Slumping onto the bed in You Bing’s room, Ling Yechen’s eyes fell upon her blood-stained hands and clothes. The putrid stench of blood clung to her, enveloping her entirely, and she felt as though she were trapped within a cramped cage. The thought then struck her that her original body was, at this very moment, being slowly consumed by ants and maggots in some nearby soil, her boyish face gnawed away. A sudden spasm seized her esophagus, and she flung open the door, rushing to the bathroom down the hall where she began to retch violently.
The water pumps at the treatment plant must have ceased operation. Though water still trickled from the tap, it was clearly only residual pressure in the pipes at work.
After stripping off her clothes, she rinsed her body with cold water. In the bathroom mirror, her huddled form appeared both disheveled and strangely pitiable.
Though she yearned to utter some words of masculine encouragement to herself, she feared they would only come out sounding childishly fierce. She decided against it.
Returning to the room, she gazed at the Firefly cosplay outfit spread out on the sofa, crisscrossed with bloodstains. Ling Yechen felt as though she could hear the dying wails of the outfit’s original owner, brutally murdered by that scoundrel. Indeed, the world as it once was no longer held any order. You Bing had realized this immediately and exploited it, senselessly taking the life of an innocent girl. When Ling Yechen had swung her blade to end his life, a fleeting resolve had surged within her, born from the very fact that the world’s order had crumbled. After all, who would investigate? The police might have vanished long ago. In other human settlements, mutual slaughter had likely already transpired, enough to fill ten thousand novels reflecting the darkness of human nature.
Now, Ling Yechen truly and deeply missed her home. At least there, she wouldn’t have to endure such wretchedness as being violated by a scoundrel. Even if her parents had their annoying aspects, surely they would love their child unconditionally. Even in this current society, such unconditional love might have long been eroded, riddled with holes, yet a primal shred of familial affection would surely endure.
Picking up her phone, she sent another text message to her father. She assured him she was still at the survivor camp and that everything was fine, but the message wouldn’t send.
She then called Jing Lan. Naturally, she was met with the familiar message: ‘The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time.’
Walking to the window, she looked out at the street, now steeped in twilight. A few zombies seemed to be aimlessly shuffling about. Her imagination conjured a terrifying image: countless zombies, snarling and searching for prey, across the myriad streets crisscrossing the city. Her room, at this very moment, felt like a solitary island.
For now, there was still food in the room. But in a few days, when supplies ran out, leaving this isolated sanctuary would become an unavoidable necessity.
In the darkened room, Ling Yechen lay on the sofa, her gaze fixed on the grey-blue ceiling above. A kaleidoscopic procession of all the beautiful moments in her life, from childhood to the present, began to play out in her mind: kindergarten art classes; her first rock concert with her father in elementary school, where, on the way home, she relentlessly mimicked the drummer, tapping on her popcorn bucket; her first love in middle school, a handsome, short-haired girl who also loved rock music. Too timid to confess her feelings, she watched helplessly as a boy with dull, ‘dead fish’ eyes swept her away.
Then came the anime convention the summer before last. She had merely offhandedly mentioned to Ye Xuening, the class’s labor monitor, that she wanted to check out a convention. Ye Xuening immediately lit up, declaring herself a makeup artist and offering to help Ling Yechen cosplay. Ye Xuening wasn’t a particularly beautiful girl, nor was her personality especially appealing to Ling Yechen; however, they shared many common interests.
At the time, she couldn’t fathom why she was so bold. Swept up by Ye Xuening’s enthusiasm, she agreed to try cosplaying.
Regarding the character she would portray, Ling Yechen’s initial plan was to cosplay Kirito, the male protagonist from *Sword Art Online*. Ye Xuening’s advice was: “You already look a lot like Kirito, even without any special makeup.”
Somehow, it was then revealed that her favorite female anime character was Homura Akemi. She was then persuaded to buy a cosplay outfit, and with Ye Xuening’s meticulous styling, the costume achieved a remarkably accurate portrayal.
At the convention, many people approached her for photos. To avoid revealing her male voice, she tried her best to remain silent, offering only a smile. Gradually, she felt a sense of solitude, isolated from the surrounding crowd.
Ye Xuening, who had introduced Ling Yechen to the world of cosplay, did not ‘see it through to the end’. Not only could she have cosplayed Madoka Kaname to form a more visually appealing pair with Ling Yechen, but after taking some photos of Ling Yechen, she went off to hang out with her own friends, leaving Ling Yechen alone—which, in a way, was quite faithful to the original work, as Homura Akemi in the anime indeed became an increasingly solitary girl.
