Divine Oracle [Transmigration] (ORACLE)
After their late-night snack, Song Si found himself wide awake. He returned to his desk, switched on the lamp, and continued piecing together the fragments of the novel he could recall.
It was like splitting himself open and examining every vein under a magnifying glass. Song Si worked through the night until dawn, his migraine growing increasingly severe—so painful it felt as though his skull might split in two. Forced to stop, he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.
As the water hit his skin, he realized his cheeks were burning. He was running a fever.
His temperature read 37.8°C—a low-grade fever. Aside from the headache, he felt no other discomfort, as though his body had triggered some peculiar immune response. Relying on his medical instincts, Song Si rummaged for a box of anti-allergy medication and swallowed a pill with warm water.
Too wary to continue organizing the novel, he stashed the notebook away and slumped onto the sofa for a brief nap.
A few hours later, whether due to the medication or not, his fever had subsided, and the migraine had eased considerably. His entire body felt drained, as if after an exhausting battle—limbs weak and temples still throbbing faintly.
Chu Mingxiao called, summoning him downstairs for lunch.
Song Si patted his pale cheeks, pressing his lips together to force some color into them before heading to the dining room.
Chu Mingyi was still asleep. Chu Mingxiao sat in his wheelchair flipping through a book while the housekeeper arranged dishes on the table.
"Chu Mingyi came back last night," Song Si said. "Probably still sleeping."
Chu Mingxiao’s gaze swept over his face before nodding. "Noted."
Uncomfortable, Song Si pinched the bridge of his nose. To distract himself, he unlocked his phone and opened WeChat. The group chat "Third Division's Favorite Song Baby" had another 99 unread messages.
Pikachu avatar: "I'm jealous! So jealous! I wanna eat Si Si's noodles too!"
Drink More Water avatar: "I also want to live with Si Si..."
Numbers avatar: "The two eggs were clearly fried for different durations. Judging by the color, the right one was cooked five seconds longer than the left. Tsk, this bothers me..."
Lotus avatar: "Yiming, this is why your cooking sucks."
Song Si couldn’t help but smile, typing a reply: "Next time, I’ll cook for all of you."
He noticed his own avatar was blank and his WeChat name was simply "Tong."
When adding "Si" with an added vertical stroke—symmetrical, it was almost like something Yu Yiming would come up with.
Pikachu: "!!! Holy shit? Si Si actually surfaced in the group chat? A historic moment! I hereby declare today an annual memorial day!"
Lotus: "Xiao Si has changed so much since losing his memory. It’s nice."
Drink More Water: "@Tong Yu Yiming and I are still at the bureau working on files. Can we get your noodles delivered for now?"
Numbers: "Heh. Xu Xinxin just finished a huge plate of curry chicken five minutes ago."
After Liu Cenning’s case was closed, the group chat had clearly relaxed. Song Si kept smiling—until a voice suddenly spoke up behind him:
"What’s so funny?"
Instinctively, Song Si moved to flip his phone screen-down, but the voice continued, dripping with sarcasm:
"Chatting in the group at noon? Guess last week wasn’t exhausting enough for you all."
He turned around to find Chu Mingyi standing behind him with his messy hair casting a shadow that completely enveloped him as he peered down at the contents of his phone.
Song Si's back was nearly pressed against Chu Mingyi's abdomen. Just as he was about to make a sarcastic remark, he suddenly remembered Chu Mingxiao was still sitting nearby.
A strange sense of guilt slowly crept up on him... He stole a glance in that direction and met Chu Mingxiao's gentle eyes.
Song Si straightened up, scooted forward in his chair, cleared his throat, and turned off his screen. "Let's eat," he said.
Chu Mingyi, oblivious to the tension, found a seat and served soup into his own bowl before doing the same for Chu Mingxiao and Song Si. "Brother, I’ll have to take Song Si back to the bureau in a couple of days. Sorry about that," he said.
Why did that sound a bit odd?
Chu Mingxiao stirred his coffee lightly with a spoon, his expression calm. "His mental state isn’t great. He needs a few more days of rest."
Song Si: That wasn’t wrong... but he hadn’t even voiced his opinion yet.
Chu Mingyi said, "I know, but I really have no choice. Liu Cenning’s case may be closed, but there are still over ten thousand victims waiting for treatment. The mild cases can still seek help at regular hospitals, but the severe ones are being turned away everywhere—left to die at home."
