Chapter 41.2: “You think you can just leave… without paying?”
Hanzhou was no longer the bustling city it once was. It had become a wasteland—zombies roamed freely, mutant beasts appeared without warning, and groups of terrified refugees stumbled through the ruins. Screams and curses erupted from every direction. Any time an ability user appeared, no matter their type, desperate people swarmed toward them, begging for protection.
Even X had attracted a crowd of humans, since it never attacked people—it only hunted zombies.
Some jumped up to grab its wings; others chased it down the street, sending the giant bird squawking in panic.
As they passed the collapsed front of a pharmacy, Xie Chongyi stopped.
He strode toward a silver sedan, bent down, and peered through the window at the driver’s seat.
After taking a quick look inside, he opened the car door. The driver—already turned into a zombie—tumbled out. The creature lunged immediately, but before its hands could even brush Xie Chongyi’s sleeve, its head burst open like a watermelon.
Xie kicked the body aside and slid into the car to inspect the interior.
“There’s a key,” he said, leaning out again. “Food in the backseat, and several boxes of medicine.” He glanced toward Wu Heng. “We’re in luck.”
Then, turning to the zombie doctor, his voice returned to its usual cold, detached tone.
“Get in the car.”
Following his professional creed of “treating patients gently,” the zombie doctor carefully set Wu Heng down in the passenger seat and even buckled his seatbelt for him.
“Where do I sit?” he asked, glancing toward the backseat—only to find it completely packed.
“Come with me,” Xie Chongyi said.
He promptly shoved the zombie doctor into the trunk.
Once everyone was in, Xie Chongyi turned the key. The engine rumbled to life—then, with a sharp bang, the car lurched forward and crashed straight into a utility pole a few meters ahead.
Everyone and everything inside the vehicle was thrown violently forward. Boxes in the backseat tumbled down with a series of dull thuds.
Wu Heng leaned back against his seat, and the vines that were supposed to be resting weakly crawled out from under his shirt, clutching at the upholstery for support.
“Never driven a car with a key before,” Xie Chongyi remarked matter-of-factly, calmly identifying the cause of the accident.
After a brief silence, the silver sedan let out a shrill screech as he shifted gears and pulled out of the parking space, speeding down the uneven, rubble-strewn road.
The car sped along. Wu Heng leaned against the window, watching the world outside blur past.
Not every place was crawling with zombies—most of them had gathered within the city. Outside, the ones they encountered were mostly humans.
Few carried any real belongings. Some clutched whatever junk they’d scavenged along the way, others wielded kitchen knives snatched up in panic while fleeing. Occasionally, they passed someone hugging a pet tightly in their arms.
They were the same as him—even while running for their lives, they refused to abandon their animals.
“Where are they going?” Wu Heng asked quietly, watching faces streaked with tears—men and women, the old and the young alike.
Before, everyone had hidden at home. Home was their last refuge—even if it couldn’t protect them, it was still the best place to serve as a grave.
But now, they had all been driven out.
They had become no different from any other creatures struggling to survive in the wild.
The boy driving said nothing in reply.
Wu Heng lowered the hand that had been resting against the window. Two seconds later, his brow furrowed.
“My bird… I think it didn’t get in the car.”
“It’s there,” Xie Chongyi said. “Look in the rearview mirror.”
Wu Heng looked up. Not far behind them, the gray bird was gliding through the air, closely following the car.
Seeing the subtle way Wu Heng exhaled in relief, Xie Chongyi drawled, “You spoil them too much. That’ll only make them lose their instinct to survive.”
“No, I don’t.” Wu Heng thought about it for a moment—honestly, he didn’t think he did.
Xie Chongyi hadn’t expected him to admit it anyway. Whatever Wu Heng said, did, or thought—none of it ever lined up.
But when something piqued Xie Chongyi’s interest, he had a habit of digging all the way down to the roots and clutching it in his hand. He smirked.
“Then would you treat me the same way you treat Lin Mengzhi?”
“Why?” Wu Heng’s eyelids drooped; he looked half-asleep, exhausted, the cut on his palm only now beginning to throb in pain.
“Would you?”
“No.”
“I knew it.” Xie Chongyi gave a short, cold laugh and stopped talking to him.
Wu Heng was on the verge of sleep, but he didn’t want to close his eyes. Xie Chongyi was the one driving; if he fell asleep too, there’d be no one left to keep watch.
“Class Monitor, I’m gonna sleep. Talk to me for a bit.”
“No,” Xie Chongyi said flatly.
“Why not?” Wu Heng picked absently at his fingernail. Did he somehow offend his food source?
