Chapter 1: Medicine

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Medicine

Xu Mo leaned against a peeling wall, feeling like a piece of charcoal thrown into a furnace.

His head was splitting. His body alternated between chills and a scalding heat, and every breath scorched his throat. Xu Mo touched his burning forehead. Only one frantic thought remained: ’I have to find some fever medicine.’

It had been six days since he was transported to this damned apocalypse.

With no warning, Xu Mo had woken up one day to find he’d gone from an ordinary office worker to the only living person in this desolate little town—if you ignored the "things" that wandered stiffly through the streets.

’Zombies...’

The very first time he saw them, Xu Mo understood his predicament. He had been transported to the apocalypse.

Over the past few days, Xu Mo had managed to survive by relying on extreme caution and what little survival knowledge he had. But his luck had finally run out. Since last night, a high fever had been consuming him like an invisible flame, devouring his strength and sanity bit by bit.

In this hell, where medicine was scarce and danger lurked around every corner, a high fever was a death sentence.

’I can’t put this off any longer...’ Xu Mo licked his cracked lips, whispering hoarsely.

He splashed the last of his cool water onto his forehead, trying to rouse his groggy consciousness. Then, Xu Mo focused all his mental energy, sensing the countdown in his mind.

[00:00:03...02...01...00]

Time’s up!

If something as crazy as transmigration could happen, it seemed only natural to have a system as well. Unfortunately, there was no system. There was only a timer that had come with Xu Mo, one that reset every 48 hours.

The first time it triggered, Xu Mo panicked. He just stood there frozen for a moment in that empty, familiar-feeling world where time seemed to stand still, before being tossed back into reality. He had wasted a precious opportunity.

The second time, Xu Mo had learned his lesson. He’d scraped together some food, which gave him the bare minimum he needed to keep struggling on in this apocalypse.

Maybe it was an adverse reaction to this Otherworld, or maybe it was just sheer bad luck, but Xu Mo had started to run a fever after returning that time. It made him realize with stark clarity that this, his only Golden Finger, was both a lifeline and a potential death warrant.

Now was the third time.

Xu Mo struggled toward a barely-intact security door beside him—this was another rule he had pieced together: the ability had to be anchored to a real "door" to be activated, and he could only stay in that frozen world for 60 seconds.

Pressing his feverish palm against the rough surface of the door, Xu Mo roared in his mind:

’Open!’

A faint light rippled across its surface, and the scene behind the door changed in a flash. Like a starving wolf pouncing on its prey, Xu Mo staggered through.

Once inside, Xu Mo felt some of the tension leave him.

Behind the door wasn’t a cold office cubicle or a cavernous factory floor, but a living room that radiated a sense of life! A light-gray blanket was draped casually over a cream-colored cloth sofa. On the glass coffee table sat a half-drunk cup of coffee and an open magazine. The smiles in the family photo next to the TV stand were warm. The entire space was neat and cozy, forming a jarring contrast with the decay of the apocalypse.

’A residence... Not bad luck!’ The thought flashed through Xu Mo’s mind as his body moved on pure instinct.

The sixty-second countdown began!

Time was tight, but Xu Mo had rehearsed his route countless times in his head during his feverish delirium.

’In a normal home, the priority locations for medicine are: first, the bedroom nightstand. Second, the living room TV stand or coffee table drawers. Third, a bookshelf in the study. The bathroom cabinet is the last resort!’

This was the "Guide to Pillaging for Pills" Xu Mo had compiled from common sense and various scraps of information he’d seen before. After all, who would run to the bathroom for medicine after spiking a fever in the middle of the night? Most people would keep it on their nightstand, within easy reach.

Xu Mo made a beeline for the master bedroom.

He burst into the room and immediately spotted the nightstand. He yanked open the first drawer—it only held some receipts, charging cables, and an eyeglass case. His heart hammered in his chest as he quickly pulled open the second drawer—success! A small, slightly messy basket came into view, holding a thermometer, a few blister packs of pills, and an open bottle of vitamins.

Xu Mo’s eyes scanned the contents and instantly locked onto one pack—Ibuprofen extended-release capsules! Only a lonely four remained in the foil pack. He snatched them up and stuffed them into his pocket.

Twenty-five seconds had passed!

