MVCFO CH56

After arriving at the medical center, Lu Cong didn’t arrange any examination for Lin Xiangqi at all. Instead, he asked him to wait in the lounge, left the round, rolling robot to accompany him, and went into one of the inner rooms himself.

Lin Xiangqi started getting paranoid.
“…Could it be that he really thinks I’m a ghost?”

“You’re definitely not a ghost,” the robot caught his muttering and replied enthusiastically. “But your presence is indeed strange. Based on my logic systems, I can’t find a reasonable explanation for how you appeared here.”

Lin Xiangqi, now curious, realized the robot didn’t sound like a robot at all. Its tone and manner of speech were completely natural—it was almost like talking to a human.

“Do you know me?” Lin Xiangqi asked.

The robot replied, “Every intelligent terminal here knows you.”

Lin Xiangqi’s eyes widened slightly.
“Why?”

It answered, “Major General Lu Cong once uploaded all your data into his personal database. As a result, all systems under his authority are able to recognize you.”

Lin Xiangqi was stunned. Countless questions caught in his throat. After a long pause, he could only repeat:
“Why?”

The robot said, “I can’t trace events that happened before I came online. But based on logical inference, I believe the Major General wanted to preserve you in this form.”

“…That sounds kind of creepy,” Lin Xiangqi gave a dry laugh. “Like… digital ashes.”

“An accurate interpretation,” the robot said in a perfectly casual voice, then dropped a bombshell:
“Ten years ago, your body vanished overnight. Nothing was left behind. For the living who wished to commemorate you, this was the only way. My predecessor once proposed to the Major General to recreate a new ‘Lin Xiangqi’ using your rich personal data—a sort of clone, though not 100% accurate. But sufficient for everyday companionship.”

Lin Xiangqi was chilled to the bone. It felt like something out of a bizarre sci-fi movie. On one hand, he was moved by how deeply Lu Cong had cared for him—but on the other, the idea of being cloned after death was deeply unsettling.

He hesitantly asked,
“…And what happened then?”

The robot said,
“Then he dismantled it.”

Lin Xiangqi: “…”
So that’s how the previous version of this robot “retired.”

Still, that answer was a relief.

He ended up chatting with the round little robot for a long time. Since it already “knew” him, talking to it almost felt like talking to an old friend.

The robot told him all about the changes in this new world and about Lu Cong’s current status and achievements in the alliance.

But whenever Lin Xiangqi asked anything more personal—like “What does Lu Cong do in his free time?” or “Who’s his best friend now?”—the robot would reply in a stern tone:
“Sorry, I cannot answer questions involving personal privacy.”

It was quite a while before Lu Cong came out again.

When Lin Xiangqi saw the door open, he instinctively stood up and greeted him.

But the moment Lu Cong laid eyes on him, he froze—his whole body stiff, his expression filled with hesitation and… fear.

As if… as if he thought Lin Xiangqi shouldn’t be standing there at all.

Lin Xiangqi didn’t understand. He thought Lu Cong was acting really strange.

He’s the one who brought me here, he thought. Why does he look so surprised now?

But he didn’t get the chance to ask. Lu Cong abruptly turned around and went back into the examination room.

Two minutes later, he came out again—this time, his demeanor was much calmer.

Lin Xiangqi wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he felt Lu Cong’s gaze had changed somehow. He couldn’t pinpoint what was different—just that something was.

As Lu Cong approached him, he seemed to remember something and did something that puzzled Lin Xiangqi—he reached up and removed the black earring from his right ear.

Though the motion was quick, Lin Xiangqi clearly saw him take it off.

He wondered why Lu Cong suddenly took off the earring, but didn’t dwell on it.

When Lu Cong came to stand in front of him, he suddenly reached out his hand.

“…Hm?” Lin Xiangqi blinked, confused. But seeing that Lu Cong wasn’t pulling his hand back, he instinctively reached out and held it—just like they used to do.

Lu Cong gripped him tightly.

Lin Xiangqi suspected Lu Cong was running a fever—his palm felt burning hot, almost scorching.

“I’ve asked the doctors to get ready. They’ll give you a full body check-up immediately.”
Lu Cong paused, then unnecessarily asked, “…Is that okay?”

His voice was gentle and soft, so different from the silent, icy Major General from earlier that it was like he’d become a different person altogether.

For a second, Lin Xiangqi almost believed he was looking at the eighteen-year-old Lu Cong again.

He nodded.
“Can you check my glands too? I’m not a doctor, but I felt a sharp pain at the back of my neck when I… well, when I died.”

Lu Cong’s hand suddenly tightened around his, but his expression remained calm as he said:
“Yes. Everything will be examined thoroughly.”

Lin Xiangqi was immediately at ease and followed Lu Cong to the exam room.

“Lu Cong,” he asked just before anesthesia for the gland scan kicked in, “You went in earlier alone—was it for your own check-up? Are you sick too?”

He thought he saw Lu Cong freeze for a moment, but his expression quickly returned to normal as he replied:
“It’s nothing.”

Before he finished speaking, Lin Xiangqi had already lost consciousness.

