That night, the four occupants of the observation post’s second floor drifted off to sleep quickly, yet their rest proved shallow and poor in quality.
The three young men crammed onto the wire-frame bed. The youngest, nestled in the middle, apparently found the heat unbearable, repeatedly kicking off his blanket. Indeed, as the old saying goes, ‘a pampered child sleeps poorly, kicking and tearing at their covers.’
Lui Si, meanwhile, slept alone on the sofa, a curious arrangement for a lady amidst the apocalypse.
Throughout the long night, she tumbled from the sofa no fewer than three times, each thud of her head against the floor startling the sleepers awake.
Yet, whenever Ling Yechen, sleeping closest to her, would groggily lift his head to inquire, “Are you alright?” Lui Si would already have darted back onto the sofa, utterly silent.
It wasn’t until the horizon began to whiten that the room finally settled into quietude, and the group, as if by unspoken agreement, at last truly succumbed to sleep. Was it the brilliant sun, perhaps, that offered them such a profound sense of security?
Perhaps not. Jing Lan, for his part, found himself caught in an incessant cycle of dreams. Upon the conclusion of one, a voice within his mind seemed to prompt, ‘Shall we embark on another?’ And so it continued, dream after dream, until he teetered on the brink of lucid dreaming—his consciousness awake within the dream. He envisioned himself and Keke at an archery range, yet he repeatedly failed to hit the bullseye.
Frustrated, he declared, “Give me ten more arrows! This time, I’ll switch to the Mongolian draw! Just watch as my arrow pierces stone, my strength unmatched by any army!”
Keke, however, suddenly drew her bow, spun around, and aimed it directly at her cousin, a fierce snarl escaping her lips: “You f***ing dreaming?!”
Jing Lan jolted awake. ‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘I really am dreaming.’ No sooner had the thought formed than his cousin’s arrow flew, and he snapped awake with a gasp.
Now fully conscious, the luxury of drifting back to sleep was entirely out of reach.
He picked up his phone, noting the time: ten o’clock in the morning.
Rising from bed, he spent a moment gazing at the forest vista from the windowsill. The daytime woods were alive with more bird calls; a small bird in the nearby trees emitted a peculiar “gueduo~gueduo~” sound. It was a blue-throated barbet, its plumage a vibrant display of colors—a sight that, if encountered during a rainforest journey, could uplift one’s spirits for days.
Bathed in sunlight, the forest appeared verdant and serene, as if all were right with the world, as if nothing untoward had ever occurred.
He unlocked his phone, only to find many social media platforms inaccessible. Yet, a particular anime video site remained fully operational—its censors, perhaps, having succumbed to zombification, as the homepage relentlessly refreshed with gruesome scenes that would ordinarily never see the light of day.
Not long after, the chairman of the website company himself appeared in a video, his face haggard. The middle-aged man, with a somewhat unkempt appearance, seemed to have just wept, his words slurred and indistinct, hinting at the recent passing of a loved one.
Among the recommendations below, however, one title immediately captured Jing Lan’s attention: ‘[Mr. Max Brooks’ Latest Video on the 12th: Zombie World Survival Essentials]’.
Jing Lan knew the name. Max Brooks, the world’s preeminent expert on apocalyptic survival, and the very screenwriter behind the film *World War Z*. ‘This guy actually lived to see the day the world truly needed him,’ Jing Lan mused inwardly.
Alas, the video sputtered to a halt after only a few seconds, the network connection severed. With no other option, Jing Lan set his phone aside and headed to the first floor to prepare brunch for the group.
His initial thought had been instant noodles, but that would necessitate expending precious fuel and water, resources best conserved. Thus, he simply tore open a few packs of compressed biscuits instead.
After the group had finished crunching through their biscuits, Lui Si was the first to shatter the room’s quietude. “What do we do next?” she asked.
While a general quietness had settled over the group, Jing Lan acutely perceived that Lui Si’s emotional state exhibited the most profound shifts.
Had she gleaned some new, unsettling information from her phone?
“How about we conduct a reconnaissance of the nearby area?” Jing Lan suggested, walking to the bed and pulling back a corner of the curtain. This time, thankfully, no zombies awaited him.
“Wouldn’t it be better to simply remain here?” Lui Si mused, idly toying with a biscuit wrapper, as if attempting to fold the plastic into a paper airplane. The unyielding material, however, quickly sprang back to its original form.
“Our supplies will inevitably dwindle. Gathering some wild vegetables could help us conserve our existing food stores.”
“Will we all go together?”
“Little Lamai would probably be better off remaining here,” Jing Lan remarked, casting a glance at the boy seated at the base of the stairs. It was evident that the teenager’s psychological trauma would not dissipate anytime soon.
