Flashlight beams danced erratically through the corridor of the dilapidated office building, rousing the slumbering survivors. In the oppressive darkness, a cacophony of confused questions, boastful pronouncements, and frantic, fearful sighs intertwined.
“Do you have a plan?” Jing Lan asked, leaning closer to Niu Xiaoma. After Niu Xiaoma concisely recounted the scene of zombies swarming into the parking lot, Jing Lan’s brow furrowed in a pained frown.
“The excessive noise last night likely drew all the zombies here,” Niu Xiaoma remarked, casting a glance back at the chaotic corridor. “With no second door, we’ll be defenseless if they surge in. Do you have enough ammunition for the guns you brought?”
Jing Lan admitted they were running low on ammunition, having expended a significant amount during their desperate escape from Minzu Middle School.
“In that case, we have no alternative but to re-secure the iron gate,” Niu Xiaoma stated. “If the zombies continue to flood into the parking lot, we’ll be in serious trouble.” He then ventured a cautious question: “Are you and your friends particularly skilled in combat?”
Clearly, the man harbored some unrealistic fantasies. ‘It’s futile,’ Jing Lan thought. ‘At best, we might take down a few individually, but if a horde of zombies swarms us, even channeling Mike Tyson wouldn’t save us.’
“I certainly don’t expect you to clear the entire parking lot,” Niu Xiaoma clarified, “but there’s a sedan downstairs. If you can reach it, drive it to the iron gate, and then lock the gate…”
“And then use the car to crush the zombies that have already entered the parking lot?”
This, indeed, seemed like a viable strategy.
Once the survivors upstairs realized that Old Niu and Zhao Long had both been dealt with, words seemed to catch in their throats, leaving them speechless. Their gazes shifted nervously, as if they were warily scrutinizing the new arrivals for any potential threats.
In a secluded corner, an old man hunched over, his lips moving in a silent prayer, likely reciting Buddhist chants. The incessant, rambling murmurs were enough to make one’s head spin.
Niu Xiaoma’s gaze swept across the corridor. “It appears everyone is in a state of distress; we cannot reasonably expect each person to defend themselves,” he announced. “If you believe this task is feasible, we should act swiftly. I apologize if my words sound like mere lip service, but my primary concern is my lack of confidence in leading. Should you decide to proceed, however, I will gladly accompany you.”
Jing Lan cast a resolute glance towards the dark abyss of the parking lot below. “This must be done,” he declared, “but we will require firearms.”
“Naturally,” Niu Xiaoma affirmed, turning to address a figure huddled in a corner of the corridor. “Uncle Li, bring out the guns. We’re heading downstairs to get the car and re-secure the gate.”
Uncle Li, presumably well-acquainted with Niu Xiaoma, began to rummage for something with a muffled grumble. Yet, as the subdued murmur in the corridor momentarily lulled, a man abruptly bellowed, “Why do you need guns? Are you planning to abandon us and flee alone?”
“If you lack faith in us,” Niu Xiaoma retorted angrily, “then take the gun yourself and secure the gate!”
A robust man emerged from the throng, radiating an aroma that had clearly been cultivating for at least ten days without the intervention of soap and water.
“Are you serious?!”
“Keep your voice down,” Jing Lan cautioned, his attention still fixed on any movement near the stairwell. “We don’t want to attract the zombies.”
Silenced by an irrefutable argument, the man let out a disgruntled “Tch” and turned, his gaze falling upon Uncle Li, the keeper of the weapons.
“Just give it to him,” Niu Xiaoma instructed. “We’ll all go together to close the parking lot gate.”
Niu Xiaoma seemed to know the burly man well enough to understand that his outburst was largely harmless.
Uncle Li unzipped the large nylon bag, retrieving several handguns. Jing Lan and the burly man each took one. Little Ye, too, approached, though she didn’t overtly reach for a weapon. Instead, she gently nudged Jing Lan’s shoulder, asking, “Should I come along?”
