The boy’s mouth hung open as his face turned pale. A persistent wheezing sound rattled in his throat, and he struggled visibly for every breath.
Most of the private rooms in the bath center had no windows, resulting in poor air circulation. The days of heavy rain had infused the blankets with a cold, clamy dampness. Combined with the lingering stench of rot permeating the city and the sudden drop in temperature last night, those with poor health were finding it increasingly difficult to survive.
“Sister Zhou, where are we going to find asthma medicine at a time like this?” said a man wrapped in an ill-fitting old coat. “The nearest pharmacy is a block away, and there are so many zombies down there. It’s not that we don’t want to help, but going out is just throwing our lives away.”
Someone else began to worry. “I heard that when people die, they turn into zombies… Sister Zhou, look, how about this—you take the child to the fire escape for now. If you need anything, we’ll…”
Sister Zhou interrupted him hysterically, “My child is in this state, how can you say such a thing! That’s too much!”
“It might sound harsh, but there’s a doctor here and no medicine; it’s only a matter of time. You can’t be so selfish as to put us all in danger.”
“He’s right. My neighbor was fine at first, even braved the rain to buy medicine. That night he died and came back, and he bit his whole family to death! Everyone understands how you feel, but you have to consider the rest of us too.”
The couple’s eyes reddened as they listened. They wanted to argue, but seeing their child’s suffering, the words died in their throats. Even those who usually had a good relationship with them stood by in silence.
At that moment, Cheng Yan pushed through the crowd to examine the boy. He quickly helped the boy into a more upright position to assist his breathing.
Seeing his professional demeanor, a flicker of hope ignited in the couple’s eyes. Sister Zhou asked urgently, “Are you a doctor? Please, save my Xiaoyang.”
Cheng Yan paused, his expression heavy. “In this situation, without an inhaler, he won’t make it.”
Sister Zhou collapsed to the floor, the light in her eyes fading as tears streamed down her face.
“I have a bottle of medicine, but you have to give me something in exchange. Flour, noodles, or other food.” Song Jinhe walked in and looked at Sister Zhou.
She didn’t have many of these specific medications; she kept them primarily as a “just in case” measure.
“Is a bag of dried noodles enough?” Sister Zhou asked desperately.
“That works.” Using her pocket as a cover, Song Jinhe pulled the inhaler from her space, giving the cardboard packaging a couple of squeezes before handing it over.
Sister Zhou scrambled to take the medicine and administered it to the child. As the boy’s breathing began to steady, the couple thanked her repeatedly while handing over the noodles.
Song Jinhe stowed the noodles in her bag and turned to leave. Behind her, the whispers started almost immediately.
“How could she have the nerve to ask for something in exchange for a life-saving favor? Isn’t that just profiteering from a disaster? If I had medicine, I would have given it to Sister Zhou long ago,” said a woman who was close to Sister Zhou.
Someone nearby chimed in, “She comes out with such a big bag and treats us like thieves; how could she possibly be short of food?”
“Quiet. That girl is fierce. Yesterday, she used that… that zombie-killing rod to scare Wu Dayong so much he couldn’t even speak.”
Yang Minghao pulled Cheng Yan aside to ask about the zombie virus.
Cheng Yan didn’t mention they had come from the hospital; he only shared what he knew.
He didn’t know much, but he had personally witnessed the process of a human turning from a high fever into a corpse.
Most of the infected didn’t last more than 16 hours after the fever started, and even the longest cases didn’t exceed 48 hours. Once they died, it took anywhere from 30 seconds to 5 minutes for them to “revive.”
“Does someone in your group have asthma too?” Yang Minghao asked, seemingly out of casual curiosity.
“A family member, but they don’t need it anymore.” Song Jinhe lowered her head to hide her lack of grief.
Yang Minghao found it difficult to press further. After hearing they were planning to set out buckets to collect rainwater, he spoke a few more words and left.
The four of them carried eight marked plastic buckets to the terrace. Looking at the gloomy sky, the zombie-infested streets, and the flooded areas where various objects floated in the distance, even breathing felt oppressive.
Upon learning that Song Jinhe planned to go out for supplies, the other three insisted on coming along. Considering they needed someone to stay at the bath center to prevent anyone from sealing the entrance, they decided after some discussion that Peng Zhixue would stay behind.
Before leaving, Song Jinhe picked up several empty soda bottles from the floor of the cafeteria while no one was looking.
Many parts of the mall had yet to be searched. They first arrived at the 10th-floor restaurant area, opting to search separately while maintaining a distance that allowed them to support each other.
By midday, Song Jinhe’s space was significantly fuller. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say she had struck gold.
Two unopened drums of cooking oil.
Three cases of beer, half a case of empty bottles, and five cases of mineral water.
One large jug of purified water.
Fifteen 10kg bags each of rice and flour.
Dry goods like macaroni, sweet potato starch, and buckwheat noodles.
Pre-packaged hotpot bases, milk, tea leaves, and several seasonings.
Potatoes and sweet potatoes still covered in soil.
Clean pots, a small kitchen knife with a 16cm blade, a toolbox, and two flashlights with full batteries.
Disposable lunch boxes (for storing cooked food in her space later).
When she truly couldn’t fit anything else, she followed the scent of decay to find isolated zombies.
A dull thud echoed as another zombie fell.
“What are you… trying to do?” Cheng Yan finally couldn’t help but ask after watching her all morning.
Others couldn’t run away fast enough when they saw a zombie, yet she actively sought them out. And just now, the expression on her face was all wrong—she looked almost… excited?
“Practice,” Song Jinhe replied without hesitation.
Cheng Yan: “…” That actually makes a lot of sense.
But when he stepped in to help, what was with that look she gave him—like he was “stealing her kill”? She really just wanted to kill zombies!
Song Jinhe brought out a pot and utensils from the hotpot restaurant. Cheng Yan and Zhang Yi broke apart a wooden chair and took off their blood-stained outer layers to boil water.
They broke off half a block of hotpot base and let it boil. They tossed in ham sausages, instant noodle cakes, and vermicelli they found in the shop. The aroma was intoxicating.
“It would be better if we had meat. Hotpot without tripe and lamb rolls feels like it’s missing its soul,” Song Jinhe sighed as she poured some orange juice.
The power had been out for so long that all the fresh meat had rotted. They had been driven out of the kitchen by the stench the moment they opened the walk-in fridge. However, there was half a crate of eggs in the warehouse; Song Jinhe took a few to boil in the hotpot and stashed the rest in her space.
“Ham and sausage have meat in them too.” Zhang Yi rolled up her sleeves and served Song Jinhe two large scoops of food first. “I never expected to eat hotpot in the apocalypse. This time, I’m going to eat enough to make up for the next few meals!”
After devouring the hotpot and juice, the three of them made several Molotov cocktails and headed to the next floor.
Cheng Yan noticed that Song Jinhe seemed to be truly addicted to killing zombies; she was practically a “Sword Saint” of physics. He eventually gave up trying to keep up and focused on clearing corpses while teaching Zhang Yi how to effectively deal with them.
By 6:00 PM, it was already dark. Unable to make it back to the bath center, they decided to spend the night in the executive office on the top floor.