The TV in the living room had been droning on in the background for the third hour straight. No one had bothered to turn it on—it was just habit.
Lin Yuchen sat on the sagging couch, head propped on one hand, staring blankly at the screen.
From the kitchen came the sound of something sizzling—Yuze had apparently decided that scrambled eggs with tomatoes would save them from starvation. Or at least from boredom.
"…over the past week, the number of attacks on people by animals has tripled," the anchor's voice carried that practiced mix of concern and calm professionalism.
"Wild animals are venturing into residential areas, while domestic pets are displaying inexplicable aggression. Scientists at the Central Institute of Virology suspect a mutated strain of rabies. It's still unclear whether it can transmit directly to humans, but the Ministry of Health of the Blue Star Alliance strongly advises avoiding contact with any animals and immediately reporting suspicious incidents…"
Yuchen snorted.
"Another epidemic," he muttered to the empty air. "How many more can there be?
First viral outbreaks, then climate disasters, now animals are losing their damn minds. The world's clearly out to finish us off for good."
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
That crack in the corner—the one he and Yuze had promised to patch up last summer—still stared back at him. Like so many other things.
Truth be told, Yuchen wasn't particularly shocked. The shock had worn off a week ago—the exact moment he'd opened his eyes in this unfamiliar apartment and realized this wasn't his body anymore.
Well, the body was the same. Lin Yuchen, eighteen years old, average height, average looks, average grades at university.
Only the soul inside… was different.
"Transmigrated. Just up and landed here. In a parallel version of myself. No explanation, no tutorial. Just—bam."
He remembered his previous life quite clearly. Office grind, subway commutes, vending-machine coffee, late-night binge-watching, dreams of getting the hell out someday.
Then—darkness.
And he woke up here.
Same apartment on the outskirts of the megacity, same name, same face in the mirror. Only the memories were different.
This Lin Yuchen studied economics, not programming.
This Lin Yuchen had lost his parents in a car crash four years ago.
This Lin Yuchen had a younger brother who still lived with him and had zero intention of moving out.
"Maybe I really am him? Just from a different branch? Or did I simply take over an empty spot?"
Yuchen rubbed his temples. His head ached sometimes—like his brain was trying to cram two sets of memories into one skull.
But overall, manageable.
He could live with it.
"Chen-ge! You didn't fall asleep in there, did you?"
A voice called from the hallway. The door flew open and Lin Yuze burst in.
Seventeen, lanky, hair perpetually sticking out in every direction like he'd just walked through a wind tunnel.
In his hands—a plate of eggs and two mugs of tea.
"Nope. Just contemplating how we're all gonna get mauled by rabid raccoons soon,"
Yuchen said, nodding toward the TV.
Yuze set the plate on the coffee table and flopped down beside him.
"Come on, it's probably just a seasonal flare-up. Remember two years ago when the cats in our neighborhood started ganging up on pigeons? Everyone was screaming apocalypse—turned out the pet food prices shot up and they just went feral from hunger."
"This is different."
Yuchen jabbed a finger at the screen.
Right then it cut to shaky cellphone footage: a big Rottweiler latched onto its owner's arm mid-walk. The guy was screaming, blood spraying, camera shaking like crazy.
"This isn't hunger. This is… rage. Look at the eyes. They're not just mad. They're… empty."
Yuze shrugged, but his gaze lingered on the screen a second longer than usual.
"Well… maybe it really is a virus. Either way, what's it got to do with us? We don't even own a dog. And that neighbor's cat got flattened by a car ages ago."
"Uh-huh. But Auntie Wang downstairs has a Pekingese. If that thing goes nuts, it'll be the first to climb over the balcony for our sausages."
Yuze burst out laughing.
"Then we'll just feed it to you. You're the official big brother and family defender now. By the rulebook you have to take the hit."
Yuchen rolled his eyes.
"By the rulebook I'm supposed to make you study advanced math, not feed you eggs at eleven p.m."
"Math can wait. Hunger can't."
They fell quiet, chewing.
The TV droned on: some expert in a white coat talking about "neurotoxins of unknown origin," "abnormally rapid spread," "the necessity of quarantining all domestic animals."
Yuchen listened with half an ear. His thoughts drifted again.
"One week. Just one week and I'm already used to it. This apartment, this voice, this brother. Like it's always been this way."
He stole a glance at Yuze.
The kid was enthusiastically stabbing at a tomato, trying to slice it into perfect wedges.
Just a normal teenager. Normal life.
Parents died in a crash—drunk driver on the highway, head-on collision.
Insurance payout, stipend from the Blue Star Alliance—that same global organization that had united every nation on Earth a hundred years ago.
Monthly support for orphans until they came of age. Enough to cover rent, food, and school. Not luxurious, but not starving on the streets.
"The Blue Star Alliance… In my old life there was nothing like that. Maybe that's the biggest difference in this branch? A hundred years of one united world, and we still can't handle animals going haywire."
"Hey," Yuze said suddenly, not looking up from his plate. "Did you notice half the professors were missing from uni today?"
Yuchen nodded.
"Yeah. Word is someone from the dean's office is in the hospital. Apparently a dog attacked right in the campus park."
"Damn. And here I thought it was just epic hangovers from the staff party."
"That party was last Friday. It's been a whole week."
"Then it's chronic hangover."
They both smirked.
Dark humor had been their main language for the past four years. Laughing at the awful stuff was easier than crying.
Yuchen finished his tea and set the mug down.
The TV switched to an ad: a smiling family buying new dog food—"SuperCalm: even during seasons of heightened aggression!"
Irony on a cosmic level.
"You know," Yuchen said quietly, "sometimes I feel like none of this is random."
Yuze raised an eyebrow.
"None of what?"
"The animals. The virus. The news. It's like something's building. Not just a rabies outbreak. Something… bigger."
Yuze went quiet for a moment. Then he leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling—just like Yuchen had five minutes earlier.
"You and your theories again?" he smirked.
"Like the Alliance is hiding something?"
"Not the Alliance. Just… a feeling. Like the world started shifting and we haven't figured out which direction yet."
Yuze snorted.
"The world's always shifting, Chen-ge. Usually slowly. This time it's suddenly fast. Maybe it really is a virus. Or maybe the environment finally broke."
Yuchen didn't reply.
He stared at the screen, now showing the weather forecast. Normal stuff. Rain tomorrow, fifteen degrees, light wind.
As if nothing was wrong.
"Maybe it really is nothing. Maybe I'm just a paranoid guy from another world. Or maybe…"
He didn't get to finish the thought.
Somewhere outside came a wild, drawn-out howl.
Not quite a dog's.
Not quite a wolf's.
Something in between, but far worse.
The howl turned into a rasp, then a growl—and cut off abruptly.
Silence.
Yuze froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
"…What the hell was that?"
Yuchen slowly stood and walked to the window.
The curtains weren't fully closed. He pulled the edge aside.
The courtyard was lit by dim streetlamps.
Under one of them lay something dark and shapeless.
Nearby stood a dog—a large German Shepherd he'd seen a couple of times belonging to the first-floor neighbors.
It stood motionless, staring straight at their window.
Its eyes gleamed yellow in the lamplight—brighter than they should have been.
Then the dog slowly turned its head and started walking toward the park.
Calmly.
Deliberately.
Like it knew exactly where it was going.