Chapter One: The Beginning

December 30th, 2012, outskirts of K City, Jiangnan Province, Huaxia

“So swollen, so painful...” Liang Jing slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing as if it might split from the agony.

“Wasn’t I reinstalling the game client?” he recalled, bored, wiping the ancient tofu-like monitor screen. He seemed to have been shocked by static, then everything went black. He remembered nothing after that. He reached for a glass of purified water, hoping to clear his head.

“It’s over!” he exclaimed in alarm. The computer monitor, the tower, even the speakers—whether plastic or metal—had all become piles of black, blocky debris. When he picked up a piece, it crumbled into a cloud of ash and dust.

Liang Jing stood frozen, his mind blank. What had happened? Even a fire couldn’t have destroyed everything so thoroughly—not even the metal parts had survived. What kind of temperature could reduce metal to ashes? And he had been in close contact with the screen the whole time!

His expression changed. He hurriedly checked himself, stripping down anxiously. A sigh of relief escaped him: everything was intact and healthy, his precious “treasure” unharmed.

After a thorough inspection, he found only some dry, dirty marks on his skin—flaking into powder at his touch—and lingering discomfort in his head. Otherwise, nothing seemed amiss.

This was far too strange and terrifying. It wasn’t just about the money lost—a mere 500 RMB for the junk computer. What kind of force could completely carbonize and destroy all the metals inside? What on earth had happened?

“No—help!”

Just as Liang Jing pondered the mystery, a sharp, agonized scream pierced the air outside.

Unfortunately, it was a man.

A hysterical, terror-stricken scream, as if all his strength was poured into it, vocal cords shredded without care—a sound with enough force to shatter stone. Something horrifying and desperate must have happened.

Qingshui Bay was a village-level settlement, about twenty kilometers from K City’s outskirts. It had a single street, maybe two or three hundred meters long. All the restaurants, breakfast stalls, supermarkets, and internet cafes together numbered fewer than twenty.

With coastal industries moving inland, many factories had sprung up nearby, bringing with them a flood of migrant workers.

The buildings of Qingshui Bay were all newly planned and constructed—uniformly styled, arranged in neat rows. Each unit occupied over 200 square meters, featuring two and a half stories and a front yard.

Aside from the large iron gate and a wash area by the bathroom, the yard’s perimeter was lined with small tile-roofed rooms, mostly rented out to migrant laborers. Depending on the owner’s circumstances, even the main building could be rented. Liang Jing now lived on the second floor of the main house.

In Liang Jing’s memory, hundreds of migrant workers lived here. Working day and night shifts, it was usually quiet. Never before had such a fierce, shrill noise echoed through the area. Something was seriously wrong.

A sense of unease rose in Liang Jing’s heart. Reflexively, he glanced at the door to check the lock. Perhaps it was a side effect from reading too many internet novels.

Today was December 31st, 2012 (not really, heh). As a member of the super “loser” crowd in Huaxia, Liang Jing had always hoped for the world’s end to actually arrive. Dissatisfied with his current life, he craved change—even if it meant risking life and limb.

Especially after reading a news report that in Indonesia, 49% of the population lived on less than $2 a day. Damn it, Liang Jing felt like a super loser himself. Even with the dollar exchange rate at just over 6 RMB, and many around him in similar straits, the thought of being like the 49% in those impoverished countries made his heart sink with depression and indignation.

He moved to the window and looked out. A man of medium build was running wildly down the street, slapping frantically at his body. Around him swarmed several creatures, each roughly the size of a grown man’s fist—“birds,” it seemed at first glance. The man resembled a bear chased by bees after stealing honey, overturning tables, chairs, flowerpots, and plants as he fled, leaving chaos in his wake.

“What’s going on?”

“Buzz... buzz...”

Liang Jing’s eyes widened. These “birds” made a sound like mosquitoes—only much louder, echoing through the glass even at a distance. When he saw what they really were, he was stunned: they were mosquitoes—mutated mosquitoes.

Each was as big as a man’s fist. Even from afar, he could make out their sinister, dark red, piercing mouthparts, stabbing at the man’s body before darting away, swift and agile, accompanied by deafening buzzing. The man couldn’t land a single slap.

Wherever the mutated mosquitoes bit, the man’s skin swelled grotesquely—lumps as big as lunchboxes. At the center of each bite, blood trickled from the hollow made by the mosquito’s mouthparts. The man staggered, colliding blindly with his surroundings, his cries growing hoarse, filled with pain and despair.

Drawn by the scent of blood, more mosquitoes gathered—over twenty now swarming the man. Despite his desperate struggle, he was bitten again and again, swelling with lumps. His body began to wither and dry, collapsing in a semi-conscious heap, hands trembling intermittently, his skin parched, lips cracked.

