The work Jiang Cheng had taken over was a huge hassle.
Forget about finding her colleagues’ remains—that was impossible.
First, she had to find their personal belongings. She had to file a report, take the company’s stamped authorization letter to the police, and after the police reviewed and approved it, they would issue a certification letter.
With that certification letter, she could go to the hotel, and only then would the hotel hand over the belongings to her.
Then she still had to take the police certification letter to a computer repair shop to have the passwords cracked, open her colleagues’ computers to search for files, and locate the warehouses where the equipment was stored.
Then she had to take both certification letters to the warehouses to retrieve her company’s equipment.
She also needed to confirm with the clients whether the projects would be restarted.
Only after all these confirmations were done could she decide whether to ship the equipment back to S City via logistics.
Every step was a hassle, because at every step it was hard to find anyone. People had died, people had disappeared.
One warehouse even had no one left—from the boss down to the employees, all dead.
She had no choice but to involve the police again. In the end, with their help, they opened the warehouse and recovered the equipment.
Professional lighting, projection, sound systems—worth hundreds of thousands. Fortunately, since it was a high-value case, the relevant department prioritized it and handled it as a key case.
Jiang Cheng had been running around all day again. When she returned to the hotel at night, plugged in her laptop, and connected to the internet, she finally saw the discussions in the group chat.
Only then did she remember that there might still be a zombie in the conference room.
Back then, she had thought about the situation—there were really only two possibilities: either one human left, or one zombie left.
The probability of one zombie left was 99.9%.
Or maybe even more than one.
But for them, who had already killed hundreds or thousands of zombies by then, it was no longer a concern.
So they forgot.
But they never expected it to evolve.
Someone in the group had talked to the security guards and Master Luo who were at the scene and learned the specifics, then shared them for discussion.
[It’s definitely evolved. Otherwise, why would it run away?]
[They said it attacked the welder first, and the angle grinder sliced off half its palm.]
[Then it attacked guard Xiao Fang and Master Luo. It was so fast they both raised their arms to block on instinct. Good thing they had arm guards on, or they’d have been done for. But they got knocked flat.]
[Then the zombie ran away.]
[Isn’t it obvious? It attacked, realized it was outnumbered, and ran. That’s something only a creature with intelligence would do. Otherwise, look at the second-gen zombies—even with an arm or leg lopped off, they’d still hop and charge at you.]
[This one not only runs, it hides. All of us searched for so long and still couldn’t find it.]
Jiang Cheng asked: [Anyone injured?]
[Jiang Cheng’s here.]
[No. But not finding it has everyone a little on edge.]
Jiang Cheng: [Stay careful lately. Warn each other—don’t wander around outside at night.]
The screen was flooded with a wall of [Understood] replies.
Everyone responded to Jiang Cheng’s words on instinct.
Then someone realized it and laughed out loud: [Feels like we’re back in those days.]
Someone else sighed: [Kind of miss it…]
But some things, even if missed, you wouldn’t want to go back to.
For example, you might miss your deceased loved ones, but you would never accept them coming back as a zombie.
As time passed, many people who had grown close during the disaster gradually drifted apart. They went from sworn brothers and life-and-death companions to just nodding at each other when they ran into one another in the neighborhood.
Several couples who had gotten together during the disaster had already broken up. Once the suspension bridge effect wore off, the feelings for that person were gone.
Even Song Jingshuo, after returning to work, had slipped back into his original position in the social order.
No longer the perpetual second-best who was always overshadowed by Jiang Cheng. Instead, he was a young elite with a handsome income.
He had a big house, a nice car, and was surrounded by polished, glamorous white-collar beauties who all saw him as a promising golden bachelor.
He certainly still admired Jiang Cheng, but that fondness had gradually faded as well.
He hadn’t seen her in over a month since returning to work, and with no way to pursue her, surrounded by people coming and going, he had grown too lazy to make any more moves.
