Chapter 2: Because I Killed Them
He opened the window to let the stench of rot and blood dissipate from the warehouse. After the foul air had cleared, Wu Heng picked up the school uniform jacket Chen Shuang had taken off earlier and put it on. His frame was slender, and even Chen Shuang’s uniform looked oversized on him.
When he pulled open the warehouse door, the damp yet fresh outdoor air contrasted starkly with the suffocating atmosphere inside. As if drawn by something, Wu Heng held onto the doorknob and turned to look back.
The warehouse was dim and gloomy. Desks and chairs were stacked haphazardly, cleaning tools were broken and incomplete, and several cabinets were covered in thick layers of dust.
Creak—
The cabinet holding Chen Shuang suddenly began to slowly open outward. A pale, bluish-white hand abruptly reached out, fingers digging tightly into the cabinet door.
Following the arm, a pair of rotting, bleeding eyes crept into view.
Silently, Wu Heng took out his knife and stepped back into the warehouse.
He crouched in front of the cabinet and slowly tilted his head, until his eyes were nearly level with Chen Shuang’s inside the cabinet. “…”
With a roar, Chen Shuang lunged forward, and Wu Heng swiftly pulled open the cabinet door. The folding knife pierced directly into the center of Chen Shuang’s brow.
Chen Shuang’s twisted body convulsed violently, and guttural growls escaped from deep in his throat. His shriveled, blackened hand gripped Wu Heng’s arm, sliding down to his wrist. With a final push, the remaining two centimeters of the blade sank fully into his brain. Soon, Chen Shuang’s hand went limp and fell.
Wu Heng paused.
After a long moment, he slowly pulled the knife out and gently closed the cabinet door.
Leaving the warehouse, Wu Heng stood at the entrance, turning the key in the lock until it could no longer move. Only then did he pull it out.
After glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, he walked down the steps and tossed the key into the trash can beside the running track.
He stood still for a long time, gazing at the school he had spent nearly three years in. The teaching building had been newly constructed in recent years—elegant and grand.
The uniquely designed flower beds lay scattered between the classrooms and the sports field, and paths shaded by trees of varying heights formed tranquil walkways perfect for a quiet stroll.
Not far away on the sports field, a few boys were playing basketball in the light drizzle. Each time they scored, a cheer erupted, blending with the laughter and chatter coming from the classroom building. Together, they formed the most beautiful symphony of youth.
It was also the final symphony.
Wu Heng smiled faintly.
Back in the classroom, Wu Heng ignored everyone. He yanked out his backpack, dumped all the books inside onto the desk, and instead stuffed it full with the half-eaten snacks and drinks from his drawer.
His deskmate was startled by the sudden action. “What are you doing?”
Wu Heng replied, “I’m going home.”
“?”
A big question mark practically appeared on his deskmate’s face, but Wu Heng’s tone left no room for doubt. The deskmate glanced at his watch—it was only 10 a.m. Going home?
Wu Heng wasn’t close to anyone in class. He had mild face-blindness and was introverted, not fond of talking. He hadn’t even fully learned to distinguish all his classmates yet. But Yang Ao had been his seatmate for nearly three years.
After zipping up his backpack, Wu Heng hesitated briefly, then said, “Didn’t they say online that the world’s ending? You should go home too.”
Yang Ao burst into loud, earth-shaking laughter. After he calmed down, he slapped Wu Heng’s thin shoulder and said, “Then you better hurry up and go. When the apocalypse hits, someone like you won’t even last long enough to be a full zombie meal.”
Wu Heng wasn’t the type to offer friendly retorts. Without sparing Yang Ao a glance, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked away without looking back.
Yang Ao stared blankly. “Is this idiot seriously leaving?”
Class was about to start, so more students were returning to their classrooms. Wu Heng was the only one walking in the opposite direction.
At a time like this, someone carrying a backpack stood out. People kept turning around to look at him, but Wu Heng just kept his head down, focused on his phone and walking forward.
