Chapter 63
Chapter 63
In the morning light, the city on the screen came into sharper focus, revealing the scarlet figures wandering through it.
Lin Hao’s gaze swept over the maze of buildings, searching the narrow alleys and passages hidden behind billboards…
He mapped out a route in his mind, then maneuvered the drone to guide the three people struggling onward below.
Turn left. Take the alley with the blue construction tarp piled inside.
The drone hovered at the mouth of the alley for two seconds before flying in.
Lin Hao carefully kept it at the right altitude. It couldn’t fly so low that it attracted unwanted attention, but it still had to remain visible enough for Qingshui and the others to follow its lead and keep pace.
Fortunately, Qingshui always understood exactly what he meant. She led An Xiaolin and Ji Feifan swiftly along the route he indicated.
Suddenly, a familiar burst of orange-red flame erupted in one corner of the screen!
Lin Hao’s heart sank.
A Molotov cocktail?! Were they in trouble?!
He nearly threw caution to the wind and sent the drone diving toward them, but stopped himself.
The next second, three familiar figures burst out of the burning building!
They looked worse for wear, but they moved in perfect coordination without the slightest hint of panic.
Thank God!
Lin Hao almost shouted aloud. At last, some of the tension drained from his rigid back.
They had made it out!
He glanced at Chen Yuhui, slumped beside him and barely breathing, then looked back at the three figures on the screen fighting their way toward them.
They were close. Just a little farther, and they would be reunited.
Perhaps heaven had finally taken pity on them, because the rest of the journey went unexpectedly smoothly. Qingshui and the others narrowly made it across the final stretch of open ground and quickly reached the edge of the construction site.
At the sight of the familiar figures approaching, Lin Hao dropped the controller and practically threw himself down beside Chen Yuhui. Gently shaking her, he spoke in a voice choked with overwhelming relief and elation. “They’re back! Chen Yuhui, they’re back! Qingshui and the others are back!”
Chen Yuhui struggled to open her eyes, her vision still doubled. She tried to sit up, but someone held her down.
“Don’t move.”
Through the haze of light and shadow, a cool palm gently pressed against her burning forehead. Then a cool, commanding voice sounded beside her ear.
“Open your mouth.”
She obeyed, and a slightly bitter medicinal powder mixed with warm water slid down her throat.
“Sleep. I’m here.”
The last thread of consciousness she had been desperately clinging to finally slipped away, and she sank into endless darkness.
Qingshui knelt beside Chen Yuhui and swiftly removed the crude, blood-soaked bandage. The instant the medical alcohol touched the ragged flesh, Chen Yuhui’s leg jerked violently. A muffled groan escaped her throat, but she did not wake.
Qingshui did not pause. She took out gauze and tape, spread a layer of ointment over the wound, then bandaged it securely. Her movements were swift but gentle.
“She should be all right now.”
An Xiaolin could no longer contain herself. She surveyed their unfamiliar hiding place warily before fixing Lin Hao with a deep frown. “Did you run into Madmen?”
Why else would they have risked moving someone so badly injured deeper into the construction site?
Lin Hao’s expression darkened. He nodded, his voice hoarse. “Yes. Those Madmen somehow avoided the traps, and they even stuffed rocks into their mouths. If Pingping hadn’t spotted them…”
He closed his eyes. “We would have been finished.”
“Fuck!” Ji Feifan finally snapped. The curse came through gritted teeth as he slammed his fist into the cold concrete pillar beside him, yet he felt no pain.
Just how far was this godforsaken world going to push them?
Qingshui’s hands stilled for a moment. “Traps are only there to help. They were never an absolute guarantee of our safety. What matters most is that we remain vigilant at all times. Keep your eyes and ears open, and don’t overlook the slightest sign that something is wrong.”
The other three fell silent.
A moment later, Qingshui broke the silence. “Chen Yuhui needs time to recover, and the rest of us need a chance to catch our breath. Let’s find somewhere relatively safe and lie low for a few days.”
It wasn’t only because of Chen Yuhui’s injury. The relentless pressure of fleeing for their lives and the loss of their companions had stretched everyone’s nerves to the breaking point. Without rest, they might collapse.
