Jiang Cheng was almost lulled to sleep by President Peng’s endless rambling.
“Got a cold?” President Peng said solicitously. “Get some good rest when you get home. Don’t come in tomorrow—take the day off.”
Jixiang West Street was a one-way street, so Jiang Cheng got off at the intersection. “Thanks, President Peng.”
President Peng: “Get some rest, alright?”
Jiang Cheng dragged her suitcase and walked groggily toward the neighborhood’s east gate, feeling like she had forgotten something.
There was an odd sensation in her gut, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
An auntie greeted her warmly: “Xiao Jiang! Long time no see!”
The auntie was pulling a handcart, looking like she’d just come back from Duomai or some other shopping trip.
Jiang Cheng had no idea who she was—she was probably a resident of Jixiang Jiayuan. Too many people in the Tech New District knew her, and she couldn’t possibly remember all of them. She nodded in greeting: “Hello.”
The auntie walked alongside her for a couple of steps, muttering to herself: “Such a cloudy day, but the sky’s got that color.”
She pronounced “color” with a dialectal twang.
Jiang Cheng instinctively looked up.
Though the auntie was older, she was a regular square-dancer and walked briskly, quickly pulling ahead of Jiang Cheng.
After a few steps, she felt something was off and glanced back.
That girl named Jiang Cheng had stopped with her suitcase, craning her neck to stare at the sky, frozen still as if petrified.
The auntie turned back and continued on her way home to prepare dinner.
Jiang Cheng gazed at the sky.
That familiar, eerie purple.
She finally realized what she’d been feeling like she’d forgotten.
After the zombie crisis broke out, she had replayed that Saturday’s events in her mind.
Then she recalled that the lightheadedness that day wasn’t the kind from a cold—it was something else entirely.
It felt as if something inside her brain should have been unfurling, but was instead being clenched tight by invisible hands, blocking the flow of blood and air, leaving her groggy and foggy.
And that thing being clenched tight—it was the occasional fragments of memories from that other world that sometimes slipped through!
If it were only the eerie purple sky, or only the foggy-headedness, maybe it wouldn’t mean much.
But what were the odds of both happening at the same time?
And later, she had privately asked several people and confirmed that everyone had suddenly lost consciousness that day. Only she had experienced something like a fever.
Everyone else had woken up with no other abnormalities. Only her physical strength had become far greater than what “Jiang Cheng” remembered—even exceeding that of many men.
And on top of all that, the crucial factor was that she was a transmigrator from another world.
The transmigration factor was the key that tied everything together.
It took Jiang Cheng only a few seconds to sort out her thoughts.
Because of her unique status as a transmigrator, she experienced a special state when the zombie virus erupted.
At this very moment, based on that state, she could conclude—
The zombie virus was about to make a comeback.
Jiang Cheng paused for a second, pulled out her phone, composed a text message, and blasted it to everyone in her contact list.
Everyone.
Including colleagues, clients, and various service industry personnel she’d had temporary or routine contact with—like the police officers, hotel staff, warehouse workers, and rental car drivers she’d added during her business trip across three cities.
All members of the Youth Apartments temporary committee, plus some homeowners who weren’t on the committee.
Property staff like Master Luo and Yang Xinyan.
A few people from Jixiang Jiayuan, including Zhou Wang.
Contacts from Yujing Xiangyuan, Deqingli, and a few other neighborhoods.
Deputy Mayor Sun, Li Feng, Brother Dong from Duomai, Guo Jun, and others.
[WARNING: The zombie virus will erupt again today.]
[Get back to a space where you can isolate yourself as soon as possible. Be prepared.]
[This is Jiang Cheng. The above is not a joke.]
[Mass text from my contacts. Do not reply. Do not call back.]
Over two hundred people’s phones buzzed with an alert at the same time.
Almost all of them pulled out their phones, flipped them open, and read the message at nearly the same moment.
They all froze.
President Peng had just reached the intersection and stopped at a red light. He glanced at the message: “Huh? What the hell?”
She said it wasn’t a joke. If it wasn’t a joke, then what was it?
A young girl scraping by in S City, and now she’s predicting a zombie virus outbreak?
“Did the cold give her hallucinations?” President Peng was a little concerned.
But the light turned green, and the car behind honked impatiently.
President Peng hastily tossed his phone into the center console and focused on driving. He figured he’d give Jiang Cheng a call later after he parked to check on her.
