Ling Yechen was on the verge of blurting out, “because I had a fight with my family and, in a fit of rebellion, did something so defiant,” but her sharp mind sensed something amiss. Because the question, “Why is it white?” was not the same as, “Why did you dye your hair white?”
The latter presumed the hair was dyed, but the former required an answer to a more fundamental question: was the hair dyed or natural?
Ling Yechen knew that, generally speaking, there were no normal people with naturally white hair in the world; some Caucasians had naturally light blonde hair, close to white, but it wasn’t truly white.
Moreover, Ling Yechen’s features did not resemble those of a Caucasian.
Albinos, on the other hand, were sensitive to light, exhibited peculiar skin color changes—a sickly reddish hue beneath the pallor—and their eyes were indeed more prone to myopia, though if they had heterochromia, it usually leaned towards red rather than blue.
Yet, Ling Yechen did not feel sensitive to light, and her eyes had always felt fine; her blue pupils were unlikely to be from contact lenses.
Even more crucially, Ling Yechen recalled her reflection in the mirror, finally settling on an answer that would not expose her true identity.
“My hair is naturally white.”
Jing Lan nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “As I suspected.”
Ling Yechen remembered that when she looked in the mirror, her eyebrows were also white.
Hair dye rarely extended to the eyebrows.
Conversely, non-black hair caused by race or illness often meant the eyebrows matched the hair color.
This realization startled Ling Yechen herself, for as a diligent student, she was unaware of any illness that could completely whiten hair without altering skin condition.
In comparison, blue eyes were less peculiar; while rare among East Asians, they were not unheard of.
Jing Lan immediately pressed further. “Then, have you ever experienced that situation before, from childhood until now? The feeling of suddenly losing control over your body?”
‘Ah, no, I haven’t.’
‘Although I often receive strange looks from others, my body is generally very healthy, apart from being small and having poor eyesight.’
Keke, standing nearby, teased, “That’s incredibly healthy, then. Snapping someone’s neck clean off? I’m curious who taught you that.”
Ling Yechen stammered, “Ah, ah,” unsure how to respond, until her mind suddenly cleared.
She replied, “Didn’t I study in Beijin with Ling Yechen? His drum kit lessons were with a retired underground band drummer in Beijin, and my combat skills were taught by a Baji Quan master who used to be a bodyguard for leaders.”
Keke’s interest was piqued. “Isn’t Baji Quan more suitable for people with larger frames? It’s surprising that a little girl like you found a master willing to teach you, and it seems you truly mastered it.”
“Executing a move like twisting someone’s head, which requires explosive power, truly demands someone who has trained in this kind of hard external martial art.”
“Beijin truly has hidden dragons and crouching tigers; it’s incomparable to our barbarian lands of the south.”
Called a “little loli,” Ling Yechen shyly pressed her slender legs together.
“Then can you demonstrate Baji Quan’s most famous move? What’s it called… Fierce Tiger Climbing Mountain?”
Jing Lan, standing beside them, couldn’t stand it any longer. “Alright, let’s leave Little Ye alone.”
“Fierce Tiger Climbing Mountain is a defensive counter-attack move; if you were to cooperate with her for a demonstration, someone might get hurt.”
Just as he spoke, footsteps echoed from around the corner of the parking lot security room, and a boy appeared.
It was Xia Lang, the guitarist for the Four Colors Conjecture band.
He was a boy who looked quite frail.
“It’s good to see you all,” the guitarist remarked softly, sighing with a sense of ease, his voice as gentle as ever.
Only his family and bandmates knew about his congenital heart disease and the heart valve surgery he had undergone.
Keke instinctively moved to embrace him, but as she raised her hands, she suddenly froze.
The joy of their reunion did not make her forget what she had been forced to do not long ago.
Xia Lang looked a little puzzled, noticing Keke’s intention to hug him; as classmates from the same high school, they had many daily interactions and were very familiar with each other’s body language.
“What’s wrong? Oh, I know my sister hasn’t returned.”
“It’s alright, she wasn’t with you, right? What a shame; if you two could have acted together, she might have survived.”
Keke turned and ran to the wall, dry heaving uncontrollably.
In reality, her stomach contained only sugar water; there was nothing to throw up.
The flesh of her junior, Xia Hua, had long since been digested.
Xia Lang watched Keke dry heaving with a hint of bewilderment.
“What, was she actually with you? But in the end…”
After the disaster, Xia Lang had mostly hidden in the parking lot camp; his frail body prevented him from participating in foraging for supplies.
At this moment, he secretly lamented that perhaps he lacked a true grasp of the disaster-stricken world.
He walked over and placed a hand on Keke’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Sister Keke; everyone is experiencing this disaster for the first time.”
“No one is obligated to protect everyone else.”
“At least you didn’t intentionally kill her, right?”
Keke’s pupils constricted sharply, and a more intense wave of nausea swept over her.
‘That girl, who had once wished to become the band’s producer, was now becoming a part of my body.’
This thought made Keke suddenly want to end her life immediately.
Keke knew she couldn’t keep this secret buried forever.
Her values and beliefs dictated that she would have to tell Xia Lang the truth sooner or later.
But at this moment, she uncharacteristically delayed, feeling she could put it off for a while longer.
She found it unbearable, or more accurately, she couldn’t even imagine how a brother would view the murderer of his own sister.
After all, she also had a brother.
The camp’s management team called the group over and gave them some food; truthfully, they had no special skills in apocalypse survival, simply preparing instant noodles for everyone.
“Brother, you eat the instant noodles; I’ll just chew on some bread.”
Keke also instructed the three high school students accompanying her not to gobble down their food.
“You’d best eat carbohydrates slowly first; you can eat other things four hours later.”
Zhao Long, who was distributing the food, smiled, a rare sight.
“You’re quite professional, then.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to consult you on professional matters in the future.”
Officer Niu, seated across the table, spoke up. “Even with professional skills, one must obey the collective within a group.”
Although everyone understood his intent, saying such a thing at that moment felt rather abrupt.
Ling Yechen felt as though it was someone who had observed many leadership speeches now acting as a leader for the first time.
“That goes without saying,” Jing Lan, sitting beside Ling Yechen, replied.
Silence fell upon them.
Ling Yechen suddenly felt a little oppressed, so she plucked up her courage to speak. “After all, the collective also serves the individual.”
“Of course it serves you,” Officer Niu said, rapping his knuckles on the table.
“We rescued you and gave you food.”
“What attitude do you plan to have towards this collective?”
Jing Lan answered, “Naturally, we will feel a sense of obligation to repay.”
“Next time, if you have difficulties, we will help; if you lack food, we will help.”
“Where would you get food?”
Keke interjected. “Actually, food is everywhere.”