Ling Yechen had three voices echoing in her mind.
The first: *Grumble, grumble, grumble, grumble…*
To be precise, these were not distinct words.
Rather, they resembled an incantation, directly compelling her body with an urge to act.
The second: ‘Be quiet! You will not command me! I am the master of this body!’
This was Ling Yechen’s own voice.
Initially, it felt somewhat feeble, yet as she strenuously repeated it within her mind, it nearly quelled the first, insidious incantation.
However, when a familiar sound resonated from upstairs, another impulse involuntarily surged within her: ‘That’s Jing Lan! I must go save him!’
There was, in fact, a second half to that thought: ‘He has a gun; he doesn’t need help.’
Yet, the mere first half of the thought resonated with the initial, guttural incantation, instantly suppressing all rational voices in her mind.
By the time she regained a semblance of clarity, a zombie, once a kind-faced security guard uncle, had already pinned her to the ground.
The term “kind-faced” was no irony.
Even as a zombie, the security guard’s perpetually squinting eyes remained shut, and a gentle upward curve lingered at the corners of his mouth.
It was only when a guttural roar rumbled from its throat, expelling an odor reminiscent of fermented tofu mixed with rotten eggs, that Ling Yechen shivered uncontrollably.
‘Damn it, this thing is going to bite me to death!’
“Watch out!” someone shouted.
It was Jing Lan, calling down to her from upstairs.
‘I cannot die! Heaven has granted me a second chance!’
As if a flash of desperate inspiration ignited within her mind, a series of muscular impulses surged through her body like crackling sparks of electricity.
Ling Yechen used the chain of her handcuffs, binding her wrists, to push upwards, blocking the zombie’s descending head.
Then, her retracted legs suddenly exerted force, propelling her body upwards.
The zombie was thrust back by the unexpected power, and she immediately clamped her hands fiercely onto both sides of its temples.
With a strength born of pure vengeance, her arms erupted with a pulling force that made her entire body ache.
With a sickening crunch, Ling Yechen brutally twisted and snapped the security guard zombie’s spine.
The chaotic roars in its throat abruptly sharpened, then faded into silence.
Its limbs swiftly went limp.
Two student zombies rushed over from the direction of the sports field, only to be shot in the head by Zhao Long, who had caught up from behind.
“Girl, come back quickly.
You can’t do anything alone.”
From upstairs, Jing Lan also shouted, “Go back!”
Ling Yechen looked up, a touch of wildness in her eyes.
“It’s me!”
She actually yearned to reclaim the rationality she had somehow lost through this shout, or perhaps she secretly sensed that an unknown madness was leading her towards destruction, making it better to confess the truth to her closest friend in her final moments.
She had intended to say, “I am Ling Yechen,” but the words never escaped her lips as her uncontrollable body surged into the school.
****
“Ye Xuening!”
Jing Lan instantly recognized the familiar voice.
This was a skill honed over time by a band’s male lead vocalist, meticulously listening to myriad singing styles.
Keke, standing nearby, was equally stunned.
“Wh-… Who did you say she was again?”
“She said her name is Ye Xuening.
She’s a fan of Four-Color Conjecture, lives locally, has my contact information, and we’ve spoken on the phone before.
I recognize her voice.”
Keke’s expression remained one of utter disbelief.
“But… the labor monitor in Ling Yechen’s class is also named Ye Xuening!”
This time, it was Jing Lan’s turn to widen his eyes.
He immediately recalled that he had indeed seen that name before.
Ling Yechen had once discussed academic matters with him and shared her report card.
Ye Xuening’s name would have been listed near Ling Yechen’s.
While not exceedingly unique, it was at least a bit more distinctive than common names like “Zhiqiang,” “Haoran,” “Zihan,” or “Yuxuan.”
That’s why it had stuck in his memory.
In fact, when he had spoken with Ye Xuening on the phone, he had experienced a sense of déjà vu, though he couldn’t quite place it at the time.
Was this a mere coincidence?
It took him only a second to dismiss the notion.
