After Being Parasitized by a Monster 2

Chapter 2: She was probably the first person to ever outlast a parasitic monster.

In the dead of night, Cheng Ming was woken by the cold.

She didn’t know if it was a side effect of over-consumption or anxiety over potential retaliation from more monsters, but she slept very poorly that night.

First, it was heat. A fever of forty degrees Celsius, the kind where your internal organs feel like they’re on fire. She had kicked the blanket onto the floor.

Then came dizziness, bone aches, and muscle soreness. Not a single part of her body felt normal.

Alternating between ice and fire, she shivered from the cold. In a daze, she crawled down to pick up the blanket, wrapped herself in two layers, rolled into a burrito, and went back to sleep.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she was forcibly awakened by her own voice.

“Cheng Ming, get up,” the familiar voice urged. “Go get something to eat.”

A faint morning light seeped through the curtains. Cheng Ming groggily swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, thump, her knees buckled and she fell, the impact jarring her a little more awake.

But her entire body was still limp, without a shred of strength.

She instinctively propped herself up against the nearby wall, trying to get up, only to find her palm stuck to the ceramic tiles. Startled, she pulled hard. With a squelching sound, she managed to tear it free, leaving a puddle of transparent mucus behind.

The suction of that mucus was so strong it felt like it could weld a grown adult to the wall.

Cheng Ming was now fully awake. She looked at the skin of her palm, and in a flash of insight, she recalled the “Wang Qi” that had been hanging upside down from the ceiling last night—this was its ability.

Her expression was blank and bewildered, her voice slightly off-key. “What’s going on?”

Her body temperature was still terrifyingly high. Her immune system was fighting off an unknown invader.

And the biggest invader inside her body answered nonchalantly, “Fusion and evolution.”

“What?” she asked again, as if in disbelief.

The intense headache caused tinnitus, making every sound that reached her ears buzz, let alone something so bizarre.

“Congratulations. It’ll be much easier for you to go to the underground storage room from now on.” The tone was far too human.

For a moment, Cheng Ming suspected it was gloating.

Hunger forced her to overcome her weakness. She practically crawled on all fours to the storage cabinet, falling, getting disoriented, and sticking herself to the wall countless times along the way.

Only after devouring an entire box of bread did Cheng Ming finally feel a little less like she was on the verge of death.

With no energy to boil fresh water, she drank the cold, day-old water from her cup, her trembling hands struggling to pick up her phone and send a leave request to the institute.

Fusion and evolution. The literal meaning wasn’t hard to understand. Her body was fusing with Wang Qi’s cells, and the resulting “evolution” was that she had acquired the other’s abilities.

“Why has this never happened before?” After taking care of everything, Cheng Ming lay back down on the bed, forcing herself to stay conscious amidst the overwhelming nausea, and stared at the ceiling as she asked.

“Energy was too low,” it replied, still brief.

The marine monsters that were captured alive and brought to the storage room were only LR-rank—Low Risk, possessing no higher intelligence or powerful, strange abilities.

For the parasite inside her, they were barely enough to fill its stomach, far from enough to let it grow.

Cheng Ming’s thoughts turned slightly, and her heart grew heavy.

Despite their peaceful coexistence and shared abilities now, which made it seem like being parasitized was just having a little assistant on call… the parasite’s growing power was definitely not a good thing for her, the host.

Cheng Ming would never forget the dark, sunless days she had endured to achieve this current illusion of peace.

The process of achieving symbiosis had not been a smooth transition.

During the first month of the parasitism, she often fought with it for control of her body, a struggle accompanied by blood and violence. Being covered in wounds was the norm.

Back then, it hadn’t yet mastered her body and couldn’t speak human language. Their method of communication was incredibly barbaric—within the same shell, they hurt each other, forcing the other to yield.

At the sharpest point of their conflict, she went seven days and seven nights without food, water, or sleep—though she was unwilling to admit it, her physical functions had indeed been greatly enhanced by its presence, or she wouldn’t have lasted until she was so weak.

She had used a knife to carve one gash after another into her skin. Flesh split open, sinews and bones separated, blood vessels ruptured, and then rapidly healed, tissues reconstructing.

Only to be cut open again by the sharp blade.

Cuts covered scars, blood washed over scabs, new wounds overlapped old ones.

She exhausted her energy—which was also its energy—with all her might. They flourished together and withered together. This was the symbiosis she wanted.

She had heard of breaking eagles and taming horses; she was probably the first person to ever outlast a parasitic monster.

Forced into a corner, she could only threaten it with her own life.

In the end, she had grabbed a shard of glass and held it to the carotid artery on her neck. She sat naked in front of the mirror, looking at the bloody woman in the reflection, and gave herself a defiant smile.

“Killing the host is the most foolish thing to do. Usually, only those ancient, stubborn parasites possess strong aggression.”

“If I die, how long do you think it will take you to find another host? Or is it more likely that you’ll be buried with me?”

Her hair had long since fallen out under its relentless torment. Mycelia had replaced her once beautiful long hair, and the latent fungal cells proliferated rapidly, covering most of her body, pulsing and rippling, growing longer and longer, eager to strangle her.

Like the serpentine hair of Medusa from mythology.

