Song Jinhe glanced at the desolate row of shops ahead—a small supermarket, a coffee shop, and a tavern. She parked her car behind the buildings and stepped out, clutching her kitchen knife.
The weather was bleak. Behind the glass doors of the supermarket lay a scene of total chaos; the shelves were mostly stripped bare, miscellaneous items were scattered across the floor, and a few zombies wandered aimlessly inside.
Her arm was so weak she could barely lift it, so Song Jinhe decided against entering the supermarket. Instead, she headed straight for the small tavern. The sight of the countless empty beer bottles inside made her eyes light up.
There were also high-proof spirits and plenty of bottled purified water—everything she needed. Clean water, in particular, was a resource she consumed rapidly.
As she was moving supplies into her space with one hand, she suddenly heard the sound of tires rolling over the ground outside.
Song Jinhe quickly stashed the remaining water, gripped her knife, and retreated toward the back. Seeing only a kitchen and a storage room, she immediately turned and bolted for the second floor.
She had just stepped onto the wooden stairs when voices echoed from below.
“This liquor is the good stuff! Before the end of the world, a bottle like this cost four figures.”
Then came the sound of a cap being unscrewed.
“Don’t drink too much and mess things up.”
“I know. Do you really think they’ll head toward Nanhe District? We’ve been waiting on the road out of the city for a whole day.”
“Not necessarily. This road is easier to travel. The water in the city is receding; anyone who can get out will be fleeing in the next few days.” The man with burly arms took a heavy swig directly from the bottle.
There were four of them in total—all thickset, hulking men. Song Jinhe pressed her back against the wall, her body tensed like a coiled spring.
“I’m going to check the back storage room to see if there’s any top-shelf liquor hidden there.”
Hearing the approaching footsteps, Song Jinhe held her breath and crept further upward.
The old wooden stairs were prone to creaking. She pressed herself sideways, eyes fixed on the space below the staircase, moving with agonizing slowness and caution.
Just as her foot landed on the final step, she turned around to find a tall, long-legged man with striking features standing right in front of her.
His features—especially his eyes—were incredibly refined, carrying a hint of cold detachment and indolence. His lack of aggression made him look entirely out of place in the apocalypse.
Song Jinhe’s eyes darkened. She swiftly pressed the kitchen knife against his waist and lowered her voice. “Don’t move.”
The man seemed to freeze for a second. His gaze swept over the stairs, but he said nothing.
Sensing his wrist beginning to lift, Song Jinhe pressed the blade closer. “I said, don’t move. Or I’ll bury this knife in your kidney.”
The man lowered his eyelashes, a trace of surprise flickering in his eyes before he let out a nonchalant chuckle. “At this angle, you won’t hit the kidney. You should aim a bit higher.”
Song Jinhe: “……???”
“To be able to sense my intentions like that… is it Perception?” His voice was low and his tone pleasant, yet it carried a faint, underlying pressure. “This is the first time I’ve seen a mental-type Talent.”
Last time, he had assumed the sudden appearance of her knife was her Talent. It seemed there was another reason.
Song Jinhe knit her brows tightly.
With just one sentence, he had analyzed her Talent. A few days ago, Brother Scar had fired so many shots and remained deadlocked with her for so long without ever figuring it out.
“You’ve seen other Talents?”
Song Jinhe didn’t follow his lead; she was afraid he was testing her.
The man’s voice dropped an octave. “You have an injury on your hand, and your Talent is unstable…”
At that moment, a noise came from the storage room. The man from downstairs emerged holding two bottles of spirits and shouted gruffly, “There’s a second floor here too?”
Hearing the creaking of footsteps on the stairs, Song Jinhe tightened her grip on the knife and forced the man to hide further back into the shadows with her.
The footsteps drew closer.
The second floor was an open layout with nowhere to hide. Song Jinhe focused all her mental energy on the stairs and the movements of the man beside her.
What she didn’t see was the expression on the face of the man she was threatening. He didn’t look like someone under duress at all; rather, he looked like he was actively cooperating.
“It’s about time to go. Don’t waste time,” another male voice called out from below.
The man with the liquor grunted in response. He stood at the top of the stairs, gave a cursory glance around, and turned to head back down.
Song Jinhe kept the knife raised as she led the man out from behind the wall to the window. She watched until the group walked out of the tavern.
“In your current state,” the man continued, picking up where he had left off in a leisurely tone, “you can’t do anything.”
As he finished speaking, he shifted his body to the side. Song Jinhe’s reaction was just as fast; she raised her knife and lunged after him.
The next moment, her wrist was seized. The tip of the knife stopped two finger-widths away from his chest, unable to move forward another inch.
“West District Commercial Center. Grey coveralls. A bite wound on the left shoulder.” He looked into Song Jinhe’s deep, dark eyes, his own devoid of much emotion. “The decomposition wasn’t severe. Movement speed was slightly faster than the other zombies in the area.”
“What?”
Song Jinhe froze. Soon, it clicked. This man was describing the characteristics of the first zombie she had seen get shot in the head from behind two days ago.
She only remembered the grey coveralls. If it hadn’t been for the shock of seeing that zombie’s skull shatter and brain matter spray everywhere, she wouldn’t have remembered even that much.
“That person was you?”
“I didn’t expect that the next time we met, the person you’d be trying to stab would be me.”
He avoided touching her injury, but the grip on her wrist was firm enough that she couldn’t break free.
Song Jinhe looked at the prominent knuckles on his hand. “How about we both let go at the same time?”
He released her, and Song Jinhe lowered her hand, taking a step back.
“Why… why did you help me back then? Was that car explosion your doing too?”
Why?
He paused for a moment. Her face was too vivid—a pale, sickly complexion dotted with flecks of bright red blood. Her eyes were lighter than most people’s. Standing there, she was simply too conspicuous.
When he killed, he did so decisively. Almost instinctively, he had sniped that zombie while using it as a sample for observation.
“Probably because you’re human. And good-looking—especially when compared to the surrounding zombies.”
That didn’t sound right.
Comparing a person to a zombie? No normal person would think a bloated, water-logged zombie looked good.
“Aren’t you going to treat the wound on your hand?” He skillfully pulled a first-aid kit from a nearby cabinet and placed it on the table.
“You seem… very familiar with this place?”
Song Jinhe was thinking that while Brother Scar’s gang only had a single handgun, this man could use a sniper rifle and knew quite a lot. He didn’t seem like an ordinary person.
She wanted information. But while he knew about her Talent, she knew nothing about him.
“I’ve been here before. My name is Jiang Shian.” He looked at the flickering light in Song Jinhe’s pale eyes. “Are you alone?”
“Song Jinhe.” She gave him her name and carefully pulled her right hand out of her coat, revealing a blood-soaked bandage.
Jiang Shian paused. “To treat it so carelessly and still manage to survive alone in the city for several days… that’s not easy.”
It was more than “not easy”—it was a hardship she couldn’t even put into words. Did he think she wanted to wander the city for that long? Spending the night in a car was terrifying, but she simply hadn’t been able to find the way out.
Jiang Shian expertly took what he needed from the medical kit. Unable to bear Song Jinhe’s clumsy, violent attempts to tear off the sticking gauze, he motioned for her to stop and let him do it.
“Repeatedly tearing the wound has worsened the injury. If not for your constitution as a Talent, the tissue inside the wound would have become necrotic by now. It would have required debridement to heal.”