Jing Lan was convinced that this Ye Xuening was Ling Yechen’s classmate.
After all, Four-Color Conjecture was an obscure band, and the probability of it linking two individuals with the same, uncommon name was infinitesimally small.
“Then it’s her.
I want to save her,” Jing Lan declared.
“Are you insane—” Keke began, but then she immediately grasped a crucial fact: regardless of their decision, those on this floor would have to fight their way downstairs eventually.
Pilot Old Gao had stated that the plane’s fuel was almost depleted, and seaplanes possessed very limited endurance.
“But if Ye Xuening rushes into the school so recklessly, she’ll almost certainly die instantly,” Keke argued, attempting to peer out the window to see where the girl had gone, but Ye Xuening had already vanished from sight.
“Even if we ultimately have to fight our way downstairs, wouldn’t it be the most prudent strategy to spend a few hours digesting the sugary water and recovering more of our strength?” Keke continued.
Indeed, even with a stash of excellent firearms at their disposal, navigating from the fifth floor to the first would still mean confronting hundreds of zombies in confined spaces, allowing no room for error.
However, Jing Lan harbored his own reasons.
“There are two reasons.
First, I promised to save her.
While we aren’t exactly close acquaintances, and I didn’t make a formal guarantee, she is a fan of our band and has quietly supported us.”
In truth, this was merely a convenient excuse.
Perhaps the unspoken, even subconscious reason, was simply this: she was Ling Yechen’s classmate.
“Second, her madness might be my fault.”
Jing Lan couldn’t help but recall the white-haired man who had similarly descended into a killing frenzy against his own companions during the granary battle.
“Your fault?”
“It’s difficult to explain.
But this reason is more significant than the last.
If I don’t go save her, it will be tantamount to my causing her death.”
Jing Lan’s voice was low and resolute.
Just then, Keke looked up and saw the splattered bloodstains on the wall directly opposite the classroom door.
“Keke, your skills and intellect surpass mine.
The decision rests with you.
If you still believe this is too risky, I will defer to your judgment.”
As he uttered these words, Jing Lan found himself questioning whether he was, in essence, selling trust.
Keke was more susceptible to emotional influence than he was; was he deliberately displaying sincerity to sway her?
‘No, it doesn’t matter.
She likely understands me as well as I understand her.’
The short-haired girl stood motionless for a few seconds, a common state for her before making a decision.
“Give me the AK.”
Taking the Type 56 assault rifle, she quickly inspected its various components.
“We move immediately.
Her skills are impressive, and she might indeed survive in the school for a while, but she won’t last long.”
The two exited the classroom and informed the other four in the corridor that they would break out immediately.
“We have no strength left!” Yu Fang, with her shoulder-length bob, remained seated on the ground, sipping water in small mouthfuls.
“This is an order!” Keke declared, feigning severity, and the shoulder-length-haired girl involuntarily rose to her feet.
Similarly, with just words, the male student Wu Risheng and another girl, Ying Yan, who wore a ponytail that exposed her forehead, also obediently stood up.
Jing Lan felt a secret dread.
Was the human mind truly such a fragile thing?
Just a few days of hunger could twist one’s spirit into a rigid, imprinted ideology.
This wasn’t even Keke’s true intention.
And if someone in such a disordered world were to deliberately create a new order built upon the distortion of human minds, what would the world become?
With no time for further contemplation, they distributed weapons: Keke would lead with the AK, Jing Lan would provide covering fire with the MP9, and the three high school students would follow closely, supporting each other.
Gao Fei, carrying several P22 handguns, would bring up the rear, claiming he was quite skilled with pistols.
Before pushing open the iron door leading to the fourth floor, Keke turned back to her cousin and said, “If she dies, let this matter go.”
Jing Lan was giving the MP9’s stock a final check; stable firing with such a compact submachine gun heavily relied on its stock.
“Let’s also let the matter of Xia Hua go,” Jing Lan replied.
Keke, with a hint of indignation, turned her head away.
“Please retract that statement.
Because, one thing has nothing to do with the other.”