ST CHAPTER 2

What had been paradise just moments ago turned into ruins in the blink of an eye.

Wei Jiayi was sleeping on his side when he was violently jolted awake by the strange, intense shaking of the bed. Groggily, he glanced around, only to hear a loud “bang” as the bedside table crashed to the floor.

Startled, he pressed his hands against the bed to sit up. When he swung his legs over the side to get off the bed, his feet landed on an icy-cold layer of black water pooling on the wooden floor. At that moment, he witnessed a dark tide surging toward the island.

The water quickly rose to his calves, carrying sharp fragments that pricked his feet, but it didn’t rise any higher.

The scene was so bizarre and surreal that he almost convinced himself it was just a nightmare. Both feet planted firmly on the ground, he couldn’t find his slippers and staggered through the water toward the window.

The window was on the wall opposite his bed, about seven or eight meters away.

As he stepped closer, he stared outside. Suddenly, it felt as though he had been yanked from the warmth into a world of ice. The biting chill snapped him wide awake. Outside, he saw the sea.

The sky glowed with a cold mix of blue and white.

Gone were the palm trees, the gardens, and the distant houses. In their place was an expanse of black water, rippling with gray waves that stretched to the foothills in the distance. Roofs and wooden debris floated on the surface as if this place had always belonged to the sea.

Wei Jiayi’s limbs stiffened as the words “flash flood” and “tsunami” surfaced in his mind. The instinct to run for his life surged through him, but he had no idea where to go or how to escape.

Had there ever been an emergency drill for a tsunami? Had any teacher taught him what to do? He couldn’t recall anything.

Wei Jiayi froze in place. Several minutes passed, and the water seemed to begin receding.

The water pooling on the floor disappeared, leaving behind a foul-smelling layer of mud. In the distance, more of the mountain slopes became visible, and Wei Jiayi noticed a cluster of flickering car lights near the peak. Perhaps those were people who had escaped earlier.

First, he needed to find his phone.

Finally thinking of something to do, Wei Jiayi brushed away the goosebumps rising on his arms. He walked back to the bed and bent down to lift the fallen nightstand with some effort.

His phone had been pinned underneath. When he picked it up, it was damp and dirty. The screen was cracked but still lit, displaying the time: 3:00 AM. However, the signal was down to a single bar. He unlocked the phone and tried making calls and sending messages, but none went through.

Finding his slippers, he put them on and headed toward the door. When he opened it, he found the hallway lights completely out, leaving the space so dark he couldn’t see his hand in front of him. Switching on his phone’s flashlight, he shone it around, revealing a messy floor and wall decorations scattered all over the ground.

“Is anyone there?” Wei Jiayi called out. His voice echoed faintly down the empty corridor.

No one answered. A chill ran down his spine. He quickly turned off the flashlight, left the door ajar, and returned to sit on the edge of the bed. His mind swirled as he tried to come up with a plan.

His room was on the top floor of the main building in the resort, facing the garden. The window was small and lacked a balcony.

This room was the only one on the rooftop level and the only one not facing the ocean. Wei Jiayi recalled Li Mingcheng mentioning this in passing during their earlier chat.

Li Mingcheng had explained that the resort was fully booked with too many guests. Most were staying in the villas, while the wedding company and filming crew had been assigned to the main building. The top floor featured a pool and an executive lounge, with only a few garden-view rooms available. Since the ocean-view rooms on the lower floors had already been taken, Li Mingmian had allocated this top-floor garden-view room to Wei Jiayi, who had arrived late.

At the time, Li Mingcheng had cursed Li Mingmian for being snobbish, but in hindsight, Wei Jiayi was grateful for Li Mingmian’s oversight.

Had it not been for the sturdiness of the main building and the fact that his room was on the highest twelfth floor, his fate might have been far worse.

The tide receded quickly. Since Wei Jiayi hadn’t brought much luggage on this trip, he opted to forgo a suitcase and carried only a hiking backpack. The bag had been securely placed on the luggage rack and was unscathed.

He gathered his belongings, put on his sneakers, and stuffed the room’s bottled water, food, and towels into the backpack. Slinging it onto his back, he made his way down the hallway. At the end, he pushed open the door to the emergency staircase.

The hotel’s power was completely out, but the emergency lights in the stairwell were still on. Wei Jiayi descended cautiously.