Not long ago—

“More meds?” Tang Zhe looked at Lu Cong helplessly. “Major General, your dosage has long exceeded the alliance’s guidelines. If the military investigates, you could be…”

If a high-ranking officer like Lu Cong was found to have serious mental issues, he could be immediately discharged and placed under medical supervision.

And if his condition led to anyone getting hurt, he’d face court-martial.

In short—not good.

Though Lu Cong had been taking medication for years, his strong pheromones and stable test results had kept the truth hidden from the public. Only Tang Zhe, the doctor in charge of his treatments, knew the reality—Lu Cong hadn’t been institutionalized only because of his extraordinary self-control. He could pretend to be normal.

But now, Lu Cong told Tang Zhe his condition had worsened.

In the past, he’d occasionally experience hallucinations—but if he ignored them, they would quickly fade.

Today, though, he not only saw Lin Xiangqi—he even believed those around him could see Lin Xiangqi too.

His ability to maintain the facade had failed.

“I’ll take responsibility,” Lu Cong said flatly.

Tang Zhe, suppressed by Lu Cong’s leaking pheromones, had no choice but to obey. He gave Lu Cong a new medication.
“This is from the research institute. It has almost no side effects but is slow to take effect. You’ve been overmedicating—switch to this from now on.”

As he prepared the dose, Tang Zhe muttered,
“You were doing fine recently… why the sudden flare-up? Sigh. Maybe it’s time to try a new approach…”

Lu Cong said nothing. He took the medicine and swallowed it.

Tang Zhe frowned.
“Drink some water?”

Lu Cong ignored him. Tang Zhe asked again,
“By the way, who’s that kid you brought in? Does he need a check-up too?”

Lu Cong gave him a complex look and didn’t answer. Instead, he asked,
“How long until the new meds take effect?”

“About ten minutes,” Tang Zhe replied, scratching his head. He felt the Major General seemed distracted today.

Lu Cong frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the wait time, but said nothing more.

As he waited, he forced himself not to think about the person outside.

Ten minutes from now, he told himself, there’ll be nothing there.

But ten minutes later, when he opened the door, the boy standing outside was even more vivid and real than he remembered.

Waving at him.

Lu Cong didn’t look away. His blood nearly froze.

He finally believed it.

There really was a Lin Xiangqi standing there.

When Lin Xiangqi woke up, the exams were already over.

His head was still foggy. He raised his hand, only to realize it was being held by someone else.

“You’re awake?” Lu Cong leaned close, nearly whispering in his ear. “Anywhere feel uncomfortable?”

Lin Xiangqi felt his breath tickling his ear and couldn’t help but laugh.
“No need to be so close—I can hear you.”

Lu Cong blinked awkwardly and then straightened up.
“Want to sit up?”

“Sure, lying down makes my head spin.”

With Lu Cong’s help, Lin Xiangqi sat up. He saw the round robot nearby and immediately asked,
“Are you… going to leave again?”

He instinctively thought Lu Cong would leave him with the robot once more. Probably had official duties. Probably didn’t have time for him.

It was fine. He understood.

Right now, he had no one else to rely on. If Lu Cong arranged it that way, he’d go along with it.

“I’m not leaving.” Lu Cong replied quickly—so quickly that Lin Xiangqi could sense he was eager to say something.

But he didn’t continue. He only repeated:
“I’m not leaving.”

Lin Xiangqi pressed his lips together, heart beating a little faster. He was glad Lu Cong wasn’t leaving. Because honestly? He was only pretending to be okay. He really didn’t want to be alone.

Lu Cong brought him a clean set of clothes and helped him change.

Using the excuse that the anesthesia had made him weak, Lin Xiangqi leaned lazily against Lu Cong’s chest. When Lu Cong told him to lift his arms, he lifted his arms. When Lu Cong asked him to duck his head, he ducked his head.

Lu Cong then softly asked,
“Can you change your pants on your own?”

Lin Xiangqi flopped onto the bed, acting all righteous:
“You do it.”

Lu Cong chuckled and replied,
“Alright.”

It felt like they had returned to the past—not just ten years ago, but all the way back to their closest days.

Back then, no matter how awkwardly Lin Xiangqi pouted or whined, Lu Cong would always give in. He could be completely lazy and clueless in front of Lu Cong because Lu Cong would always patiently accept all his bad habits.

Later on… Lu Cong left for military school, and they lost contact.

Lin Xiangqi once felt that his life had entered super hard mode the day Lu Cong left.

Every day he woke up felt off.

No more walking to and from class together.
No more silent glances from the window across the way.
No more breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and midnight snacks cooked by Lu Cong.
No more tutoring and problem-solving sessions.

Without Lu Cong, every day felt like Lin Xiangqi didn’t even know how to live anymore. He became quiet, withdrawn, and would often just sit there zoning out—aimlessly watching time slip by.

Sudden death was scary, of course.
But waking up from it and seeing Lu Cong as the first person in sight… made it feel a lot less terrifying.

