Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Qingshui’s eyes flew open to a blinding expanse of white.
The ceiling, the walls, the sheets: everything was a cold, sterile white. Instinctively, she tried to roll out of bed, but a sharp pain tore through her body. Her head hurt worst of all, as though it were about to split apart.
“You’re awake?” said a gentle female voice.
Every muscle in Qingshui’s body tensed as she turned toward the sound. A middle-aged woman in a white coat stood there, wearing glasses and holding a strange board in her hands.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re in a hospital.” The doctor took two steps closer, lowering her voice. “You were in a traffic accident. Do you remember? A car hit you.”
A traffic accident?
Qingshui’s mind was blank. No, not blank-chaotic. Her last memory was of the zombies tearing through the base’s defenses, of the look Aunt Chen had given her as she was pushed onto the aircraft, and then… then came the horde and the pain.
She should have died.
“What’s your name?” the doctor asked.
Qingshui watched her warily, lips pressed shut. In the apocalypse, giving away information carelessly was the same as committing suicide. Her gaze swept rapidly around the room.
This place was strange. Impossibly clean, without a single fortification in sight. The window stood wide open, and beyond it was… a blue sky?
“She must have taken quite a hit,” a younger nurse muttered nearby. “She can’t even remember her own name?”
Ignoring their conversation, Qingshui pushed herself upright. Despite the pain, she tried to climb out of bed.
“Hey! You can’t move around like that!” The nurse hurried forward to restrain her.
Qingshui reacted even faster-or rather, her body did. She seized the nurse’s wrist, twisted the arm behind her, and drove a knee toward the nurse’s abdomen.
“Ah!” the nurse cried out.
“Stop!” The doctor rushed forward as several more nurses charged in through the door. The room descended into chaos.
Qingshui realized that her strength was nowhere near what it had once been. Even so, her skill and ruthlessness allowed her to break free. Barefoot, she bolted out of the ward.
The corridor was brightly lit, with closed doors lining both sides. The sharp scent of disinfectant hung in the air.
Qingshui staggered forward at a run. When she rounded a corner, the space before her suddenly opened up.
It was an enormous lobby with a lofty vaulted ceiling. Bright sunlight streamed through a wall made entirely of glass.
The lobby was full of people dressed in all kinds of clothes. Some sat in chairs, talking quietly. Some waited in line. Others hurried past.
No one was screaming. No one was bleeding. There were no zombies tearing into anyone with their teeth.
Everyone was just… normal. Walking normally. Talking normally. Living normally.
Qingshui froze at the mouth of the corridor and stared blankly at the scene.
Was this a dream? It had to be a dying hallucination.
It was that beautiful world Aunt Chen had once spoken of-a world without zombies, hunger, or the constant threat of death…
“Found her! She’s over here!” a nurse shouted from behind her.
Qingshui was taken back to her ward. She did not resist again. She merely sat silently on the bed, her eyes hollow.
Over the next few days, doctors and nurses took turns questioning her. Gradually, Qingshui came to understand that this was neither a dream nor an afterlife.
She truly was alive, living in a completely different world.
The third time the doctor asked, “What’s your name?” Qingshui finally answered in a hoarse voice, “…Qingshui.”
“And your surname?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Where do you live? Do you have your parents’ contact information?”
“…I don’t remember.”
“Then how did you get hit near the university district?”
“…I don’t know.”
Her answers were brief, and she could not conceal the wariness in her voice. The doctor and nurses exchanged concerned glances before writing “post-traumatic memory loss, possibly accompanied by cognitive impairment” in her medical record.
Qingshui did not care. Like a ghost who had wandered into another world, she observed everything around her. Everyone here was too relaxed-so relaxed that it made her uneasy.
The nurses smiled and chatted. Patients complained about the food. Family members brought flowers and fruit. In the apocalypse, such things would have been unimaginable luxuries.
On the third day, the doctor told her, “Your physical examination didn’t reveal any significant problems, so you can be discharged. But your memory… If you have nowhere to go, we can help you contact a social assistance agency.”
Qingshui shook her head. “No need.”
She did not know where she was supposed to go, but her instincts told her she could not rely on anyone.
The discharge process had to be completed on a glowing panel. Qingshui stood before the self-service kiosk, staring at the shifting characters and images on the screen without understanding any of it. She tentatively touched it with a finger, only for the display to light up and present even more options.
“Oh, that’s not how you do it.” A nurse passing by noticed and came over with a smile. Then she saw Qingshui’s bewildered expression and paused. Turning toward the lobby, she called, “Hey! You over there! Yes, you!”
A girl with long hair came over. She wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over her shoulders and a gentle smile on her face.
“You’re also a student at XX University, right?” the nurse said. “This is your classmate, Qingshui. She was in an accident, and her memory is a little confused right now. Could you please take her back to campus?”
The girl looked at Qingshui, and Qingshui looked back at her.
She had a fresh, delicate face, fair skin, and slightly upturned, fox-like eyes. They should have made her look alluring, yet her gaze was exceptionally gentle. Her hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, its ends curling naturally.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked softly. Even her voice was lovely.
Qingshui shook her head. “Sorry.”
