Leng Yu, megaphone in hand, personally called for assembly across the camp. The volume was deliberately kept low, a silent agreement among them that in this world, unnecessary loud noises were to be avoided.
“Today, our expeditionary force sets its sights on the national grain reserves in Mingshui City,” Leng Yu declared, addressing the assembled survivors after his initial call. “Should we succeed, our team’s food scarcity will be permanently resolved.”
A scattering of individuals cheered, “Good!” Jing Lan suspected these were merely Leng Yu’s loyalists, voluntarily playing the role of a hype squad.
Beyond the expeditionary squad—Jing Lan personally found the grandiose title of ‘army’ rather insufferable—the team also assigned numerous patrol duties throughout the day. Rumor had it that a scribe under Leng Yu’s command meticulously documented each person’s labor, with accumulated scores later redeemable for various provisions.
Tasks involving patrols with Wen Hao and Ye Yin Fengqizi to other park attractions garnered higher scores. These areas, lying beyond the protective wall, were prone to isolated zombies, making them considerably more perilous assignments.
Survivors with limited combat prowess or faint hearts were relegated to patrolling along the protective wall, a duty that naturally yielded significantly fewer points. Should they encounter danger, they were simply to report it loudly, without engaging, and retreat directly to the camp’s core.
Having gleaned a general understanding of the camp’s daily regulations from Leng Yu’s explanations, Jing Lan couldn’t help but acknowledge the man’s undeniable talent for organizing a functional team structure.
“All comes from hustling in the city’s old villages since I was a kid!” Leng Yu explained. “I have an older brother, brilliant in his studies. Dad originally thought I was a lost cause and intended to hand the company over to him, but then, for some reason, he became possessed by the idea of becoming an artist.”
“And then?”
“He went to America. Hmph, not a peep since.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best. If we heard anything, it would likely be some work slandering our nation, complete with a dreary BBC filter, perpetually frowning common folk, and a mournful minor-key soundtrack.”
Leng Yu scoffed once more. “If he truly did that, I wouldn’t despise him for it. It’s still a path to fame and fortune. We might grit our teeth and brand them shameless, but what good would that do? Are we to launch our spittle like intercontinental ballistic missiles?”
Finding the conversation unproductive, Jing Lan had no desire to prolong it.
Changing the subject, “Let me ask you, have you looked into any potential opposition within this team?”
Leng Yu raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his gaze. “You conducted this investigation last night? Well, that’s splendid. Do tell?”
“I conducted no such investigation. That’s a task for you.”
A disdainful snort escaped Leng Yu’s nostrils. “I’ve already offered everyone a safe refuge; what possible reason could there be for opposition? You, it seems, are a born worrier, fretting over matters even before your boss does.”
“Exactly, big brother, why the rush?” A thin man, distinguished by a large black mole on his face, sidled closer, his eyes scrutinizing Jing Lan from head to toe. “Haven’t you studied high school politics? Material conditions determine consciousness. As long as we secure enough food, with so few mouths to feed, our lives could become more abundant than before the zombie outbreak. Who then would dare to voice dissent?”
This individual, a close confidant of Leng Yu for the current operation, was referred to by others as Hu Che.
Jing Lan, a liberal arts major, felt a surge of speechlessness at being ridiculed for not having studied high school politics. Theoretically speaking, Hu Che was largely correct; an abundance of resources would indeed mitigate many internal conflicts.
Yet, numerous unaddressed issues still loomed. Fundamentally, what if an ambitious individual, akin to a usurper, remained unsatisfied despite a full belly and sought to claim leadership? How would they contend with such a challenge?
Leng Yu commanded many loyalists; surely any coup would be easily thwarted? But what if someone, utterly lacking common sense, failed to grasp this fundamental truth?
Sensing Hu Che’s subtle resentment towards his proximity to their leader, Jing Lan chose to remain silent.
Leng Yu had opted not to bring Old Li, his bodyguard from childhood, choosing instead to leave him at the camp. This decision was easily understood; when a leader departs the main base, having a seemingly authoritative deputy in place helps ensure stability.
The expeditionary squad comprised twelve individuals. Leng Yu, Jing Lan, Hu Che, and two others, totaling five, rode in a pickup truck, blazing a trail ahead. Following behind was a minivan, carrying the remaining seven.