“Two of us will venture out, and one will remain behind to keep Little Lamai company.”
“Then I’ll accompany you,” Ling Yechen offered, raising his hand instinctively before realizing it was a habit ingrained from school, and sheepishly retracting it.
The pair exited the observation post and began their ascent along the winding concrete path.
“Always keep an eye on our rear,” Jing Lan instructed, walking ahead and outlining the essentials of outdoor teamwork. “The last person in the team typically serves as the rear guard, responsible for observing the situation behind us. Naturally, you can’t constantly turn your head, but rather, you should use angles from turns and other vantage points to subconsciously monitor our surroundings.”
“Understood.”
Along the roadside, Jing Lan swiftly identified a thorny shrub.
“Siberian ginseng,” he explained. “It’s a medicinal herb, known for invigorating qi and strengthening the body. Here, however, we treat it as a wild vegetable. It’s quite abundant, but it has a bitter taste, and you must be careful not to prick your lips when consuming it.”
“Right.”
Armed with sharp tactical knives, they didn’t labor for long before gathering a substantial bundle of verdant Siberian ginseng.
“This should suffice for now. We’ll prepare Siberian ginseng for lunch, and then, later this afternoon, we’ll venture out once more in search of a water source.”
Ling Yechen, who had until then only offered monosyllabic acknowledgments, jogged a couple of steps to catch up with Jing Lan. “Um, Senior,” he began, “I feel… different, somehow, after waking up.”
Jing Lan halted, turning to him. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No… it’s more that I’m questioning what truly transpired last night. I can’t vividly recall the zombies’ appearance, and I even find myself doubting the very authenticity of those memories. Yet, I now feel a greater fear of the outside world than I did yesterday. Even with the surrounding tranquility and the birdsong, everything feels unsettlingly eerie. These verdant trees and bushes, they seem to me like the markings of some venomous creatures, making me feel deeply uneasy just looking at them…”
Jing Lan remained silent. It seemed Lui Si’s assessment from the previous night had been accurate. The group, to some extent, had been “numb” to the sudden, horrifying events. But having awakened, the mind’s protective “circuit breaker” mechanism had failed, leaving only raw, unfiltered memories, and rendering everything far more terrifying.
“Let’s return to the observation post for now.”
Ling Yechen quickly fell into step. “But what about Keke? Are we truly not going to rescue her?”
“How would we even begin to rescue her? We can’t even contend with a single zombie at present.”
“But if the military and police remain unable to provide assistance, Keke will be trapped upstairs, doomed to die—”
“In that case, we would be equally powerless to help—”
“Then we, too, will be trapped and perish in this forest!” Ling Yechen exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically loud, before dropping his gaze, a hint of fear creeping into his demeanor after his outburst.
Jing Lan continued onward, without so much as a glance back. “The forest offers an abundance of sustenance,” he stated. “These few hilltops alone should be sufficient to sustain four individuals.”
“Senior, that’s utter nonsense, isn’t it? Even if we could survive, subsisting on spiders and dragonflies day in and day out… I’d sooner die than live such a life.”
Jing Lan paused once more, scanning their surroundings before pointing to a cypress tree. “Do you see it? There’s a flower spider on that tree. I’ll fetch it and eat it right now, just to prove my point.”
Before Jing Lan could even stir, Ling Yechen seized his arm, stepped in front of him, and fixed him with a direct gaze.
“You want to go rescue Keke, don’t you?”
He offered no reply.
“The moment I mention her, you become agitated. While others might hide it, for someone like you, who usually maintains such an icy demeanor, your emotions are glaringly obvious when stirred.”
“Goddamn ‘ice queen’,” Jing Lan retorted.
“In truth, I don’t wish to abandon Sister Keke, trapped in the school, but…”
“But there’s nothing we can do,” Jing Lan interrupted, “Stop dwelling on it. Let’s head back and make some soup—”
As he spoke, Jing Lan’s phone suddenly vibrated.
Despite the poor network reception, calls could still connect, and Keke, as if on cue, happened to be calling.
“Why does she always call the moment I mention her?” Jing Lan muttered, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
“Telepathy, I suppose. She probably heard you say you wouldn’t rescue her and got angry,” Ling Yechen quipped.
Answering the call, Keke greeted him with surprising vigor, inquiring about everyone’s well-being. Upon learning that Jing Lan and Ling Yechen were foraging for wild vegetables, she immediately launched into a rapid-fire series of admonitions.
“Hold on, hold on! I hardly need you to remind me of all this.”
“So, you’ve made up your minds then? To temporarily reside at Station 115?”
