Doomsday Breaks Out, I Can Hear the Plants Speak

I was smoking in the plaza downstairs from my office when I suddenly heard a layer of static .

"Seven days." The leaves rubbed together, like someone whispering in my ear, "Seven days later, the streets will be crawling with biting monsters ."

My finger twitched, and cigarette ash fell onto my leather shoe.

My first thought: auditory hallucination.

Working overtime continuously, jet lag, caffeine, and stress drained my brain to the point of exhaustion, so it's reasonable to expect mental health issues.

But the sound didn't stop.

A rose bush nearby chimed in, "Don't bother looking, they can't hear you. Only you."

I lowered my voice: "Can you hear me ? "

" What makes you think it will happen in seven days ?"

Huang Yang made a rustling sound, like a sneer: "The smell. Rotting will first emerge from underground. You can't smell it, but we can. People change; one bite and you're infected ."

Doomsday, zombies—these words sound like jokes in reality. But the clues they provide are so specific: seven days, underground, the smell of decay. So specific that I can't take it as a joke.

I took out my phone, ready to call Eileen.

She's my fiancée, a local, and her family is in real estate and funds. We live in a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, and I contributed the majority of the down payment, but she keeps emphasizing that "her family is willing to accept me"—because I'm an orphan who stayed in the US after college on scholarships and part-time jobs, with no connections, no relatives, and no way out.

If there really is a disaster, I should at least remind her to stock up on water and medicine. Even if I'm wrong, she'll just call me crazy.

Just as I was about to point, the short pine tree next to me suddenly interjected, its tone as if it were watching a spectacle:

"Are you looking for your fiancée ? She's busy right now. She's with your boss."

I froze.

"What did you say?" I asked, suppressing my anger.

guy who wears cologne ."

absurd.

My first reaction was absurdity, my second was disgust, and my third was—to forcefully suppress my anger. No matter how outrageous the plant's claims are, they cannot be considered a verdict. I need evidence.

As if she could read my mind, Rose said slowly, "If you don't believe me, go back and see for yourself. Don't alert them. They'll drain you dry."

Huang Yang added insult to injury: "They said you have no family, and if you die, no one will come looking for you."

My knuckles tightened little by little.

Instead of dialing, I sent Eileen a message:

I'm working late tonight, it might be very late. You go to sleep first.

This message was both a test and a way to lull someone into a false sense of security.

Then I drove home.

As soon as I reached the door and inserted the key into the lock, laughter came from inside.

The man's voice was clear; it was Blake—the department head at my investment bank.

"He really authorized you to use his account?" Blake laughed. "I told you, immigrants with no family wealth are the easiest to manipulate."

Eileen scoffed, "Of course he believes me. I just act out a little, and he thinks he's struck gold."

Blake's voice was even lower: "Once we transfer that money to your mother's account, we'll change the property title of the apartment. Get it all sorted out before the wedding. He wants to turn things around afterward? Too late. He's an orphan anyway; if something happens to him—"

Eileen chimed in, as softly as if she were talking about the weather: "Nobody's looking for me either."

I stood outside the door, the temperature in my chest gradually dropping to freezing point.

There is enough evidence.

I grasped the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.

The living room lights were bright. Eileen sat disheveled on the sofa, Blake's tie was loose, and two buttons of his shirt were undone. The two of them seemed to have been put on pause.

I wore a perfectly appropriate expression on my face—tired, sluggish, and even a little ingratiating.

"You...are still talking about work?" I put down my briefcase, my tone as flat as plain water.

Eileen's expression changed instantly: "Why are you back so early?"

My gaze swept over the red marks on her collarbone : "The client cancelled." I went into the kitchen to pour water. "You guys continue. I'm going to take a shower."

I didn't expose him.

I locked the bathroom door, opened my mobile banking app, revoked all of Erin's authorizations, changed her password, and enabled two-factor authentication. Then I sold all the stocks I could, even if I lost a little money. Next, I split the funds and transferred them to my personal account and several prepaid cards, and locked out the withdrawal permissions from my mutual funds as well.

There was a knock on the door.

Eileen's tone was barbed: "What are you doing in there? I just checked my account, why can't I log in?"

I watched the notification of the last successful transfer before locking the screen, opening the door, and going out, my hair wet, my expression calm.

She stared at my pocket: "You touched the money?"

"I made a short-term investment." I said casually, drying my hair. " It should double in a few days ."

Her lips moved, as if she were weighing her options. If she confronted him now, her affair with Blake might be exposed; if she continued the charade, she could gain even more.

Finally, she forced a sweet smile and hooked her arm around mine: "Okay. Then hurry up. Double it, not a penny less."

I nodded: "Of course."

I turned around and went back to the bedroom to pack my luggage. When my back was to her, my eyes turned completely cold.