Their arsenal comprised five P22 pistols and three MP9 submachine guns; the rest of the team carried only cold weapons. A few additional pistols had been deliberately left behind at the camp for the patrol teams.
Leng Yu possessed a formidable private armory: twenty P22 pistols and four MP9 submachine guns. Had it not been for the biochemical apocalypse, such a cache, if discovered, would have undoubtedly warranted the maximum legal sentence of seven years’ imprisonment.
Naturally, Gaoleng Industry was a highly influential conglomerate within the country. Whether they would have managed to suppress or minimize such a scandal through their connections was entirely debatable.
After all, only a few years prior, within this very province, a convicted murderer, initially sentenced to life imprisonment, had managed to invent a “novel manhole cover” while incarcerated. This achievement, submitted as “significant meritorious service,” had secured his release within a mere few years.
Jing Lan mused that Leng Yu likely possessed a flexible moral compass, believing that as long as his objectives were achieved, nothing else truly mattered. He had probably even strategized how to suppress any legal repercussions should his illicit activities come to light.
Jing Lan’s father worked for a supervisory body. While Jing Lan had never harbored any desire to follow in his footsteps, he had, without a doubt, received a comprehensive education in such matters from a young age.
An instinctive aversion to those lacking a clear sense of right and wrong was something deeply ingrained within him.
While numerous boundary-pushing incidents in recent years had led Jing Lan to believe that navigating this world successfully might indeed necessitate ‘flexible adaptability,’ the enduring impact of his childhood education remained indelible.
‘No matter,’ he thought, ‘I mustn’t dwell on these things now. Abstract ideals cannot be allowed to impede my actions.’
The two vehicles rumbled to life, then proceeded to drive out of the camp, where the protective wall had already been lifted in anticipation.
Leng Yu instructed Jing Lan to take the passenger seat of the pickup, citing convenience for navigation.
As the truck passed a fork in the road, Jing Lan’s gaze involuntarily drifted towards the roadside woods. It was there that he had previously buried Ling Yechen’s body.
Noticing Jing Lan’s fixed gaze, Leng Yu leaned forward from the backseat, resting his chin on the backrest. “Is your good friend buried there? Perhaps we should find time to move her closer to the camp? That way, you could visit her daily.”
Jing Lan couldn’t bring himself to envision Ling Yechen’s decaying face. “Just leave her buried by the roadside,” he replied. “It wouldn’t be hygienic to have her too close to the camp.”
“She might be saddened if she heard you say that from below,” Leng Yu teased. “To think you’d call her ‘dirty’ so soon.”
“Once people perish, they descend into the void. How could they possibly feel sorrow then?”
Leng Yu chuckled. “That’s not necessarily true. Lately, a new sect called the ‘Holy Righteousness Cult’ has been gaining traction around here, preaching about the apocalypse. They’ve reportedly attracted quite a following. Before the broadcasts went silent, they were even recruiting members over the airwaves. Now, with the real end of the world upon us, their persuasive power must have soared, wouldn’t you say? Who knows, with enough spreading, it might just become true.”
“What is false remains false, regardless of how widely it spreads. Even a great prophet like Uncle Ye, after two millennia, did not usher in the prophesied doomsday. This disaster is, at its core, a severe epidemic; there’s no need to imbue it with excessive meaning.”
“That’s not necessarily true. Forcibly twisting this epidemic into a doomsday judgment might strike a cultured person like yourself as utterly preposterous, yet hasn’t it been said in some book, ‘Without hardship, one believes not in gods or Buddhas’? Not everyone possesses your resilience.”
“Why do you read gay romance novels?”
“Oh, so that’s… wait a moment, haven’t you read it yourself?”
Jing Lan fell silent.
“Ah, my apologies. I wasn’t aware of the nature of your relationship with your… brother.”
“Get lost.”
Hu Che, seated beside Leng Yu in the back, immediately snapped, “How dare you speak that way?! You think you can tell the boss to ‘get lost’?”
“It’s quite alright, Little Hu, don’t be so overly sensitive. We’ll still need to rely on Little Jing for this operation.” Leng Yu stretched languidly in his seat, seemingly unperturbed. He genuinely felt that he didn’t care.