“You’d better stay here and keep watch.”
A crucial question then arose: what exactly would they use to secure the gate?
From his pocket, Niu Xiaoma produced a pair of handcuffs, jingling them. “I came prepared,” he announced. “These will be far more suitable for locking the gate.”
And what about the car keys?
“The keys are with…”
Just as Niu Xiaoma prepared to indicate the car’s driver, who was seated beside Uncle Li amidst the crowd, the driver abruptly looked up. With a swift movement, he seized a P22 handgun from Uncle Li’s grasp, brandishing it at the assembled survivors.
“Nobody move!”
The driver’s eyes were wide with terror, and he struggled to contort his face into an expression of grim determination, much like a rookie robber attempting to appear menacing.
“I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die,” he stammered, his voice laced with desperation. “I need to drive home. I refuse to simply wait here for death. My family is still waiting for me.”
With the gun still aimed at the bewildered survivors, the driver began to retreat, one hesitant step at a time, towards the stairwell.
Niu Xiaoma stood dumbfounded, while Jing Lan and Little Ye, standing nearby, regarded the somewhat unhinged man with an air of profound disinterest.
A faint sense of déjà vu washed over Little Ye as she observed the unfolding scene—it was as if someone had once demonstrated precisely this situation before her eyes. ‘If you’re held at gunpoint, you need to…’ Had she truly attended such a lesson? Or were these merely lingering memories from her new body?
However, as the driver passed directly in front of Little Ye, a crucial detail caught her attention, and it was as if an internal mechanism within her body suddenly activated.
With a synchronized burst of effort, her hands and feet struck precisely at the driver’s legs and elbows. Then, freeing one hand, she brutally forced the now off-balance driver to the ground.
“Ugh!” The man futilely squeezed the trigger, yet nothing occurred.
“Big brother, the pistol’s safety is still engaged.”
The girl’s clear, dispassionate voice echoed through the dim space, rendering the survivors in every corner utterly silent, as if frozen by a sudden chill.
The man’s trembling body remained taut for several agonizing seconds before finally slumping, defeated, to the floor.
Little Ye maintained control over the now subdued driver. A flicker of confusion crossed her mind as she sought to pinpoint the origin of the sudden surge of courage that had propelled her actions—perhaps even the same courage that had allowed her to abruptly rouse everyone during their meal earlier. Were these merely residual impulses within her new body?
With everyone now silenced, it was the opportune moment to address and guide the bewildered crowd.
Jing Lan gestured for Little Ye to drag the driver to one side, then turned his attention to assuaging the survivors’ palpable anxieties.
“Everyone, please calm down,” Jing Lan urged. “Panic will not solve our problems. Right now, anyone attempting to flee without a weapon will face certain death. We have spent days fighting our way here, acquiring invaluable experience. Entrust this to us, and we can all make it out alive.”
‘Truly the voice of a band’s lead singer,’ Little Ye mused inwardly. It was clear, steady, and seemed to possess a persuasive power that transcended the mere words themselves.
Of course, language alone could not instantly sway every individual.
During moments of peril, most people instinctively seek out a reliable protector.
Yet, a minority will instinctively adopt a contrarian stance—perhaps having absorbed too many historical narratives since childhood, they firmly believe that the turning points of life, and indeed the world, arise when a bold individual steps forward to seize an opportunity during a crisis, much like Napoleon’s sudden return to France to orchestrate the Coup of 18 Brumaire.
Consequently, they will instinctively oppose any potential leader within a group, challenging their authority in a bid to establish their own.
Or, at the very least, they will seek a means of escape, much like the driver who just attempted to flee.
Nevertheless, at this moment, no one in the corridor dared to voice dissent.
Everyone listened in silence as Jing Lan spoke, with some offering soft murmurs of assent.
