Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The scratching of nails continued.

You felt no joy. After what had happened before, you weren’t sure if this so-called “Survivors Alliance” was just another lie created by those monsters to deceive you.

You couldn’t trust anyone.

That night, you lay stiffly on the bed under a thick quilt, drenched in a cold sweat.

You watched the light shift as the bedroom gradually brightened, signaling dawn in the east. Morning had arrived.

The scratching at the door had long since vanished.

An unprecedented hunger swept over you.

You clicked on your phone screen. The time displayed was August 5th, 6:00 AM.

In your memory, the last time the world had a normal date was around 10:00 PM on July 27th, the moment you fell asleep.

Ten days had passed. Your protesting stomach and parched lips were constant reminders: you hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

You pulled out some instant noodles you’d stashed under the bed and chewed them dry. After drinking some water from a long-opened bottle on the nightstand, you regained a bit of strength.

You were cautious this time. You pulled back the curtain just a crack, and your eyes widened in shock.

Emaciated figures were walking listlessly under the sunlight, their expressions vacant. They moved with slow, dragging steps, their jaws clicking open and shut in unconscious chewing motions.

One word came to mind: Hunger.

More terrifyingly, their pupils glowed with a crimson light, like the searchlights on a robot’s eyes in a movie.

A blood-curdling scream echoed from the distance. You looked out and saw a frail figure running desperately through the crowd.

She wailed, “No… I don’t want to go back… I just woke up, please…”

Every head slowly turned toward the girl.

Their eyes grew even redder.

Cornered and helpless, the girl’s initial screams and cries gradually subsided into silence.

Slowly, her expression turned vacant, replaced by an eerie smile. She began to mutter to herself, “The melons are ripe. Want to buy a melon? Give it a tap, I guarantee it’s sweet…”

You watched as she walked slowly toward a large tree. *Thud!*

Her head slammed into the trunk, yet she kept mumbling, “The melons are ripe. Want to buy a melon? Give it a tap, I guarantee it’s sweet…”

*Thud…*

*Thud…*

*Thud…*

Each dull impact hammered against your fragile nerves. You watched with your own eyes as the girl smashed her own head to pieces.

A mixture of red and white fluid slowly trickled down…

Almost instantly, the dense crowd of heads below all turned toward you.

You reacted quickly, ducking behind the curtain and crouching down.

Your apartment was on the second floor.

The sound of chewing slowly gathered beneath your window, growing louder and louder.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You accidentally turned on your phone and found a new message among the influx of texts.

“Avoid their gaze. If you are in trouble, please send your location to XXXXXXXXXXX.”

A string of numbers followed. Without a second thought, you sent your location.

Hiding behind the curtain, your stomach churned. You swore you would never eat melon again for as long as you lived.

Fortunately, the chewing sounds gradually dissipated.

You received a reply.

“Dear Survivor, your current location is in a high-risk zone. Just moments ago, a Survivor lost contact with us while attempting to escape. Rescue is difficult. Our address is: West Ring Road Municipal Stadium. If you have the means, please make your own way there. Otherwise, please wait for rescue.”

You stared at the text, remembering the smear of crimson on the tree trunk. Your heart sank to the bottom of your chest.
The food in the house would only last for three days. After that, the water and rations would run out, and you would be on your own.

You sat in the corner, scrolling through your text messages over and over until you reached the very first few: “Our mission is: To achieve eternal happiness for humanity.”

You closed your eyes and thought of that girl. She worked at the fruit stand on the corner. Not long ago, you heard she had brought in a shipment of watermelons that weren’t selling.

For her, the greatest happiness would probably be selling all those watermelons.

What about for you?

Having a girlfriend?

Your obsession wasn’t strong enough to be fatal.

If you could use the Illusion Realm to get out and reach the Gymnasium, you could save yourself.

Your breathing gradually quickened. You knew it was crazy, a desperate gamble, but once the thought took root, it was hard to suppress.

How do you wake yourself up?

You needed a paradox.

Over the course of three days, you used a marker to write a single sentence all over your body: “Your girlfriend is at the West Ring Road Municipal Stadium; please read the love letter to her.”

You even wrote it on a piece of paper and taped it to the ceiling, right where you would see it the moment you opened your eyes.

You weren’t sure if this method would work. If it failed, you would become one of them completely, but it was better than sitting around waiting for death.

The third night was exceptionally difficult to endure.

Listening to the sneering and scratching at the door, you prepared yourself to risk everything the next day.

As dawn approached, you took a deep breath and pulled back the curtains.

At first glance, there was the bright moonlight; at second glance, there was a piece of paper stuck to the window: “Your girlfriend is at the West Ring Road Municipal Stadium; please read the love letter to her.”

You peeled off the envelope, feeling a bit confused.

Your parents were knocking on the door again. “Time for school.”

You hurriedly stuffed the envelope into your pocket. As you looked down, you saw a line of small text written on your wrist with the same message.

“No puppy love allowed,” you muttered, covering your wrist with your sleeve before heading out.

Dad was busy in the kitchen, and Mom said, “You have a mock exam today. Give it your best shot.”

You nodded and walked to the entryway to change your shoes, your heart calm.

As you turned the doorknob, you raised your hand and paused by the empty vase.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

You stood dazed for a moment, then shook your head. “Is there something missing here?”

You didn’t know what was missing, though.

“You’re overthinking it. You’re going to be late, get going,” your parents’ flat voices drifted from behind you.

You turned around. They were standing very close, their faces almost pressed against your back.

You shuddered, twisted the doorknob, and walked out.

Passing the neighbor’s door, you stopped and frowned. It seemed you really had forgotten something.

With your parents still watching from behind, you pretended to be calm as you headed downstairs.

The mock exam went smoothly. The paper seemed very easy; when checking the answers, you were the only one who got them all right.

After school, as you walked down the street, you inexplicably remembered that letter and opened it.

A line of bolded text in black ink jumped out at you: “DO NOT GO HOME! GO TO THE GYMNASIUM!”

Curfew was at 7:00 PM. It was currently 5:00 PM, so you actually had time to make a trip there.

Looking up, you caught sight of your parents.

They were walking out of an old residential compound, their clothes stained with something red. Combined with the scene from this morning, an inexplicable fear gripped you. You hid behind a food truck before they could spot you.

Through a gap in the metal door, you watched them head toward the school gates.

You decided to go to the Gymnasium.

At the very least, you didn’t want to face them at home right now.