She clenched her jaw, pursing her lips as she confronted it through the mirror’s reflection, not backing down an inch.

Blood seeped from her pale skin, trickling down the violently heaving contours of her muscles. Her heart raced, her blood vessels throbbed.

Sharing the same body, she couldn’t tell if it was her who was trembling, or if this was an outpouring of its emotions.

This parasitic monster of unknown species and origin finally yielded.

It would hide any external claws and fangs, reduce its appearances, and not control her body without her permission, unless they faced a life-threatening blow. These were the three rules of their agreement.

So far, their cooperation seemed to be going well.

But this Fish-Fungus’s powerful learning ability, its rapid growth… all of it frightened her. Cheng Ming couldn’t ignore the threat it concealed.

In just one month, it had completely mastered the language system. Every time she spoke with it, she often had the illusion of facing a living person. If one day she were completely replaced by it, she feared no one around her would even notice.

What’s more, she knew absolutely nothing about it.

“Do you have a name?” Her body was exhausted to the extreme, but Cheng Ming didn’t dare to sleep again. She rambled on, asking questions.

“…Are you delirious from the fever?”

“Huh? So, do you have one?” Cheng Ming tucked herself tightly into the blanket, leaving only a pair of watery eyes exposed, and mumbled in a muffled voice.

“Your name is my name.”

“You want to be called Cheng Ming too?” Alarm bells went off in Cheng Ming’s head. It was a struggle for her, as sick and muddled as she was, but she forced her brain to work. “That won’t work, it’ll be confusing… How about I call you Xiao Ming from now on?”

“…Say that again?”

Cheng Ming couldn’t notice the change in its tone, muttering from under the covers, “What’s wrong? Xiao Ming is my nickname… If I’m ever caught talking to you, I can just say you’re my alter ego. Isn’t that perfect?”

“…Just go to sleep.”

Cheng Ming’s eyes snapped shut, and she fell into a dead sleep.

So she didn’t see what happened next. A single strand of her “hair” extended on its own, growing until it touched the floor, then slithered like a snake all the way into the bathroom. It soaked a towel in cold water, then retracted, pulling the towel back from afar and placing it on her forehead.

If her nervous system were to be damaged by the fever, it wouldn’t be good for it either—with the host unconscious, this parasitic partner, with a remarkable sense of ownership, diligently cared for her body.

Cheng Ming slept for a full twenty-five hours.

When she opened her eyes again, it was seven-thirty the next morning.

The moment she regained consciousness, she shot up in bed and grabbed her phone.

Fortunately, she hadn’t been attacked while unconscious, and nothing unexpected had happened in the past day. She hadn’t even missed her start time for work today.

There were only two missed calls from her direct supervisor, Jiang Dexin, one from three o’clock and one from five o’clock yesterday afternoon. They were most likely out of concern for her health, which made her heart warm and then tighten.

She quickly swiped to the chat window, only to find that Jiang Dexin hadn’t continued to “harass” her because “someone” had replied to the messages for her.

“If I didn’t give her a response, I was afraid she would call the medical team over, so I took the liberty of replying for you.”

Hearing the explanation in her ear and recalling her last memory before passing out, Cheng Ming paused for a moment, then tentatively called out, “Xiao Ming?”

It had six periods to express its feelings about that: “……”

Evidently, it wasn’t very fond of the name.

Cheng Ming asked, “Did you control my body after I fell asleep?”

[No.]

This answer wasn’t spoken. Instead, a strand of hair hanging over the phone screen moved slowly, typing out the two words in the input box.

Its mycelia had become more agile, capable of more complex operations… Cheng Ming remained outwardly calm, placing a hand over her chest and feeling her heart beat with a strength and power entirely different from before.

Returning to the previous topic, she chuckled softly.

“Ming, it means ocean. Doesn’t it suit you perfectly?”

The maximum distance between the research institute and the staff apartments was no more than five kilometers, and there was a shuttle bus.

Cheng Ming lived even closer, so since she was up early, she decided to walk the one kilometer to work.

Surrounded by towering buildings, the path was entirely in shadow, saving her the trouble of sunscreen.

Steel-framed buildings rose from the ground, their roofs connected, like a sky-high wall separating the polluted seawater from human society.

This kind of scenery was something Cheng Ming, who had grown up with her scientist parents and joined the institute right after graduation, was long accustomed to.

She walked through the institute’s main gate as usual. Just as her face was scanned, her phone buzzed.

She lit up the screen. Within the range of the internal network, she had received a notification from an unknown source: “Comrade Cheng Ming, Employee ID 7086, please proceed to North Conference Room 09902 as soon as possible. Access code: 23454.”

No signature, no further information.

But the location alone hinted at something unusual.

The research institute building had over three hundred floors in total, standing nearly a thousand meters tall—the tallest building in recorded human history. The North Tower belonged to the mycology research team.

Her workstation was on the 22nd floor. As an assistant, the highest she had ever been was the 60th floor with Jiang Dexin. Generally speaking, the higher up you went, the higher the level of confidentiality.

A blurry reflection appeared on the metal door. Cheng Ming stood at the elevator entrance, clutching her phone, her mind briefly blank.

—This was a surprise screening by the Security Department.

Why?

Because of Wang Qi’s disappearance?