“Thankfully, they’d stocked up on cases of instant noodles and ham sausages in the dorms, plus a ton of snacks. A few students managed to survive on that alone. It wasn’t easy.”
“And you know what else was a disaster zone,” Li Jiangbing counted on his fingers. “Universities, hospitals—and hotels! Hotels weren’t as bad, though—a lot of people were locked in their rooms. Anyway, we just cleared them room by room.”
“And have you heard about what happened with the trains?”
“You haven’t? Then never mind, I won’t say it. It was absolutely tragic. Carriages packed full of people.”
Song Jingshuo and Jiang Cheng listened attentively.
Everyone knew there weren’t many days like this left.
There was a sense of something coming to an end.
Song Jingshuo asked: “How much produce and meat did you get? You gave me so much.”
Li Jiangbing waved his hand: “I’ve got today off. Leaving again early tomorrow morning. I just split it into two portions—one for you, one for Jiang Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng and Song Jingshuo exchanged a glance, then both looked at Li Jiangbing: “Leaving again tomorrow?”
“Yep~” Li Jiangbing said. “Just back for one day to rest, then heading out again tomorrow. Gotta get a good night’s sleep—these past few days I’ve been crashing wherever I could, and it’s rough. Nothing beats your own home.”
Song Jingshuo still wanted to try talking Li Jiangbing out of it.
Song Jingshuo’s style had always leaned toward self-interest—everyone in his circle was like that.
If it were someone else, Song Jingshuo wouldn’t even bother speaking up—he respected personal choices. But Li Jiangbing wasn’t someone else—he was one of their own.
But Li Jiangbing politely declined. He had his reasons: “I figure the coming days aren’t going to be easy, so I want to make some money while I can.”
But Jiang Cheng propped her chin on her hand and looked at him, then suddenly asked: “Jiangbing, do you actually like doing this?”
“Huh?” Li Jiangbing paused. “Uh—”
Sometimes, not denying it was actually admitting it.
“Ah, how should I put it,” he said. “It’s more interesting than going to work, anyway.”
The pay was good, there was no office politics, and you didn’t have to bow and scrape to anyone. If being a militia member and killing zombies could count as a “job,” he’d be happy to clock in.
There was just the risk of death.
“What’s the point of living, anyway? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.” The big man looked lost. “I can’t figure it out.”
He still remembered that Saturday night when he’d first seen a zombie and nearly pissed himself in terror.
But now his body had muscle memory—the moment he saw a zombie, his whole body tensed with power, and the next second his axe was already swinging.
The movement was smooth, the aim accurate, and the feeling of a clean kill was just… satisfying.
Li Jiangbing felt like he might be a little messed up. He really did enjoy that feeling. He liked doing this.
“To earn more money, pursue higher social status, and acquire more social resources.” Song Jingshuo answered without a second’s hesitation. “Simply put, to strive to become someone above others.”
Li Jiangbing: “Tsk tsk tsk~”
He turned to Jiang Cheng: “What about you, Jiang Cheng?”
Jiang Cheng smiled: “I refuse to answer.”
Li Jiangbing: “Tsk~”
Jiang Cheng just smiled and said nothing.
In the end, the three of them clinked their glasses together.
The glasses held water. All the beverages and alcohol from the Buy Duo Duo supermarket had mysteriously disappeared sometime later.
Not just drinks and alcohol—brooms, mops, bedding, bowls and plates, spatulas, washbasins—anything that wasn’t too big or too hard to carry had also mysteriously vanished over that period, leaving only empty shelves behind.
Li Feng never delivered drinks or alcohol with the supplies, so for now, everyone could only toast with water.
Song Jingshuo wanted to say a few words for a toast. He’d just started with “When you—” when Li Jiangbing spread his five fingers and waved them frantically: “Don’t! Don’t say it!”
“Don’t wait for me!” he said in alarm. “In the movies, anyone who says that kind of line never comes back!”
Jiang Cheng burst out laughing.
This meal of stir-fried vegetables with meat was an ordinary home-style dish in the past, but it was the best meal any of them had had in three weeks.
