesh like grotesque ribbons, swaying with each step. Suppressing revulsion, Chen Liu locked eyes with her dull, milky gaze. No sight. They track by smell and sound, he realised. As he closed in, he raised the Go bowl and swung it hard at her head.
The corpse swayed, throwing off his aim. The bowl grazed her scalp, tearing away a flap of skin. Damn it, he thought in frustration. Corpses had brittle skulls, especially Second-Generation ones, like they suffered from severe calcium deficiency. A solid hit could shatter them. But Chen Liu’s strike had missed. Inexperienced in real combat, his coordination faltered against a moving target.
He had chosen this fight deliberately—not out of bravado, but to face his fear and hone his instincts. If I can’t overcome fear, it’ll kill me, he thought, his expression grim with determination. His missed swing threw him forward, but his awakened balance kept him from falling. A clumsy tumble would have been disastrous. His first blow had used all his strength, leaving no room for control—a rookie mistake.
Grrghhh—the corpse lunged, her withered hands seizing Chen Liu. Unlike zombies, who drank blood, corpses craved flesh. Her mouth gaped, aiming to bite. Startled but composed, Chen Liu twisted aside, pressing his left hand against her chest to keep her at bay. With his right, he swung the Go bowl again, this time at close range. Crack—the blow shattered her skull, and she collapsed, lifeless.
Black, chunky matter mixed with brain fluids splattered across Chen Liu’s face. He shoved the corpse away and retched, vomiting onto the ground. With a trembling hand, he wiped his face, smearing blood and gore across his skin. He looked like a freak show. If that had been a zombie, I’d be dead, he thought, his expression darkening with the realisation. He shook his head. “I need a better weapon,” he muttered.
He had planned to return to the villa, where shelter offered better odds of survival than the open wilderness. But the sanatorium likely crawled with zombies, making the journey treacherous. A proper weapon was essential. The stone Go bowl was too clumsy; even a sturdy stick would be an improvement. But this was a sanatorium, not a weapons depot. Beyond elderly residents and sparse staff, armaments were nonexistent.
Then an idea struck him. A gateball court lay near the pavilion, likely stocked with gateball sticks. Gateball, a sport favoured by the elderly, used sticks over a meter long, some wooden, others alloy, sturdy enough for his needs and far better than the Go bowl. Without hesitation, he crept toward the court, moving silently to avoid detection.
So far, there was no trouble. From a distance, he spotted the small gateball court. Three corpses wandered aimlessly inside, likely bitten during a game and now lingering. Elderly residents, unless awakened, stood no chance against zombies. But a greater threat loomed: two First-Generation zombies fed within the court. That’s trouble, Chen Liu thought, his face tightening with unease.