Song Si frowned.
Having overseen the Special Investigation Bureau for over a decade, Chu Mingxiao was unfazed. "That falls under the First Division’s jurisdiction. They’re the professionals—they don’t lack Song Si alone."
Chu Mingyi smiled. "Brother, I know you’re reluctant... but Song Si is special. His abilities are too useful. The head of the First Division has come to me several times begging for his help. The situation is urgent, and there are too many patients involved."
Chu Mingxiao looked at his brother, set down his spoon, and said with a faint smirk, "The First Division handles research, the Fourth Division handles intelligence—both are safer and better suited for Song Si’s skills compared to your Third Division. I originally assigned him to the First Division, but you insisted on taking him. Now you’re making him run between three divisions, hmm? Chief Chu."
Song Si had been quietly enjoying the drama, but seeing the meal teetering on the edge of a family dispute, he cleared his throat and cut in to mediate: "Mingxiao treated me yesterday, and I’m feeling much better today. Since I’m just idling at home anyway, I’ll go take a look at the patients. No active involvement—just observing."
Both brothers turned to stare at him.
Silence fell over the table, and Song Si squirmed under their gaze.
What? Wasn’t this how mediation worked?
He hesitated and was about to speak again, when Chu Mingyi, noticing his pallid face, felt a pang of guilt and relented first: "Brother’s right. I was being thoughtless and impatient. Take a few more days to rest."
Song Si: "It’s fine, really. I’ll just check on them."
Chu Mingxiao: "Let’s eat first."
Song Si picked up his chopsticks, feeling a bit frustrated.
How had they gone from arguing to ganging up on him? Were these brothers playing good cop, bad cop?
He shut his mouth, no longer in the mood to talk. The anti-allergy meds he’d taken that morning had left his stomach unsettled, so he picked at his food, barely finishing a corner of his bowl. Chu Mingyi added a meatball for him, and he managed a couple more bites under protest.
After the meal, he announced his decision: "I’m going back to the bureau tomorrow."
The two brothers frowned simultaneously, their features bearing a fifty percent resemblance and their expressions a hundred percent identical. Before they could unite against him, Song Si retreated from the dining table and headed upstairs.
As he reached the stairwell, he faintly heard Chu Mingyi asking his brother in a low voice, "How did his condition look to you?"
The elder brother's reply was inaudible. Before turning the corner, Song Si couldn't resist glancing back.
Chu Mingxiao wore a grave expression, while Chu Mingyi remained frowning.
Song Si clicked his tongue, shut his bedroom door, and turned the lock.
In the afternoon, Song Si took out that notebook again and continued organizing the novel.
By six or seven o'clock, the same symptoms reappeared—headache and fever. When he stood up from the chair, the room spun violently and his vision darkening.
Song Si braced himself against the desk, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then took two more antihistamine tablets.
The plot was nearing its conclusion; just a few more pages would finish it. But the headache forced him to stop again. Cold sweat dripped onto the paper, the last line reading: "Song Si is..."
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Song Si quickly stashed the notebook, grabbed a tissue to wipe the cold sweat from his face, took two deep breaths, and asked, "Who is it?"
"It's me," came Chu Mingyi's voice. "Got a minute? Need to talk."
Song Si went to the door and opened it halfway.
The room's main light was off, only the desk lamp casting dim illumination. Song Si's face was shadowed. Chu Mingyi studied his expression and frowned. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"
Song Si rubbed his temples. "Just woke up, still groggy. What's up?"
Chu Mingyi said, "We leave at eight tomorrow. I'm taking you back to the bureau."
Song Si nodded. "I was thinking the same. Liu Cenning's drug isn't completely untreatable—I've got some therapeutic ideas that need testing."
"It's not about treatment," Chu Mingyi said gravely. "I need to take you to Department One. Chu Mingxiao says you're showing signs of Schizophrenia."
Song Si froze.
"What?"
Chu Mingyi slowed his speech, enunciating each word: "Early-stage Schizophrenia."
Song Si burst out laughing.
He eyed Chu Mingyi sideways, looking at him like he was some capitalist exploiting the proletariat, and said, "If you want to trick me into working, you don't need to go this far."
Chu Mingyi: "..."
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