Four days later, on January 22nd.
The battered van lurched into a parking lot situated beside an abandoned railway line, its metal gate immediately clanging shut.
The gatekeeper swiftly secured the iron chain across the gate and clicked the padlock into place.
The pursuing zombies slammed against the iron gate with a thunderous yet futile clamor.
On one side of the parking lot stood a building, beneath which a makeshift awning offered a rudimentary space for car repairs, where a few survivors had been idly chatting; upon seeing the vehicle return, they instinctively rose to their feet, cheering.
Though many survivors had endured the terror of the initial days of the zombie outbreak, some undoubtedly grappling with the anguish of losing loved ones, their cheers rang out with a noticeable strain.
As the vehicle came to a halt, the others began organizing supplies, while Officer Niu ushered Ling Yechen, still in handcuffs, into a guardroom adjacent to the awning, subsequently retrieving a copy of the *Three Character Classic* from a drawer and tossing it to her.
“Take some time to properly learn about traditional culture!”
Restrained like a criminal, Ling Yechen huffed indignantly, “I can recite it backward!”
“Then recite it!”
“*Li mian yi, zai zhi jie. Yi wu xi, gong you qin…*”
Having been an intensely driven child from a young age, Ling Yechen was indeed intimately familiar with such archaic texts.
The officer’s eyes, somewhat resembling a frog’s, widened slightly.
“Hmph, your mind might be sharp, but why is your character so flawed!? Even during an epidemic, the law remains in effect.
Do you truly believe one can simply kill whomever they please!?”
“Who says? Nowadays, the law is nothing but a scrap of paper.” Ling Yechen retorted, still seething.
The officer turned, his gaze firm. “And if there were no laws, I would simply establish new ones.”
****
Confined within the guardroom, Ling Yechen slumped onto the sofa against the wall, her gaze fixed absently on the cold metal handcuffs encircling her wrists.
A sudden wave of desolation washed over her.
Indeed, life was precious, but had humanity truly lived in peace and safety merely because every individual cherished life?
When she had still been a boy, one symptom of her depressive episodes had always been an equal aversion to all of humanity.
In those moments, every human face appeared equally grotesque in her eyes.
Perhaps ‘aversion’ wasn’t quite accurate; she simply yearned for quiet, for an absence of other human beings.
She simply yearned for quiet.
Her best friend’s surname, *Jing*, meant ‘quiet.’
Was he still alive?
He had mentioned finding a camp; perhaps he was safe there.
If only they could reunite.
She wondered what his reaction would be upon learning that his former good brother had transformed into a white-haired loli.
He struck her as someone quite thick-skinned, unlikely to be overly surprised.
Yes, probably.
At noon, Officer Niu arrived with a middle-aged man sporting dyed blonde hair to deliver Ling Yechen’s meal.
The blonde man seemed utterly unable to stomach the sight of a girl in handcuffs, persistently trailing Officer Niu and attempting to persuade him.
“Just think, countless murders have already occurred in this world, haven’t they? It’s simply that our area is relatively safe…”
“Are you suggesting you wish for this place to cease being safe?” the officer countered, his eyes flashing with anger.
“If you cannot offer any assistance in helping us overcome this crisis, you are free to continue with your painting; perhaps once this catastrophe passes, you will emerge as the greatest artist of this era.”
The blonde man merely pursed his lips, shoved his hands into his pockets, and departed.
The officer then subjected Ling Yechen to an hour-long lecture on the sanctity of life, beginning with the development of a fertilized egg and meticulously detailing how an individual grows, socializes, and how incredibly precious this entire process is.
Ling Yechen observed that the officer appeared to be earnestly fulfilling what he perceived as his duty, repeatedly admonishing her, “Don’t avert your gaze!” before launching into various legal anecdotes.
“Do you recall Uncle Ou from a few years back, who, over a minor housing dispute, took a knife and attacked his neighbors?
Such individuals lack reverence for the law, ultimately leading to a tragic outcome where both sides suffer immensely.”