The girl smiled. “It’s okay. My name is Li Wei’an.” She turned to the nurse. “Leave it to me. I’m heading back to campus anyway.”
She took the forms from Qingshui and worked the self-service kiosk with practiced ease.
Standing beside her, Qingshui watched her slender fingers tap swiftly across the screen as she explained in a soft voice, “This confirms your discharge, this prints the itemized statement, and this…”
The process was completed in no time. Li Wei’an straightened the stack of papers and handed it to Qingshui. “All done. We can go now.”
Warm sunlight spilled across their faces as they stepped out of the hospital. Cars streamed along the busy street, and pedestrians hurried past. Everything felt so… alive.
Qingshui stopped and looked up at the sky. It was so blue, so clear. There was no ash, no smoke from gunfire.
“What’s wrong?” Li Wei’an asked.
“Nothing.” Qingshui lowered her gaze. “It just feels… a little unreal.”
“Come on. I’ll take you to register at the university first.” Li Wei’an reached out and took her by the wrist. “You’re a freshman, right? Registration is in the Administrative Building. I know the way.”
The September campus basked in perfect sunshine. Freshmen hurried past with their luggage in tow, cheers rang out from the basketball court, and the faint chime of a class bell drifted from a distant academic building.
Everything was so… vibrant, yet so unreal.
Qingshui followed half a step behind Li Wei’an, warily surveying their surroundings. There were too many people. If a zombie horde broke out right now…
No. There were no zombie hordes here. She dug her nails hard into her palm, letting the pain clear her head.
The teacher at the registration desk was a kindly middle-aged woman. As she examined Qingshui’s admission letter and identification, pity entered her eyes. “Qingshui, you’ve already registered. Do you remember your dorm room number?”
Qingshui shook her head.
The woman spent a moment checking the computer, then looked up. “Qingshui, you’re in Dorm Room 409.”
Li Wei’an’s eyes lit up. She turned to Qingshui, her face breaking into an openly delighted smile. “That’s wonderful! We’re roommates!”
Qingshui stared at her radiant smile in confusion. In a world where no one knew if they would live to see tomorrow… No, this wasn’t the apocalypse. But surely trust was scarce even here. Why was a girl she had known for less than two hours so happy that they would be roommates?
“Why are you so happy?” Qingshui couldn’t help asking, genuine puzzlement in her voice.
Li Wei’an paused, then her smile softened. Leaning closer, she whispered, “Because you look like a frightened little thing who needs someone to take care of her.”
The answer only confused Qingshui more. In the apocalypse, weakness meant elimination. Those who needed looking after were usually the first to die. Yet as Li Wei’an spoke, there was nothing but simple kindness in her eyes.
“Besides,” Li Wei’an continued, “the moment I saw you, I had a feeling we’d get along. It was just… intuition, I guess?”
Intuition. Some people sensed danger before it struck. But Qingshui had never known that, in a peaceful world, someone might also rely on intuition to decide whom to treat kindly.
Once the paperwork was complete, Li Wei’an naturally picked up Qingshui’s sheets and duvet cover. “Come on. I’ll show you our dorm.”
When the door to Dorm Room 409 opened, Chen Yuhui was assembling a bed frame while An Xiaolin organized a bookcase. Both stopped what they were doing when they saw Li Wei’an enter with Qingshui.
“Here she is, our fourth roommate!” Li Wei’an announced brightly. “Qingshui, this is Chen Yuhui, and that’s An Xiaolin.”
Chen Yuhui hopped down from her chair with a broad smile. “Welcome! We were just wondering when our last roommate would arrive!”
An Xiaolin gave her a shy smile and said softly, “Hi.”
Qingshui stood in the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the small room. Four beds, four desks, and several potted plants on the windowsill. Sunlight streamed through the spotless glass, casting a bright patch across the floor.
Safe. That was her first assessment.
“This one’s your bed.” Li Wei’an pointed to one of them. “I’ll be sleeping next to you.”
“Don’t worry. Your Dorm Leader will look out for you.”
Qingshui looked up at Li Wei’an. Beneath the light, the girl’s smile was warm and bright, her eyes clear.
In that moment, Qingshui suddenly felt that perhaps this world wasn’t as difficult to understand as she had imagined.
Perhaps she really could start over here.
…………
Li Wei’an giggled. “Well… if you want to call me that, I suppose you can.”
“On second thought, forget it.” The corner of Qingshui’s mouth twitched, but the interruption had eased much of the weight in her heart.
They sat together for a while longer, until night had completely fallen.
It had been two years. She had gone from a wary, bewildered “returner” who didn’t belong in this world to someone who had gradually learned how to live in a peaceful society. She attended classes, took exams, ate and shopped with her roommates, occasionally fretted over assignments, and worried about trivial things.
She had thought she had finally become part of this gentle world.
Then those lunatics appeared and tore its peaceful facade to shreds.
But at least she wasn’t alone.
Qingshui reached out in the darkness and gently clasped the hand Li Wei’an had wrapped around her. It was warm and soft, precious in a way that made Qingshui want to protect it.
She wanted to live.
Together with all of them.
No matter what they had to face. No matter what she had to become.