Jiang Cheng didn’t care about any of this.
She had never had any intention of developing anything with anyone anyway.
She hadn’t been swept up by the suspension bridge effect when everyone else had been, let alone now. She certainly wasn’t about to start.
The matter at Youth Apartments was discussed for several days, and the rapid response team also patrolled the area for several days.
Various streets, neighborhood committees, and property management offices posted notices at the entrances of every residential building. Many people saw them, and parents wouldn’t let their kids play outside after school: “There’s a zombie loose nearby that hasn’t been caught yet.”
By this time, the two videotapes had already left S City and arrived at the central zombie research expert team.
The experts reported to their superiors that there was another new case.
The leader asked, “How many total now?”
“Seventeen cases.”
From all over the country, for various reasons, seventeen cases of new zombies that were distinctly different from both original and second-generation zombies had been reported.
Compared to the nation’s vast territory and enormous population, it was naturally insignificant.
But it proved that second-generation zombies were not the ceiling of zombie mutation.
Zombies could continue to evolve and change, and no one could predict to what extent they might develop.
Even though the zombie crisis had been largely extinguished nationwide, the leader still felt a heavy weight in his heart.
Because the zombie virus genetically altered the human body, making the dead walk fiercely under the bright sun—and humanity had yet to decode it, let alone find a cure.
“Report it upward,” he said.
The higher-ups had to be made aware of this information so that contingency plans could be drawn up.
Jiang Cheng was surprised to receive an inquiry call from the S City Tech New District Police Station.
It was about Liu Hongwang.
“Yes, I terminated the neighborhood’s labor relationship with him on behalf of all the homeowners.”
“Many homeowners were present at the time, and almost all members of the temporary committee were there. No one raised any objections. So although I was the one who proposed it, it was the collective will.”
“Under those circumstances, if we hadn’t kept control, the neighborhood would have fallen into chaos. You understand.”
“We didn’t kill him or inflict any physical harm on him. Our actions were all in accordance with the law.”
“The homeowners’ association hired the property management company and its staff. We legally have the right to terminate the labor relationship of any staff member, especially during extraordinary times.”
“Yes, thank you for understanding.”
The officer on the other end said, “We’re just getting the facts. Since it’s not a homicide case…”
It was rather unusual.
The person who filed the report insisted it was murder and that it should be treated the same as those from Deqingli—handcuffed, taken away, and sentenced.
The officer was so pestered by him that he had no choice but to make this inquiry call.
The fact that it was a phone call rather than a summons already showed the police’s stance.
Jiang Cheng expressed her gratitude and asked, “Was it a homeowner from our neighborhood who filed the report?”
“No. Uh… I can’t say.” The officer said, “Per regulations, we can’t disclose the informant’s identity.”
But his caught-off-guard response had already given Jiang Cheng her answer.
Since it wasn’t a homeowner, it had to be someone from the property management.
When that person followed up again, the officer told him plainly: “This is a civil dispute.”
The so-called “expulsion” and “sending him to his death” were the informant’s subjective interpretations. In reality, what had been executed was simply a termination of labor relations. Lawful and reasonable.
“That person knows the law better than you do,” the officer advised. “If you insist, go find a lawyer and file a lawsuit. Civil disputes aren’t our jurisdiction.”
The man wouldn’t give up and went to a law firm. But the consultation fee alone was enough to scare him off.
Police work was free. Lawyers didn’t work for nothing.
This person wasn’t trying to seek justice for Liu Hongwang. In fact, Liu Hongwang had no popularity whatsoever—he was lazy and cut corners on the job, and was pretty widely disliked.
But this person simply had a pure grudge against people like Jiang Cheng and Song Jingshuo.
If he could mess with them for free, he was willing to put in the time.
But if it meant paying out of his own pocket, forget it.
Jiang Cheng brought this up in the temporary committee group chat.
As she had said, since no one objected at the time, it was equivalent to unanimous consent.