“Because I don’t want to.”
‘What the hell,’ Wu Heng thought.
They weren’t the only ones driving for their lives on the road, but theirs was by far the fastest. Along the way, Xie even dealt with several humans who suddenly mutated into zombies mid-escape—dispatching them effortlessly.
After several hours of driving, with the fuel gauge dipping dangerously low, they finally arrived at the site where they’d collided with the insect swarm before.
Wu Heng went to open the trunk.
The zombie doctor inside, driven half-mad by hunger, let out a guttural snarl and lunged straight at him.
The boy smacked him across the face without hesitation.
With a sharp smack, the sound rang out loud and crisp — the force was so strong and the speed so fast that part of the zombie’s facial bones flew off.
The zombie doctor fumbled to pick up the fallen piece of bone and clumsily pressed it back into place. “The patient seems to be recovering well.”
Wu Heng ignored him.
Xie Chongyi had also gotten out of the car. He came to stand beside Wu Heng, the two of them silently staring at the ruin before them.
The once-straight highway had split apart into several jagged sections. The crushed remains and blood of the centipede-like creatures still clung to the asphalt. To the left, the hillside had collapsed — thick tree trunks were being carried away, half-buried in mud and stones. To the right, the ground had sunk downward into a deep drop. From their higher vantage point, they could see the dense forest below, uneven and tangled, the surrounding mountain ridges all shifted out of place.
“They’re down there,” Xie Chongyi said, glancing toward a spot in the forest. “I’ll take you down.”
Wu Heng liked being carried by Xie Chongyi, so he stepped a little closer to him.
Xie Chongyi bent down and scooped him up in his arms.
Wu Heng’s head bumped against Xie Chongyi’s solid, warm chest. This time, he not only caught the faint scent that always clung to the other man but also felt the powerful muscles beneath his clothes — strength completely unlike his own. He wasn’t weak by any means, but compared to Xie Chongyi, the difference was stark, though it never showed when Xie Chongyi was dressed.
Overhead, X soared through the air and landed steadily beside the zombie doctor.
“Hhhuh—”
The zombie doctor staggered forward, trying to pounce on it.
X, imitating Wu Heng’s usual way of dealing with him, smacked him with a wing, then clutched him in its talons and flew downward.
—
From the wreckage of the car, Xie Chongyi approached on foot. The first to spot him was Xue Qi.
Animal instincts really did outstrip human ones.
“Old Xie!”
Then Wu Heng appeared.
Wu Zhi stood up in disbelief. Tentatively, she called out, “Brother.”
When the other looked toward her, confirmation hit — and she broke into a run.
Even though she was scared, she still threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly as sobs burst from her throat.
“Brother! I really thought you were dead this time!”
Wu Heng patted her on the back once, then lowered his hand. “So last time was fake?”
Wu Zhi hiccuped from crying — and suddenly stopped.
After the reunion, everyone gathered a large pile of branches and logs, stacking them into a small hill. Once Lin Mengzhi lit it, they all sat around the warm bonfire.
Fire — like water — was the source of life. At a time like this, its glow offered at least a little comfort to their shaken souls.
“Where’s Li Shu?” Wu Heng asked suddenly, glancing around.
Dou Lu’s eyes filled with tears; she said softly, “He just fell into the fissure.”
Ruan Silian’s eyes were dull and lifeless. “He was saving me…”
Silence hung heavy in the air. Even Du Yaoyuan’s expression was dark.
Li Shu hadn’t been particularly close to anyone — truthfully, none of them were bound by deep affection. Xie Chongyi and Xue Shen were closest friends; Wu Heng, Lin Mengzhi, and Wu Zhi formed their own tight trio; Dou Lu and Ruan Silian were inseparable; and Xue Shen and Xue Qi were brothers.
If they spoke of personal feelings, there wasn’t much to mention.
What connected them — what made them grieve for each other’s deaths — was that they were human. They were survivors.
Wu Heng wove the vine in his palm into two thin braids. Then he noticed that a few people away, Xue Qi was doing the same — only he was using spider silk instead.
The two caught each other’s movements and couldn’t help sharing a brief smile.
Xie Chongyi had been watching Wu Heng the entire time. After a long while, he smiled too — but his was a cold one.
“Let’s talk about what comes next,” Xue Shen said, sitting cross-legged on the ground, his hands resting on his knees. The firelight flickered across the cracked corner of his glasses. He was always calm, always steady — and when he spoke, everyone listened.
Du Yaoyuan asked, “Can we go back?”
