Chapter 59.1: Wolf
“Ahh~”
“……”
Wu Heng withdrew his hand. “It’s gone.”
He had a personal storage space—something even Wu Zhi didn’t know about. Most likely Shen Ping’an didn’t have a clue either, and of course, he wouldn’t tell Xie Chongyi. His connection with the latter wasn’t even as close as with the first two.
Xie Chongyi smiled at him. “You’re keeping it all to yourself.”
Wu Heng folded the candy wrapper into a neat little square. “Isn’t the class monitor allergic to chocolate?”
“Forgot.”
The boy shot Xie Chongyi a glance, then tossed the candy wrapper into the fire pit.
Over by the stove, Lin Mengzhi had the fire blazing fiercely. He carried a pouch full of energy cores and, whenever he took a short break, absorbed one or two. The mutant field mice had very low evolution levels; after a few tests, he found it was fine to absorb two at once.
The middle-aged man doing the cooking was also surnamed Zhao. He told Lin Mengzhi to call him Second Uncle Zhao. Mainly, he just wanted Lin Mengzhi to stop keeping the fire so high—there was barely any oil in the pan, and one big flame could burn it all off. The thought alone made Uncle Zhao’s face twist in pain.
Even if Lin Mengzhi hadn’t been skilled at controlling fire before, after cooking this meal, he’d practically mastered it.
“How many siblings do you have, Uncle Zhao?” Lin Mengzhi tried to make small talk.
Uncle Zhao’s hand, which was stirring the pot, suddenly stilled. A shadow crossed his face. “Not long ago… all gone.”
“…Oh.”
Lin Mengzhi realized he’d brought up something he shouldn’t have. Flustered and guilty, his control slipped for a moment, and the fire almost reached the ceiling.
Uncle Zhao’s mouth twitched—he just barely stopped himself from cursing.
The pot was ready.
A single slab of fatty mutant vole meat could render enough oil to fill a whole bowl. Uncle Zhao carefully ladled the oil out, spoon by spoon, not spilling a single drop. As he worked, he said, “This oil’s nice and clear. After we eat, I’ll render the rest of the fat ones—you can take the oil with you on the road.”
The others nearby, already drooling, nodded eagerly. “Thanks, Uncle! We haven’t had a proper meal in ages.”
The diced meat hit the hot oil with a sharp sizzle, and the rich aroma immediately filled the air. Half a minute later, when it came out of the pan, the dried chili peppers, Sichuan peppercorns, and garlic slices saved up by the village were tossed in next. Once the fragrance bloomed, Uncle Zhao poured the mostly cooked meat cubes back in and stir-fried them together, sprinkling in just a little salt. The room was soon overflowing with mouthwatering scent.
Water was scarce, so after finishing one dish, Uncle Zhao couldn’t bear to wash the wok. Instead, he poured in more oil, threw in a big bowlful of dried chili segments, then half a basin of minced pickled long beans. He ladled in more than half a pot of thick, milky pork broth, and when it came to a boil, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “This meat’s fresh—perfect for dipping thin slices in hot broth. Once you eat it, your whole body feels warm through.”
“Old Zhao’s finally putting those cooking skills of his to use again,” Zhao Rui said, clapping the man on the shoulder.
Wu Heng hadn’t been hungry at first. These days, his appetite only stirred for things raw and living; no matter how many ways mutant beasts were cooked, he rarely felt tempted. But perhaps the cook’s skill was simply too good today—after the poppy spirit inside him finished eating her fill and lay content, he suddenly felt hungry too.
He didn’t show it, though. He didn’t like to show anything.
When Lin Mengzhi served him soup, only giving him a shallow bowl, Wu Heng nudged him lightly with his knee and pushed the bowl forward again.
Lin Mengzhi got the message and filled the bowl to the brim with meat broth.
The village hadn’t eaten such a hot, fragrant meal in over half a month. Aunt Wang, who was in charge of rationing supplies, refused to let her son or Zhao Rui leave the village to scavenge. Resources only went out and never came in, so she economized to the extreme—everyone had been living on thin, watery soup each day.
Today, she finally decided to be generous—though not too generous. She opened a bag of rice, mixed it with a whole bag of cornmeal, and steamed them together, blending coarse and fine grains into one pot.
Plate after plate of sliced meat was dipped into the rolling broth—each piece needed less than ten seconds before it could be lifted into a bowl and eaten in hearty bites. Whether it was because they hadn’t had meat for so long, or because mutant beasts simply tasted different from ordinary animals, today’s meal was so delicious it made everyone feel like they could swallow their own tongues along with it.
The adults kept eating bowl after bowl without end, and even the children couldn’t stop shoveling food into their mouths. When Aunt Wang felt their little bellies—hard and round as stones—she worried they’d get indigestion. With firm resolve, she took their bowls away despite their protests.
Zhao Rui chewed on the end of his chopsticks. “You sure it’s not just because you’re stingy?”
“Shoo, shoo!”
Steam hung thick above the soup pot, white and hazy. The firewood under it never went out. Outside, the world was frozen and buried in snow, but inside, it was so warm that no one could stand wearing their padded coats anymore.
The old village chief hadn’t eaten much. He sat to the side, quietly feeding more wood into the fire, his face softened by the glow of the flames.
“Didn’t expect the voles to grow that big,” he said. “How’s the situation up in the mountains?”