In the end, only a few squashed mutated mosquitoes and a human corpse remained.

Watching this horrifying scene unfold before his eyes—not on TV or in a movie—Liang Jing’s legs trembled uncontrollably, fear flooding his heart.

These mutated mosquitoes drained too much blood—extracting not just blood, but even the fluid from the cells and organs. Terrifying, relentless, and vicious!

Had these mosquitoes mutated from exposure to radioactive substances? Or was this the apocalypse arriving, sparking their transformation?

What should he do? Though he considered himself stronger than most, facing so many mutated mosquitoes would only make him easy prey—a tempting meal for them.

But he would have to venture out eventually. Food was a necessity.

Taking a deep breath, Liang Jing clenched his fists, suppressing his fear, and continued to observe the bizarre changes around him. He needed to understand more.

The street was in chaos, as if a pot of porridge had suddenly boiled over. People were fleeing in panic, tables and chairs scattered, flowerpots and plastic bags flying everywhere. Black and red blood stained the streets, screams echoed from internet cafes, supermarkets, and restaurants. Many ghastly corpses remained—some shriveled from dehydration, others torn and mangled.

Liang Jing even saw a giant dog, nearly 1.5 meters tall—almost human-sized! Its eyes glowed deep red with bloodthirsty madness, its fur turned grayish-yellow and bristled like steel needles. Thick, metallic strands shimmered coldly on its body. It was feasting on a human corpse, tearing a hole in the abdomen, gnawing at flesh and intestines, blood dripping from its savage mouth as it dragged entrails out. Brutal, terrifying, bloodthirsty.

The mutated mosquitoes seemed to know better than to provoke the beast—they coexisted peacefully.

One mosquito, apparently sated, wobbled drunkenly through the air. It blundered into a massive spider web—at least ten meters in diameter, nearly invisible unless closely observed. Struggling, it was helpless. A spider the size of a washbasin raced over, eyes glowing with excitement, eight legs scuttling swiftly, immobilizing its prey. Two nearly foot-long black fangs gleamed with a pale yellow light as they devoured their meal.

Looking around, many buildings nearby were burning. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air through the windows. The entire world seemed eerily silent and noisy at once—no cars honking, no music or singing, no TV chatter. Only human screams and the primal cries of animals remained.

What was happening? If not for the unchanged surroundings, Liang Jing would have thought he was no longer on Earth.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The air felt wonderfully fresh, bringing a pleasant sensation to his gut. The sky above was clear, its blue undimmed even by the thick black smoke from the fires.

No polluted air—the sky no longer dulled by industrial emissions. The world seemed as if it had been washed clean.

“Is this the apocalypse foretold in the fables? If so, it’s not bad!” Though there was no proof, Liang Jing truly wished for the end times to come. That was what he desired—to embrace freedom, to cast off all constraints and oppression.

“Buzz... buzz...”

“Damn, there are mutated mosquitoes inside the house as well.” Liang Jing’s expression changed. There, inside the mosquito net, were two mosquitoes the size of fists. Compared to those outside, they seemed underdeveloped or underfed—smaller, with thin, gray wings vibrating noisily.

Sensing Liang Jing’s alluring scent, they flew toward him, bumping into the net and forming tent-like bulges—foolish creatures.

Without delay, Liang Jing quickly pulled the net from its frame, wrapping the mosquitoes inside. Nimble and steady, he trapped them like fish caught in a net—no matter how they struggled, they couldn’t escape. The net wasn’t especially strong, but under Liang Jing’s grip, it easily contained them.

He dared not let his hands get too close. The horror these mosquitoes could inflict was clear. Being bitten and drained was bad enough, but their mutated toxins could be worse. The lunchbox-sized swelling with bleeding wounds was terrifying.

“Die!”

“Smack! Smack!”

Watching the two mutated mosquitoes thrashing inside the net, Liang Jing’s eyes flashed coldly. Without searching for a weapon, he stomped down hard with his slippered right foot. The outcome was predictable—against Liang Jing’s strength, they were crushed instantly.

Both mosquitoes’ heads and thoraxes flattened, their abdomens burst open, leaving only their long antennae twitching weakly before falling silent, dead.

Almost simultaneously, a short, gleaming white knife and a bright red coin burst from their bodies, dropping nearby. Two faint, barely visible white lights also flew from the mosquitoes’ corpses and merged into Liang Jing’s body.

The instant the white light entered him, Liang Jing felt a jolt of clarity, as if a bucket of fresh water had been poured over him, refreshing his spirit.