The reason was remarkably simple: the potential leader had just showcased the raw power at their command. A seemingly frail, bespectacled girl had managed to subdue an armed adult man, a tangible display of authority far more convincing than any mere rhetoric.
‘Well done,’ Jing Lan mused privately, his admiration for the young woman he had only recently met growing.
Her actions were swift, decisive, and impeccably timed.
The white-haired girl tentatively glanced over her shoulder, attempting to steal a peek at Jing Lan’s face, only to find him already smiling back at her.
She quickly averted her gaze.
“Please, everyone, unite…” Little Ye began, her voice tinged with an unfamiliar awkwardness. She had always harbored a strong aversion to addressing crowds, yet now, an inexplicable force seemed to compel her.
“…Outside, zombies and dangerous individuals roam everywhere, attacking anyone on sight. Attempting to escape alone is utterly futile; please understand this critical point.”
No one dared to utter a sound.
She swallowed hard.
‘What should I say next?’ she wondered. ‘Senior, shouldn’t you speak up?’ Yet, Jing Lan seemed content to wait for Little Ye to continue.
“Once this situation is resolved,” Little Ye continued, her words still a little halting, “we will do our best to share all the survival skills and knowledge we possess with everyone… We, we will work alongside all of you to establish enhanced security measures, ensuring that this group can safely endure…”
Little Ye privately considered her speech to be disjointed and naive. In truth, however, this very awkwardness produced an excellent effect.
Her hesitant, stumbling delivery conveyed that she was no seasoned manipulator of crowds, a fact that subconsciously offered a sense of security to potential dissenters within the group.
Moreover, when they recalled the prowess the girl had just displayed, people began to perceive her as a controllable force. She appeared immensely strong, yet meticulously reined in her power, carefully maintaining a level of equality with the ordinary survivors.
Perhaps this perfectly aligned with the traditional image of a ‘great hero’? Exceptionally skilled in martial arts, yet possessing a kind heart.
This subtle shift in her image within the eyes of the survivors was, perhaps, something Little Ye herself had never anticipated, even if the immediate change was not yet profound.
Nevertheless, it marked a significant beginning.
The old man who had been chanting Buddhist prayers in the corner, startled into devotion, let out two guileless chuckles. He then extended a hand towards Little Ye, appearing to hold something within his grasp.
“Little Dragon Girl, come over here.”
Little Ye remained rooted to the spot, a hint of bewilderment in her posture.
“This is Old Wu, who sells Dingding candy,” a young man beside the old man explained. “He’s offering you a piece of candy.”
“He’s eaten Dingding candy since childhood, learned to make it, and now he has diabetes, so he can only make it for others to eat.”
“Go on, try it.”
****
A bizarre tableau unfolded: danger loomed imminently, yet people forced smiles and discussed an old man and his candy.
Little Ye accepted the candy from the old man’s hand and placed it in her mouth.
“It’s very sweet.”
“Of course it’s sweet,” the old man said calmly. He had likely uttered “Of course it’s sweet” countless times.
Niu Xiaoma, who had been intently monitoring the activity downstairs, suddenly exclaimed, “Something’s happening! I hear footsteps downstairs!”
The facade of tranquil complacency shattered instantly. The corridor once again fell into an unnerving silence.
However, Jing Lan swiftly recognized whose rapidly approaching footsteps they were.
“It’s me!” Keke called out from downstairs, her voice hushed.
“And me. Old Cao.” It was the painter, Cao Renshuang.
“Keep quiet!” Keke immediately added, then swiftly ascended the stairs.
Before Jing Lan could even offer a greeting, his cousin, still struggling to control her ragged breathing from the rapid ascent, blurted out, “It’s bad! A horde of zombies is rapidly approaching!”
“Are they coming in a straight line?” Jing Lan urgently asked.
“No! But they’re running like they’re on a campus track, following the perimeter wall of the parking lot! They’ll eventually circle around here! If they swarm up the stairs in a frenzy when they arrive, we’re finished!”