Chu Yao said no more after Chen Yexun’s speech on “atonement.” She buried her face deep between her knees, her shoulders trembling occasionally from leftover sobs.
Yet Chen Yexun could feel a change.
The suffocating, suicidal despair clinging to her had thinned.
Deep within her tear-swollen eyes, something faint yet resilient had been reignited.
Something that could be called a purpose.
Seeing her calm down for the moment, Chen Yexun said nothing more.
Leaning against the cold metal wall, he kept watch through the gaps in the branches while speaking to her in a low, clear voice: “Listen.
If infected really get drawn over here later, the only thing we can do is lie flat and stay dead quiet.
Don’t peek, don’t make a sound.
Whatever they say down there, whatever noise they make, pretend you’re deaf.
Exposing our position means death.” He pointed toward a specific corner of the train car.
“Lie down over there.
It’s a complete blind spot from below.” Chu Yao followed his finger and nodded silently, her voice raspy.
“Got it.” Chen Yexun went silent.
He felt a faint flicker of surprise at himself.
Was it because he valued her skills as a nurse, or because he saw his own self-imposed sense of guilt reflected in her?
He realized, with surprising clarity, that deep down, he didn’t want her to die like this.
Leaning back, he rubbed his brow tiredly, his eyes drifting to Li Chengyu, who was unconscious but breathing steadily.
*No point dwelling on it…* he thought.
*Survive first.* A long, heavy silence settled.
The red glow faded as the sun sank below the horizon, replaced by a murky, deep-blue twilight.
Visibility was still adequate, but fine details blurred into shadows.
In the direction of the distant city, muffled explosions occasionally thundered—faint, lingering like the groans of a dying world.
*Nothing’s come over after all this time…
Did those explosions draw them away?* Chen Yexun harbored a sliver of hope.
The prolonged silence and frayed nerves took their toll.
Just as Chen Yexun thought Chu Yao had fallen asleep, she carefully crept closer, leaning in and whispering softly in a voice like a feather: “Why…
do you know so much?
Why are you so…
professional?
So calm?” Her tone carried curiosity and a faint, unspoken reliance.
“You were the one who made the plan on the cable car…
and later…
you handled Brother Wang without hesitating…” Chen Yexun raised an eyebrow slightly.
He was surprised both that she initiated the conversation and that her sentences were fluent now, lacking the stammering terror from before.
Extensive vigilance was draining.
While keeping his ears primed for any sound, he offered a low, casual response: “Maybe…
I watched too many apocalypse movies.” Chu Yao gave a soft “Oh.” She clearly didn’t buy it, but tactfully didn’t press, taking it as a polite brush-off.
Another brief pause followed, filled only by the wind and Li Chengyu’s rhythmic breathing.
Then Chu Yao whispered again, switching topics: “It feels like…
you and your cousin are really close?” Chen Yexun wondered why she was suddenly so chatty, but the subject was gentle enough to relax his tense nerves.
Slipping into memory, he lowered his voice further: “When we were kids…
not really.
We didn’t see each other much.
Not until middle school, when we happened to end up at the same…” He paused, feeling “happened to” wasn’t quite accurate, but didn’t bother correcting himself.
“…I was in seventh grade, he was in ninth.
That’s when we started hanging out.” Something crossed his mind, and the corner of his mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible smile.
“Speaking of which, back in middle school, older girls liked me a bit too much…
ended up pissing off some guys who cornered me after school.” Chu Yao’s curiosity was piqued.
“What happened?” “What happened?” A trace of amusement bled into Chen Yexun’s voice.
“My cousin just happened to walk by.
Didn’t say a word—just charged in and kicked the leader right in the gut.” “Wow…
then what?
Did he beat them all off?” “Yeah.
Sent them running.” Chen Yexun paused, adding the actual truth: “Though when we got home, we both got chewed out by our families because our hair looked like bird nests.” He omitted the rest: his cousin had been nearly swarmed after that first kick, and it was actually Chen Yexun’s unhinged ferocity—gouging eyes, swinging bricks at heads—that scared the bullies off.
Chu Yao seemed to picture the scene and let out a soft laugh.
The tense atmosphere eased for a rare moment.
Just as she was about to ask something else, Chen Yexun’s expression snapped tight.
He raised a hand in a sharp, urgent command for silence!
Chu Yao’s heart leaped into her throat, choking off her words.
She instantly mimicked him, crouching low and holding her breath.
Silence.
Dead, suffocating silence.
Then she heard it.
From the bushes not far below, a faint rustling sound reached them.
No hysterical laughter.
No roars.
Just a cautious, careful movement, as if something were picking its way through the foliage.
A wild animal?
Or…
other survivors?
Chu Yao held onto a shred of hope, but dared not be reckless.
What if it was a group of infected who knew how to stifle their laughter, making them even more dangerous?
She didn’t dare lift her head to look.
At that moment, Chen Yexun moved.
Extremely slowly, he retrieved his phone, using the faint twilight to quickly drop the screen brightness to its absolute minimum, then gestured to Chu Yao.
Chu Yao understood instantly, pulling out her own phone and turning the brightness all the way down.
Chen Yexun opened his memo app, typed rapidly, and showed her the screen: *Add me on WeChat.
Text if anything comes up.
Do not make a sound.* Chu Yao nodded right away.
In total silence, they quickly added each other as contacts.
Once connected, neither typed another word.
Chen Yexun marveled inwardly at the fact that the mobile network hadn’t crashed despite the apocalypse.
The speed was noticeably slower, though.
It made sense—what determined cellular service were satellites and ground base stations.
As long as the infrastructure hadn’t suffered widespread physical destruction, the network would hold out temporarily.
Night fell completely.
Darkness enveloped the train car, save for the faint, firefly-like glow of their phones at minimum brightness.
Chen Yexun sent Chu Yao a message on WeChat: *Sleep for a bit.
I’ll take the first watch and wake you in the second half of the night.* Chu Yao replied quickly with a single character: *Okay.* Her screen went dark, followed by the faint sound of her lying down as quietly as possible.
Chen Yexun opened his map app and began studying it carefully.
If Li Chengyu woke up, where should they go next?
Food was scarce.
Chocolate provided high energy, but water was a hard limit—the three of them could last two days at most.
Large malls or supermarkets?
Crowded areas—out of the question.
Small corner stores in residential neighborhoods?
Usually situated at the base of apartment buildings, equally dangerous.
His finger slid across the map, coming to rest on scattered, isolated points.
As expected, the best targets were gas stations along the highway routes.
The attached convenience stores had relatively complete supplies, and their geographical location meant low surrounding population density.
The screen’s faint glow reflected in his calm, focused eyes.
He zoomed out, searching for and marking every gas station closest to their current location.