[Three days left.]
[I don’t get why you all refuse to believe the apocalypse is coming. A rainy season that lasted millions of years once brought devastating destruction to Earth’s lifeforms. This time it’s only been three years, but it’s already caused massive damage—flash floods, landslides, mudslides, urban flooding—and then there’s the increasingly frequent incidents of people randomly going berserk and attacking others.]
[Anyway, I’ve already quit my job. I spent half my savings stocking up a whole room full of supplies.]
[Whoever believes this stuff is an idiot…]
[Feels like some people probably have a few hundred kilos of salt stocked at home.]
[Whatever. If it’s the end of the world, then bring it on. I’ll fight if I have to.]
Wu Heng didn’t want to die. He filtered out most of the sarcastic, mocking comments, only focusing on the useful parts and quickly took note of the things he still needed to prepare.
Long-lasting food and daily necessities, warm clothing, lightweight yet high-damage weapons for self-defense, reinforced entry and exit points for his shelter, alarms, surveillance equipment, and so on.
The only problem was—he probably didn’t have enough money.
Even if he scraped together everything he had, it would only be enough for some food.
The stairwell was damp and dim. Beads of moisture glistened on the walls, and the steps beneath his feet were sticky and slick.
Loud, rowdy laughter from a group of teenage boys echoed up from the floors below and soon closed in on Wu Heng. Hearing how many of them there were, Wu Heng instinctively moved to the side, walking close to the handrail.
Yet someone’s gaze remained fixed squarely on his pale, slender face.
“Wu Heng?”
Xie Chongyi stepped in to block his path, glancing at the backpack slung over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
Wu Heng looked up.
His irises were darker than most people’s—round black pupils made the upper half of his face seem like a cold-blooded creature in its youth: innocent and confused. He pressed his lips together. The softer lines of the lower half of his face offset the impression of naivety, giving him an air that was both stubborn and detached.
“I’m… going home.” Wu Heng answered quietly, then quickly lowered his head again.
Xie Chongyi tilted his head and leaned in slightly, trying to catch Wu Heng’s averted gaze with his own.
Even though he was standing one step below Wu Heng on the staircase, he somehow still seemed a bit taller.
Wu Heng had mild face blindness and a solitary nature, so he couldn’t remember most of his classmates’ names—he couldn’t even tell who was who in many cases. But Xie Chongyi was an exception. Wu Heng could recognize and remember him.
Humans are visual creatures. Wu Heng’s ability to remember Xie Chongyi wasn’t due to any particular familiarity between them, but because Xie Chongyi’s appearance was unforgettable—striking and rare. With his sword-like eyebrows, starry eyes, broad shoulders, upright posture, long legs, and narrow waist, everything about his bearing screamed that he was someone born to be admired and doted on.
Even if Wu Heng wanted to be face-blind to him, it was almost impossible.
“This afternoon’s class is with the homeroom teacher. You sure you’re skipping it?” Xie Chongyi asked casually when Wu Heng once again turned his head to avoid eye contact.
Wu Heng shook his head. “I’m not going.”
As class monitor, Xie Chongyi asked only out of routine. He didn’t really care why Wu Heng was skipping class. He stepped past him and tossed out a line over his shoulder, “Be careful on the way.”
“Thank you,” Wu Heng replied, but Xie Chongyi, tall and long-legged, was already far down the stairs.
The boy had long grown used to being ignored and left out. He wasn’t bothered, and continued down the stairs without hesitation—until, just as he took the next step, a strange scent hit his nose.
What is that smell?
Wu Heng was puzzled.
It was a rare kind of aroma—not perfume. Following the trail of the scent, he turned his head. It smelled like… something delicious.
—
Pushing a shopping cart, Wu Heng tossed the items he’d listed in his notes into it one by one.
He didn’t have much money. When he made the list, he hadn’t considered taste at all—only whether the food could last and how filling it was.
