The white-haired man sneered, his eyes askance, blood foam clinging to his lips as a gurgling sound, like blood churning, emanated from his throat.
‘What is there to ask?’ he rasped.
‘Forget it,’ Jing Lan thought. ‘There truly isn’t anything to ask.’
He observed the man’s injured leg, which was bleeding profusely.
An artery was likely severed, yet the charred and mangled flesh, torn by gunshots, had partially obstructed the blood vessels.
This grim obstruction was the only thing temporarily preventing excessive blood loss and keeping the man from rapidly succumbing to hemorrhagic shock.
Many questions still lingered unanswered.
How had this man suddenly gone mad, turning his gun on his own comrades and slaughtering every last one?
‘Had he taken drugs?’ Jing Lan wondered.
For now, this was the only conjecture Jing Lan could formulate.
After all, Myanmar-Burma was home to the world-renowned production base for addictive substances: the Golden Triangle.
Some drugs, when their addiction took hold, could indeed induce powerful hallucinations.
‘Could I truly be this fortunate?’
‘For the enemy’s general to suffer a drug relapse at the most critical juncture of battle?’
Coincidence was an unsettling phenomenon.
Jing Lan decided against further contemplation; since the scoundrel refused to speak, it was time to finish him off.
He had initially intended to shoot, but considering the preciousness of each bullet, a finite resource, Jing Lan instead reached for the tactical knife on his belt.
Perhaps a snag on the entangled belt caught Jing Lan’s Nylaus windbreaker, for with a distinct clatter, something tumbled from his pocket.
It was Ye Yin Fengqizi’s small stone.
He bent down to pick it up, intending to return it to his pocket, but then his gaze fixed on the man lying in the pool of blood.
‘Something about this felt strange.’
“I’m asking you one last time,” Jing Lan leaned closer, cautiously repeating his earlier question. “How many of you are there?”
“Fi… fifty thousand…” The man’s voice was significantly weaker.
“Hmph. What’s the point of being so stubborn?” Jing Lan tightened his grip on the tactical knife, aiming it at the man’s heart.
Yet the man continued to mumble, his words hazy: “A total of twenty large strongholds, approximately fifty thousand people. They should all… all be alive. Following the method Old Buddha taught, they can indeed become immune to infection… no one in our stronghold has been infected…”
Jing Lan’s entire body trembled.
Immune to infection?!
Could such a terrifying zombie virus truly be neutralized by the barbaric warlords of Myanmar-Burma?
How could such a thing be possible?
Within mere days, the zombie virus had overrun this autonomous region, its terrifying speed of transmission utterly inexplicable.
Could such a black magic-like infection truly be immune?
If this were true, it would be an incredibly valuable piece of intelligence.
“What method?!” Jing Lan pressed immediately.
“It’s… it’s… drinking, drinking, Faya…”
“What is Faya?”
Suddenly, the man’s eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.
Jun Zhongding, standing nearby, exclaimed anxiously, “This is crucial intelligence! Quickly, stop the bleeding! I’ll get some cold water to see if we can wake him up.”
Several people busied themselves for a while.
Jing Lan attempted to apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but the man’s limbs had been riddled with bullets and his shoulder severely damaged.
Multiple wounds had bled profusely in a short amount of time, ultimately rendering them unable to revive him.
Jing Lan, slightly annoyed, kicked the man’s body (or perhaps what was not yet fully a corpse), grumbling to himself about his own unerring aim.
****
On the third floor of the office building, four more individuals remained: Deputy Director Ping Minggeng, an intern named Xue Yuanxing, the cleaner Shi Geren, and the driver Zhao Jiagui.
Xue Yuanxing bore severe injuries.
According to other survivors, due to his youth and frailness, he had been assaulted by the bandits.
Now, he appeared utterly distraught, showing no joy even when told he was safe.
‘Homosexual men are truly disgusting,’ Jing Lan thought.
Zhao Jiagui, the driver, had only minor injuries and was still capable of driving.
Upon hearing there was a survivor camp near Bailu Reservoir Park, he repeatedly exclaimed, “Thank heavens.”