Her feet ached from the high heels. Just as she was about to leave the venue for a break, a tall, short-haired girl holding a camera called out to her. That was Keke.
This was the genesis of all that followed.
Her recollections ceased. Ling Yechen simply drifted off to sleep on the sofa, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
****
January 21st. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Even when she awoke, she forced her eyes shut. How wonderful it would be to catch a cold, fall ill, and simply die.
It was not until 4 PM that she could no longer bear to lie there. She rose and nibbled on two biscuits. Languidly, she rummaged through You Bing’s room, finding no supplies of any kind. Only in a small liquor cabinet did she discover a book: Stefan Zweig’s *Decisive Moments in History*. The book was still shrink-wrapped. Perhaps You Bing, in a fit of boredom, had wandered into a bookstore, thinking, ‘I should read something to cultivate my intellect,’ and bought it—a collection of biographies about heroic figures from various fields throughout history. Evidently, the book had failed to serve its purpose, unable to elevate You Bing’s moral character and prevent the subsequent tragedy.
Driven by what felt like a fated impulse, Ling Yechen quickly turned to the chapter titled ‘The Struggle for the South Pole’. She had read this widely known tale of exploration countless times; it had even been part of her middle school curriculum. The story recounted how, in 1912, British explorer Robert Falcon Scott’s expedition, in its grand adventure to reach the South Pole, was defeated by the Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. On their return journey, they encountered a blizzard, and ultimately, despite their desperate efforts, all members succumbed to their fate, perishing in the tragic vastness of the snowfields.
What Ling Yechen found most unforgettable was a member of the expedition named Lawrence Oates. After falling ill, and to give his companions a slim chance of survival, he declared, “I am just going outside and may be some time,” before leaving the tent and walking into the depths of the Antarctic snowfield, ultimately disappearing forever into the boundless white expanse.
Ling Yechen suddenly remembered a night after a performance, while chatting online with Jing Lan. Jing Lan had suddenly become melancholic for some reason, and she had listened to a song with him: ‘A Gallant Gentleman’ by the Australian band We Lost The Sea, an instrumental rock piece commemorating Lawrence Oates.
The somber yet restless drumbeats in the latter half of the song roared like the brutal blizzards of the Antarctic, while the trembling guitar strings echoed the life of a self-sacrificing hero slowly fading in the freezing cold.
When the song ended, only a mournful, haunting human chant remained, like a requiem.
That time, listening to this piece with Jing Lan, as she vividly reconstructed Mr. Oates’s heroic sacrifice, tears had welled up in her eyes involuntarily.
To be moved to tears by music might well be a sign of musical talent.
Yet now, as she flipped through *Decisive Moments in History*, that same melody resonated in her heart, and Ling Yechen gradually settled into a profound tranquility amidst the emotional stirrings. The turbulent thoughts in her mind slowly subsided, and the dark room seemed devoid of shadows. She felt as though she belonged there, leaning against the wall by the liquor cabinet as naturally as the room’s true owner.
“Do you really like this song?” Jing Lan had asked her after they finished listening.
“I love the whole album,” Ling Yechen had replied.
Jing Lan chuckled softly.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s a bit surprising. I didn’t expect you to like this kind of music. Perhaps you have another side to you.”
The album, titled *Departure Songs*, commemorated several heroes from human history:
Mr. Oates, who gave his companions a chance at survival during the 1912 Antarctic expedition;
The three volunteers who bravely entered the core of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant disaster in 1986 to drain radioactive water, saving countless lives;
And David Shaw, the diver who in 2005, to retrieve a colleague’s body from a deep cave in South Africa, dived over 200 meters, only to tragically perish underwater himself.
…
“Someone with a slightly abnormal mind like me just happens to love grand narratives.”
Ling Yechen had defended herself somewhat nervously at the time.
“Putting so much pretentious stuff into rock music… won’t Senior think… it’s not very rock and roll?”
“Your timid way of speaking is what’s not very rock and roll, alright?!”
Hearing the energy return to Jing Lan’s voice, she couldn’t help but let out a giggle.
At this moment, closing *Decisive Moments in History*, which she had intended to put back, she suddenly felt a pang of pity for a book bought by such an unworthy person. So she placed it on the table, thinking she would take it with her when she left. The book was a paperback, very small.
She actually found herself contemplating a proactive departure, though she couldn’t tell if it was nascent courage or a gradual descent into self-destruction as her sanity waned.