Life is good when I kill people from time to time

The problem was immense, and panic was setting in.

His mind raced, but Guo Hongyu still couldn’t find a solution.

“You…” Ren Anhua, standing by the window, took out a copy of Three Hundred Tang Poems and flipped through it before speaking to the red-dressed woman on the verge of collapse outside.

“Recite Du Mu’s ‘Chibi.’ You can’t get a single word wrong.”

It was a five-story apartment building, about fifteen meters off the ground.

If a person fell from that height standing up, their thigh bones would likely shoot right through their pelvis and into the abdominal cavity.

Those who died on impact were the lucky ones; every extra second of life in that condition would be agony.

However, Ren Anhua was clearly no demon.

He had chosen a spot on the third floor, with a soft lawn below to cushion the fall.

It certainly wouldn’t be fatal, but of course, she wouldn’t escape unscathed either.

She would definitely be unable to move for the better part of a day, and it was inevitable she’d get a bite or two from the zombies roaring below.

Ren Anhua held the woman by her calves, dangling her upside down outside the window.

Her rather pretty features were a morbid purplish-red from the rush of blood to her head.

Her red dress billowed downward, swaying in the autumn wind nine meters up, offering no concealment whatsoever.

Those rotten things gathered below, their hands raised high, roaring, craving fresh flesh and blood.

Of course, they couldn’t reach the woman dangling from the third floor, but their foul-smelling desire still drilled into her nostrils, making her tremble and break out in a cold sweat.

The woman in the red dress was about thirty, no longer in the bloom of youth, but not yet old.

However, the view she offered garnered no appreciation.

Of the nine people in the room, one was trembling in fear, begging for his life; one sat silently against the wall; six stood grimly on guard, their faces expressionless; and the last was the young man holding her leg.

She herself had been inside a moment ago, and now she was outside.

“What? You don’t know it?”

“I do! I do!” the woman in red hurriedly answered, her usually sharp voice turning shrill.

She was terrified Ren Anhua would suddenly let go.

She did, in fact, remember the poem “Chibi,” but under these circumstances, her mind went blank.

She could only vaguely recall something about the east wind, Zhou Lang, the Bronze Sparrow Terrace, and the two Qiao sisters.

“That… ‘Had the east wind not favored Zhou Lang,’ the Bronze Sparrow…” her memory grew clearer.

It was only a two-line poem; she could recall some of it with a little thought.

The woman in red felt her chances of survival increase, but before she could finish, she was suddenly interrupted.

“That’s backward. That’s the second line,” Ren Anhua said, releasing his right hand.

“Huh? Ah!!!”

A brief, piercing scream came from outside the window, followed by the soft thud of a body hitting the lawn.

Then came even more piercing screams and the sickening, crunching sounds of chewing.

Guo Hongyu couldn’t see what was happening outside the window, but cold sweat was already trickling down his neck to his chest.

Summer was long gone.

Although a trace of its warmth could still be felt from time to time, the bleak chill of the autumn wind now reigned supreme.

Sweating in this weather was truly out of season.

But even more out of season was the young man before him named Ren Anhua.

Though conditions were poor in the apocalypse, with all the shops unguarded, finding some seasonal clothing was still possible.

Yet he maintained his summer beach look: an open Hawaiian shirt, loose beach shorts, and a pair of flip-flops.

He had the complete appearance of a carefree rogue.

If the Guo Hongyu of the past had discovered such a person among his staff, he would have likely found an excuse to fire him.

But times had changed.

Ren Anhua was no longer that somewhat naive employee under his command.

Despite having just fed a person to the zombies, Ren Anhua still wore an air of breezy nonchalance.

“Oh dear, reciting it backward doesn’t count as getting a word wrong, does it?”

The man rubbed his hands together, looking out the window with a hint of regret. “If you had just reminded me first, I wouldn’t have let go.”

Then, Ren Anhua walked toward Guo Hongyu, who was still dressed in a suit and tie even in this apocalypse.

A grip tightened around his ankle, and Guo Hongyu felt a tremendous force pull him down.

He was dragged across the floor, his expensive suit smeared with the filth and bits of flesh on the ground.

“Anhua, Anhua, wait! For old times’ sake, please give me a chance, won’t you?”

Sweat beaded on his fleshy cheeks, and as he was lifted upside down, it trickled into his eyes.

A stinging, itching sensation spread from the corners of his eyes.

Guo Hongyu wanted to wipe them, but his hands were tied behind his back, making it impossible.

He had thought Ren Anhua would at least ask him a few questions about Hao Yu.

He never expected the man to completely ignore convention, grabbing someone to feed to the zombies right off the bat, acting as if he only cared for his own amusement and had no interest in the truth.

“Department Head Guo… you see, I’ve always respectfully called you Department Head Guo. When have I, Ren Anhua, ever forgotten our past relationship? You can rest assured, I’m just asking you to recite a poem. After you’re done, I’ll let you down.”

Ren Anhua’s words were polite, but with a single lift, the several-hundred-jin middle-aged man was dangling outside the window.

Perhaps this sentence put Guo Hongyu slightly at ease.

He tried his best to forget the horde of zombies below and the sounds of flesh and bone being torn apart.

He looked at the book-flipping Ren Anhua with a fawning expression.

He knew that one of Ren Anhua’s defining traits as a leader was that he always kept his word.

If he recited the poem correctly, he might really be let down.

“You just have to recite… hmm…”

Ren Anhua flipped a few more pages, then his eyes lit up as if he had found a treasure. “Recite Li Bai’s ‘The Hard Road to Shu’ for me.”

“You can’t miss or mispronounce a single word.”

Guo Hongyu’s expression crumbled.

Sweat ran down his forehead, clinging to a few strands of his greasy hair.

“I’ll talk! I’ll tell you everything! It was Hao Yu who arranged it. He said he would let me go as long as I confirmed the location of the grain,” Guo Hongyu wailed, tears streaming down his face. “Anhua, I had no choice! He has my wife and children! I had no choice! For old times’ sake, give me a chance! I’ll tell you everything. Hao Yu told us to stay by your side for now; he has other plans. I’m begging you, can you let me down first? Let me down, and I’ll tell you everything, without missing a single word… I won’t get a single word wrong. Uncle Guo, I’m begging you, please?”

Ren Anhua looked at the man before him, his expression complex.

“Department Head Guo, you see, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t waste my breath. But it’s you I’m holding, so I have to give you an extra reminder. You recited it wrong.”

The look of despair vanished from Guo Hongyu’s face, replaced by confusion.

He couldn’t quite comprehend the situation.

“I… I recited it wrong?”

“Yes, you recited it wrong. See, this is the second time I’ve had to remind you.”

“No… But then I—ah!”

The grip on his ankle loosened, and a feeling of weightlessness washed over him.

Guo Hongyu fell.

“Department Head Guo, third time’s the charm.”

Ignoring the screams and curses from behind him, and not caring whether Guo Hongyu heard him, Ren Anhua strode toward the last person.

He was about the same age as Ren Anhua, perhaps a little older.

His hair hung down, obscuring his eyes and face, making his presence negligible.

Ren Anhua didn’t even know his name—truly, a person suited to be a mole.