Li Jiangbing handed his house key to Jiang Cheng: “If there’s a leak or something while I’m away, take care of it for me.”
He left again with the bus the next day.
The number of people leaving that time was much fewer than the first batch. But there were still plenty like Li Jiangbing—some for the money, some for other reasons—who kept participating in the militia’s operations.
Day by day, the green zones on the map expanded and connected with one another. Every day brought uplifting news.
On July 15th, Li Feng finally brought fresh vegetables and meat for everyone. He notified Jiang Cheng in advance, and she arranged the necessary personnel.
Although Buy Duo Duo suddenly saw a huge surge in people, order was still well maintained.
People in the neighborhood were willing to volunteer. Even soldiers like Li Feng understood that “clear water has no fish”—volunteers inevitably got a little extra for themselves.
July 20th was Li Feng’s last day in charge of the New Tech District supply point.
He said goodbye to everyone one by one.
Zhao Yi even gave him a bear hug. The two of them were close.
Zhao Yi said: “It’s a shame Jiangbing isn’t here today.”
Li Feng also expressed regret: “Yeah.”
He and Li Jiangbing were close too.
They might not see each other again. Some connections between people only last for a stretch of the road they travel together.
Song Jingshuo’s farewell was polished and businesslike: “Wish you a bright future and a smooth career path.”
Li Feng wasn’t an enlisted soldier—he’d graduated from the National Defense University and became an officer upon graduation. He was indeed on a military career track.
Li Feng responded politely: “Same to you. May your wealth multiply.”
Zhao Yi turned his face away in disgust, not wanting to watch the two of them putting on airs.
Li Feng finally said goodbye to Jiang Cheng. He seemed to have a lot to say, hesitating, and in the end only managed: “Stay in touch.”
Jiang Cheng smiled and said: “Alright.”
The large military truck completed its final supply run. The officers and soldiers got on board and drove off, waved goodbye by over a thousand people from the New Tech District.
One auntie even cried, saying: “Now that they’re gone, I feel so empty inside.”
Another auntie comforted her: “You’re thinking about it wrong—they left because there’s nothing left to do.”
The auntie wiped her tears: “That’s true too. It’s all over.”
“He was this close to confessing right there. I could see it in his eyes—they were practically melting. I thought he was going to pull a rose out from behind his collar and confess.” Zhao Yi complained to Gao Yuxuan. “All my anticipation was wasted. He’s just a coward.”
Gao Yuxuan was at Zhao Yi’s place playing video games, both of them gripping controllers, locked in intense combat.
Gao Yuxuan: “No way. There were so many people around. What if Jiang Cheng turned him down? He’d lose so much face.”
Everyone could clearly see how Li Feng felt about Jiang Cheng.
Come to think of it, when Song Jingshuo hung around Jiang Cheng, Zhao Yi found it particularly annoying.
But when Li Feng did it, Zhao Yi didn’t mind at all.
Zhao Yi: “If I were to choose for Jiang Cheng, I’d pick Li Feng.”
Gao Yuxuan: “?”
Gao Yuxuan: “I’ll thank Li Feng on your behalf. And who do you think you are, exactly?”
Daring to make decisions for Jiang Cheng.
Zhao Yi: “Alright, fine.”
“Jiang Cheng, though…” Zhao Yi sighed.
Gao Yuxuan: “?”
Gao Yuxuan: “Bro, don’t tell me you like Jiang Cheng too?”
Zhao Yi: “I don’t like Jiang Cheng—but I like Jiang Cheng and Mo Li. You get it?”
As fellow anime fans, Gao Yuxuan’s voice pitched up in excitement: “I get it!”
A beautiful girl with a black cat often perched on her left shoulder.
Why the left shoulder? Because her right hand needed to do more things—so you couldn’t weigh down the right shoulder and hinder her right arm’s movement.
But when the girl talked to people, her right hand would sometimes unconsciously fiddle with the tip of the black cat’s dangling tail, or gently squeeze those little paws.