Since he was interested in pursuing something with Jiang Cheng, he naturally had to be proactive.
Clients, police officers, and warehouse managers in other cities glanced at the message and frowned: “Which Jiang Cheng?”
Oh, that exhibition company girl. Right.
What was she trying to do?
Although the message said “not a joke,” it wasn’t enough to convince anyone.
She was just an employee at a private company—did she really think a zombie outbreak would happen just because she said so?
Those who had only met Jiang Cheng once or a handful of times didn’t believe the text. After reading it, they put their phones back down.
They didn’t take it seriously. Some were even annoyed that someone would joke about zombies. After all, almost everyone had lost friends or family to the zombie crisis.
This wasn’t a funny joke—it was repulsive.
A few people from Yujing Xiangyuan saw the message.
They had started working with Jiang Cheng around the time they answered the national call to come out of their homes.
They admitted that the girl did indeed have strong organizational and leadership skills.
But the zombies were coming back…?
Come on.
Zhou Wang at Jixiang Jiayuan saw the message.
His first reaction was the same as the people from Yujing Xiangyuan. He closed his phone, put it back on his desk, and continued working.
But for some reason, he felt unsettled.
Images of his interactions with Jiang Cheng kept flashing through his mind.
When that girl turned cold, her gaze was incredibly intimidating.
Zhou Wang couldn’t help glancing at his phone again.
The members of the Youth Apartments temporary committee and some residents who had dealt with her also received the message.
Most of them were still at work at this hour.
Song Jingshuo was in a meeting, dressed sharply in a crisp white shirt with a small, tightly knotted tie. The office building’s AC was blasting, so wearing a full suit was the only way not to freeze.
His gaze locked onto the phone screen.
The next moment, he snapped his phone shut.
Absurd.
That was any normal person’s first reaction.
But this was Jiang Cheng.
[This is Jiang Cheng. The above is not a joke.]
Yes, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t make a joke like this.
Song Jingshuo lowered his gaze, then looked back up, sweeping his eyes across the impeccably dressed, glamorous people in the conference room.
He stood up. “Sorry, something urgent just came up.”
In the elevator, he ran into a colleague. The colleague saw him press the button for B2 and casually asked, “Heading out?”
He gave a perfunctory “Yeah.”
The colleague got off first, turned around, and waved at him through the closing doors. “Bye.”
Song Jingshuo gave a stylish wave back.
The elevator doors closed, freezing his pose. It descended to the underground garage.
Song Jingshuo strode toward his car.
Once inside, he pulled a wired headset out of the center console and plugged it into his phone.
This year, phone manufacturers had released the first wireless earbuds—the most cutting-edge, fashionable thing around. All the trendy business types had bought them.
Song Jingshuo had followed the trend too.
They were pretty useless. Bulky, looked like hearing aids hanging on your ears, had short battery life, and ran out of juice quickly.
So Song Jingshuo still used wired earbuds when driving.
He called Jiang Cheng and started the car at the same time.
Even though Jiang Cheng had said not to call back, Song Jingshuo didn’t think he fell into the “don’t call back” category.
Jiang Cheng picked up instantly.
Jiang Cheng: “Are you on your way back?”
Song Jingshuo was equally brief: “Already driving.”
Jiang Cheng: “Good. Bye.”
No extra words.
Song Jingshuo drove, spiraling up the exit ramp.
How absurd, he thought.
This is too absurd. How could I believe something so ridiculous?
How could Jiang Cheng possibly predict a zombie virus outbreak?
In fact, even now, the authorities had never offered any explanation beyond the initial announcement of a “virus”—no details on what exactly the zombies were, how they happened, or the science behind them.
Song Jingshuo had always suspected that even the government couldn’t explain it.
Zombies were simply too fantastical. Their very existence defied logic and scientific understanding.
If even the government couldn’t explain it, how could Jiang Cheng, an ordinary person, have the ability to predict it?
How could I believe something so absurd?
Just then, the car emerged from the underground garage, and the view suddenly opened up.
I don’t believe in the absurdity, Song Jingshuo realized.
I believe in Jiang Cheng.
There was only one person who believed in Jiang Cheng even more than Song Jingshuo did—Li Jiangbing.
He was in the middle of negotiating with a client. She was a wealthy woman, and there was a good chance she’d sign up for a membership.
Li Jiangbing was pulling out all the stops to convince her.
Then the text message came.
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