This was… Song Zhuchen? The reporters all rubbed their eyes in disbelief.
Oh my god! It really was the movie king Song Zhuchen! The superstar who never appeared in public unless absolutely necessary had shown up of his own accord!
Fang Ye had been critically injured in a car accident, he’d been taken to a hospital owned by his archrival Song Zhuchen, and now the archrival himself had appeared on the scene?!
All the media outlets were stunned by this outrageous, melodramatic turn of events. They collectively fell silent for a few seconds, then, as if in backlash, frantically raised their cameras, phones, and video recorders. The questions all turned toward Song Zhuchen, and microphones of every color surged toward the tall, upright, cold-faced movie king like a tide.
Song Zhuchen looked at no one and accepted no microphones, continuing to speak into his megaphone: “Mr. Fang’s car accident happened because I provoked him first. Mr. Fang has no living relatives, so I will take full responsibility for all of his future treatment. From this moment until Mr. Fang recovers, nothing about Mr. Fang’s affairs will be made public. Anyone who inquires about Mr. Fang’s condition under any pretext will be pursued to the fullest extent through my lawyers.”
In just a few short sentences, Song Zhuchen took upon himself the entire car accident from cause to consequence despite it having nothing to do with him.
As expected of the young master of the family that headed a world-class medical technology conglomerate rich, powerful, and standing on solid ground. Even his madness was backed by the confidence to go all the way.
Sure enough, the media, hearing these words, became even more frenzied, like a pack of wolves catching sight of meat.
Having said what needed to be said, Song Zhuchen expressionlessly handed the megaphone back to the security guard and turned crisply, walking back into the hospital.
“Mmph…”
Fang Ye felt himself lying in a warm embrace. The bone-shattering pain seemed like nothing more than a nightmare, and he instinctively burrowed deeper into it.
“Hey,” a light laugh sounded above his head, “who would’ve thought you were such a lecher!”
Hmm? What was that voice? Who?
Fang Ye opened his eyes, and what filled his vision was a man’s chin. Wheat-colored skin glistened faintly with sweat. The man was probably quite good-looking after all, even from this deadly upward angle, his features were distinct and he had his hair tied in a wolf tail, which was pretty trendy.
Wait, no, why am I in a stranger’s arms?!
Frightened by this strange intimacy, Fang Ye let out a yelp and immediately struggled to roll away.
“Hey?” The man pressed down on his head. “You little ingrate. I went through so much trouble to save you, and you want to run off without even a word of thanks?”
“Who are you?”
“You speak human language quite fluently.” The man narrowed his eyes, looking rather satisfied.
?
“Let me introduce myself,” the man said with a friendly smile. “My name is Zhong Jianli. People call me Celestial Master Zhong; ghosts call me the Terror of Ghosts. But I prefer it when people call me Brother Zhong.”
What the heck?
“We two are quite fated, you know. Your soul had barely left your body when you ran into me. Naturally, duty-bound and out of the goodness of my heart, I risked my life to save you. Aren’t you touched?”
The kindness might have been real, but there was no sign whatsoever of risking his life. But what the heck was astral projection? Fang Ye frowned, picking through and piecing together his fragmented memories: a Ducati spiraling out of control, the tall wire safety fence, himself being flung into the sky… And then? Then he’d landed in this man’s arms?
What the heck?
“You almost really did become a ghost,” Zhong Jianli said, giving Fang Ye a meaningful look. “Lucky you ran into a good samaritan like me.”
Wait, can he read minds? And why is he looking at me so weirdly? Did I just run into some fan with creepy fetishes or what?!
Fang Ye raised a hand to rub his eyes, only to be shocked to discover that the hand he’d lifted in front of his face was a cat paw, a round little paw covered in soft golden-gray fur, with clean, pale pink pads.
The other hand, same thing!
“Meow!” Fang Ye cried out in shock and it actually came out as a meow.
“Not bad, you even speak a foreign language,” Zhong Jianli said, lifting Fang the cat out of his arms and setting him on the ground. He pointed at a pile of crumbling ruins that barely qualified as a building. “That’s your home from now on.”
Fang Ye couldn’t care less about looking at any home, he was busy looking down at himself. Long pale golden-gray fur, short little legs, and was that a long fluffy tail?!
Don’t tell me I…
A mirror suddenly appeared before him, along with that Zhong guy’s mystifying voice: “Yes, you saw that right. You’re a cat now.”
