Translation review

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This is a work of fiction set in a post-apocalyptic world featuring rebirth and a system. I've done my best to make the setting logically consistent, but some aspects may prioritize pacing and enjoyment over strict logical efficiency. If you notice any obvious plot holes or contradictions, please let me know. I'll read your feedback carefully and do my best to fix them. After all, this story is for all of you, and readers have the keenest eyes. — The Author

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This is a work of fiction set in a post-apocalyptic world featuring rebirth and a system. I’ve done my best to keep the setting logically consistent, but some aspects may prioritize pacing and enjoyment over strict logical efficiency. If you notice any obvious plot holes or contradictions, please let me know. I’ll read your feedback carefully and do my best to fix them. After all, this story is for all of you—and readers have the keenest eyes.

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A headache woke first.

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— The Author

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The back of his head was pressed against the concrete floor. A chill ran down his neck, stopping between his shoulder blades and sending a shiver through him.

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A headache woke him first.

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His mouth was full of dust and a metallic taste—like when he'd bitten through his lip as a kid after a fall that broke a tooth.

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The back of his head was pressed against the concrete floor. A chill slid down his neck, stopping between his shoulder blades, then sending a shiver through him.

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Shen Weizhen didn't open his eyes. He listened first.

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His mouth was full of dust and a metallic taste—like when he’d bitten through his lip as a kid after a fall that broke a tooth.

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Creak. Crack. The wooden door shuddered under heavy impacts. The hinges sounded as if they might give way at any second.

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Shen Weizhen didn’t open his eyes. He listened first.

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Outside, the scratching was as dense as beans being sifted. Fingernails scraped against the wood, setting his teeth on edge.

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Creak. Crack.

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Even through the door, he could smell it: the stench of rotting flesh soaked in black blood, drilling into his nostrils.

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The wooden door shuddered under heavy impacts. The hinges sounded as if they might give way any second.

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He wanted to curse, but his mouth opened soundlessly.

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Outside, the scratching was as dense as beans being sifted. Fingernails scraped against the wood, setting his teeth on edge.

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Scenes still flashed in his mind. A second ago, he was a regimental commander of the Dragon Country. On the scorched border, shrapnel whizzed past his ears. As he covered his comrades' retreat, a booby trap had exploded underfoot in a blinding white light. He remembered dying with his rifle still clutched in his hands.

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Even through the door, he could smell it: the stench of rotting flesh soaked in black blood, drilling into his nostrils.

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Then the scene cut. An office that smelled of disinfectant. Screaming erupted outside the window. A low-level clerk he saw every day convulsed and lunged at a colleague. The clerk's skin was ashen gray, veins bulging, eyes cloudy white.

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He wanted to curse, but his mouth opened soundlessly.

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This body's name was also Shen Weizhen—Deputy Director of the Huidong District Emergency Management Bureau.

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Scenes flashed through his mind. A second ago, he’d been a regimental commander of the Dragon Country. On the scorched border, shrapnel whizzed past his ears. As he covered his comrades’ retreat, a booby trap had exploded underfoot in a blinding white light. He remembered dying with his rifle still clutched in his hands.

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His memories felt scattered and randomly pieced together. Pick up one shard: border dirt. Pick up another: office tea stains.

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Then the scene cut.

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He pushed himself up from the ground. His fingertips brushed a crushed aluminum pill case.

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An office that smelled of disinfectant. Screaming erupted outside the window. A low-level clerk he saw every day convulsed and lunged at a colleague. The clerk’s skin was ashen gray, veins bulging, eyes cloudy white.

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Half a strip of cardiac rescue pills. The foil had been twisted out of shape. Pills lay scattered in the dust; one was already broken.

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This body’s name was also Shen Weizhen—Deputy Director of the Huidong District Emergency Management Bureau.

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An emergency kit sat right by his foot, unopened. The original owner had been scared to death.

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His memories felt scattered, like shards randomly pieced together. Pick up one: border dirt. Pick up another: office tea stains.

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The virus had broken out only an hour ago. A civilian official who'd spent years behind a desk—his heart gave out first.

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He pushed himself up from the ground. His fingertips brushed a crushed aluminum pill case.

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A crack sounded. The door was struck again, and a fresh split appeared near the top of the panel.

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Half a strip of cardiac rescue pills. The foil had been twisted out of shape. Pills lay scattered in the dust; one was already broken.

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Shen Weizhen pressed his eye to the gap and scanned the hallway.

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An emergency kit sat right by his foot, unopened. The original owner had been terrified.

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Three crooked shadows blocked the corridor. All wore the standard-issue shirts of the Emergency Management Bureau. Their skin was ashen gray, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles, joints bent backward.

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The virus had broken out only an hour ago. A civilian official who’d spent years behind a desk—his heart gave out first.

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One had a string of dark brown saliva hanging from its mouth, stretching and dripping. Its claws kept scratching at the door, nails split, wood shavings stuck in the splintered edges.

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A crack sounded.

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He felt for his waist, intending to pull out his radio.

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The door was struck again, and a fresh split appeared near the top of the panel.

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His fingertips touched a scorched, melted piece of plastic. The radio's casing was warped, the circuit board fused into a lump of black char.

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Shen Weizhen pressed his eye to the gap and scanned the hallway.