When he reached the lobby, a pungent stench of mud and decay overwhelmed him, stinging his nose. The sky outside had begun to brighten, hinting that sunrise was near.

The smell made his stomach churn violently. Pressing a hand against his ribs, he looked around. Orange light streamed in from outside, revealing that the formerly grand and spacious lobby had turned into a black-brown swamp. The floor was littered with shattered cabinets, decorations, and random wooden debris.

White sofas lay overturned, and the concierge desk was nowhere to be seen.

He asked, “Is anyone there?”

There was no response. He took a few more steps forward when his foot suddenly landed on something soft. He looked down and realized he had stepped on an arm.

Wei Jiayi froze, his legs turning weak. He jumped back, then bent down and grabbed the arm to pull its owner out of the mud.

The man was middle-aged, with brown skin and his eyes tightly closed. He wore a hotel staff uniform.

The uniform, originally a natural-colored linen, was now soaked into a clump of mushy mud. A name tag on his chest read: “Housekeeping – Mario.”

Wei Jiayi bent sharply at the waist, and the heavy backpack shifted forward, pressing hard against the back of his head. The sudden weight, combined with the shocking scene before him, sent a sharp pain through his skull. Gritting his teeth, he reached out and pressed his fingers against Mario’s carotid artery.

The man’s mud-covered skin felt cold and slimy, like the shriveled peel of an apple. Wei Jiayi’s fingers detected no heartbeat. A chilling sensation ran down his spine as he struggled to process the reality of it. He stood frozen for a long moment before finally releasing his grip.

Wanting to leave Mario in a more dignified position, Wei Jiayi dragged the body a short distance and propped it against the back of a sofa, getting himself covered in mud in the process.

Gasping for breath, Wei Jiayi felt his thoughts slipping into a haze. He was torn between the urge to vomit and the desperate need to lean on something or just sit down. But he might be the only survivor here with all his limbs intact. He had to see if anyone else had made it. He waded through the mud, heading toward the row of villas near the coastline.

The sun had risen above the horizon, a soft orange sphere casting gentle light that had yet to fully blend with the sky.

Overnight, the heart-shaped romantic island had been almost entirely flattened. The pristine white beaches had transformed into graveyards of stones, shells, and uprooted shrubs.

Wei Jiayi pressed on, maneuvering around a massive tree trunk that had somehow been swept onto the island. Every now and then, he called out loudly, but no reply came. He couldn’t tell whether everyone had evacuated to the mountains during the night or if they simply no longer had the ability to respond.

Most of the buildings were reduced to rubble, save for one larger structure, which still had a few columns and two walls standing. One room’s roof had survived the waves but was precariously clinging overhead.

He moved closer to the columns when he suddenly heard a faint sound. It was low, like a man’s voice, and it struck him as vaguely familiar. Wei Jiayi immediately called out, “Is someone there?”

“…Yes.” The reply came from nearby.

Following the sound, Wei Jiayi found a man lying beneath an unscathed tree behind one of the villa’s remaining walls.

The man was sprawled on a large wooden plank, his body covered in mud and crisscrossed with cuts. Yet somehow, he was still wearing a bathrobe, its belt securely tied.

His left leg rested at an unnatural angle on the ground. Wei Jiayi stepped closer, reaching out to help when the man suddenly wiped his face with one hand, clearing away some of the grime.

Wei Jiayi recognized him. It was Zhao Jing.

For a moment, Wei Jiayi froze, and a thought floated into his mind: For once, Young Master Zhao isn’t looking at me with his nose in the air—I almost didn’t recognize him.

Just then, Zhao Jing began coughing violently, so forcefully it sounded as though he might vomit. Wei Jiayi instinctively stepped back, wary that Zhao Jing might throw up on him. But Zhao Jing didn’t vomit. Instead, he coughed for a long time before managing to rasp out, “Water! Do you have water!”

Despite sounding like he was on the verge of passing out, his demand for water carried surprising vigor.

Without a word, Wei Jiayi shrugged off one side of his backpack and pulled out the bottle of water he had brought from his room.

He considered simply handing it to Zhao Jing, but given the man’s weakened state, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to twist the cap open on his own. Since Zhao Jing wasn’t dead or in immediate mortal danger, Wei Jiayi thought about his own future and decided to be a bit more accommodating. He unscrewed the cap for him, then sat beside him and asked considerately, “Should I hold it for you while you drink?”

