Chapter 5: Secrets, Shadows, and a Voice from Beyond

After cleaning up this big mess, I finally had some free time.

At last, I’ve helped the Vice President secure the office smoothly.

Actually, there wasn’t much to worry about. I’d arranged everything for this kid long ago—succession order, supporting staff, military power, treasury, all sorted clearly.

Even without me, he should be able to handle it—after all, I taught him myself.

Who would’ve thought, in the end, I just couldn’t let go of the burden.

I took office at fourteen, served for thirty years—not a great President, but at least diligent.

But at forty-five, I suddenly felt my energy running out. In the past, I could stay up half the night reading reports, then recover with a nap, but now I was always tired, never refreshed.

At first, I didn’t think much of it, but it got worse and worse, until I couldn’t even get out of bed.

The White House doctors said I was too worn out, my organs failing.

They found the best treatments for me, but they barely worked.

I knew my time was up.

Fortunately, everything was ready for the Vice President—he just needed to take office and be a relaxed leader.

While bedridden, I went through all the cabinet members one by one, and nagged the Vice President over and over.

I wonder if I annoyed this kid so much he didn’t want to take the job?

So… he ran away at the last minute?

That’s not like a kid of our old Shepard family.

Kid, when I find you I’ll give you a good talking-to.

Even now, I picture him rolling his eyes behind my back, but I always told him—responsibility doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

When I realized I’d woken up in the Vice President’s body, I immediately stormed into the White House Medical Wing and grabbed a bunch of people.

“Check the pulse.”

I pointed at the casket and ordered them.

They stared at me like I’d lost my mind, but no one dared say it out loud.

I grabbed a doctor at random. “I said check the pulse. Do it, or I’ll fire you if you keep talking.”

A few of them, trembling, took turns checking, each shaking their head.

“Definitely no pulse?”

“Heartbeat?”

“None.”

I was silent for a moment, then said:

“I’ve heard there’s a meditation technique that makes someone look like they’ve stopped breathing, but they’re actually alive?”

The doctors looked at me like I was crazy, but no one dared challenge me. They just stood there in awkward silence.

I kept vigil by the casket all night.

Later, I secretly had the body swapped.

What was buried in Arlington was just my clothes and medals—the real body is now lying on a bed of dry ice in the White House’s secret basement.

Dry ice—it can keep the dead’s appearance from decaying.

Except for the bluish face, I look just as I did when I died.

I come to look every night.

“Charlie, are you in there?”

I thought, since my soul came to Charlie’s body, could his soul have gone to mine? So, I couldn’t let this body be buried. What if Charlie suddenly woke up?

But after so many days, I’ve searched all the best doctors, but no miracle has happened.

Still cold to the touch, freezing to the bone.

“Charlie, where did you go?”

After closing the secret chamber door, I pondered for a long time and sighed deeply.

“Someone, call the National Security Council’s science advisor.”

Sometimes, being President means you can call on every expert in the country—even the ones who might believe in ghosts.

I never believed in ghosts and spirits.

But now I have to believe.

The night was deep, the full moon shining bright.

The director of the NSC’s classified science team had been sitting in the Oval Office for two hours.

“Say it again—what do you mean by ‘the President gives birth to double shadows’?”

He raised his head a little, sneaking a look at me.

“Reporting, Mr. President, according to the latest classified satellite data, the North Star has been acting abnormally—a single star with two shadows, which is… a sign of double shadows.”

I was silent.

“Speak plainly.”

The director wrung his hands, his sleeves trembling even without wind. In the end, he braced himself and said through gritted teeth:

“It means two presidential stars appeared, overlapping—one bright, one dark.”

After saying this, he seemed to have used up all his strength, slumping to the ground.

“Please forgive me, Mr. President.”

I looked at him, confused. “Why blame you? Can you control the stars in the sky?”

Seeing I had no intention to blame, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, hesitated, and said,

“Mr. President, I really can’t control the stars, but all phenomena have their correspondences—things depend on people, not fate.”

“……”

I really can’t stand the way he talks.

I never believed in this stuff before and rarely summoned them, so they don’t know my temper.

“Can you speak properly? Don’t beat around the bush with me.”

He wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Yes, what I mean is, satellite phenomena can only predict the general trend, but things depend on people. As long as we prepare in advance, anything can change.”

“Double shadows born from the President—must be the work of villains in secret, creating this shadow. I am untalented, but willing to help you eliminate the threat as soon as possible.”

I stared north for a long time.

My eyes got sore, but I couldn’t see the double shadow the director mentioned.

Forget it—better leave professional matters to professionals.

When I turned around, I saw the man sitting in the chair suddenly straighten up, staring at me with burning eyes.

“Mr. President, I will devote my life’s learning to help you eliminate the shadow and protect America’s peace for a thousand years!”

Truly full of heroic spirit, as if he’d charge into battle the next moment.

I waved my hand, signaling him to come closer.

He was very excited, quickly stepping forward.

I glanced at the secret basement, then pointed at the northern sky and asked, “Is there a way to make the bright one disappear and the dark one shine?”

Hearing my words, the man looked like he’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place, unable to recover for a long time.

“Your… Mr. President…”

“That bright one is…”

I waved my hand to stop him.

“I’m just curious, asking casually.”

After a while, he seemed to realize something, and with a ‘thud’ sat down again, eyes shining as he looked at me:

“As expected of you, Mr. President, your thoughts are beyond ordinary people. You must want to find the weak spot, use their own methods against them, attack by surprise, take the initiative—brilliant! Wonderful!”

Ah, if you want to think that way, I can’t help it.

I was silent, watching him hesitate to speak.

“Get up.”

Well… he’s a talent, I guess.

I thought for a moment, then asked, “Can you calculate the location of that shadow?”

He shook his head, looking bitter.

Seeing this, I dismissed him.

Still, it wasn’t a complete loss.

From his mystical, rambling nonsense, I got the gist:

Charlie is still here.

Once there’s a direction, things are easier.

I immediately ordered people to find experts in metaphysics and the paranormal.

With great reward, there are always brave people.

They actually found some with real skill.

They said, everything has its set number, rise and fall, light and shadow: to weaken the dark, make the light stronger; likewise, to strengthen the dark, the light must be weakened.

In short, if I weaken, Charlie strengthens.

Someone offered a method called the blood bond, transferring my released energy into Charlie’s body.

In the secret basement, I was ready.

Just waiting for the set time to cut and draw blood.

On the bed of dry ice, my body remained unchanged.

As I watched, I couldn’t help but worry—if Charlie wakes up and finds himself in my body, would he be scared?

Also, if someone sees, wouldn’t they say I’ve come back to life? What would I do then…

Before I could sort out these troublesome questions, I heard a voice call out:

Slightly trembling, “Dad.”

I immediately turned to look at the scalpel nearby. So effective? I haven’t even started bleeding yet.

I rubbed my eyes, leaning closer to the bed.

“Charlie?”

But the person on the bed didn’t move.

I pinched my forehead. Probably a hallucination. These days, those experts have been arguing all day, noisy enough, but mainly it’s exhausting.

I don’t know where they studied, but not a single one talks like a normal person.

It was about time, so I picked up the scalpel to cut my wrist.

At this moment, an anxious voice sounded in my mind:

“Dad, don’t.”

The voice echoed inside my skull—real, terrified, and unmistakably Charlie’s. I froze, scalpel in hand. Was I really about to bring my own son back from the dead?