Chosen: Beyond Fate

In the inpatient building...

Inside a dimly lit office, flesh writhed across the walls. Faces twisting in despair emerged faintly from the pulsating mass, their ceaseless wails echoing through the room.

From a desk thick with dust, a voice crackled through a walkie-talkie. Amid the static and electrical interference, a vague voice said, “High Priest, I have something to report.”

The white-haired middle-aged man seated behind the desk frowned as he looked up. “What is it? Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me unless it’s important?”

“No, it’s just...” The speaker on the other end sounded increasingly nervous. “Among the newcomers, there seem to be a few who aren’t being very cooperative. Should we... issue a warning?”

The High Priest’s gaze darkened. Coldly, he said, “People who refuse to behave won’t become obedient just because you warn them. Deal with them as soon as possible. Don’t let them cause any trouble. Understood?”

“Yes. Understood,” the quivering voice said, carrying a hint of uneasiness. “But if we keep waiting, we might not hold out much longer.”

The High Priest smiled. “Rest assured, it will be over soon. Very soon, the bud of calamity will sprout. This filthy, corrupted world will face its final judgment under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. The people of Cliff City are blessed. Haizhou will be the first to receive salvation and grace!”

“The Holy Spirit be praised!” the voice from the walkie-talkie replied fervently.

“The Holy Spirit blesses you, my brother.” The High Priest ended the communication.

Outside the door, the shrill wails of agony continued.

“Doctor, doctor...”

“Save me...”

“Please stop, doctor, please don’t...”

“Doctor, save me.”

“Die! Die! Die! You’re all going to die!!!”

“I want to die too... please... just kill me...”

As the tide of screams swept in again with the wind and pushed open the shattered doors, what lay before them was a hellish, grotesque flesh temple. Countless writhing tissues, limbs, and proliferating growths formed wards and corridors.

At the center, amid a mass of dark purple veins and flesh, sat a grotesque lump that could barely be recognized as human anymore. Faces of agony rose and fell from the flesh, wailing endlessly. Their hollow eyes, filled with despair and suffering as they lay trapped in perpetual torment and violation, seeped blood.

“How beautiful.” The High Priest bent down, stroking the roots of the flesh, his gaze growing increasingly fervent. “In such a filthy, corrupted world, how could something so magnificently beautiful ever be born? How could one possibly be granted such generous blessings?”

This was the Undying Disease that had fallen upon Spring City in the past, the same one bestowed by White Hall, one of the Nine Abominations.

The wails reached a new peak, but among those screams of agony, there were also cries of joy and longing. Around that mass of flesh, the corrupted doctors staggered forward, pouring every bit of strength into driving a pitch-black blade into the proliferating growth. In an instant, darkness spread, and a rotten stench spread around. Even the writhing faces around it rapidly withered and shrank. Then came a second blade, a third, a fourth...

Dozens of blades crossed and stabbed into the flesh, carving out vast patches of decay and rot, nearly reducing the endlessly growing mass into a pile of sludge. And yet, new buds of flesh quickly grew again from within it. The cursed life was growing recklessly, flourishing upon scorched earth and decay.

“It works! It really works!” Beside the High Priest, the director, who had been observing the entire process, burst into ecstatic laughter. He slapped the High Priest on the shoulder with his swollen hands. “The patient is almost at their limit! Just a little more, just a little more... Dr. Lian, your method really works!”

High Priest Lian Cheng[1] turned back with a smile. “This was merely part of my duty. It’s all thanks to everyone’s sacrifice and contribution.”

“Rest assured, everyone!” The director joyfully bent down, scooping up a mass of rotting flesh from the ground and presenting it to everyone around him, practically dancing with excitement. “Do you see it? We’re almost there!”

There was no need to hesitate, despair, or fear anymore. The doctors would save the patients! The doctors must save the patients! Doctors would definitely save the patients!

Amid the devout prayers and blessings, the director laughed boisterously, but on his rotting, swollen face, pus dripped down like tears. “Everyone will definitely be able to die.”

We will surely reach our end in peace.

***

The empty, deathly silent archives room was filled with dust.

“An Undying Disease?” Ji Jue frowned, looking down at the scribbled, almost glyph-like notes on the paper. “Are you serious?”

