“Save her, now?”
Jing Lan tossed the question back, as if the choice truly rested with Ling Yechen.
“I… I’m not sure what the situation in the city is right now…”
“I don’t know either. Perhaps Keke is already dead? Even if she lost her phone, finding someone else’s to call me wouldn’t be difficult, would it? Yet now there’s no news at all.”
A strange, inexplicable irritation laced Jing Lan’s voice, though it was subtle, almost imperceptible.
“Dead… will she really die?”
Leaning back in his seat, Ling Yechen turned his head to gaze out at the pitch-black world beyond the window.
He found it difficult to imagine the girl, who was so incredibly strong in his mind, actually dying.
The forest was so dark that its depth was indiscernible, and the window glass acted like a mirror, reflecting his own pallid, vulnerable face.
“Why do I feel like none of this is real?”
Ling Yechen attempted to mentally review the events of the past few hours, but his brain vehemently resisted the effort.
Ultimately, the image that persisted in his mind was the joyful wedding banquet from moments ago, replaying endlessly.
From the back seat, Lui Si stretched languidly, her voice carrying a hint of drowsiness.
“I have a theory, though I’m not sure if I should voice it.”
Silence descended upon the car’s interior; no one offered an opinion.
“We’re still numb to everything that’s happened since just now.”
Ling Yechen stammered slightly as he asked, “Wh-why is that?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps the immense stress we’ve faced in the past has simply dulled our nerves.”
The young woman turned to gaze at Little Lamai’s silent form by the window in the back seat.
The boy, who appeared to be around fourteen, also had his face turned towards the car window, whether watching the flowing black forest outside or simply closing his eyes to escape reality, was unclear.
Lui Si continued, “But this kind of reaction, I think, is quite dangerous. Getting out of the house and into the car just now, we managed to keep our composure and escape. But if you ask me, we didn’t actually face an overly perilous situation—aside from Jing Lan’s knife, of course, but the recently reanimated Master Wang was still on the bed, relatively manageable.”
Jing Lan responded with a soft “Mm,” signaling for her to proceed.
Lui Si straightened up, leaning closer to the back of the driver’s seat.
“What I want to say is, what if we face a situation later where twenty, thirty, or even hundreds of zombies surround us, clawing and snarling, their tongues lolling, and we have to fight for our lives just to survive—can we truly fight that desperately?
“Especially you, little Yechen, in that most critical moment, will a thought flash through your mind: ‘Perhaps it would be better to just die?’”
Ling Yechen fell silent.
In truth, that very thought had just flickered through his mind.
Lui Si’s perceptiveness made him feel slightly offended, yet the question was undeniably valid.
An undeniable reality was his struggle with depression, meaning certain neural pathways in his brain likely harbored inherent risks.
Fortunately, his symptoms weren’t the most severe; at the very least, his rationality sustained his essential will to survive.
“What about you, Senior?”
Ling Yechen turned his head to Jing Lan.
“You seem incredibly calm… Have you already devised a strategy? Or is it simply because your name, ‘Jing,’ implies calmness, making you naturally composed…”
Realizing he had uttered an utterly terrible joke, Ling Yechen regretfully clamped his mouth shut.
After a long pause, Jing Lan reached out and pressed a button on the center console, and white noise filled the car’s speakers.
“My apologies, I wouldn’t call myself calm either. I only just remembered that we could listen to the radio. I think there might be some information.”
As Jing Lan spoke, he cracked open the car window a sliver, allowing the crisp, cool mountain breeze to flow into the cabin.
“Let’s return to the previous topic. First, regarding whether or not to enter the city to save Keke, now is not the time to answer that question. We’ll head to Station 115 first—we’re almost there. The network should still hold for a while, so we’ll gather information and then decide our next step.”
A deep breath… no, a mint would be better.
Jing Lan grabbed a handful of mints from the central armrest compartment beside him, distributing a few to both the front and back seats.
“As for the second question, about whether we’re still numb. I do have an idea. Let’s get a good night’s sleep at Station 115 first—after we’ve completed our information-gathering task, of course. Then, tomorrow, we can see how everyone’s spirits are.”
It was unclear which nerve this statement touched in Little Lamai, or perhaps he hadn’t absorbed any of it at all; merely the sound of human speech seemed to cause his profoundly shaken mind to spasm once more.
