Their gazes swept downwards, yet initially, no light pierced the gloom. Jing Lan, deciding to extinguish his red-beamed flashlight, allowed their eyes to swiftly adjust to the encompassing darkness. It was then that a faint, LED-like shimmer became discernible in a distant corner.
The city had long been without power, prompting the question of what could still be emitting light. All three of them likely arrived at the same conclusion: this might be a sign of other survivors.
“The light seems to be coming from an inner room,” Kong Cheng mumbled, shifting his body to gain a better vantage point. “From this angle, it’s much brighter. It looks like a small television glowing.”
Who could afford such a luxury, watching television amidst an apocalypse? The question itself was trivial. Far more critical was the imperative to locate other survivors. Regardless of whether these individuals could offer assistance, establishing communication was paramount, lest the trio be mistaken for zombies and met with a hostile reception.
However, the earlier concern could not be dismissed: what if they jumped down and couldn’t get back up? Coincidentally, as Jing Lan peered into the room’s faint glow, he spotted a folding ladder leaning against the wall. This made things much simpler. The group could descend to search, examine the glowing object, and if they found nothing, simply use the ladder to return to the rooftop.
The three of them leaped into the courtyard enclosed by the single-story house. Jing Lan switched on his flashlight to full brightness, while Little Ye and Kong Cheng immediately headed towards the room emitting the fluorescent light.
This room served as an entryway. The glowing object was a statue placed on the windowsill.
The statue, standing thirty centimeters tall, depicted an ancient figure seated upright, holding a feather fan and wearing a scholar’s cap. Behind him stood two young attendants, and behind them, a cross.
Words were inscribed on the cross: [Second Son of the Heavenly Father, Savior from Suffering, Most Benevolent and Wise, Bodhisattva Zhuge Kongming].
“What on earth is this?” Little Ye turned, a bewildered expression on her face, to ask Jing Lan.
“It’s a relic of history,” Jing Lan explained. “When Western missionaries came here in the late Qing Dynasty, the local populace didn’t readily accept foreign religions. So, the missionaries concocted many stories, like claiming Zhuge Liang was the younger brother of the Son of God.”
“So, the locals originally worshipped Zhuge Liang?”
Jing Lan offered a wry smile and nodded. “That’s indeed the case. Some say it was Zhuge Liang’s seven captures of Meng Huo that made the Southern barbarians revere him, but the actual reasons are likely more complex, possibly involving the spread of *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*. In any case, to get the locals to believe in God, the missionaries even went so far as to create all sorts of bizarre things, going with the flow.”
Given their mission, the group did not delve further into this folk custom.
This wildly unconventional Zhuge Liang deity statue had no power cord, suggesting its glow was purely battery-powered.
The group then turned to investigate the rest of the entryway. The walls were adorned with other items of feudal superstition: crude images of deified or fictional characters, clearly printed by an underground cult.
Jing Lan touched the corner of a ‘poster’ covered in scriptures; the adhesive tape still felt remarkably new.
“Someone lives here.”
Alertness and relief surged simultaneously. Residents who maintained so many folk beliefs were, in all likelihood, honest, simple local people. Yet, the atmosphere of bizarre supernaturalism permeating the entire entryway was unsettling.
In her imaginative mind, Little Ye could almost conjure the image of the homeowner’s obsequious face, pleading for divine protection.
“Let’s go look inside,” Little Ye finally exhaled. She realized how much more comfortable it was to remain in a safe zone.
Though her new body granted her greater combat prowess and she had experienced battle firsthand, it also brought a more direct understanding of conflict. She was by no means invincible. Any misstep could prove fatal.
She found herself surprisingly more afraid of death than she had ever been. This was a feeling the formerly depressed teenager had never known.
Almost impatiently, Little Ye quickly made her way into the courtyard, arriving swiftly at the dark window of the adjacent room. The wooden door was tightly shut. Yet, a sudden, almost sixth-sensory prickle told her there was someone behind it.
Jing Lan, following close behind, seemed to sense it too. He cleared his throat and addressed the door in the local dialect: “Friends, we’re just passing through. Could we trouble you for a drink of water?”
A distinct stir came from within the room, then abruptly ceased, followed by muffled whispers that seemed to squirm behind the door.