The chat exploded with curses, everyone asking who had filed the report. The temporary committee had worked their hearts out leading everyone through the toughest times, and now they were being stabbed in the back.
It was infuriating.
Yang Xinyan was also in this group chat. She didn’t dare say anything.
But she quietly told Pan Jie about it, and Pan Jie in turn told Master Luo.
Pan Jie said, “Who could it be?”
Master Luo didn’t respond, but he had a good idea who it might be.
Jiang Cheng had been away for a month, traveling to three cities.
She could viscerally feel the sharp decline in population.
Traffic in the city was no longer congested. Cars on the streets and in parking lots were covered in dust, unclaimed.
At the airport, she overheard people talking about plummeting housing prices and rental rates.
The stock market, however, had recovered from its panic-driven crash, rebounding quickly and launching into a structural bull market.
Life for ordinary people wasn’t so easy. Because a lot of people were unemployed.
A huge number of small and medium-sized private enterprises had gone under.
Independent business owners, in particular, were struggling—even with government policies offering rent and tax relief, many couldn’t hold on.
Street-side shops were closing down left and right.
“Prime Location for Sublease” signs were everywhere.
At the same time, many companies had lost a significant number of employees and were hiring.
Job fairs were being held all over the country.
Population mobility was at its highest in a decade.
By the end of August, Jiang Cheng had finally packed up all the company’s equipment and shipped it back to S City.
She also bought a plane ticket to go home.
But from the moment she got to the airport in the morning, she felt off—her head was bothering her. Maybe she’d been too tired these past few days, or maybe she shouldn’t have turned on the air conditioning in the hotel yesterday.
It was already the end of August, and temperatures should have dropped, but there had been an unusual heatwave the past couple of days.
Jiang Cheng boarded the plane in a daze and slept through the flight.
When she landed, it was already afternoon. The departure city had been overcast, and so was the destination.
To her surprise, President Peng himself was at the airport to pick her up.
Jiang Cheng was stunned: “Has our company gotten that bad?”
It felt like they were about to go under and couldn’t even afford a driver.
President Peng’s face flushed with embarrassment: “I’m just a dedicated boss who cares about my employees. Don’t overthink it. We’re not going bankrupt—I’ve got deep pockets.” Jiang Cheng felt relieved: “Okay, then.”
Although the world felt “too simple” to her, she still had to eat, drink, and live. Being unemployed wasn’t a good thing.
President Peng chattered on the entire way, fussing over her in an unusually attentive manner.
President Peng was in his thirties and divorced. He had been a rich second-generation, and together with his wife, they’d started a company and made a lot of money. After the divorce, they split the business—one half each.
His ex-wife took the advertising side; he took the events and exhibitions side. Both continued to make money.
They’d ridden the economic upswing and made a killing.
But his luck had run out when the zombie catastrophe hit—his girlfriend had died.
His girlfriend had died.
Jiang Cheng: “…”
Jiang Cheng skipped over all the useless information and zeroed in on the key point.
President Peng was single. President Peng was in his prime at thirty. President Peng couldn’t stand being alone. President Peng was eyeing the young, pretty women in his company.
Jiang Cheng was the lucky young woman he’d set his sights on.
Jiang Cheng: “…”
Jiang Cheng felt her headache getting worse.
In a daze, she felt like she was forgetting something.
President Peng’s car was pretty nice, with dark tinted windows.
Jiang Cheng was terribly lightheaded, her eyes staring blankly at the road ahead, while President Peng droned on in her ear, building himself up as a devoted, sentimental man, pouring out his grief over losing his girlfriend.
He was hoping to arouse the young woman’s sympathy, and from there, nurture something more.
Just then, the overcast sky began to take on a faint purple tinge.
Just like two months ago, on that Saturday.
Jiang Cheng’s head felt heavy and foggy.
Just like two months ago, on that Saturday.
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