Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 51: March 16th 20xx A special day for John Wang

Chapter 51: March 16th 20xx A special day for John Wang

I woke up slowly.

There wasn’t an alarm, no shouting in the streets or the sound of people rushing to work, just a faint sound of breathing.

’Oh... the world I knew is already gone.’

The familiar ceiling above me helped calm my nerves—slightly cracked, yellowed from the moisture and occasional cigarette and a chunk of plaster missing in the corner, which looked like a spider.

It seemed the wonderful dream was over.

’To think she confessed to me in the dream...’

It was still dark, so I gazed at the system’s clock—thanks to it fusing with my phone. The date and time were always on display, even without a battery.

Not even midnight.

My body didn’t hurt—strangely, there was no pain... instead, I felt warm. Almost too warm.

Like I’d spent the night wrapped in an electric blanket on max heat.

No... I lied.

Only one thing hurt.

My tongue.

A dull throbbing ache spread through the bitten section each time it moved. I flexed it against the roof of my mouth and winced. Definitely not fully healed.

And then I noticed my hand.

It was warm. Really warm.

And soft. Way too soft to be a pillow. And the shape—

My fingers twitched.

There was a little squish.

A soft sound slipped out beside me.

"Mmn... mgh..." followed by the faintest snore.

I froze.

Slowly—so slowly—I turned my head.

And squished again.

"Hnnng...?"

Mu Qinglan was lying on her side, pressed into the thin mattress, hair a mess of dark silk around her face. Her lips parting just slightly, a faint line of drool tracing the edge of her mouth. She was breathing softly.

Alive.

Peaceful.

And my hand was cupping her breast.

Perfectly. Like it belonged there. Like the universe had lined up my fingers to map exactly to the curve of her chest.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, nuzzling her cheek into the pillow, and let out a tiny, sleepy "Hnn~"—high, breathy, and just the tiniest bit too cute.

I blinked.

My soul left my body.

Her little sound still echoed in my skull.

Hnn~

My hand froze, glued to her skin.

I could feel the rapid beat of the pulse in my fingertips, pressing softly into her skin. My brain screamed at me to move it. Immediately.

Although it felt strange and I shouldn’t be doing this, the normal nervous feeling and desire to run away didn’t exist.

So I smoothly enjoyed the last moment.

Then I would act like a leader.

I exhaled through my nose and slowly, slowly started to lift my hand.

"...Don’t."

Her voice was quiet. Throaty. Barely above a whisper.

I stopped.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I lifted my head and saw her eyes half-closed, barely open. Her lashes fluttering, still half asleep.

"I wasn’t—" I started, voice dry. "I didn’t mean to—"

"I know," she breathed, eyes still not fully open.

Her hand moved, brushing her fingers over my wrist, delicate and unsure.

Then she pulled back my hand and placed it gently against her chest again, covering it with her own.

She didn’t meet my gaze.

Her voice was so quiet I could barely catch it.

She shifted slightly, nestling closer. Her forehead brushed my shoulder, her hair tickling against my neck.

"You’re warm," she murmured, eyes still closed.

I didn’t know what to say to that. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"...Better than the cold roof," she added, barely audible. "I think I was there before."

Her fingers traced slowly over mine, still resting against her chest. Absent-minded. Not quite teasing. More like she was trying to memorise the shape of something she hadn’t expected to keep.

She was quiet again for a moment.

Then, "I had a strange dream," she paused, finally her eyes opened, revealing a vibrant pair of vivid, electric blue eyes. "John..." she said, observing me. "You were in the dream."

My breath caught in my throat before I could answer.

Dream?

Did she see the same dream as me?

I stared at her, unable to read her expression. Not fully awake, not fully gone. Her voice was so steady, like she wasn’t even surprised.

But I was. Completely.

"Me too," I said. Barely a whisper.

It felt stupid the moment I said it. But she didn’t laugh. She didn’t pull away.

Her thumb brushed the back of my hand.

"You sat beside me," she said. "On the roof. The old building. Everything was quiet."

My lips felt dry. I nodded slowly, but I didn’t speak. I was scared that if I opened my mouth again, it’d be the wrong thing, and I’d ruin it.

She looked at me, soft, uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep talking or let the silence stay between us.

"I said something in the dream."

I nodded again.

Mu Qinglan turned her face toward me just a little, the corner of her lips barely twitching into a smile.

"I can’t believe I actually said it."

"You... remember it clearly?"

She hesitated. "Parts. It felt real. Too real."

"Yeah," I said, barely managing the word.

It didn’t feel like something we were supposed to talk about, not like this. Not in the morning light, wrapped in too much warmth and too little space.

I shifted my hand—just a little—Qinglan didn’t stop me. Her fingers remained over mine.

And then, just like before, she said:

"I like you."

There it was.

The same words.

But this time I wasn’t sleeping—it was real and something fragile.

There was no dramatic background music or fanfare. Just her soft breaths and lips smacking as she waited. I couldn’t leave her waiting too long.

I swallowed.

My chest tightened—not because I didn’t feel the same, but because I didn’t know how to say it back without messing everything up.

However, seeing Qinglan’s blue eyes narrowed into crescent moons, the words came to me.

"I like you too."

The words sounded smaller than I meant them to be. But I didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. It wasn’t much, but it was everything I had.

Her expression didn’t change at first. She just looked at me, searching as if not understanding English for a moment, as her pretty blue eyes widened further and further until her shock became apparent.

"Really?" she asked, with a breath that caught halfway through the word, as if she wasn’t sure she’d said it aloud.

I nodded. "Yeah. Really."

She turned her face slightly, just enough that her hair slipped across her cheek, half hiding her expression—but not enough to hide the way her lips curved.

"I thought..." she trailed off, then shook her head. "Never mind. I just didn’t think you’d... say it like that."

"Was it bad?"

"No," she said quickly. "Just... I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to actually like me back."

I blinked. "Why not?"

She shrugged, eyes flicking to the ceiling, pretending to study a stain in the plaster like it suddenly held all the answers in the world. "You always looked so busy. Like you had no time for anyone unless they were bleeding or yelling."

"That’s mostly accurate," I said.

That earned me a short, breathy laugh—barely there, but unmistakable.

"I just didn’t think I was your type," she added.

"You have a type?" I asked.

She turned toward me again, cheeks glowing pink. "Shut up."

I smiled, watching her eyes dart away again, her fingers still curled loosely around mine.

Then, softly: "You’re exactly my type."

She stared for half a second before burying half her face into my shoulder, like she couldn’t handle looking at me anymore.

I expected her to hide. Maybe groan. Maybe mumble something like "I take it back."

Instead—

Her teeth sank gently into the side of my neck.

Not hard.

Not painful.

Just pressure—just enough to feel it. Just enough to remind me.

"Really?" I asked, voice low. "Again?"

She didn’t answer.

She stayed there, biting my neck in slow, silent defiance, until her breath began to tremble with laughter. She refused to let out.

"You know," I said, "this is how you greeted me the first time we saw each other after the outbreak."

"I remember," she murmured, voice muffled against my skin. "I was hungry."

Her lips lingered a second longer, then released.

"Still am," she added quietly.

This time, when I laughed, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away.

And I didn’t want her to.

She shifted again, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.

"Can I?" she asked, barely louder than a breath.

I nodded. Once. Maybe twice.

Then she kissed me.

Soft.

Uncertain at first—like she wasn’t sure I’d still be there when her eyes opened again.

I kissed her back slowly, gently, letting the moment last, settle, and continue.

There was no rush.

No fire.

Just warmth.

And her.