He added, “LeKang Jiayuan might be done for.”
“There are too many zombies in their community.”
“Some people couldn’t take it anymore and hanged themselves.”
“I don’t know much more about what’s going on in there—the people I knew are already dead.”
“And Renxin Hospital is a zombie nest too. Don’t go near there.”
Jiang Cheng now understood why she hadn’t seen any of this information online.
When people reached that point, who would still go online?
The internet wasn’t that widespread, nor that useful. It was still a decent tool for the people of Youth Apartments, but for others, it was practically useless.
Finally, Zhou Wang said, “Our community is doing fairly well too.”
He added, “But the state your community is in right now—it’s absurd. Do you realize that?”
They had enough food, the property management was still functioning, and no major incidents had occurred.
But it seemed these young people had no idea just how absurd their community’s current condition was.
On the way back, everyone noticed Jiang Cheng’s silence.
Jiang Cheng was rarely this quiet. Most of the time, she was very composed, and that composure gave people a sense of reliability, safety, and trust.
Li Jiangbing was as close to her as Song Jingshuo—even closer, in fact, having been on “their side” even earlier than Song Jingshuo.
He was also the first one unable to hold it in and spoke up: “Jiang Cheng… whatever you’re thinking, let’s hear it.”
Everyone perked up their ears. Even Song Jingshuo stopped his brooding and looked at Jiang Cheng. He had been thinking the whole way, and the more he thought, the heavier his heart grew. He also wanted to know what Jiang Cheng was thinking.
Jiang Cheng stopped, looked up at the blue sky, took a deep breath, and turned around: “Alright, I’ll say it…”
“If LeKang Jiayuan completely falls, it will be disastrous—it will produce a large number of second-generation zombies. If something stirs them up and they get drawn out and spread around, it would be very bad for the entire New Tech District, especially our area.”
“All our communities are so close to each other—plainly put, if the lips are gone, the teeth will feel cold.”
“The community fences won’t hold back a large number of second-generation zombies.”
Second-generation zombies have extremely strong physical strength. Even if they can’t clear the fence in one leap, they can use the momentum to quickly climb over, far more agilely than humans.
A small number of second-generation zombies isn’t a problem—as long as there are enough people. Because they are fixated on living flesh and blood, their targets are clear, their movements predictable, and with enough manpower, coordination makes them relatively easy to kill.
But large numbers are a different story. Because even a tiny scratch that draws blood on human skin means that person is done for.
Song Jingshuo said in a low voice, “Jiang Cheng, whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”
Jiang Cheng glanced at him.
“Actually, we all understand that compared to sitting around waiting for rescue, it would be better for all of us—I mean everyone in this area, including all nearby residents—to work together to clear out the zombies.”
“Only by wiping out all the zombies can we return to true normal life.”
Over the past few days, everyone had noticed that the map on the news broadcasts had begun to show scattered small green patches, like tiny dots. In the New Tech District, those were Youth Apartments and Jixiang Jiayuan.
Compared to the vast yellow expanse of the map, these green dots were far too small and few.
But like a single spark, if ignited, they might spread into a prairie fire.
“However…”
“We all know clearly too—even in our own community, in its current state, with no shortage of supplies, if I proposed that everyone go out and fight zombies, how many would actually be willing? How many would follow?”
The six men all fell silent.
Because this “initiative” was different from before. Even knowing that the ultimate goal was the right one, it wasn’t like every previous collective action—which had directly benefited Youth Apartments’ own interests: directly removing danger, directly obtaining supplies, directly establishing a comfortable living environment and order.
This initiative was too big, too distant, too indirect.
Leaving the safety and security of their current lives behind, risking their lives to go out and fight zombies—that demanded a very high level of morality and courage from people.
“Even if there are people with enough passion willing to go along—how do we convince Jixiang Jiayuan to join us?”
“We’re this close—why should we be the ones doing all the heavy lifting, being the cannon fodder and the vanguard? I can’t even answer that question myself.”
“If I can’t answer it, I can’t give everyone enough motivation.”
“Then I won’t have the ability to lead everyone to charge out.”
Nie Kuizhang, the building leader of Building 3, looked left and right.
Jiang Cheng called him out directly: “Nie Kuizhang, if you have something to say, just say it.”
“It’s just that,” Nie Kuizhang spoke boldly, “why should we.”
See? Even among the six building leaders—who were all pretty fierce, proactive, and even passionate—there was still someone who felt exactly what Jiang Cheng had pointed out.
Since he’d already said it, Nie Kuizhang stopped holding back and crossed his arms: “I’m not afraid of dying, everyone knows that. If it’s for our own community, Jiang Cheng, I’ll tell you—if you tell me to charge, I won’t say a word.”
“But if other communities are just lying around indoors and I’m supposed to charge out for them—no way.”
The six building leaders had different professions and different personalities, but none of them were cowards. A coward couldn’t handle being a building leader—if you didn’t lead from the front, the people in your building wouldn’t be willing to follow you.
This wasn’t an appointed position to begin with—it was chosen by everyone. If they thought you weren’t up to it, they could pick someone else.