Not daring to pause for a second, Xu Mo turned and dashed to the kitchen—food and water were the foundation of survival! He wrenched the refrigerator door open. The interior light shone brightly; time was frozen. Xu Mo precisely grabbed two bottles of mineral water from the door, stuffing them into his clothes. He then quickly scanned the kitchen counters and the area around the sink—no ready-to-eat food in sight.

Thirty-five seconds!

Xu Mo dropped to one knee and quickly pulled open the food cabinet below. The door let out a faint CREAK, unnervingly loud in the dead silence. There wasn’t much inside, but it was all life-saving stuff—several tins of fish lined up like soldiers, a half-full bag of rice, and two unopened packs of compressed biscuits. Xu Mo’s fingers, clumsy with urgency, practically clawed the cans and biscuits out, shoving them into his already bulging clothes. The RUSTLE of plastic was the only sound of life he could hear at that moment.

Fifty seconds!

Xu Mo used his last few seconds to dash back into the living room. His eyes swept over the fruit bowl. He grabbed two plump, red apples. Just as he reached out again for two bananas, an irresistible pulling sensation violently seized him.

Everything before him shattered like a broken mirror, then dissipated into nothing.

The next second, a bone-chilling cold and the thick stench of rot enveloped him once more. Xu Mo fell back, landing hard on the cold, unforgiving ground of the apocalypse. Only the two red apples clutched tightly in his hand retained the brief, illusory warmth of the other world.

Confirming he was back in the apocalypse, Xu Mo couldn’t help but shudder as the familiar, cold air—a mix of decay and dust—hit him. A wave of indescribable loss washed over him. Those brief sixty seconds of warmth and tranquility were like a fragile, easily shattered dream. Now that he was awake, reality was all the more piercing.

But that feeling of loss was soon dispelled by the heavy weight of the goods he was carrying. Xu Mo looked down, gathering the supplies scattered across his lap. By the faint light filtering through a broken window, he quickly and carefully took inventory:

"Ibuprofen, four capsules, check." Xu Mo clutched the life-saving blister pack tightly in his palm, as if he could draw strength from it.

"Compressed biscuits, two packs, sealed tight."

"Three cans of dace with salted black beans." Xu Mo ran a hand over the round metal tins; their cold touch was strangely reassuring.

"Four chocolate bars." Xu Mo swallowed subconsciously at the sight of the high-energy food.

"Two apples, in good condition."

"Two bottles of mineral water, five hundred milliliters each."

Inventory complete. The haul was far better than he had expected! If he rationed them, these supplies would be enough to get him through the next two or three hellish days. A powerful sense of elation washed over him, dulling his physical weakness and the dizziness from the high fever.

However, his elation was cut short by a sudden, sharp thought—the backpack!

Just now, in that world’s living room, he’d caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye as he rushed out. A dark-colored backpack, sitting right next to the entryway cabinet! His attention had been so focused on medicine and food that he’d completely overlooked such a vital piece of gear!

’Damn it! If I’d grabbed that backpack, I could’ve fit everything inside easily. Moving around would be so much simpler, not like this, pathetically stuffing everything into my clothes and almost not getting it all!’

A wave of regret washed over Xu Mo.

In the apocalypse, a sturdy backpack was an extremely valuable resource in its own right. Xu Mo cursed himself for his shortsightedness, resolving that the next time he activated his ability, finding and taking a backpack would be his first priority. It would massively improve his looting efficiency.

Regrets were one thing, but the immediate priority was his fever. Xu Mo didn’t hesitate. He twisted open a bottle of mineral water and took several large gulps. GULP. GULP. The cool liquid sliding down his scorching throat brought a brief moment of relief.

Then, Xu Mo carefully popped one capsule from the ibuprofen pack, tilted his head back, and swallowed it with a gulp of water.

The pill slid down his esophagus. He couldn’t feel any effects yet, but Xu Mo knew that hope had been sown. He carefully gathered the remaining medicine and supplies, moving them to a relatively clean corner nearby.

After finishing, a powerful wave of fatigue washed over him. Xu Mo leaned back against the peeling wall, his body still alternating between chills and fever, and groggily closed his eyes. He was waiting for the medicine to take effect, and for the next forty-eight hours to pass.

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