Cultivator in a Zombie Apocalypse

Chapter Eighty Six - Time Is Not Forgiving

The roses lining the mansion driveway shivered as if a sharp breeze had cut through them, but there was very little wind stirring the air. The few sunflowers ceased seeking the sun with their large abundant blooms, but instead began to face south. Other parts of the garden seemed strangely still.

Nathan took a deep breath as he stepped outside of the front gate with Chang Min; he still did not feel that beyond the boundary of his home was comfortable, especially when he had no Ren Zexian beside him. He glanced at his calloused fingers before rubbing them together, trying to recall what it felt like to have Ren Zexian's long, slender fingers entwined with them. Chang Min patiently waited for him to settle his nerves, needing no apology and Nathan did not provide him with one. They eyes simply met, however briefly, once Nathan was ready to cross the used road to the third mansion.

The newly established vines upon the wall moved in excitement as he passed, catching his vision and causing him to relax a little. And though there was no flowers in the large spacious front gardens before the empty third property, the grass, that had been sagging in the heat of the sun suddenly stretched tall as if to look more impressive. Even the deadly mutated patch, with its thin, green blades, reacted to him passing, seeming so much more benign.

Nathan sensed the garden reacting to him, but did not acknowledge the strange feeling for his mind was filled with not flora, but a tall, oriental man that resembled bamboo; strong, willowy, flexible yet quietly elegant. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he glanced at Chang Min, who seemed not to want to hurry forward. Nathan was tempted to push him, even acknowledging that such an act would be rude, even though he did not want to touch the other, but he couldn't stop the longing in his heart to reach Ren Zexian sooner.

He'd never really thought of concepts such as time before, simply using the measure of it to plan his days and his gardening tasks, but now he believed he finally understood some of the odd phrases his nanny had used;

"A watched pot never boils..."

"Yes it does," the nine year old him had argued. "It took eight minutes and thirty seconds to boil when the chef heated water to cook pasta."

"It's a saying, my sweet. It simply means that when you wait for something that you want badly, that time seems to take a long time to pass. A second may seem like a minute, a minute like an hour..."

"It definitely did not take longer than eight minutes and thirty seconds," he had stubbornly insisted. Nanny had not argued with him.

Now he was walking to the third property and it had taken twenty minutes last time he had visited here to walk from his gates to the back of the garden where they had planted the small fields of wheat and corn. Yet at this moment, if someone had told him that hours had past just to reach the mansion's front door, he would have believed it.

The mansion had been in midst of renovation before the end; the carpets had been taken up and most of the downstairs floor was bare floorboards that creaked underfoot or cold, grey concrete. The rooms themselves were empty, without any furnishings. There was no kitchen cupboards, a toilet in just one bathroom and some pipes. But this desolate place was where his Ren Zexian had been cultivating for the past few days.

Nathan frowned; at home they cultivated on the bed... would the floor boards not be uncomfortable? Actually, the man was in a large sunroom, surrounded by the glass of its walls and upon a rug covered concrete floor. His eyes were closed and his skin as translucent as tracing paper. Nathan's heart felt sore. He rushed forward despite Chang Min's attempts to stop him.

"Nathan...!" Chang Min faltered. "There... please come back, there is something you need to know."

Nathan ignored him, kneeling before the man he longed for, ignoring the discomfort in his knees. His fingers reached forward, trembling slightly as he touched the worn face, tracing the thin black lines beneath the skin. His eyes were drawn to the strangely purple lips.