Chapter 131
Chapter 131
People needed something to hold them up in order to keep living.
Family, friends, anything that could bring them happiness.
But what kept Qingshui going? Even she couldn’t say.
For as long as she could remember, she had drifted among different groups of survivors. She would be with one group today and another tomorrow. No one ever truly accepted her, and she never truly accepted anyone else. She was like a dandelion seed carried by the wind, rootless and directionless, floating wherever the wind took her.
Even so, she was grateful to every person who had ever caught her and held her up.
Until one day, someone brought her to that base. The base where Aunt Chen lived.
There, she met Captain. She met Sister Fang. She met companions who were willing to talk to her, share a bite of food with her, and bandage her wounds when she was hurt.
After drifting for so long, that dandelion seed finally touched the ground.
It took root and began to sprout.
She thought she finally had a home. Then the sprout was torn from the earth.
Uprooted completely and cast into another world.
Into the hands of a girl.
Qingshui had never let down her guard so easily around someone she’d just met. And yet, she had allowed herself to take root in that girl and begin to grow.
In the end, those roots were gone too.
She had once wanted to tell the girl her greatest secret: she wasn’t from this world. But… it was too late.
Why should I keep living?
Qingshui stood on the rooftop as the wind swept in from afar, tossing her hair across her eyes. In that instant, countless scenes flashed through her mind. People she had met. Words she had heard.
Captain’s voice: “Stay alive.”
Sister Fang’s voice: “Stay alive.”
Brother Nan’s voice: “Stay alive.”
And so many others whose names she could no longer remember. They had all said the same thing.
“Stay alive.”
“Live a good life.”
And then there was… Lin Hao. He had also told her that she had to survive.
They all wanted her to live. But she wanted them to live even more. If she could have chosen, she would rather have traded her own life for any one of theirs.
But she had never been given a choice. She was the one who survived. It was always her. Since she was already alive, she couldn’t wallow in self-pity. She couldn’t betray everyone who had ever truly loved her.
She had to run. She had to keep running, no matter what.
But suddenly, she felt that they had been cruel too. Every last one of them had shoved the crushing weight of “live a good life” onto her shoulders alone. None of them had even asked her first.
Qingshui’s breathing abruptly quickened. Something surged up and lodged in her throat, choking off her air.
She began to loathe herself. She loathed herself for enjoying the life everyone had bought for her. She loathed herself for standing here, still able to breathe, still able to see the light and feel the wind.
She loathed herself for having thought, Why me? The people who had died no longer even had the chance to ask such a question.
It was disgusting.
So disgusting that her already overburdened stomach began to heave violently. Something sour and bitter surged into her throat, and she fought desperately to force it back down.
Qingshui felt as if she had changed. She had never thought about any of this before.
She had never asked herself what it meant to live or why she was the one who had survived. It was as though the two happy years she had spent in this world had softened her soul and made her weak.
Stop thinking. Don’t think anymore.
She wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Breathing became even harder, and her vision began to blur.
Then a sudden weight settled on her shoulder. Something warm and soft had come to rest against her.
Her head was gently guided into the warm curve of someone’s neck.
In that instant, a comforting warmth flooded her mind, soothing all her pain.
And there, in an embrace that had come without warning, she finally let down every defense.
“I…”
She managed only a single word before her voice caught.
The person holding her said nothing, merely tightened their arms around her.
Qingshui closed her eyes. The words she had buried in the deepest part of her heart finally burst free.
“I want to go home.”
That home overrun by zombies. That home where every day was spent fleeing. That home where death could come at any moment.
She wanted to go back.
She wanted to return to Captain, to Sister Fang. She wanted to return to the companions whose names she could no longer remember, but with whom she had once laughed and cried.
She had thought that dying in that world would reunite her with everyone. But in the end, she was still alone.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
Her voice began to tremble.
“I want to go home.”
Why was she always the one who survived? Why was she always the one left behind? Why did she have to bear all of this?
If there really was a god, why had it chosen her? Why did it have to toy with her like this? Why give her happiness only to snatch it away without mercy? What had she done wrong?
At last, the tears began to fall, hot and scalding as they slid down her cheeks and dripped onto the other person’s shoulder.
She hadn’t cried in so very long. So long that she had forgotten the warmth of tears.
Song Yunqing, still holding her, remained silent. She simply wrapped her arms gently around Qingshui.