“It’s true!” Tong Hua’s face was equally pale, her fingers trembling slightly.

Asking an Aether user whether they saw something clearly was like asking an Ember whether they knew how to refine alchemy. With Tong Hua’s family background and abilities, even if the notes were literal chicken scratch, she could still extract meaning from them; not to mention that the fragmented records they had pieced together already confirmed their suspicions.

A contagious disease known as the Undying Disease existed. Before Spring City fell and the entire hospital plunged into the underground caverns, this condition ran rampant among patients. Those incurable patients had uncontrollable flesh growth throughout their bodies due to cancerous corruption and distortion, yet they could not die.

The runaway cancer cells gradually turned them into horrifying monsters, and the pain that followed destroyed their sanity and minds. In the end, they became calamities that could never be eradicated. Eventually, everyone succumbed to the same fate. They were corrupted, fell into darkness, and remained trapped in that state to this very day.

They could not be killed, burned, or destroyed. Even if they were hacked into tiny pieces, they would regenerate. The moment they came into contact with living flesh, the corruption would spread. Even after being reduced to ashes, familiar faces would sprout once more from whatever flesh those ashes settled upon, crying out in endless despair. They truly didn’t know death.

Everything except their lives had long since been warped beyond recognition. Their reason, their sense of self, and every trace of what they once were had been twisted until they became nothing more than monstrous calamities.

This kind of catastrophe had not happened only once. Every single outbreak had been accompanied by a widespread outbreak of corruption from the Foolish Abominations.

Among Hope Hospital’s ranking of high-threat plagues, it was listed as No. 61. It was the “blessing” bestowed upon suffering patients by White Hall, one of the Nine Abominations associated with the Vortex. Once infected by this Abomination, a living being underwent complete corruption without the hope of a cure.

The moment the transformation took hold, neither the twisted flesh nor the corrupted soul could ever be restored. Even if the afflicted parts were cut away immediately, the severed flesh and soul would continue wailing in despair forever.

The only way to end it was to erase it completely, both physically and spiritually, using means from a higher order. Even now, such a terrifying plague still lurked somewhere within the hospital. The mere thought of it made Ji Jue’s head throb.

Tong Hua’s eyes widened. She gestured toward him and pointed toward the door.

Ji Jue heard it too. Heavy, low footsteps echoed from the corridor outside. Against the faint chorus of distant wails, each footfall sounded unnervingly clear. Beneath it came a dull scraping, like something being dragged across the floor, drawing closer and closer. At last, it stopped just outside the door. Then came three steady and measured knocks.

A long silence followed. An inexplicable chill spread through the air. Even the monster fetus in Ji Jue’s hand, still bound by the chain, fell quiet and began trembling. There were no footsteps of departure, nor any violent attempt to break the door down.

The person seemed to have an almost endless, unbearable patience, as if they could wait until seas dried and stones rotted away.

Ji Jue finally slowly pulled open the archive room door. Under the flickering light, a face full of stitched seams and an exaggerated smile appeared before him.

“What took you so long?”

The man was standing in the doorway, so close that he was almost face to face with Ji Jue. Never-drying blood slowly trickling down along the cracks of Mr. Qian’s skin. His pitch-black eyes held not the slightest glimmer of light as they remained fixed on Ji Jue’s face.

Ji Jue’s gaze, however, was drawn to what the man was dragging behind him—a horribly mangled corpse. Blood trails wound along the floor, following his footsteps all the way here.

Behind Ji Jue, Tong Hua gently tugged at his sleeve. Concealed from sight, she lightly tapped the back of his neck with a fingertip, silently comparing the records and letting him know that this corpse belonged to another Chosen One who had entered the Time Ruin alongside Ji Jue.

Ji Jue’s eyes twitched. He forced a grin, choosing not to answer the question directly. “Working late, Mr. Qian?”

“Yes. I have to do some pest control.” Mr. Qian lowered his head, looking at the corpse in his hand and giving it a shake. “Recently there’s been a lot more pests. Even the rotten seeds hiding among us have been increasing. Everyone’s busy. I can’t let these buggers disturb the hospital’s order...”

Ji Jue nodded in deep agreement. “Indeed, one rotten apple spoils the whole barrel[2]. Need any help?”