Jing Lan simply brightened his flashlight, illuminating their faces. “We mean no harm. If you’re uncomfortable, just say the word, and we won’t come in.”
Indeed, they had no intention of causing trouble. Asking for water was merely a pretense.
They simply found the oppressive feeling of nervously navigating the darkness unbearable and longed for a moment of respite.
Of course, none of them admitted this.
An elderly woman, her head wrapped in a floral scarf, opened the door. Her eyes held none of the suspicion they had anticipated. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Kong Cheng.
“Are you the one who ate two bowls of cold rice noodles that day?” the old woman asked in a clear voice, seemingly unafraid that the noise might attract unwanted attention.
Kong Cheng paused, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. He nodded. “That’s right, I even added two extra spoonfuls of plum vinegar.”
“Then come in.”
It turned out this family ran a street food stall. About half a month prior, Kong Cheng had eaten two bowls of cold rice noodles at the old woman’s stall, and they had chatted for a while, which was why she remembered him. This familiarity was what prompted her to open the door for them.
The single-story house was cluttered and cramped, but the air was surprisingly clean, devoid of the musty odor common in the southern border regions.
The Old Woman Xiao hung an LED light on the wall and switched it on, then asked where they were headed.
“Are you looking for food? You must be careful of those ‘yang people’ on the streets…”
Referring to zombies as ‘yang people’ was certainly novel. It seemed the Old Woman Xiao believed this was merely a new wave of pneumonia.
The three young people briefly shared their experiences with the Old Woman Xiao, detailing how terrifying the ‘yang people’ were. The Old Woman Xiao grew increasingly astonished, repeatedly exclaiming in surprise.
Upon hearing that they had even killed some ‘yang people,’ the Old Woman Xiao was even more shocked. “You must be careful the police don’t catch you…”
Little Ye, recalling Officer Niu, merely shrugged. “Actually, the police also… well, the police also ‘yang’d out.”
“Killing people isn’t good, is it? Even Bodhisattva had to offer steamed buns after taking lives.”
“It was self-defense,” Little Ye replied dismissively.
“My dear girl, you mustn’t speak like that. In our country now…”
As they babbled on, a door in the room suddenly creaked open, and a bald Old Man poked his head out.
The Old Man’s gaze settled on Little Ye’s face.
“Yinhua?” Two words rumbled from his throat.
The Old Woman Xiao waved him back, signaling him not to come out. “Go back to sleep. This isn’t Yinhua; it’s just a customer who came for cold rice noodles.”
Evidently, the three were not there for cold rice noodles; the Old Woman Xiao was merely deflecting the Old Man. The need for such deflection suggested that the Old Man’s mental state was likely unstable.
The Old Man, however, still stiffly and slowly shuffled out of the bedroom. Had he not spoken, the group might have mistaken him for a zombie.
“Yinhua, why did you dye your hair white again? Wasn’t it brown?”
The Old Woman Xiao looked at her three young guests with a helpless expression. “He has Alzheimer’s. He only remembers things about his daughter clearly. But his daughter is tall, and her face isn’t as pretty as this young lady’s, yet he can’t tell the difference.”
The Old Man let out an “Aiya!” and sat down on a sofa, continuing to ramble. “Yinhua, why are you wearing glasses again? Are you working too hard and hurting your eyes? You don’t need to worry so much about those little rascals!”
“His daughter works at the city’s North Kindergarten,” the Old Woman Xiao explained.
The Old Man then asked, “How did you get here? The streets are full of Ukrainian special forces now.”
“What special forces? Those are ‘yang people’! How many times do I have to tell you, stop scrolling on Toutiao? What do those news stories about war and death have to do with you?” The Old Woman Xiao sighed. “Though now, you can’t even scroll anymore.”
Jing Lan and Little Ye couldn’t help but chuckle. Jing Lan casually chimed in, “We brought a few bottles of vodka. We offered them some, and they let us pass.”
“Excellent, excellent! Do you have any left?” The Old Man’s interest was piqued, and he leaned closer.
“Why are you playing along with his nonsense?!” The Old Woman Xiao cast a disapproving glance at the Old Man. “Still thinking about drinking! If you’d drunk less back then, your mind wouldn’t be like this now!”
The Old Man continued to chat with Little Ye, whom he mistook for his daughter, asking various questions about her work.