“But for now…” She glanced at the bright sky. “Get as much rest as you can. We’ll find a way to relocate after dark.”
With that, she picked up the Bluetooth speaker and started to rise, ready to set up the devices.
“Wait.” Lin Hao stopped her. He reached out and took the speaker from her, his tone firm. “I’ll go.”
Qingshui studied him in silence for two seconds, then nodded. “Be careful.”
Lin Hao breathed a sigh of relief. He took the speaker, tightened his grip on his axe, and slipped out of the triangular space where they were hiding.
Qingshui wasted no time. Turning to An Xiaolin and Ji Feifan, she said, “Come on. Let’s clean up the traces we left behind. Take back anything we can. As for what we can’t… rearrange it into something new.”
The three of them moved without a sound.
They retraced their route for some distance and found the traps they had hastily set earlier.
The traps had originally been intended to warn them of approaching Madmen. They might be far less effective now, but… something was still better than nothing. At the very least, they might buy them a few extra seconds to react.
They carefully dismantled the traps and salvaged whatever materials could still be used. Under Qingshui’s direction, the other two helped reset them near the new hideout in a more concealed arrangement.
Once they were done, the three of them rose to return to the hideout. Just then, a large sheet of dark green dust netting used as cover shifted ever so slightly not far ahead.
It wasn’t the wind.
All three of them instantly froze, every muscle snapping taut.
Qingshui’s hand silently closed around the hilt of the military knife at her waist. An Xiaolin and Ji Feifan also dropped into crouches and grabbed the weapons at hand, their eyes locked on the swaying green netting.
The next moment, a head cautiously poked out from behind its edge.
It was Lin Hao.
At first, his face held the relief of someone who had completed his task. Then belated embarrassment crept into his expression.
He had clearly realized that his sudden appearance might have frightened them.
“Um…” Keeping his voice low, he hurriedly explained, sounding a little sheepish. “The speakers are set up in two directions over there. I… I can keep watch here. You should go back and rest.”
“…”
The tension drained from An Xiaolin and Ji Feifan so abruptly that they nearly forgot to breathe.
They didn’t even have the energy to curse at him. Clutching their chests as their hearts continued to race, they waved him off, then dragged themselves back into the hideout without a word.
Qingshui did not react nearly as strongly. She merely glanced at Lin Hao before walking over to him.
He was stationed in a half-finished section of the building, partially enclosed by a large expanse of dust netting and scaffolding. The elevated position offered a broad field of view over the construction site’s entrance and much of the area surrounding their hideout. At the same time, the shadows and obstructions kept him concealed. It was indeed a good lookout point.
The only problem was the lack of a platform. He had to rely on the scaffolding for support, which made it difficult to find secure footing.
With a few nimble movements, Qingshui climbed onto the scaffolding and joined Lin Hao. She crouched beside him and quickly scanned the direction he had been watching.
“I’ll relieve you in two hours,” she said.
Lin Hao nodded.
Qingshui said nothing more. She gave his shoulder a gentle pat, then swiftly climbed back down the way she had come.
The triangular space was dimly lit.
An Xiaolin and Ji Feifan were already slumped against a corner, their heads tilted to one side as they drifted in an exhausted haze between sleep and wakefulness.
Chen Yuhui remained unconscious. Her face was pale, but her breathing had grown steadier than before. Zhou Yaping sat curled up beside her with her knees hugged to her chest, her little head bobbing as she struggled to stay awake.
When Qingshui entered, Zhou Yaping lifted her head and looked at her with wide eyes. Qingshui walked over and quietly sat down between her and Chen Yuhui.
The moment she settled in, Zhou Yaping’s small body silently inched closer. She gently leaned against Qingshui’s arm and closed her eyes.
Soon, her soft, even breathing filled the air. The child had finally succumbed to sleep.
Qingshui did not move, letting Zhou Yaping lean against her.
With her back against the cold, rough concrete pillar, she sat there in a daze.
Her body had come to a stop, but her mind seemed incapable of doing the same.
Countless fragmented images, sounds, and emotions surged through her beyond her control.
The wind at the edge of a high-rise.
The things Captain had taught her in her previous life.