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Fragments in his memory told him that ten minutes into the outbreak, a global particle storm had swept the ground. Everything with a chip was fried—phones, radios, surveillance cameras—all useless.

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Three crooked shadows blocked the corridor. All wore the standard-issue shirts of the Emergency Management Bureau. Their skin was ashen gray, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles, joints bent backward.

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Damn it.

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One had a string of dark brown saliva hanging from its mouth, stretching and dripping. Its claws kept scratching at the door—nails split, wood shavings stuck in the splintered edges.

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In the corner stood an olive-drab tin box. Four white characters on the side read: "Emergency Breaching."

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He reached for his waist, intending to pull out his radio.

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The original owner had been scared out of his wits and had completely forgotten about it.

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His fingertips touched scorched, melted plastic. The radio’s casing was warped, the circuit board fused into a lump of black char.

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Shen Weizhen moved over and hooked his fingers under the latch. The rusted lock core snapped under his twist.

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Fragments in his memory told him that ten minutes into the outbreak, a global particle storm had swept the ground. Anything with a chip was fried—phones, radios, surveillance cameras. All useless.

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Inside, a military knife lay in a foam slot, its edge cold and gleaming. On the other side was a crowbar.

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Damn it.

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He gripped the military knife in a reverse hold, pressed one knee to the floor, hooked his left hand on the door frame, and pushed the door open a crack.

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In the corner stood an olive-drab tin box. Four white characters on the side read: “Emergency Breaching.”

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A heavy thud. The zombie slammed into the door again, its head wedged in the gap, cloudy white eyes pressed against the panel.

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The original owner had been scared out of his wits and had completely forgotten about it.

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Shen Weizhen dropped his shoulder and drove the knife forward. The military knife sank into the bony crevice of the temple, buried to the hilt.

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Shen Weizhen moved over and hooked his fingers under the latch. The rusted lock core snapped under his twist.

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Gurgling breaths escaped the thing's throat, then it went limp. Black blood splattered on the door, a few gray specks landing on his pant leg.

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Inside, a military knife lay in a foam slot—its edge cold and gleaming. On the other side was a crowbar.

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He pulled the knife out and stepped back half a pace. His hands trembled slightly.

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He gripped the military knife in a reverse hold, pressed one knee to the floor, hooked his left hand on the door frame, and pushed the door open a crack.

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He wasn't sure if it was because this body hadn't moved in so long, or because he himself hadn't fully emerged from that blinding white light of the booby trap.

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A heavy thud.

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The dull thud of the corpse collapsing had barely faded when a voice rang in his mind—carrying a faint static, like an old radio.

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The zombie slammed into the door again, its head wedged in the gap. Cloudy white eyes pressed against the panel.

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"Spark-073 System, soul binding complete. Military soul authentication passed. Initial Civilization Points: 10. Basic unit available for summoning: Army Conscript, 5 points each."

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Shen Weizhen dropped his shoulder and drove the knife forward.

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A pale blue interface floated before his eyes. The most prominent feature was a two-dimensional map. The entire building was densely packed with red heat-source dots. Only on the west side flickered two faint green dots.

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The military knife sank into the bony crevice of the temple, buried to the hilt.

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Shen Weizhen closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the interface remained. He cursed.

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Gurgling breaths escaped the thing’s throat—then it went limp.

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"Fuck."

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Black blood splattered on the door. A few gray specks landed on his pant leg.

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It wasn't a hallucination.

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He pulled the knife out and stepped back half a pace. His hands trembled slightly.

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The words "Army Conscript" on the summoning tab were lit. Five points each, ten points exactly enough for two.

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He wasn’t sure if it was because this body hadn’t moved in so long, or because he himself hadn’t fully come back from that blinding white light of the booby trap.

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But he didn't rush to use it.

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The dull thud of the corpse collapsing had barely faded when a voice rang in his mind—faint static, like an old radio.

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He hadn't figured this thing out yet. How long would a summoned unit take to arrive? Where would it appear? Would it make noise and draw every zombie on the floor? He didn't know.

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“Spark-073 System, soul binding complete. Military soul authentication passed. Initial Civilization Points: 10. Basic unit available for summoning: Army Conscript, 5 points each.”

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First, deal with the two outside.

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A pale blue interface floated before his eyes.

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He didn't close the interface in his mind. He left it open, his peripheral vision catching the lit summoning tab.

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The most prominent feature was a two-dimensional map. The entire building was densely packed with red heat-source dots. Only on the west side flickered two faint green dots.

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He gripped the military knife and crouched back by the door. The corpse he'd just dropped lay beside it, black blood slowly spreading on the floor.

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Shen Weizhen closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the interface was still there.

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There were still two zombies outside the door.

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He cursed.

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“Fuck.”

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It wasn’t a hallucination.

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The words “Army Conscript” on the summoning tab were lit. Five points each—ten points exactly enough for two.

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But he didn’t rush to use it.

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He hadn’t figured this thing out yet. How long would a summoned unit take to arrive? Where would it appear? Would it make noise and draw every zombie on the floor? He didn’t know.

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First, deal with the two outside.

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He didn’t close the interface in his mind. He left it open, his peripheral vision catching the lit summoning tab.

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He gripped the military knife and crouched back by the door.

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The corpse he’d just dropped lay beside it, black blood slowly spreading on the floor.

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There were still two zombies outside the door.