The supermarket shelves were packed with a dazzling variety of goods, but Wu Heng focused on buying large quantities of potatoes and flour—both cheap and long-lasting. As for carrots, pumpkins, and cabbages—vegetables that could only be stored for a few weeks or at most a month—he bought far less, only fifty jin (about 25 kg) of each. The supermarket auntie assumed he worked for a restaurant and enthusiastically helped him bag and tie everything up.
When he reached the seasoning aisle, Wu Heng picked up an entire box of salt without hesitation. He didn’t even glance at the other condiments. In his mind, if the apocalypse really came, as long as food was edible, taste no longer mattered.
There were still things left on his list, but after checking the time on his phone, Wu Heng decided he’d come back tomorrow to get the rest.
Bag after heavy bag of supplies rolled out past the checkout, yet the total came to less than 3,000 yuan—barely a third of the stash he’d secretly saved up.
After paying, Wu Heng called Lin Mengzhi, his childhood friend whom he’d known since they were little.
Lin Mengzhi had stopped studying after middle school and joined the workforce early. He now worked in the back kitchen of a hotel, prepping ingredients. When his phone rang, he excused himself to his supervisor and stepped aside to answer.
“A’Heng? Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”
Wu Heng replied, “Mengzhi, I need a favor.”
Lin Mengzhi was usually quiet and timid, so when Wu Heng used a tone he wasn’t used to hearing, he was a bit surprised. But as Wu Heng continued, the casual, laid-back look on his face slowly disappeared.
He nodded repeatedly as he listened. His supervisor started calling for him, growing impatient from waiting, but Lin Mengzhi pretended not to hear.
After Wu Heng finished, Lin Mengzhi anxiously scratched his head. He wasn’t good at complicated things and didn’t think too much—so he quickly gave Wu Heng his answer.
“Okay, I’ll come over right now.”
After hanging up, Lin Mengzhi began taking off his work uniform.
“Hey! Kid, the boss has been calling you for ages!” shouted a chubby guy nearby.
Lin Mengzhi tossed his work uniform onto a chair. “I quit.”
Before anyone in the kitchen could even react to what was happening, Lin Mengzhi had already taken off running with his phone in hand.
—
Wu Heng didn’t have to wait long at the supermarket—just half an hour before Lin Mengzhi arrived, still reeking of grease and smoke. When he saw that Wu Heng was still wearing his school uniform, he swallowed hard.
At that moment, he was almost certain Wu Heng wasn’t making any of this up.
Because if Wu Heng had skipped class for no reason, his dad would’ve beaten him half to death.
“You said you had photos. Let me see them,” Lin Mengzhi said between breaths.
Wu Heng pulled out his phone, opened the gallery, and showed Lin Mengzhi the photos he had taken earlier in the school storage room—of Chen Shuang and Zhao Qiansun.
But the panoramic “artistic” shot that Wu Heng had taken—one he found particularly striking—he didn’t show.
“Holy—”
The rotten flesh, no longer even resembling a human head, and the exposed eyeball staring out from the mess were enough to shock anyone’s senses. Lin Mengzhi turned pale and staggered back a few steps, his voice a pitch higher than usual.
“Where are they now?”
“I locked them in the storage room,” Wu Heng replied. “Can we move all this stuff to your place? I don’t want to end up starving.”
“We can, sure, but that’s not the point right now. A’Heng, that’s not the point!”
Lin Mengzhi spun around on the spot a few times before turning to face Wu Heng, speaking rapidly: “We need to call the police—tell them everything. Let them investigate this whole freaky situation.”
“And besides, if what you’re saying is true—if the end of the world is really coming—we should tell everyone. Let them prepare in advance!”
Wu Heng listened quietly, his expression unusually obedient as he nodded. But the very next second, he gave a helpless smile.
“But if we call the police,” he said softly, “I’ll get arrested too.”
“Why?” Lin Mengzhi asked, confused.
Wu Heng lowered his eyes, lashes casting a shadow over his face. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Because I killed them. I smashed them to pieces. And in the end, I stuffed them into a cabinet.”