The weightlessness of plummeting through the air. The Madmen’s shrill laughter. Gao Yizhou’s mutation. All the hiding and running they had endured…
She wanted to grasp onto something and sort through it all, to figure out what they should do next: the airdrop, a place to recuperate, the countless unknown threats still awaiting them… But her thoughts were as slippery as fish. She couldn’t hold on to any of them. The more she tried, the more tangled they became, until all that remained was a vast, bewildering blank.
A heavy, unfamiliar emotion slowly settled over her.
She stared blankly ahead, thinking:
Dead again.
Her companions from her previous life, and Li Wei’an, Fang Shuyao, Zhou Shaocheng, and Gao Yizhou from this one…
But then, in a daze, she remembered that technically, hadn’t she “died” once too?
The violent impact. The surging horde of zombies. The endless darkness… Death really didn’t seem all that frightening.
At least she could finally close her eyes without a care.
Those who had gone ahead of her would surely be happy in their next lives, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t be like her, still struggling to survive in the apocalypse.
They would never have to face such madness and despair again. They could live ordinary, warm lives in a peaceful world.
Right?
She asked the question silently.
Of course they would.
She gave herself a firm answer.
Then, as though her mind had finally exhausted the last of its fuel, it slipped into a warm blankness. She gently closed her eyes, wanting to let her weary soul rest for a moment.
Just as her consciousness was about to sink into that dark tranquility, an extremely faint sound reached her ears.
“Mm… Ngh…”
It was so quiet, trembling with pain, that Qingshui barely heard it.
Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down.
It was Chen Yuhui.
The face that usually wore a bright, almost carefree smile was now tightly drawn. Even unconscious, she could find no peace.
Fine beads of cold sweat covered her forehead. Her lips were cracked and pale, moving faintly. Her entire face held a rare fragility.
Qingshui instinctively reached out and gently pressed her fingertips to the crease between Chen Yuhui’s brows. But her skin was icy to the touch. Qingshui paused, her hand hovering helplessly.
If only Sister Yan or Dorm Leader were here…
The thought came to her naturally.
They would know what to do. They would know how to comfort someone, how to ease their pain.
But they were both gone.
Qingshui’s gaze fell to the corner of Chen Yuhui’s eye, where a tear had silently traced a path down her cheek. A deeply suppressed sob escaped her throat.
What was she saying?
After a moment’s hesitation, Qingshui carefully bent down and brought her ear close to Chen Yuhui’s lips.
The muddled syllables gradually became clear. She was calling out:
“Dad…”
“Mom…”
A pang of pain pierced Qingshui’s heart.
All at once, countless faces came back to her.
Aunt Chen, who had taught her to read and write. Brother Nan, who had bandaged her wounds. Sister Yan, who had secretly slipped her food. And the girl who was always teasing her, whose eyes curved like a fox’s when she smiled…
And their families.
Every one of them had cared for her as though she were their own child. Especially Chen Yuhui’s mother, that almost excessively enthusiastic middle-aged woman.
Qingshui still remembered the first time Chen Yuhui had practically dragged her home to “get some proper food.” The neat living room had been filled with the aroma of cooking.
Mama Chen had been wearing an apron. The moment she saw Qingshui, her eyes crinkled into slits. She took Qingshui’s hand and refused to let go, repeating, “Any friend of Xiaohui’s is a child of mine. Such a good girl, such a good girl.”
The perpetually smiling woman had cooked an entire table full of food for her. Qingshui kept eating, and Mama Chen kept filling her bowl.
Snacks, fruit, drinks, and every kind of treat were piled in front of Qingshui. From the moment she stepped through the door, she had barely stopped eating.
Chen Yuhui had sat nearby, watching Qingshui almost obediently accept one offering after another and her mother bustle around in an overenthusiastic fluster. She’d laughed so hard she’d doubled over.
Qingshui pulled herself from the memory and looked down at Chen Yuhui, who was crying in the grip of a nightmare and searching for her parents. The dull ache in her chest began to spread.
They would never see any of those people again.
Qingshui sat upright once more and gently patted Chen Yuhui.
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
Her hand continued its soothing rhythm, and she repeated the words over and over, as though comforting a frightened child. As though speaking on behalf of all those who would never return, gently telling her:
“It’s okay. I’m here.”