Jing Lan exchanged a quick glance with Ling Yechen.
“To be frank, Yechen also wishes to rescue you.”
“Oh, really? That’s somewhat unexpected,” his cousin responded with a mischievous chuckle. “I hadn’t realized he cared for me quite so deeply.”
Recalling Lui Si’s comment from last night about Ling Yechen’s feelings for Keke, Jing Lan was suddenly struck by a mischievous idea.
“He also mentioned he had something very important to tell you. We were supposed to meet, of course, but then this biohazard crisis erupted. Still, he seems unable to hold it in any longer. Here, I’ll pass the phone to him now.”
With these words, Jing Lan extended the phone to Ling Yechen, whose face had abruptly drained of color.
As he relinquished the phone, Jing Lan suddenly found himself wondering if this prank was truly worth the effort.
Considering Ling Yechen’s temperament, the exchange would inevitably conclude with a declaration like, ‘”Ahahaha, it was all your rotten, scheming cousin’s prank!”‘
Alternatively, he might forcefully pivot to an entirely different subject, perhaps blurting out, ‘”Sister Keke! Are you and Lui Si… a couple now? Wow, I’m a yuri enthusiast, I absolutely adore that!”‘
Indeed, this prediction would not have been entirely wrong.
Ling Yechen’s words were already poised on his lips—ready to accuse Jing Lan of his tiresome prank.
However, a girl’s voice suddenly emanated from the phone, cool and tinged with teasing, possessing an almost unnerving perceptiveness—
“Do you want to confess?”
It would have been easy to deny. But Ling Yechen, momentarily stunned, hesitated for two seconds. In that brief pause, he suddenly felt that his hesitation had already betrayed his true desires.
Simultaneously, a pervasive sense of unease that enveloped the entire world amplified his impulse to act recklessly.
He decided to go all in.
“Keke, I like you.”
This time, it was Jing Lan’s turn to gape. The prank had achieved its optimal, unbelievably perfect effect, yet for a moment, he wondered if Ling Yechen had a fever.
On the other end of the line, the girl let out two bell-like laughs, though they were not entirely joyful, still carrying a teasing undertone.
“Thank you. As a friend, I like you too. But I think it’s better if we just remain ordinary friends.”
Perhaps the unprecedented courage of a direct confession had bolstered Ling Yechen’s resolve, making him feel as though he had devoured a tiger’s gall. He was not deterred by the initial rejection. “No, Keke, I’m not joking. I know the situation is special, and this might be ill-timed, but I’m serious. I’m afraid if something unexpected happens, I won’t have another chance…”
“I know you’re serious! But why do you think my rejection isn’t serious?”
Keke’s voice was loud, clear enough for Jing Lan, standing nearby, to hear.
“Do you think I have to like you back just to be fair to you?”
Ling Yechen finally began to panic. They said that if a confession failed, even friendship became difficult.
“Ah, I… I’m sorry, Senior. I understand your feelings.”
On the other end of the line, Keke let out a long breath. “My apologies. Someone else just died here, so my emotions might be a bit unstable.
“But I genuinely don’t want to take things further with you. That’s the honest truth. Even without a biohazard crisis, if you confessed to me face-to-face right now, I would still refuse. It’s not that I look down on you; your grades alone are better than my brother’s, and he’s a damn liberal arts major. But I never give false hope, especially at a time like this.
“If something unfortunate were to happen next, for example… don’t think I’m being morbid, but if you were dying, and you worried about whether I, liking you, would be sad upon hearing of your death, that would be too cruel. You’d be deceived even until your last breath. So it’s better to be open and clear. Perhaps you can find someone who truly loves you sooner.”
Though reluctantly accepting the rejection, Ling Yechen still felt a bit aggrieved. He retaliated defiantly, “Are you really wishing for my death? It’s your mortality rate that’s higher right now.”
“That’s not necessarily true!” the girl retorted proudly. “Even with difficult challenges, your sister here is far stronger than you shrimp soldiers and crab generals!”
After hanging up, Ling Yechen’s face was utterly devoid of life, and he stumbled back like a zombie.
“Don’t lose heart,” Jing Lan comforted him, a hint of schadenfreude not entirely absent from his tone. “Maybe Keke will take care of a few more juniors later, discover their charms, and then start to have feelings for you again.”
“She also adopted stray dogs, why doesn’t she go fall in love with a dog then?”
Ling Yechen grumbled weakly, but Jing Lan offered no response.
Suddenly feeling something amiss, Ling Yechen turned around to find Jing Lan looking back into the depths of the forest by the roadside.
“What is it?”
“A sound. Something seems to be moving in the woods.”