Little Ye, of course, knew nothing and could only make up random answers, all of which the Old Man somehow twisted back into his own convoluted narrative.
After five or six minutes of this back and forth, the Old Man declared himself tired and picked up a street-side health magazine (actually a hospital advertisement), turning to the joke column on the last page.
The Old Woman Xiao poured some water for the three young people.
“I apologize for making you endure his antics. Do you perhaps have urgent business to attend to?”
People who ran street businesses were often skilled at reading expressions.
Little Ye spoke truthfully: “Someone with us is seriously injured. We need to go to the hospital to find a doctor.”
The Old Woman Xiao said, “Oh,” then added, “How about you rest here tonight? It won’t be too late to go tomorrow.”
The trio exchanged glances, surprisingly hesitant.
It was clearly imperative that Zhao Long, being gravely wounded, needed immediate medical attention; every second counted.
Yet, after merely a brief respite in the cozy, humble home, a terrifying sense of profound relaxation washed over them.
At that moment, a single glance at the dark, flower-papered windowpane was enough to send a shiver down their spines. Not only did they recoil from the adrenaline-fueled experience of close-quarters combat with zombies, but even the tense, anxious feeling of groping through the alleyways earlier was something they dreaded reliving.
“Rest for a night. The ‘yang people’ outside are too fierce.”
The Old Woman Xiao almost took their intention to stay overnight for granted.
“I’ll find you some blankets.”
Little Ye, however, nudged Jing Lan with her elbow.
‘I’ll follow your lead. You’re the one who decided to do this.’
Jing Lan immediately spoke up: “A-ma, we must leave now. That person is bleeding profusely; we cannot delay.”
“Is that so? Well, alright then.” The Old Woman Xiao wasn’t surprised. After a moment’s thought, she added, “Then follow me.”
The group followed the Old Woman Xiao to another courtyard on the other side of the house.
Under the flashlight’s beam, a modified tricycle motorcycle was parked in a corner of the yard.
The flatbed cart behind it was fitted with a glass cover, and words were pasted on the glass: [Cold Rice Noodles, Cold Noodles, Lemonade]. This was clearly the family’s business equipment.
“Get in, I’ll take you.”
The three looked at each other in astonishment.
“A-ma, it’s too dangerous outside. Those ‘yang people’ are very aggressive.”
“I know, I know. I’ll drive fast.” The Old Woman Xiao smiled, revealing her white teeth.
“How can we let you take such a risk?” Kong Cheng echoed. “This isn’t your family’s affair.”
“That’s not entirely true. I’ll help you, and you can help me in return. My daughter, Xiao Yinhua, works at the North Kindergarten, about ten *li* from here. This vehicle likely doesn’t have enough power to get there. I’ll take you to the hospital, and once you’re there, perhaps you can find a vehicle to help me look for my daughter at the kindergarten. If she hasn’t ‘yang’d out,’ my Old Man will be happy to see her.”
The Old Woman Xiao maintained her smile. Little Ye suddenly found the Old Woman Xiao’s face eerily similar to the smiling elders in AI-generated images. But she immediately commanded herself to stop such disrespectful associations.
“We’ll do it,” Jing Lan agreed. “Are you familiar with the route?”
“Very familiar. I’ve been driving it for decades.”
Saying this, the Old Woman Xiao went to the courtyard to open the gate leading outside. Before opening it, she paused, listening intently for any sounds from beyond.
Then, she turned back to lock the house door securely. Just before locking it, she seemed to remember something, re-entered the house, and emerged with an object. As she locked the door, she mumbled, “I’m just afraid he’ll go out looking for ‘Ukrainian special forces’ to get alcohol!”
Having secured the door, she extended the item in her hand towards the three. “Take this for good luck.”
“What is it?” Little Ye asked.
Placed in each of their palms was a strange wooden pendant, shaped like a small shuriken with a symmetrical design.
“This is an amulet blessed by a Master,” the Old Woman Xiao explained. “Hold it, and you’ll have the protection of Bodhisattva Zhuge Liang, the savior from suffering.”
With that, she took the driver’s seat, while the other three climbed into the cart. The cart, now devoid of cold rice noodles or other snack ingredients, contained only a few stacked stools.
Into the night, the tricycle rumbled to life.