In April, spring breathed life into the earth, casting a gentle warmth over the lakeside pavilion of Jinghu Sanatorium. An old man and a young man sat together, sipping tea and playing Go. Black and white stones dotted the stone table, each move deliberate yet oddly unconnected, as if they waged separate campaigns rather than a shared contest. The old man, twirling a white stone between his weathered fingers, paused to reflect, then set the piece back in the bowl. He sipped his tea, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I thought you played with boldness and ferocity,” he said, chuckling. “Your style betrays a softer heart.”
The young man across from him offered a faint smile. “Why must strategy roar?” he mused. “Great strength can whisper, disarming quietly. Old Wang, I’m weaving a deeper game—watch yourself.” His voice carried quiet confidence as he replied, “Old Wang, you’d better tread carefully now.”
Old Wang laughed, a warm, hearty sound. “That’s just bluffing!” he teased. He retired last year, turning down his children’s offers to move to the capital. Instead, he chose the sanatorium in his hometown, content to savour his twilight years. His companion, Chen Liu, was no ordinary man. Four years after graduating, he built a tech company worth tens of millions, a testament to his relentless drive. But last month, a sudden headache struck him during a late night at work, which was nearly fatal. Such headaches had bothered him since childhood, but this one left him gravely ill. After recovering, something in Chen Liu shifted. He sold his company, settled into the sanatorium, and decided to embrace life while plotting his next venture. I can’t stay still for long, he thought. The next spark is already flickering. Despite their age gap, the two men, neighbours in the sanatorium, forged a rare friendship.
Their Go match unfolded with quiet intensity, broken only by the soft clack of stones on the board. But the calm shattered when Old Wang began to cough violently. Cough, cough—the sound grated, sharp and unsettling. Chen Liu glanced up, concern tightening his features. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Cough, cough—Old Wang waved him off with a strained smile. “I’m fine,” he rasped, sipping tea to ease his throat. The coughing had persisted for days, without medical attention. Chen Liu studied him, noting his vigour despite his sixty-five years. They ran two kilometers together each morning, and Old Wang never seemed frail. “You don’t look old at all,” Chen Liu said admiringly.
The game reached its peak, both players absorbed, when Old Wang’s coughing erupted again, fiercer than before. Cough, cough—he pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, and when he pulled it away, dark, congealed blood stained the cloth. Chen Liu’s eyes sharpened, his pulse quickening. The blood was black, unnatural, already clotting. “Are you okay, Old Wang? Hold on, I’ll get a doctor,” he said, standing quickly. Jinghu Sanatorium, one of Jiangchuan Province’s finest, boasted scenic beauty and a private medical team always on call.
But before Chen Liu could contact the medical office, Old Wang’s condition worsened. Cough, cough—his face flushed crimson, then he collapsed, convulsing on the ground. “Old Wang! Old Wang!” Chen Liu shouted, rushing to his side and lifting him from the stone table. Moments ago, Old Wang seemed robust, but now his body slumped, lifeless. His eyes were dull and vacant. His mouth gaped, a low, guttural sound escaping. Aaaaaahhhh—the noise stretched, eerie and prolonged, chilling Chen Liu. This is the final breath, he thought in terror. The last gasp before death. And so it was. After a hiccup-like sound, Old Wang’s head tilted, and life left him. Yet his hand clung to Chen Liu’s shoulder, its grip unyielding, as if defying death’s pull.
A chill washed over Chen Liu. Old Wang was healthy, free of major ailments—how could he die so suddenly? Brushing the thought aside, he pried the stiffening hand free and laid Old Wang’s body on the ground. He pulled out his phone to call the sanatorium’s front desk, reporting the death in a shaking voice. But as he spoke to the receptionist, Old Wang’s body began to change. His muscles shrivelled, reducing him to a skeletal frame draped in taut skin. His eye sockets sank, his cheekbones jutted out starkly. Most unnerving, white mist seeped from his nostrils, though he no longer breathed.
Aaaaahhhhhh—a shrill scream burst from the phone, startling Chen Liu. “Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?” he called, but the line went dead. Beep... beep... “What the hell?” he muttered, redialing to no response. Then Old Wang transformed further. Long, sharp fangs sprouted from his mouth. His fingernails stretched into glistening black claws, razor-sharp. His eyes snapped open—blood-red, cold, ravenous. With eerie speed, he rose, his gaze locking onto Chen Liu’s neck like a predator eyeing prey. Black saliva dripped from his lips.