Especially when she was outdoors, with sunlight streaming down.
How could a scene like this exist in real life? This was clearly something out of an anime!
[No one knew that the seemingly gentle little black cat was actually a soul reaper from hell…]
“Stop, stop, stop!” Zhao Yi cut off Gao Yuxuan’s fantasy. “Bullshit soul reaper. It has to be a summon beast!”
In Zhao Yi’s fantasy, when danger struck, the little black cat would leap from the girl’s shoulder and transform into a giant beast, wreathed in black flames, its roar shaking the very ground, loyally guarding the girl.
Gao Yuxuan: “…Tacky.”
Zhao Yi: “You’re not tacky at all.”
The two otakus fell into a heated argument over their divergent fantasy visions.
After they’d finished arguing, Gao Yuxuan suddenly remembered: “What were you going to say about Jiang Cheng earlier?”
Zhao Yi paused, adjusted his glasses, and said: “Jiang Cheng… called me by the wrong name the other day.”
Gao Yuxuan: “?”
“It was a busy day,” Zhao Yi said. “I was right next to her, and she called out to me—but she said ‘Peng Ze’ instead.”
The room suddenly fell silent.
On the TV, the characters had stopped too, with only the background music playing on.
Gao Yuxuan sighed.
Zhao Yi still remembered that moment—Jiang Cheng had turned and seen that it was him, not Peng Ze. There’d been a brief flicker of stunned recognition, and then she’d quickly adjusted her expression.
What Zhao Yi couldn’t forget was that split second.
Otakus weren’t good at expressing themselves or socializing, but they had keen perception.
When the guys in the neighborhood gathered to chat, they often said Jiang Cheng wasn’t suitable to be a girlfriend.
Too ruthless.
What did those thugs know? All they did day in and day out was talk about which girl had long legs and which girl had big breasts.
Zhao Yi looked down on them.
But what Zhao Yi didn’t know was that on this point—looking down on those people—he and Song Jingshuo, whom he despised the most, were in complete agreement.
On July 21st, a rumbling convoy of large trucks drove into the New Tech District and into the Buy Duo Duo loading channel.
This time, they weren’t military vehicles. The logistics chain had been restored—this was Buy Duo Duo restocking its shelves.
The surviving employees had returned. Those who had died still needed to be accounted for, but those matters would be handled later. The government’s instruction was to restock first, to resume business first.
First, let people’s lives return to the way they were before.
Guo Jun and his colleagues had gone to see Jiang Cheng.
Because they’d received calls from their manager telling them to come back to work. If they went back to work, in theory, they should move back to the employee dorms.
That meant they’d stop working here and wouldn’t be able to stay in the apartment units anymore.
Everyone was quite reluctant to leave.
Jiang Cheng no longer involved herself in these matters: “I don’t know. The apartments aren’t mine. The interim committee has disbanded too. From now on, the property management handles these things.”
“It’s over,” she said. “It’s all over.”
Those three words—”It’s all over”—carried a strange, otherworldly feeling.
But it was indeed over.
So Guo Jun and his people went to see Master Luo.
But Master Luo was no longer in charge either, because the property manager had returned.
Master Luo was just reporting to him. Guo Jun and the others came over and explained the situation.
The manager: “Huh? You were all living in the apartments?”
Master Luo nodded and explained the situation at the time.
The manager’s eyes darted: “How many empty units do we have in our neighborhood?”
Master Luo said: “The inventory list is with Xinyan.”
It had originally been in the interim committee’s hands. Now that the interim committee no longer served any purpose, Jiang Cheng had given the list to Yang Xinyan.
The manager called out: “Xiao Yang!”
Guo Jun and the others were anxious: “Manager, we—”
The manager raised a hand, cutting him off: “Hold on, let me take a look first.”
Yang Xinyan handed over the form. The manager scanned it quickly and clicked his tongue: “So many.”
Master Luo sighed: “Yeah, so many people died.”
What the manager was thinking wasn’t about how many people had died—he was thinking that he now had so many unoccupied, ownerless units at his disposal.
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