Leng Yu and Little Zhao had successfully descended from the grain storage.
Little Zhao’s condition was not ideal, but he would undoubtedly survive once they returned to the camp.
Jing Lan briefly recounted the events in the office building to Leng Yu.
Leng Yu, incredulous, surveyed the first floor of the building, examining the bandits riddled with bullet holes.
“You truly didn’t kill them?” he asked Jing Lan.
“I wish I could have killed that many, like activating a cheat code here, huh? *Ding~ ding~*” Jing Lan grumbled, mimicking the sound of a video game modifier activating. “If it weren’t for that white-haired madman, I might be the one dead right now.”
Leng Yu casually picked up a Scorpion submachine gun dropped by a bandit, turning it over in his hands.
“Don’t say such things. The outcome is all that matters. Your actions eliminated all enemies, ensuring this plan’s direct success. That’s all I care about.”
Jing Lan crossed his arms over his chest. “But next time, I won’t be so lucky.”
“But next time, you won’t act like this either,” Leng Yu said, tucking the newly acquired Scorpion submachine gun into his belt. “You’re the type of person who always gets things done. My judgment of people is usually spot on.”
“Including Hu Che?” Jing Lan inquired.
Leng Yu’s lips quirked slightly. “Hmph,” he scoffed, before moving to explore other rooms.
It wasn’t exactly idle wandering, as he soon called Jing Lan over.
On an office desk, he had found a folder containing documents with chaotic handwriting.
Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be bandit records: supply lists, reward and punishment logs, and other such papers.
“These ragtag bandits actually have paperwork? That’s quite an eye-opener,” Leng Yu remarked.
“Don’t underestimate the Myanmar-Burma bandits,” Jing Lan countered. “Their telecom scams have devastated countless people in our country. This isn’t the work of brainless villains.”
“In that case, let’s take it and study it back at camp,” Leng Yu said, closing the folder and carrying it out of the room.
“You should also quickly search for anything you might want; we need to head back soon.”
After a few steps, Leng Yu turned his head. “I contacted Old Li and the others; they went to look for your good friend, but they couldn’t find her.
“Next time, be calmer. Even for someone you care about, it’s not worth risking your life. This time, of course, is an exception.”
Jing Lan replied, displeased, “What do you mean, ‘someone I care about’?”
“What’s the big deal? Liking someone doesn’t mean you want them as a wife. Look—” Leng Yu drew the newly acquired Scorpion submachine gun. “I like this. So beautiful. But can this be a wife? Look at this muzzle, so slender, it can’t possibly fit in…”
Seeing Jing Lan roll his eyes, Leng Yu shrugged and walked away.
****
The survivors, along with Jing Lan and Leng Yu, swiftly searched the grain depot.
They collected portable equipment, including walkie-talkies, a diesel generator, welding gear, and all the firearms and ammunition left by the bandits.
Everything was loaded into one of the Myanmar-Burma bandits’ armored trucks.
Driver Old Zhao was tasked with driving the tanker truck, which was laden with ten tons of rice.
A total of nine people departed in three vehicles.
After opening the grain depot’s main gate with an electronic switch, they drove away.
Old Zhao, Jing Lan, and Jun Zhongding each drove a vehicle, with Jing Lan leading the way.
As they drove along the highway, the sun had already set, leaving splotches of crimson on the mountains, like fresh bloodstains.
Though the operation had yielded an unexpectedly positive outcome, Jing Lan found no joy.
Reflecting on his actions, it was clear he had been courting death.
What was even more terrifying was the realization that when he had stormed the office building alone, his mind had remained rational, not a mindless outburst of passion.
What had directly permeated the deepest layers of his consciousness, causing such a profound shift in his behavior without deceiving his own mind?
The answer was starkly clear.
Because when Leng Yu mentioned that the camp members still hadn’t found Ling Yechen, Jing Lan’s first thought was: ‘Then I’ll go look for her myself later.’
Of course, something else had also captured Jing Lan’s attention.
He gently touched the small stone in his pocket, the one Ye Yin Fengqizi had given him.