The Second Reign of Gilgamesh

Xu Zhi returned to the house, entered the kitchen, and put a kettle on the stove. He was parched and wanted a hot cup of tea.

Outside, the fire of civilization had been kindled.

The young Bugape was tall and powerfully built, his frame covered in coarse fur. His features resembled those of ancient Westerners, and Xu Zhi, recalling myths from human history, named him Gilgamesh—the first king of Sumerian legend. He had placed great expectations on him.

So much so that he granted Gilgamesh the termite genes that other Bugapes had failed to assimilate. It was clear that Xu Zhi considered him special.

Whether or not the young Bugape would rise to greatness was now entirely up to him.

Xu Zhi stepped outside and sat cross-legged at the front door, studying the overgrown yard. "The whole area is around five to six hundred square meters. The sandbox only uses a fifth of that. I should start clearing the rest," he murmured.

Without delay, he rose to his feet and began pulling weeds. He wasn't sure what he'd use the extra space for yet, but it felt right to prepare.

As for expanding the sandbox—he shook his head. The current scale was already difficult to manage. Bigger wasn't always better.

Knock knock.

A sharp rap sounded at the front gate.

Xu Zhi set down his hoe and opened it. Standing there was Chen Xi, arms full of food. She peered past him and gave the yard a curious glance.

"Oh? Gardening now?"

"Yeah. Just trying it out. Exercise is good for the body," Xu Zhi said casually, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. To her, it looked like ordinary gardening. She had no idea what the sandbox truly was.

"I didn't think you were serious when you said you'd take up farming," Chen Xi said, bewildered. "You're a college graduate who worked at a foreign company! And you're supposed to be terminally ill, right?"

Her eyes drifted across his bare, defined torso. Her cheeks turned red. "B-big brother Xu Zhi, I'll leave the food here! Do you need help? I used to help my mom plant rice seedlings back home. Your garden's huge—wasn't it like 600 square meters? Your family's loaded. But now you're on your own… it's too much for you!"

"No need," Xu Zhi replied with a chuckle. "The yard's big, but I'm just planting whatever catches my interest. Who knows? I might end up with some strange, exotic flowers."

"Ohhh~" Chen Xi hummed curiously. She thumped her chest with pride. "Alright then! Let me know what you want to eat next time. Mom and I will cook it for you!"

With that, she skipped away cheerfully. But just before leaving, she tossed out one last line that made Xu Zhi freeze:

"You used to be all depressed. But now you're full of energy, and your hair even grew back. Is this what they call the final burst of vitality before death? Don't worry, I'll take good care of you in your final days!"

"…Huh?"

Just because my hair grew back, you think I'm going to die?

"What the f***?! Was that my last supper just now? You little brat!" Xu Zhi cursed under his breath, glaring in her direction as he opened the lunchbox.

Inside was a lovingly prepared meal: poached eggs, stir-fried greens, carrots, and sliced meat. A simple, homey dish—but it smelled divine.

Xu Zhi dug in gleefully.

"She's a good cook… I'll definitely have her bring food every day," he muttered.

As a stomach cancer patient, a healthy, balanced diet was crucial. Meals like these were perfect. After eating, Xu Zhi laid back on a lounge chair in the yard, full and utterly content.

Later, he got up and continued cleaning the garden. Mud clung to his arms and legs. He washed his clothes by hand, wrung them out, and hung them to dry.

"Whew… I really should go into town and buy a washing machine."

The next day, Chen Xi returned, just as she'd promised, with another lunchbox.

Xu Zhi looked at her cheerful, innocent face—so full of sympathy for his supposed impending death—and couldn't help but feel at peace.

Here he was, living a quiet, pastoral life. Tending a garden. Eating well. Being cared for. Could life get any better?

No. This was paradise.

For Xu Zhi, it had been just one serene day. But in the sandbox, over a hundred years had passed.

Two generations of Bugapes had come and gone. Their lifespan was short—only forty to fifty years.

Had the fledgling Gilgamesh from before grown old and passed the torch?

Not at all.

He had defied expectations.

In the first decade, Gilgamesh led his people into retreat—but he learned. He mastered fire, discovering its immense power: cooking food, keeping predators at bay, and warming his tribe at night.

Fire marked the beginning of civilization.

The Sword of Damocles, the weapon Xu Zhi had gifted him, remained unmatched in the primeval forest. With it, Gilgamesh slew countless beasts, giving his tribe room to breathe and, eventually, fight back.

By the second decade, he was in his thirties—at the peak of his strength.

He was tall and imposing, the tribe's mightiest hunter. They called him the Hero King.

He introduced fire-fallow farming, clearing forests to grow crops—the dawn of agriculture.

Charismatic but ruthless, he laid the foundation for civilization. He developed a writing system—cuneiform—to record history and culture. And in his vanity, he wrote an epic, proudly titling it the Genesis.

Though a tyrant, he was brilliant.

He had 131 wives, who bore him many strong, intelligent children.

But time waited for no one.

By his late thirties, Gilgamesh—like all Bugapes—was fading.

In a wooden treehouse, fire crackled in the hearth.

"This flame of civilization… gifted by the Great Beast of Wisdom," he murmured. "So bright and beautiful… like a crimson flower dancing in the wind."

Gilgamesh sat on a throne made of Arrah's hide, surrounded by the severed heads of monstrous beasts. They were symbols of his conquests.

He had lived gloriously. He had achieved his dreams.

"My successor will be my son, Agga of Kish," he declared. "He is strong and wise. The tribe will thrive under him."

He could feel death's breath drawing closer. Quietly, he retrieved a vial of the Blood of the Conqueror.

"The Great Beast said only the greatest warrior could drink this and live… and gain power beyond imagination."

"I am the greatest, am I not?"

His voice trembled with both pride and fear.

"We shall see…"

In silence, he pierced his skin and poured the blood into the wound.

Agony consumed him.

The pain was indescribable. It eclipsed every battle he had ever fought. He writhed and screamed on the floor, his body twisting in torment.

But he endured.

When he stood again, his transformation was complete.

The fur that once cloaked him receded, revealing a sculpted physique. His face, now bare, held a divine beauty.

His once-dark hair had turned snow white. His skin was pale, with a faint ivory glow—reminiscent of termites.

He looked like a god.

"This power…"

He clenched his hand—and shattered a nearby bone handrail with ease.

Elsewhere, Agga of Kish stood tall before the tribe, raising the Sword of Damocles high as he declared himself chief.

He was everything his father wasn't—kind, noble, beloved. Gilgamesh had known he would make a great leader and had willingly stepped aside.

But now…

Everything had changed.

Even if Agga had no ambition to challenge his father, Gilgamesh would brook no threat.

"I have returned. The throne is mine."

That day, screams filled the Sumerian village.

Blood stained the earth.

The Hero King had risen once more—and reclaimed his crown by slaying his own son.

Gilgamesh had begun his second reign.

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