Aside from Wu Heng, the other three who had gone up the mountain all started chattering at once, animatedly reenacting their adventure. This time, they didn’t just brag about how heroically they’d caught the mutant voles—they recounted everything they’d seen from the moment they left the village.
The old village chief listened carefully, then fell silent for a moment before turning to Aunt Wang. “Seems like going out more often isn’t such a bad thing after all.”
“Of course not,” Du Yaoyuan said proudly, his tone cocky and his tail wagging sky-high. Every now and then, he shot glances at Ruan Silian. “Things change every single day out there. Stay cooped up at home for a couple of days, and you’ll turn useless.”
“Were there only voles in the snow? Did you run into any wolves?”
Lin Mengzhi said no—not even a strand of wolf fur.
Zhao Mingxiang added quietly, “They usually come out at night.”
Zhao Rui immediately shot back, “Oh, and how would you know?”
Zhao Mingxiang couldn’t be bothered to argue. He continued calmly, “I keep night watch at the pavilion. Most of the time, the mutant wolf packs appear after dark. I’ve never seen one during the day.”
“Snow’s a good thing, then,” someone said. “At least those giant bugs are gone.”
“I’d rather it stay winter forever,” another replied. “When spring comes… who knows what kind of monsters will show up out there.”
Wu Heng listened quietly as everyone talked over one another, voices tumbling in all directions. He stayed still and unassuming, his presence barely noticeable—except for the steady movement of his chopsticks, which hadn’t stopped since the meal began.
“Mengzhi…” he murmured, nudging the endlessly chatty Lin Mengzhi beside him with his knee.
Across the table, two or three middle-aged men had gotten into a heated debate with Lin Mengzhi, Du Yaoyuan, and Xue Qi. Each held firm to his opinion, none willing to back down.
Even while arguing, Lin Mengzhi didn’t forget his task—he poured a full basin of meat slices into the bubbling pot, gave it a quick stir with his chopsticks, and kept right on trading blows across the table.
“What we need to do now is wait,” one man insisted. “Before long, the government and the military are bound to take action. That’s for sure.”
“I say we can only rely on ourselves,” another countered. “Counting on others never works. What happens when those monsters climb the walls, huh? The government won’t even know where we are—and right now, can’t you see? We’re already running short on food!”
“The zombies in the city and the ones in the mountains aren’t the same at all,” someone else chimed in. “In the city, people are packed together, the virus keeps mutating, infection rates go wild. But the mountain ones—those zombies are… greener. More wholesome.”
Wu Heng heard Lin Mengzhi beside him let out an audible snort of frustration, his breathing rough.
Unbothered, Wu Heng calmly picked up three or four slices of meat at once and popped them into his mouth, lowering his gaze to focus entirely on chewing.
He ended up being the last person still eating, and no matter how much he tried to fade into the background, it was impossible not to notice him now.
Aunt Wang stacked the empty serving bowls together and caught sight of the boy still eating. “Well, aren’t you something! This young man’s got quite an appetite.”
Uncle Zhao glanced over with a smile. “That’s the best age to be—can eat as much as you want and never gain a pound.”
Aunt Wang fetched two more plates of sliced meat and set them down.
Zhao Rui tilted his head. “What’s this? Did the sun rise in the west today?”
Aunt Wang made a show of reaching to pinch his ear, but he dodged away. She huffed. “And what, you think that mutant vole meat just fell from the sky? It’s thanks to him you’re eating at all today.”
“Really?” Zhao Rui turned toward the boy in surprise. He wouldn’t have guessed it—truly wouldn’t. It wasn’t just because of Wu Heng’s appearance or demeanor; the first time Zhao Rui met this group of younger high schoolers, he could already tell they weren’t a completely unified team. Within their little group, everyone seemed to have their own circle, their own small alliances.
And among them, at least at first glance, the boy didn’t look like someone with authority. The leader role, Zhao Rui had thought, probably belonged to the one with glasses—or maybe that ridiculously good-looking friend of his. As for the ones who did most of the “talking,” Zhao Mingxiang had told him before: those were the loud, showy types. Zhao Mingxiang had never mentioned analyzing the quiet one. But from the surface alone… this was the first time Zhao Rui really took notice of the boy.
—He was too calm.
Since the world had ended, everything around them had been overturned beyond recognition. Fear, anxiety, and tension clung to everyone’s faces to some degree. Yet this boy didn’t have any of that. He was… normal—so normal that it was, in fact, abnormal.
Zhao Rui realized then that in any team, the truly strong ones are never the ones who talk the most.
Wu Heng kept eating, mouthful after mouthful, as though his stomach were a bottomless pit.
Maybe it was because of how he’d grown up—his environment hadn’t taught him how to eat openly or comfortably. His eating manner was neat and restrained, delicate almost, like a hamster nibbling at seeds.
Xie Chongyi had long since set down his own bowl and chopsticks, but when he saw that Wu Heng’s bowl was empty again… and again… and again…, he picked his chopsticks back up, grabbed a large chunk of meat from the pot, and dropped it into Wu Heng’s bowl. “Eat, eat.”
Wu Heng paused for a moment, then went on eating quietly.
That night, he tossed and turned in bed. His stomach churned and swelled with a dull ache that wouldn’t go away.
It felt like he’d overeaten—he might actually have given himself indigestion.
Wu Heng is hungry🤤