Zhao Jing shot him a cold glance and raised his hand to take the bottle, but his grip was unsteady, and the bottle nearly slipped from his fingers. Fortunately, Wei Jiayi caught it in time.

“You probably haven’t regained your strength yet.” Wei Jiayi mocked inwardly, though he maintained a relaxed and harmonious demeanor outwardly. “Let me hold it for you.”

“How can I hold it if I’m not sitting up straight?” Zhao Jing was unwilling to let his pride take a hit. He mustered his strength to sit up, but his injured leg betrayed him. He swayed and slumped sideways onto Wei Jiayi.

His heavy upper body pressed against Wei Jiayi’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Zhao Jing drank a couple of sips from the bottle in Wei Jiayi’s hand, acting as though nothing had happened. “Why are you the only one here? Where’s the rescue team? And where’s Li Mingmian?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Jiayi replied, trying to stay patient as he answered each question. “When I woke up, everything was already like this. I went downstairs, but I didn’t find anyone.”

“They all ran off?” Zhao Jing asked, frowning.

“…No.” Wei Jiayi’s mind flashed back to the lifeless body he had encountered in the lobby. The fear and emptiness he had felt then surged back, and he fell silent, unwilling to say more.

After a pause, he told Zhao Jing, “I saw car lights on the mountain earlier. Rescue teams should arrive soon.”

“They’d better,” Zhao Jing muttered, his expression blank.

Neither of them spoke after that. Zhao Jing leaned his full weight on Wei Jiayi, and the two sat pressed together on the slippery plank. The sun climbed higher in the sky. What had once been a vibrant lagoon had turned into a brown swamp surrounded by ruins and an inescapable stench.

Wei Jiayi didn’t sit for long. His shoulder began to ache from supporting Zhao Jing’s weight. Turning his head slightly, he glanced at Zhao Jing’s face.

Several cuts streaked across Zhao Jing’s cheeks, and the dirt smeared over his skin accentuated his features. His sharp nose looked as though it had been sculpted from plaster.

His long, thick eyelashes still clung to flecks of muddy water. His eyes bore a resemblance to his mother’s, Mrs. Li, though Zhao Jing’s were slightly longer. His lips were neither too thin nor too full, but the corners drooped slightly.

He was undeniably handsome, but his demeanor exuded an air of unapproachability, as if the capriciousness and insensitivity of a spoiled child had followed him into adulthood.

Of course, Wei Jiayi could understand why Zhao Jing had such a temperament.

Born at the top of the pyramid, with an unbelievably successful career and a life of smooth sailing, Zhao Jing never had to conform to social norms. Wei Jiayi had heard plenty of stories about Zhao Jing’s now-dominant tech company, which had started when he casually invested in a commercial property. When the real estate agent failed to secure suitable tenants quickly and lowered the rental price, Zhao Jing became annoyed and decided to use the property himself.

With that kind of luck, it was no surprise that Zhao Jing was perpetually surrounded by admirers.

But Wei Jiayi wasn’t one of those sycophants who thrived on being belittled. He was just trying to make a living and had no interest in sucking up to others. Fully aware that Zhao Jing looked down on him, Wei Jiayi made a habit of keeping his distance whenever their paths crossed. If avoidance wasn’t possible, he would endure Zhao Jing’s scorn and politely offer a greeting.

Wei Jiayi hadn’t expected the first survivor he would encounter after the tsunami to be Zhao Jing—alive, no less.

Wei Jiayi tore his gaze away, his head aching. He didn’t want to sit here pressed awkwardly against Zhao Jing any longer, nor did he want to endure the silence. Cautiously, he asked, “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? You’ve got injuries all over.”

“My left leg’s broken. The rest is fine,” Zhao Jing replied curtly, clearly uninterested in any further conversation.

“In that case, maybe you should wait here. I could try to find a wheelchair.” All Wei Jiayi wanted to hear was that he was fine. Eager to leave, he immediately suggested, “I could push you somewhere higher. If there’s another tsunami, this area is too low—it’s dangerous.”

“You’re not staff. Where are you going to find a wheelchair?” Zhao Jing’s expression darkened as he asked bluntly, “Or are you just looking for an excuse to leave me here alone?”

This guy was so unreasonable and far too perceptive. Wei Jiayi was exasperated.