“Meow!” Fang Ye finally saw his full reflection in the mirror, fluffy pale golden-gray fur, round blue eyes, a plush long tail and let out another shocked yowl.
“Let’s speak human, so we can communicate more efficiently,” Zhong Jianli said, crouching down and poking the little cat right over with one finger. “I know you can talk, but listen to me first.”
Fang Ye: …
“When you died, your soul drifted out of your body and happened to float right over to me. And it just so happened I’d recently brought home a dying half-grown kitten from a friend. See how convenient that is? The kitten became your soul vessel.” Zhong Jianli clapped his hands together like a businessman who’d just closed a big deal.
“Meow?”
“Speak human!”
“So I’m dead?”
“What do you think?”
“Then I guess I’m dead,” Fang Ye said, eyeing that fluffy big tail he still couldn’t control, which clearly had a mind of its own. Thinking of his wrecked Ducati, he figured it would’ve been strange if he hadn’t died. “Where’s my body?”
“How should I know? I only saw your soul, not you. Souls don’t have faces, I don’t even know who you are.” Zhong Jianli spread his hands.
“So… this is how I’m going to spend the rest of my life?” Fang Ye wasn’t stupid. This strange shaman had gone to all that trouble to save him, there was no way it was purely out of the goodness of his heart.
“What’s wrong with that? Do you know what breed you are now? What you’re worth?” Zhong Jianli deliberately ignored Fang Ye’s question.
“A cat?”
“Obviously. I mean what breed of cat!”
Fang Ye looked down at his pale golden-gray coat and chubby little legs, and hesitantly said, “A failed bleach job on an orange tabby?”
Zhong Jianli: …What a philistine.
“You’re a Blue Gold! A Blue Golden shaded! They’re expensive!”
“Oh!” So what, I’m still a cat. Fang Ye idly licked his paw, then suddenly realized he was licking an unwashed hand or a bare foot and his germaphobia kicked in instantly, leaving him petrified on the spot.
Zhong Jianli laughed in exasperation at this country bumpkin of a cat, then picked up Fang Ye’s earlier question: “You can spend the rest of your cat life like this but there’s also another possibility.”
Here it comes, Fang Ye set down his paw and perked up his adorable ear tips.
“See your new home?” Zhong Jianli pointed at the pile of broken shacks and shattered tiles before them. “From now on, you’re this temple’s mascot. The more prosperous the incense fire, the stronger your soul will become. Once you’re strong enough to control a human body, you can swap yourself into a person as your soul vessel and be human again. Work hard, I’m counting on you!”
Fang Ye looked up at the temple, so derelict that filming a ghost movie there would require zero set decoration, and felt this whole arrangement was more than a little dubious.
Crash! As if on cue, a tile dropped from the temple.
Fang Ye: …
Zhong Jianli: …
“Do you think there’s much chance of it ever getting incense fire?” Fang Ye asked seriously, staring down at the tile shattered to pieces on the ground.
“Your incense fire will be as big as your dreams.” Zhong Jianli answered just as seriously, gazing up at the new hole in the roof.
“Let me put it another way, do you have a Plan B?”
Zhong Jianli stared in shock at the Blue-Gold Kitten, who couldn’t have been more than six months old. “I never expected you to speak three languages.”
Fang Ye rolled a massive eye with his clear, bright blue ones.
“Your soul carries the magical power I’ve infused into it. You have the ability to grant worshippers’ wishes.” Zhong Jianli scooped up the kitten with one hand and stepped over the temple’s threshold.
Got it. The adult world really is all transactions, Fang Ye thought. Zhong Jianli was pretty clever, a cat can’t talk in front of people, so any wishes granted to worshippers would all be credited to the Buddha enshrined in the temple. A temple where every prayer gets answered, even one in ruins, would have its threshold worn flat in no time.
“Why revive this ancient temple in such a roundabout way? Why not just find someone to donate money for repairs?” At that moment, Fang Ye was tucked under Zhong Jianli’s arm as they stepped into the ancient temple, more than half of it collapsed. Threads of daylight leaked through the broken roof, and in the dim light, a dull, lusterless old wooden Buddha statue in the center of the main hall gazed down with lowered eyes at the newcomers, full of compassion. The statue was badly damaged, apart from its face, which was still intact, the rest was riddled with holes, whether from woodworm or a thousand arrows. Most importantly, it wasn’t the usual depiction of the Buddha.