Her gaze drifted past Song Yunqing’s shoulder and settled somewhere in the distance. There was nothing in her eyes but a cold, hollow emptiness.
…
When the next shift arrived to relieve them, Song Yunqing did not part ways with Qingshui. Instead, she took her by the hand and led her toward a corner of the first floor.
“Come on,” Song Yunqing said. “Let’s go talk to someone.”
They walked down the corridor and stopped outside the Director’s room.
Song Yunqing turned to Qingshui and said softly, “I can give you a hug, but I can’t solve your problems.”
“The Director is trained for this… Maybe…”
She trailed off, merely raising a hand and giving Qingshui a gentle push on the shoulder. “Just talk to her.”
Qingshui stood before the door without moving.
She thought about everything she had said on the rooftop. She did not want anyone else to know, but she raised her hand and knocked anyway.
She had barely knocked a few times when the door suddenly opened.
A man around forty stood before her. His features were unremarkable, but his eyes were gentle.
Qingshui vaguely remembered him. He rarely spoke and was always quietly off in some corner, keeping himself busy.
When the man saw her, he gave her a friendly smile. “Here to see the Director too? I’m done talking. Go on in.”
He stepped aside and passed Qingshui, heading toward the other end of the corridor. His footsteps were light, as if a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.
Qingshui watched him disappear around the corner before turning and walking through the door.
Song Yunqing did not follow her inside. She simply reached out and gently pulled the door shut behind her.
The Director was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Qingshui, a warm smile curving her lips. “I was wondering when you would come see me.”
“You knew I would?”
“It isn’t a matter of whether I knew you would come,” she replied. “Most of the people at this base have come to see me.”
“Do you know why?”
Without waiting for Qingshui to answer, the Director continued, “Because everyone who has survived this long has post-traumatic stress disorder to some degree.”
Post-traumatic stress disorder.
Qingshui had heard the term before. At the base in her previous life, some of the psychologists had mentioned it. But she had never thought it could have anything to do with her.
“Post-traumatic stress disorder?” she repeated.
The Director nodded.
“It’s a psychological disorder,” she explained earnestly. “It can be caused by war, desperate circumstances, disasters, or other traumatic events. It manifests differently in everyone.”
“Some people suffer from recurring nightmares. Some avoid anything connected to their trauma. Some become irritable and volatile, lashing out at others over the slightest thing. And some people…”
She paused before continuing, “They become numb. They lose the ability to feel. They feel like an empty shell, as if nothing but their body is still alive.”
The Director rose and walked over to her. She stood close enough for Qingshui to see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the gentle light within them.
“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked.
“I…”
The Director did not press her. Seeing Qingshui hesitate, she pointed to a small, worn sofa against the wall. “Then just sit for a while.”
Qingshui sat down. The sofa was surprisingly soft. She leaned back against it, her gaze settling on the opposite wall.
The Director sat at the other end of the sofa, leaving just enough space between them, neither too close nor too far.
The room was very quiet.
Neither of them spoke, but the Director’s warmth helped Qingshui’s taut muscles relax a little.
Countless things came to mind.
Everything that had happened in the past, her inexplicable rebirth, her hazy memories…
But these things were too heavy. So heavy that even though she wanted to speak, she had no idea where to begin.
The Director seemed to sense something and sighed softly.
“It’s all right,” she said gently. “The first time is always like this.”
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”
As Qingshui looked at her, she suddenly remembered what Song Yunqing had said.
“The Director said this isn’t about who deserves what. The world is what forced people to become like this. And… I’m just sick.”
She lowered her eyes, seized by the urge to blurt everything out. “I…”
The Director watched her.
Qingshui pressed her lips tightly together. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get the words out. In the end, all she said was,
“I’ll… come back another time.”
The Director looked at her and nodded.
“All right.”
Qingshui left the room and gently closed the door behind her.
The corridor was empty, with only the faint murmur of voices drifting from far away. She leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
By the time she returned to their room, Wen Lianfeng and Chu Jingchu were both awake.
Each of them was propped up on her own bed, lost in thought. When Qingshui entered, they merely glanced up and asked nothing.
They did not ask where she had gone or what she had done. Nor did they ask why her eyes were still a little red.
Qingshui lay back down on her own bed.
Her body was exhausted, but after crying, the turmoil in her mind seemed to have settled somewhat.