Given Zhao Jing’s status, offending him was not an option. Wei Jiayi took a deep breath and bit the bullet. “Of course not. I just thought it’d be easier for you since you can’t walk. A wheelchair would make things more comfortable. But you’re right—I don’t know this place well, and I probably wouldn’t find one.”

Even while sitting, Zhao Jing was taller than him. His cold gaze bore down on Wei Jiayi as though he could see right through him, though it also seemed like he was being difficult just for the sake of it.

After a few seconds, Zhao Jing let out a derisive snort. “At least you’re self-aware.” He finally let Wei Jiayi off the hook.

“But this place is dangerous.” Zhao Jing abruptly changed the subject. “Here’s what we’ll do: help me up, and we’ll head toward the road to wait for rescue.”

Despite the mud streaked across Zhao Jing’s face, it did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. Giving orders to Wei Jiayi came naturally to him. He seemed unwilling to touch Wei Jiayi directly, pulling his hand back into the oversized sleeve of his robe before pressing Wei Jiayi’s shoulder firmly. “Hurry up.” Then he asked, “Do you have shoes?”

Left with no choice, Wei Jiayi pulled a pair of slippers from his bag and handed them over. Then, shouldering most of Zhao Jing’s weight, he helped him stand. Wei Jiayi immediately regretted his earlier suggestion. If only he’d kept quiet, they could have rested on the wooden plank a little longer.

He helped Zhao Jing, who was hobbling on one foot, through the deserted villa area toward a barely discernible road. Though Wei Jiayi regularly kept up with workouts and strength training, supporting someone as large as Zhao Jing over this kind of distance was pushing his limits. Sweating from exhaustion, he gritted his teeth and kept moving, thinking that if Zhao Jing ever needed anesthesia, the hospital might charge an overweight fee.

Finally, as they passed a bench that had been swept onto the roadside, Zhao Jing called for a stop. “Put me down here on this bench.”

“My right leg hurts,” he added, his voice weaker than before.

Wei Jiayi glanced over and noticed that Zhao Jing’s lips had paled from holding back the pain. He immediately helped him sit down on the bench. When he looked down, he saw several deep gashes on Zhao Jing’s right leg, likely from overexertion while walking. Blood was already beginning to trickle down.

As Zhao Jing slumped heavily onto the bench, resting for a few seconds, Wei Jiayi suddenly remembered the first-aid kit in his backpack. He told Zhao Jing about it, then set the bag on his lap and unzipped it.

“Why didn’t you say you had a first-aid kit earlier?” Zhao Jing became a little angry.

Wei Jiayi had genuinely forgotten about the kit and suspected that, deep down, he might not have been fully committed to giving Zhao Jing his best effort. Feeling a pang of guilt, he avoided noticing Zhao Jing’s expression and apologized sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

He rummaged through the bag and pulled out the first-aid kit, moving a towel that had been tucked on top to the bench. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Zhao Jing snatching up the towel. Looking up, he saw Zhao Jing vigorously wiping his face and hands, as though he couldn’t stand the filth clinging to his skin. It was clear Zhao Jing was particularly sensitive about cleanliness.

However, the mud on his skin had dried and was difficult to remove. Zhao Jing reached for the water bottle, intending to pour some onto the towel.

Wei Jiayi stopped him immediately. “Don’t.”

Zhao Jing shot him a displeased look.

“We only have two bottles of water,” Wei Jiayi explained helplessly, “and I’ll need some to clean your wounds.”

Zhao Jing’s expression darkened further, but Wei Jiayi chose to ignore it. He handed the bottle back to Zhao Jing. “If you’re thirsty, take a few sips.” Then, he pulled out the first-aid kit. “Let me disinfect your wounds.”

Zhao Jing didn’t protest, merely grunting in assent. Wei Jiayi opened an iodine swab and carefully cleaned the wounds on Zhao Jing’s leg before bandaging them with gauze. Afterward, he unwrapped a small packet of biscuits and handed one to Zhao Jing to help satisfy his hunger.

Finally, Wei Jiayi once again suggested leaving Zhao Jing momentarily to search for water and other supplies.

“I’ll grab a few more bottles, and then you can wash your face.” Wei Jiayi cleverly picked up on what mattered to Zhao Jing the most.

Hearing this, Zhao Jing scowled. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Fine. But come back quickly.”

With permission granted, Wei Jiayi left his backpack with Zhao Jing and walked off, leaving this “lord” behind.