Jiang Cheng narrowed her eyes at Nie Kuizhang. It was good that someone among her own people had this kind of thinking—she wanted to ask: “Then what kind of situation would make you charge? I want to know, seriously.”
Nie Kuizhang waved his hand: “No situation would make me do it!”
Jiang Cheng showed no emotion, simply nodded, and was about to end the topic when another building leader suddenly interjected: “If the nation calls for it, I’m willing.”
Jiang Cheng’s gaze immediately snapped over.
The building leader continued: “But if it’s just our own community getting all fired up, then I feel the same as Kuizhang—why should we? It’s too unfair.”
The nation?
Jiang Cheng asked: “If the nation calls for it, but only we respond and people from other communities still hide indoors?”
“Then that’s their problem,” the building leader said. “As long as the nation calls, I’ll do it. What others do or don’t do has nothing to do with me.”
Li Jiangbing immediately chimed in: “Yeah. Me too!”
That Li Jiangbing would say such a thing actually surprised Jiang Cheng a little.
Because Li Jiangbing was a bit petty, a bit clever, a bit kind, a bit flawed, and liked to take small advantages—a thoroughly ordinary, earthy person. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that.
It was unexpectedly noble.
The other two building leaders also said: “If the nation calls, we’ll do it too.”
Finally, when Jiang Cheng’s gaze fell on Song Jingshuo, this social elite who clearly had a refined, self-interested nature, actually nodded as well: “I’m in.”
His tone was firm.
Even Li Jiangbing had puffed out his chest when he said he would do it.
Did “the nation” really have that much appeal to these locals?
Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite understand.
Because she was not a native of this world—she was a transmigrator from another realm.
Compared to “the nation,” she preferred to use “the government.” That word was much easier to understand—just a group of people who got things done.
But what “the nation” meant as a concept, and what significance it held for the natives, felt very foreign to Jiang Cheng.
Of course, she still retained all of “Jiang Cheng’s” memories. The patriotic education she had received since childhood was all there.
But ever since her personal consciousness had awakened for the second time at noon last Sunday, she had completely separated herself from “Jiang Cheng” in her mental world.
Now, Jiang Cheng’s consciousness was one hundred percent her own. And all of “Jiang Cheng’s” memories and cognitions were sealed away, like exhibits behind glass display cases in a museum—visible and clear, but completely isolated.
At this point, even Nie Kuizhang felt compelled to follow up awkwardly: “Alright then, if you all do it, I’ll do it too.”
Nie Kuizhang had harassed He Tian—compared to the others, he was someone with obvious moral flaws. And just now, he had clearly been unwilling. Even now, he wasn’t really that willing. But it seemed that when everyone else was bathed in the glow of “the nation,” he didn’t dare to fall behind.
“The nation” wasn’t just appealing.
It also carried deterrence.
That deterrence naturally came from the military—or what could be called armed forces.
In Jiang Cheng’s view, the military was also just a group of people—people who wielded power.
But in the cognition of these natives of this world, they seemed to view “the government” and “the military” as an organic whole.
No—it went beyond that. They included themselves in that equation too, seeing themselves as part of that organic whole.
The government, the military, and the natives—together, they formed what they called “the nation.”
Jiang Cheng began to develop an interest in “the nation.”
But this wasn’t the right time. She didn’t plan to break that glass case and touch “Jiang Cheng’s” cognition just yet.
“So,” she said thoughtfully, “in the end, it’s that our appeal isn’t strong enough?”
Li Jiangbing rubbed his crew cut: “We’re just ordinary common folks after all.”
“If ‘the nation’ calls, will people from other communities respond?” she asked curiously. “Or is it just you few getting all fired up?”
Li Jiangbing laughed: “Hey, Jiang Cheng, it’s like you never had patriotic education or something. Do you even need to ask? Even if not everyone, any of us Chinese with a bit of spine—there won’t be a shortage of responders.”
Jiang Cheng asked: “Then why doesn’t ‘the nation’ call for it?”
Jiang Cheng’s question sounded strange.
Song Jingshuo said: “The nation naturally has to mobilize the military first. As long as the military is still there, there’s no need to mobilize the masses. After all, this is a life-threatening matter.”
He said: “Isn’t the nation’s primary duty to protect its ordinary citizens?”
[Under high-risk circumstances, push civilians to be cannon fodder while preserving one’s own armed forces.]
A wisp of such awareness drifted out from the fissures in her mind. Jiang Cheng quickly suppressed it.
Because Song Jingshuo had said it so matter-of-factly.
All the natives took it for granted that protecting civilians was the nation’s top priority.
Since awakening as a transmigrator, Jiang Cheng had already lived into her third week in this world. Over these two and a half weeks, she had lived very concretely—the first week was normal, ordinary life and work, dealing with colleagues, partners, and clients.
The second week had entered survival mode, fighting zombies, still dealing with specific individuals, and at most, the collective unit of the community.
She had blended in without any problems during these two weeks.
But when the conversation began to elevate to the level of “the nation,” a huge cognitive deviation started to emerge between the transmigrator and the native inhabitants.
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