Xie Chongyi leaned back on his hands, his tone lazy. “You think the earthquake only happened under your ass?”
“You went back to Hanzhou?!” Dou Lu’s eyes widened in shock.
Xue Shen tilted his head curiously. “You didn’t take long… how did you make it back so fast?”
Xie Chongyi glanced at Wu Heng. Wu Heng looked down at X, the exhausted bird curled up by his legs and already asleep. He stroked its head; the bird didn’t even open its eyes, just twitched its claws weakly.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Xie Chongyi said. “Hanzhou’s already in post-quake condition. No one knows when the aftershocks will hit. If you want to go back, suit yourself — but once you leave, don’t come back.”
Du Yaoyuan lowered his head, hope draining away.
Going back to a ruined Hanzhou was gambling with death; following their class monitor was likely the better choice.
It was Shen She — the newcomer who had only met them today — who spoke up softly. “My mom and I escaped from Hanzhou. There’s really no point going back now. Unless there’s an official effort to rebuild, even if you return, what you’ll find isn’t a skyline — it’s collapsed concrete and steel.”
“Everyone in Hanzhou is running,” he continued. “I’m guessing most people are like my mom and me — they just know they have to flee, not where to go. I’m sure this isn’t just a local quake; it must be happening everywhere, maybe stronger in some areas, weaker in others.”
“And you are?” Xie Chongyi asked.
Xue Qi immediately threw aside his spider silk. “Shen She — he’s in the class next to mine! Plays the cello really well. Not as good as my violin, though.”
Xue Shen rolled his eyes and said to Xie Chongyi, “He’s from International Art High too.”
Xie Chongyi didn’t respond. He didn’t need to — even Xue Shen knew to fall silent after that.
Shen She seemed oblivious to the tension, still tapping playfully against Xue Qi’s leg. The middle-aged woman beside him, however, had gone pale, all color drained from her face.
“Y-yes, they’re friends,” she stammered, “they’re very close. Xue Qi even visited our house before. We haven’t been infected—we’re good people. No matter where you’re going, please, take us with you. Don’t leave us behind.”
For a woman like Ji Zelan—graceful, composed, and successful before the apocalypse—pleading so humbly to a group of teenagers was humiliating. But she didn’t care anymore. Her instincts told her these children weren’t ordinary.
And besides, in a disaster like this, every extra person meant another bit of strength. She had to make sure she and Shen She stayed with them.
Wu Heng was braiding the sixth strand of rope, while Xie Chongyi still hadn’t said a word.
He thought she was pretending—putting on an act.
Dou Lu stretched her stiff legs; Xue Shen wiped his glasses with a dirty corner of his shirt. Wu Zhi, curled up with the bird in her arms, slept soundly and peacefully.
“You’re good at playing the cello?” Xie Chongyi finally spoke, his gaze flicking toward the instrument case standing not far behind Shen She.
“I suppose it’s… barely listenable,” Shen She replied.
Ji Zelan immediately swatted his arm and hurried to add, “He plays wonderfully! Really, he does! Go on, Shen She—play something for everyone!”
Her enthusiastic attempt to “promote” him stirred a strange, bittersweet feeling among the group—like those old New Year gatherings, when families would cheer on children to perform a song or a dance. It was a tender sort of nostalgia, tinged with grief.
Would such days ever return?
Shen She got up from the ground, walked over, and retrieved his cello from the case. After glancing around, he chose to sit on a fallen tree trunk, split in half by the earthquake.
He adjusted his posture, settled the cello, and smiled softly.
“The piece I’m going to play,” he said, “is one I composed last week. I call it ‘The Death of Humanity.’”
Wu Heng was still bent over, fingers deftly braiding the vines. He heard what Shen She said.
‘This one’s pretending too,’ he thought.
Anyone who could attend International Arts High and be close friends with Xue Qi couldn’t possibly come from an ordinary background. Despite his current disheveled state, the moment Shen She drew his bow across the strings, it was as though a soft, luminous light surrounded him—bright, but never blinding.
The music flowed like a mountain stream—sometimes swift, sometimes slow, sometimes heavy, sometimes tender—pouring straight into everyone’s hearts.
Perhaps only Xue Qi truly understood the technique, but even the others could feel the emotions behind it: shock, fear, chaos, despair, and calm—the inevitable steps one takes on the road to death.
Wu Heng grew drowsy. He wound up the last vine, yawned, and tears welled in his tired eyes.
But just before a tear could fall, his expression froze.
His head dropped lower. His eyelashes trembled slightly.
He placed his bandaged hand against his stomach.
He seemed hungry.
He wanted to eat someone.