After changing clothes, the effects of the anesthesia seemed to wear off. Lin Xiangqi suddenly sprang up and hugged Lu Cong tightly.
“Lu Cong, I missed you so much.”

Lu Cong’s body tensed up slightly, but he quickly made himself relax and wrapped his arms around Lin Xiangqi’s back. His voice came out hoarse and rough:
“I… missed you too.”

“Really?” Lin Xiangqi thought about how cold and distant Lu Cong had been when they first reunited—how aloof he’d looked, like he didn’t care at all. So now, he deliberately teased:
“How much did you miss me?”

Lu Cong pulled him into his chest, wanting to hold him tight, but afraid of hurting him. Every joint in his body ached from restraint. He whispered,
“So much I nearly went crazy. Maybe I already did.”

Lin Xiangqi assumed he was exaggerating to make him happy, so he played along, being just as dramatic:
“Don’t go crazy! I finally ‘came back to life’—you have to live well with me now.”

Lu Cong bit down on his inner cheek so hard it bled, just to keep his voice steady enough to say:
“I will. I’ll live with you.”

Lin Xiangqi hadn’t expected that this cold, sterile-looking building was actually Lu Cong’s “home.”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly his home—more like a place of residence.

Originally, this was a smart operations center assigned to Lu Cong. As a Major General of the Alliance, he had the authority to arrange its use as he saw fit.

He had converted two floors of it into his private quarters.

All of this was explained by the robot.

Lin Xiangqi had now given the robot a nickname: “Roundie.”

“The current time in the capital is 14:16. Shall I prepare lunch now?”

Lu Cong, who had changed out of his uniform, walked out of a room and said to Roundie,
“No need. Stay with him and help him get familiar with the place.”

Lin Xiangqi lay on the sofa, looking at Lu Cong curiously:
“You have work to do?”

Lu Cong came over and patted his head.
“Not right now. I’ll make you lunch first.”

“Wow!” Lin Xiangqi was pleasantly surprised—after all, it had been a long time since he last ate something cooked by Lu Cong.

But Lu Cong said,
“It’s been a while. I might be a little rusty. Hope it won’t taste too bad.”

Lin Xiangqi remembered Lu Cong’s cooking skills and couldn’t help but swallow:
“Hey, don’t be so modest!”

Lu Cong just looked at him and gave a soft smile.
“Don’t expect too much from me.”

After all, in the past ten years, he hadn’t cooked a single meal for anyone else.

Lu Cong’s residence had two floors. Although most of the living quarters were within one large suite, Lin Xiangqi was very curious about Lu Cong’s life over the past decade. So he asked Roundie to take him on a tour of the entire floor.

Aside from a few rooms that involved private matters or Alliance secrets, which were off-limits, Roundie gave him a thorough walkthrough.

As they walked, Lin Xiangqi commented,
“He sure works a lot.”

Almost everything they passed was work-related. It was hard to tell what Lu Cong did for fun—if anything.

Roundie confirmed,
“Yes. The Major General spends nearly half his day handling military affairs.”

“And the other half is for sleeping?” Lin Xiangqi joked.

Roundie replied,
“The other half of the time, he stays in the small room.”

“Small room?”

“The one you woke up in today.”

Lin Xiangqi suddenly remembered that strange room and said,
“Oh, right! That place looks almost exactly like it did ten years ago. Is that where he sleeps?”

Roundie was silent for a moment before saying,
“Apologies. I cannot answer that question.”

Another question outside its permission level.

Lin Xiangqi shrugged. It didn’t really matter. If the robot couldn’t answer, he’d just ask Lu Cong directly later.

As they turned to leave, Lin Xiangqi suddenly remembered the earring.

So he asked,
“When did Lu Cong start wearing earrings?”

He didn’t think wearing an earring was strange—just that it didn’t match the Lu Cong he remembered. Maybe his tastes had changed over the past ten years, so he casually asked.

Roundie replied,
“New Calendar Year 1030, August 9th.”

“That’s very specific.” Lin Xiangqi laughed.
“I didn’t really care about the exact date—I was just curious what made him decide to get his ear pierced.”

Roundie answered,
“That date marked the 392nd revision to the Alliance’s pheromone compatibility system. The Major General submitted a non-matching request on that day, and thus got the earring.”

Lin Xiangqi thought the robot might be malfunctioning. That answer made no sense.
“What do compatibility requests have to do with earrings?”

Roundie explained in a monotone voice, clearly reading from some reference material:
“On August 9th, New Calendar Year 1030, the Alliance added a clause to the compatibility system stating: ‘Widowed individuals may opt out of pheromone matching.’ Any A or O who lost a mate could submit a request to opt out and receive a marker—the earring you saw. Wearing it indicates the individual no longer wishes to participate in any pheromone compatibility programs.”

“Data shows that since this ‘Widowed Non-Matching’ policy was introduced, fewer than 5,000 individuals have requested the marker. Of those, at least half later reapplied to rejoin the matching system. This suggests that most people, after grieving, eventually choose to move forward and embrace a new life.”

“If you see someone who has never removed that earring, it likely means they remain utterly faithful to their deceased mate and have no intention of ever starting anew.”