Chen Liu was about to call the sanatorium director when a rustling sound stopped him. Turning, he met Old Wang’s ghastly face, inches away. “Sh*t!” he gasped, stumbling back. GROOOOHH—Old Wang lunged, his withered hands clamping onto Chen Liu’s shoulders like steel. His black claws tore through fabric into flesh. Hssss—Chen Liu winced, fear gripping him. Zombie? Vampire? Ghoul? he thought, his mind flashing with monstrous legends.
In an instant, Old Wang dove for his neck, emitting guttural grooohh sounds. A foul stench hit Chen Liu, overwhelming his senses. Reflexively, he shoved his right hand against Old Wang’s head, struggling to hold him back. The force behind Old Wang’s skull was immense, inching closer to his neck with relentless hunger. He craves my life itself, Chen Liu thought in panic. He stumbled back, falling onto the stone bench, his right hand still braced against Old Wang’s head while his left groped across the table. His fingers closed around an object—he lifted it and smashed it down on Old Wang’s head with a dull thud. But Old Wang remained unfazed, his focus unbroken, and his fangs inching toward Chen Liu’s throat. Their breaths mingled—one living, one undead—in a frozen moment of dread.
Survival instinct surged within Chen Liu, and he abandoned all thought, driven by primal fear. He swung the object in his hand repeatedly, striking Old Wang’s horrifying face with desperate force. Thud, thud, thud—he didn’t stop until Old Wang’s head collapsed into a mushy pulp, unrecognizable. Exhausted, Chen Liu sank to the ground, his face pale, his breath ragged. Only then did he glance at the object in his hand: the stone-carved Go bowl. No wonder it held up, he thought, a bitter pang stirring. Just moments ago, we were playing Go, laughing together. The headless corpse twitched involuntarily, its limbs jerking in a grotesque dance. Chen Liu’s stomach churned. Ugh—he doubled over retching up the remnants of last night’s meal. Even when nothing remained, he gagged, spitting only bile. Raised in peaceful times, he never witnessed such horror.
When he steadied himself, he dialled the police, his hands trembling. The scene was too grotesque to process alone. “We’re sorry, the number you dialled is currently busy. Please try again later,” came the automated response. He tried three times, each call met with the same maddening message. Why is the line always busy? he wondered, unease creeping in. The earlier call to the front desk, abruptly disconnected, haunted him. Something’s wrong here. He glanced at his shoulders, where Old Wang’s claws left ten puncture wounds. He saw blood oozing from the torn flesh. What if I turn into one of those things? he lamented, images from Resident Evil flashing through his mind.
A scream pierced the air. “Help!” Chen Liu stepped out of the pavilion and froze. In the distance, two creatures like Old Wang pursued a woman in a black uniform, one ahead, one behind. They moved with terrifying agility, closing the gap in seconds. Before Chen Liu could react, one tackled her to the ground, sinking its teeth into her throat. It latched on, seemingly drinking her blood. “What the hell?!” Chen Liu cursed, his voice shaking. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, he thought. Zombies are slow, clumsy—not these adrenaline-fueled monsters.
He took a deep breath to keep calm. Crouching low, he edged sideways, hoping to slip away while the creatures fed. But after ten meters, two more appeared ahead. Grooaarrr—the moment they spotted him, their sluggish movements erupted into a terrifying sprint, faster than Chen Liu could ever hope to match. He retreated. To his horror, the first two creatures finished with their victim, blood dripping from their mouths. They rose at their companions’ howls, spotting Chen Liu. At their feet lay the woman, a shredded mess of blood and flesh. Strangely, they hadn’t eaten her flesh—only her blood. Vampires, not zombies, he thinks, noting their increased speed post-feeding.
His escape route vanished. Chen Liu backed into the pavilion, trapped. “What’s happening to the world?” he muttered, sweat pouring from his brow as the four creatures closed in. He scanned the pavilion—nothing but the Go bowl, useless against four superhuman monsters. No choice. I have to gamble, he thought, steeling his nerves despite the panic. With no way to fight or flee, he made a desperate choice. Turning, he sprinted for the lake and leapt in. Splash—the icy April water sliced through him, making him shiver violently. He bet the creatures couldn’t swim.
He was right. The four stood at the shore, howling relentlessly but refusing to enter the water. Yet their thirst for blood kept them rooted, waiting. These aren’t mindless movie zombies, he thinks, frustration mounting. Taking a deep breath, he dove underwater, aiming for the opposite shore. But within moments, a burning sensation engulfed his body, his limbs growing weak. Am I turning into one of them? he wonders, dread consuming him. Darkness closed in, and his body sank slowly to the lake’s bottom.