With his meager religious knowledge, Fang Ye couldn’t even tell which deity was enshrined here.
“I have my own deity,” Zhong Jianli said softly, looking up at the severely decayed old statue. “Repairing a temple with money is easy, but gathering incense fire can only rely on people’s hearts. What I want isn’t money, it’s sincere devotion.”
For a moment, no sound remained in the temple. The daylight, no match for the thick darkness inside, grew pale and dim. The statue vanished into the shadows clearly a wooden carving, yet ethereal as smoke, as if it might be blown away and disappear at any moment.
“You think I’ll believe you?” Fang Ye jumped down to the ground and looked up at this trendy guy wearing only a black T-shirt in the dead of winter. “For all I know, whatever you did to turn me into this was just some new kind of VR scam.”
The kitten strutted off a few steps, all haughty.
“Don’t believe me? Perfect, we can test it. I’m not even sure you can withstand the magical power I gave you.” Zhong Jianli gave a wicked grin, tucked the cat under his arm, and headed out the door.
On the small plaza outside the temple, people sat scattered about, elderly folks sunning themselves, children playing, and a few day laborers waiting for work.
“Pick one for me. Anyone at all.”
Fang Ye glanced around, then tilted his chin toward a down-and-out middle-aged man. “Him, then.”
Without a word, Zhong Jianli headed straight for the man.
“Sir, are you looking to have your roof repaired?” Seeing Zhong Jianli approach with a cat in his arms, the middle-aged man hurriedly stood up and asked eagerly.
“As a matter of fact, yes, what a coincidence, I really do want my roof fixed.” Zhong Jianli shot a slightly surprised glance at the cat in his arms.
“Ah, I’m a veteran roofer,” the man said, thumping his chest. “Leave it to me. I can start today.”
“Meow!” Fang Ye protested. Stay on topic.
“By the way, sir, do you have any wish you’d like to see fulfilled lately?”
“A wish, huh…” The man looked a little surprised, but he lowered his head and thought for a moment. “My wish would be to land a big contract so I can make some serious money!”
Fang Ye felt a strange, marvelous change come over his body, a peculiar, unfamiliar force instantly filled him from head to toe.
A phone ringtone broke into their conversation.
“Ah, sorry, sir let me take this call!” The man held up his phone to Zhong Jianli.
When he came back from taking the call, the eager smile on his face had been replaced by an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, sir. I just landed a big job, so you’ll have to find someone else for your roof. Let me recommend someone to you his skills are first-rate too!”
Fang Ye: ? It’s really that effective?
Back in the ruined temple, Fang Ye lifted his head toward that lofty, merciful, holy gaze. “Deal. I’ll help you rebuild your incense fire, and you help me become human again.”
In the spotless ICU room, Song Zhuchen sat motionless at Fang Ye’s bedside in a white sterile gown. He had been there for two days. The mask hid his expression, but judging from his exposed, bloodshot eyes and the layered red marks the mask and surgical cap had pressed into his face, his condition was worrying there was not a trace of the dignified, elegant composure Song the screen legend usually carried.
Fang Ye’s body was covered in tubes and surrounded by expensive machines. The room was quiet, with only the steady beeping of the various instruments.
Fang Ye on the hospital bed was just as quiet. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest and the condensation appearing rhythmically on the oxygen mask, it would be hard to confirm he was even alive.
Or perhaps he already… Song Zhuchen held a doctorate in biology; verifying a living organism’s state was basic procedure in his experiments. But he didn’t want to, and didn’t dare, to confirm it.
Song Zhuchen ached to hold him, but didn’t dare. In fact, the most he allowed himself was to touch Fang Ye’s cold hand, the one resting outside the blanket, attached to the IV line. He didn’t even have the courage to hold it. Every bone in Fang Ye’s body was broken, and Song Zhuchen had refused to consent to surgery to set them, unwilling to add to his pain. Besides, he and Dr. Qin both knew perfectly well that there was no point in setting them.
Song Zhuchen expertly held Fang Ye’s hand, gently massaging it to ease the chill from the prolonged IV drip, while his other hand swiped open his phone and started playing a video.
“Whew…” The sound of the door sliding, someone had entered the room.
“Zhuchen,” Dr. Qin said, looking at Song Zhuchen, who was silently watching the video, and let out a soft sigh. “Why must you torture yourself like this?”