He began to sob uncontrollably again.
Catching sight of the boy’s tearful face in the rearview mirror, Ling Yechen felt a surge of anxiety.
It was as if that mournful weeping were also a virus, destined to manifest within him sooner or later.
Several radio stations broadcast only white noise.
After scanning automatically for a while, the tuner finally settled on “Voice of Shangri-La,” a channel primarily focused on light entertainment.
Normally, at this time, it would be the evening psychological counseling program, where host Xiao Yu would take listener calls and address various emotional and life issues.
As the radio connected, it indeed carried the sound of a listener’s call—a girl, her voice choked with uncontrollable sobs, haltingly recounting her predicament.
“That person just… just bit my mother on the neck, and then—”
Host Xiao Yu quickly interrupted with a steady, clear male voice.
“Friend, you don’t need to go into too much detail. Just tell us what you know; it might help others.”
“What I know? I’m in the supermarket’s storage room right now. Outside, screams echoed for half an hour, and it’s quieter now, but there are still people walking around—they might be those zombies! I don’t dare go out! But there’s no food or water here, and if rescue doesn’t come, I’ll be trapped and die here!”
True to his reputation as a golden-standard host, Xiao Yu continued to calmly reassure the caller.
Once the girl’s emotions stabilized, he proceeded to ask her for the specific supermarket location.
The girl’s voice trembled as she replied, “The Walmart in Kunming… the one on Longquan Road…”
Jing Lan and Ling Yechen exchanged a glance.
“Has something happened in the provincial capital too?”
The girl was reluctant to hang up, recognizing this might be her last chance to speak with another human being.
However, after offering reassurance, Xiao Yu still ended the call and continued broadcasting.
“Hello to our new listeners. This is FM97 Voice of Shangri-La, broadcasting the ‘Night Thoughts’ program. I don’t know if you are safe right now, or if you need help. Our program team is also currently trapped in the office building, awaiting further instructions. The situation may be very dire; our last directive from superiors was an hour ago, and we have received no further instructions or messages regarding shelter or disaster response advice.
“This program will now continue to broadcast. We welcome friends from across the province to call our hotlines at xxxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxxx, to tell us about your current situation. We will compile this information and broadcast it continuously throughout the province, doing our best to help every friend in distress.
“To improve the efficiency of information gathering, we advise that if friends in the same city or area have already called our hotline, please refrain from calling again. We have currently received calls from friends in Kunming, Baoshan, and Zhaotong. All of these areas have experienced severe indiscriminate attacks by patients with an acute infectious disease. Friends in these regions, please do not leave your homes and ensure you have supplies stockpiled…”
“These places are quite far apart. The affected area already exceeds a hundred thousand square kilometers. It seems things are truly serious.”
Concluding that the program offered no more vital information for the moment, Jing Lan attempted to change the station.
The automatic tuner stopped on another frequency, but Jing Lan glanced at it without being able to identify the channel.
From the speakers came a hazy, muddled musical sound—it didn’t seem like a bad signal, as there wasn’t much white noise.
It sounded more like the result of low-quality recording equipment.
Perhaps it was a place not yet affected by the biochemical crisis, with programs airing as usual?
This thought piqued Jing Lan’s curiosity, and he allowed the broadcast to continue.
The music suddenly faded, and a deep male voice spoke.
“Friend, do you believe in Bodhisattvas?”
Jing Lan frowned slightly, a hint of surprise on his face.
Perhaps this was a local folklore program? The area was significantly influenced by Buddhist culture.
“If you are fortunate enough to know the Boundless Sacred Lord Bodhisattva, you will not be surprised by the arrival of the time of Nirvana today. All is predetermined. The hour of judgment has arrived. The Sacred Lord is most benevolent and wise, capable of forgiving all sins. Return to righteousness now, and there is still a chance for salvation. Please call our number, or add us on WeChat: xxxxxxxxx…”
Jing Lan hastily switched the radio to the next station.
‘It seems some people’s twisted minds work faster than the spread of disease.’
A deeper shadow fell over his thoughts.
He failed to notice that Ling Yechen, in the passenger seat, had secretly jotted down the number.