Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess-Chapter 229: The infected(2)

Warm sunlight filtered through sheer white curtains.

Qingran blinked slowly.

The scent of steamed rice and ginger soup lingered faintly in the air, and beneath her cheek, the silk of her pillow felt impossibly soft.

She turned her head, and the sight that met her made her breath catch.

Feng Yizhou?

He stood at the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, his profile bathed in gold. The wind toyed with his dark hair as he looked down at something, a book maybe and then glanced back, his eyes catching hers.

He smiled.

"Lazy again?" he teased gently, walking over. "You slept right through breakfast."

She tried to sit up. "I—"

"Don’t worry about it," he said, kneeling beside the bed. His hand cupped her cheek. "You’re safe. You don’t have to run anymore, Qingran. You’re home."

Her eyes burned.

Home?

She wanted to believe it.

So badly.

"I missed you.." she whispered.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Then stay. We have time now."

She smiled faintly. Her fingers curled in the sheets. "Okay... I’ll stay."

But then the color began to bleed.

His face darkened, not with emotion, but with shadow. The air turned thick.

Qingran blinked.

Behind him, the walls cracked.

"What is that?" she whispered.

Feng Yizhou didn’t answer.

A hand, no, a clawed, rotting limb reached through the window and grabbed him.

He gasped.

She screamed.

"No!"

It dragged him backwards. Blood splattered across the sheets. She lunged, catching only the edge of his sleeve before it tore.

"YIZHOU!"

Another shadow lunged, pinning her down, slamming her into the bed. She struggled, fought, her hands igniting with azure flame that fizzled out as fast as it formed.

The air choked her. Darkness pressed against her mind like cold fingers.

"Wake up," she rasped, "Wake up—wake up—!"

[Come back, Qingran!]

It was Lingquan’s voice echoing in the distant part of her mind.

She thrashed. The sheets were gone. The room was gone.

Only fire and blood and Yizhou’s final scream remained.

And then—

A sudden crack of light pierced the dream.

Someone was lifting her.

She felt arms, real and warm, scoop her up from the dirt.

A voice, low, calm, and unfamiliar, cut through the fog. "She’s burning up."

[Yes! That’s her! Thank god—don’t let her go! Take her somewhere safe. Please.]

"Alright. But you’re coming along with us. You seem to know her.."

The man’s voice was quiet but firm, the kind that didn’t tolerate nonsense or hesitation.

He lifted Qingran as though she weighed nothing, careful not to jostle her too much.

Her forehead burned against his chest.

Lingquan, still in his cat form, hovered beside him, he got annoyed of the debris poking his paws and began to hover.

His engine hummed anxiously.

[Her system’s unstable. It’s reacting to the infection. If we don’t get her somewhere cold and contained, she might burn out or burn through.]

The man didn’t flinch. "I saw the smoke from half a district away. So that fire was her?"

[All her. She torched the place trying to escape.]

He nodded slightly and adjusted his grip. Qingran groaned in his arms, her brows furrowing. Her lips moved in fevered murmurs. "Yizhou... don’t go..."

"She’s delirious..." he muttered. "Where’s the nearest safe point? My base is too far to take her there right now"

[2 miles down, there’s a run down apartment there, we can access her more better there.]

Without another word, he started walking.

The terrain was rough cracked pavement, rusted debris, low wind howling through shattered windows but the stranger moved with unshaken steps, each stride smooth and quiet.

His coat fluttered behind him, long and dark, stained from past fights.

A blade jutted from his back sheath, matte and worn, but well-cared-for.

[What’s your name?] Lingquan asked, voice tight with a mix of hope and suspicion.

"Ruihuang Chen.."

Lingquan nodded, running an analysis on Ruihuang Chen, he had a good record before the apocalypse so he could trust Qingran with him.

Ruihuang Chen moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had been through too many wars to flinch at heat or blood.

He didn’t speak again, only adjusted Qingran’s position slightly as they reached the half-collapsed fencing of the rundown apartment Lingquan had mentioned.

[Second floor’s still intact,] Lingquan offered, flying ahead in his compact cat form, scanning the area. [No movement. No rotters. No systems. It’s clean.]

"Lead the way."

The narrow stairwell groaned under Ruihuang’s weight, but it held.

Graffiti peeled off the walls, water stains bloomed like bruises across the ceiling.

Qingran whimpered once, her hand twitching near his chest.

"She’s still burning.." Ruihuang muttered.

[Her body’s trying to burn the infection out. It’s not working, it’s feeding it instead.]

Ruihuang didn’t respond. He kicked open the second-floor door with the heel of his boot and entered the apartment.

It smelled of mildew and dust.

A mattress, still wrapped in old plastic, rested in the far corner. Ruihuang laid Qingran down gently, brushing sweat-soaked hair from her face.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lashes damp, her lips dry and cracked. Her body radiated heat like an overclocked engine.

He pulled off his coat and stripped the outer layers of his shirt. The cloth was clean enough.

Lingquan fetched a bottle of stored water from Ruihuang’s sidepack and dropped it beside him.

[Use this. Dampen her down. Her temperature’s at one-oh-four and climbing.]

He nodded and dipped the fabric into the water, wringing it out before gently wiping Qingran’s neck, forehead, and wrists. Her skin twitched under his touch. "She’s fighting it."

[She always does.]

Ruihuang glanced at the cat hovering beside him. "You care about her a lot."

[She’s my pilot. And my friend.]

There was a pause. Then Ruihuang said, "She’s strong. But if that compound keeps spreading...."

[She’ll die.]

Silence thickened around them.

Ruihuang wrung the cloth again, slower this time, his fingers darkened from blood that wasn’t his. "What do we need?"

[A miracle] Lingquan muttered. [Or a clean sample of the infection to isolate its structure.]

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