“No need. This is my job. Newcomers still need to balance work and rest. Speaking of which...” He paused. In his pitch-black eyes, a faint redness surfaced. “What are you doing in the archives?”

“Checking records. I’m looking for study materials to improve my abilities. Even though there isn’t much work in obstetrics and gynecology, that doesn’t mean we can just sit around doing nothing! The hospital needs us, and the patients need us too!” The more he spoke, the more passionate he became. He even took the other man’s blood-stained hands. “I want to improve so badly, Mr. Qian!”

For a brief moment, Mr. Qian seemed taken aback, but his suspicions resurfaced. “Really?”

Those pitch-black eyes tangled with blood threads leaned closer. A foul stench poured out from behind his sharp teeth. “I hate nothing more than people who lie.”

Ji Jue nodded vigorously. “It’s true, it’s true. At first, I wasn’t used to it, but I really want to help patients and save lives! Mr. Qian, you kno—”

Before he could finish, Mr. Qian’s face got so close that it was almost pressed right up against him. Then it lowered, as if it were about to bury itself into the space between Ji Jue’s neck and shoulder. The proximity sent goosebumps crawling over his skin and leaving him stunned.

Damn, is this really happening already? Giving sexual favors to my superior, huh... Wait, aren’t they usually after the pretty, young nurses? There’s no way he’d come after a pretty guy like me, right...

Ji Jue forced himself to stay still and did not move. Fortunately, there was no actual contact between them. Mr. Qian’s nostrils flared slightly, seemingly carefully sniffing something.

Soon, he pulled back. That exaggerated smile returned to his face, as though he had suddenly come to a realization.

“So that’s how it is! I see now! You’re sick, too.” Thick, bloody tears slowly slid down his face, as if in pity, but paired with his smile, it looked as if he was mocking Ji Jue. “I didn’t expect you to be so empathetic toward others. Good. Very good. That’s exactly the kind of compassion a physician should have! Keep it up. You must work hard, understand?”

He patted Ji Jue on the shoulder, ready to turn around and leave.

Still dazed and confused, Ji Jue didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but he instinctively called out to the doctor. “Mr. Qian!”

The monster looked back. “Hmm?”

“W-we in Obstetrics and Gynecology are short on a lot of equipment and medicine. In order to better treat patients, I’d like to request some supplies.”

Ji Jue took out a form he had prepared long ago from his pocket and handed it over. He was shy and a little embarrassed, like any young newcomer who couldn’t quite bring himself to speak up.

“Mm, very well. The pharmacy doesn’t really have any medicine left right now, so I’m not sure how much is still available. And these instruments... forget it, just go to the warehouse and take them yourself.”

After glancing at the top of the list, Mr. Qian looked away. He left the corpse behind and pressed a bloody thumbprint onto the document, as if he was giving his signature and approval.

“Mr. Li is getting on in years and isn’t very easy to deal with. Remember to bring him a gift,” he suggested. “When people get old, they tend to forget things easily. Don’t take it too seriously.”

“Alright.” Ji Jue nodded, smiling as he waved. He watched Mr. Qian’s figure disappear into the distance.

After a long moment, he let out a deep breath, then lowered his head and listened to Tong Hua’s reminder. His gaze landed on the winding trail of blood on the floor, then to where it led—the corner at the far end of the corridor. He couldn’t help but tilt his head slightly.

Footprints? Whose footprints are these?

“Someone was following us just now,” Tong Hua said, still invisible. “Three of them. They’re outsiders, Chosen Ones. They were planning to kill us.”

After pondering for a while, Ji Jue laughed. “What a coincidence! We haven’t even met face to face yet, and we’re already thinking the same thing?”

1. 连城 literally means "connected cities" or "linked fortresses," but we rarely interpret it word for word when used as a personal name. Instead, it naturally evokes the well-known idiom 价值连城, meaning "worth several cities," which describes something priceless or of immeasurable value. As a result, the name carries subtle connotations of rarity, nobility, and exceptional worth. ☜

2. The Chinese idiom here is 一颗老鼠屎搞坏一锅汤, which literally means "One rat dropping spoils the whole pot of soup". It is commonly used to mean that the misconduct of a single individual, or a small localized problem, can ruin the reputation, image, or overall outcome of an entire group or endeavor. ☜