Lu Xiangfeng was studying a spread of stolen herbs when Song Bing kicked the door open.
Wu Yashu jerked into Lu Xiangfeng's arms. For one suspended second all three of them were frozen; the traitorous girlfriend, the pharmaceutical heir, and the country boy she had assumed would vanish quietly from the world.
Then Lu Xiangfeng laughed.
"So the little clinic rat made it out alive."
Song Bing's eyes swept across the room.
The herbs on the table.
The bodyguards by the window.
Wu Yashu pressed against another man as naturally as breathing.
Every missing piece settled into place at once.
Lu Xiangfeng had approached him before under the banner of the Lu Pharmaceutical Group, speaking about benefiting the public, buying formulas, spreading hope. Song Bing had refused because there had never been any formula to sell. Just the system, just touch, just disease.
So they had chosen theft instead.
And Wu Yashu had handed them the opportunity on a silver plate.
For three years, Song Bing had believed she stayed with him because she saw something in him beyond his poverty, beyond his frail body, beyond the ridicule he endured at school. To him, she had once been the most precious person in his world.
Now he finally understood.
She had never wanted him. She had wanted what he could do for her.
Wu Yashu had lived under the shadow of her eye disease for years. While she still feared blindness, Song Bing had been useful to keep close; devoted, obedient, easy to control. He gave her money when he could, spoiled her when he shouldn't, and had been ready to care for her for the rest of his life if darkness ever took her sight.
Then the Disease System appeared, born from his desperation to cure her, and he healed her without hesitation. Yet the moment she believed herself flawless again, she no longer saw a boyfriend in front of her. She saw a stepping stone she had already outgrown.
Lu Xiangfeng stepped forward and slapped him across the face.
The crack of it rang through the room.
Song Bing's head turned with the blow. But in the instant their skin met, he seized the contact as an opportunity and sent a "present" back.
For a brief moment, everything went still. Then he slowly straightened and looked at Lu Xiangfeng again.
"You had your chance," Lu Xiangfeng said softly. "You're trash. If I want to crush you, it only takes one finger."
Song Bing smiled.
A cold chime rang inside his mind.
*Impotence transferred.
Rabies transferred.
HIV transferred.*
The notifications kept coming, one after another, like iron striking iron. Song Bing returned disease after disease from the stockpile of suffering he had taken on for others. Merit bled away with each transfer, but he did not stop until a scarlet warning flared across his vision.
*Disease transfer too aggressive. Merit critically low. Host, exercise restraint. *
Only then did Song Bing stop.
By then, he had transferred enough sickness to make any ordinary man pray for death.
Lu Xiangfeng noticed nothing.
He only sneered harder.
And Wu Yashu, perhaps emboldened by that, finally dropped the last of her act.
"If it weren't for my eyes," she said, "why would I ever have chosen a poor, sickly loser like you? For three years, you were nothing more than a dog I could call whenever I pleased. At least you were somewhat useful. You cured me."
She looked at him without the slightest shame.
"If not for that, your own eyes might have been dug out already."
Then she rose onto her toes and kissed Lu Xiangfeng right in front of him.
Song Bing's hands clenched until his knuckles cracked.
Some betrayals cut so deep that, on the far side of pain, there was only clarity.
He could have killed them both right there.
Instead, while they were tangled together, he brushed past Wu Yashu and, with the lightest touch, returned the eye disease he had once taken from her.
That was enough.
Lu Xiangfeng would do the rest soon enough.
When they finally pulled apart, Lu Xiangfeng let out a scornful snort. "Why are you still here? Planning to watch?"
Song Bing sat down on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other.
"Go on," he said. "I'll cheer for you."
Both of them stared at him as if he had lost his mind.
Maybe he had.
Or maybe this was simply what sanity looked like after three years of devotion had been repaid with contempt, and his love had been laughed at to his face.
Wu Yashu recovered first. "Ignore him. Let's go somewhere more comfortable."
The two of them left arm in arm.
Song Bing watched the closed door for a long moment.
Then he stood and walked downstairs into the dark alley outside.
Weakness struck without warning. His vision blurred, and he had to brace one hand against the wall to keep from collapsing. He drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
The system spoke.
*Absorbing disease increases merit and strengthens the host.
Expelling disease reduces merit and weakens the host.
If merit falls below zero, the host may die. *
Song Bing stood there breathing hard until the dizziness finally receded.
"So that was the price, huh?" he mumbled.
Fine.
If this world truly needed a plague god, then he would become one. And a plague god had no right to complain about the cost of his own miracles.
Just then, a faint whimper came from the darkness nearby.
Song Bing turned.