Ling Yechen, who had remained silent until then, tilted her head. “Then, if I may ask, why did the law not protect Uncle Ou’s rights?
As far as I know, he had exhausted all legal avenues.”
“Society cannot possibly satisfy everyone’s demands!” the officer declared, slamming his hand on the table—a habitual gesture likely carried over from his days interrogating suspects.
“Even if you suffer a loss, you must never cross the line!
If you were forced to choose between being wronged and violating the law, which would you choose?” the officer pressed on.
A dark glint flickered in Ling Yechen’s blue eyes. “That’s a poorly framed question.
The scope of ‘being wronged’ is far too broad; being verbally abused is being wronged, and being assaulted is also being wronged.
Without specific context, such a question is not worth answering.”
“Then, for you, the specific scenario involves choosing between taking a life and sacrificing a minor material interest,” the officer paused, then continued, “Du Lan’s injuries were not severe, and she’s essentially safe now.
She’s already told me about your actions; you killed a man simply because he was unfriendly towards you, even if he was being somewhat unreasonable…”
Upon hearing that Du Lan had likely spouted more nonsense, Ling Yechen instantly erupted in fury. “The next person I’m going to kill is that damn b*tch!”
The officer immediately sprang to his feet, slamming the table. “Silence! You still intend to kill!?
Do you truly believe you can evade legal retribution!?”
“It’s probably more likely than you, you idiot, rebuilding an entire legal system,” Ling Yechen snarled back, a menacing edge to her voice.
The moment she uttered that provocative obscenity, Ling Yechen felt her body tense, as if an innate power was guiding her to prepare for any physical retaliation from the officer.
The officer took a deep, steadying breath, but did not resort to violence.
“Fine, just calm yourself.
I’ll return tonight; if your attitude has shifted, then you can have dinner.”
After the officer departed, Ling Yechen shook her head, willing the simmering power within her to settle.
‘Perhaps the officer isn’t a bad person; even if he makes me uncomfortable, I don’t have to take him seriously.’
‘Tonight, I might as well apologize to him, then utter a few insincere pleasantries.’
‘Just enough to get by and earn a meal.’
‘If all else fails, leaving this camp wouldn’t be out of the question; then I could try to find Jing Lan’s camp.’
Ling Yechen idly flipped through the *Three Character Classic* for about half an hour, until two figures appeared behind the frosted glass of the guardroom door.
“Hey, Miss, has my dad been bothering you~”
It was a boy’s voice.
Apparently, this was Officer Niu’s son—the son of an officer should at least be well-behaved, shouldn’t he?
Yet, Ling Yechen replied mischievously, “He’s a good person, but far too self-important.”
Laughter erupted from beyond the door. “That’s exactly right.
He’s precisely that kind of person.
But there’s nothing for it; he deals with too many old rogues on a daily basis—it’s an occupational hazard.
It’s fine, people gradually change.
I’ll talk to him.
By the way, would you like to hear some music?
I just met a new friend who plays guitar.
If you want to listen, I’ll have him play right outside your door.
But don’t go falling for him, okay?
He just plays every day anyway, so he might as well play for you.”
‘Music in the apocalypse? That’s not bad.’
Ling Yechen recalled the NPC in *Days Gone* who played music at the survivor camp.
“Play it.
But my ears are sharp; if it’s not good, get lost.”
Another boy’s voice chimed in. “Don’t worry about that.
My skill level is comparable to Buckethead and D’Angelo, you know.
Just listen if you don’t believe me.”
As the boy spoke, he lightly plucked a guitar string.
Ling Yechen froze on the sofa.
“Little… Little Lang!?”
The guitar strings outside the door abruptly fell silent. “Oh? Am I that famous?”
‘It’s not about being famous.’
Ling Yechen knew this guitarist.
Little Lang.
The guitarist for the band ‘Four-Color Conjecture.’
Indeed, he was in his final year of high school, still studying in Mengshan County, and this location was conveniently near the school.
His appearance here was, in fact, not so strange.