On the sixth day, starting from midnight, both Shu Hanguang and Shu Dabao suddenly developed high fevers. This fever was quite peculiar, rising and falling unpredictably. At first, Feng Qingyue was shocked that the medicine seemed to take effect immediately after being administered, but she soon realized it hadn’t worked at all, failing to stabilize their rollercoaster-like temperatures.
The fever had already reached a peak of 39 degrees Celsius, lasting for over ten minutes before subsiding on its own, only to spike again after another ten minutes or so. Feng Qingyue rushed back and forth between the two rooms, wiping one down and taking their temperature before immediately moving to the other to do the same, then repeating the process. A whole night passed, and she never had a chance to sit down and rest properly, not even finding time to change their clothes.
The temperature points recorded in her notebook traced out two undulating curves. The night was as murky as her mind and eyes, and the high peaks and low troughs on the paper twisted together, forming the face of a devil that mocked her mercilessly—a clown, a puppet dancing in the palm of fate. Its gaping mouth seemed to chant: Give up, give up, they’ll all die, they’ll all die…
The alarm clock rang, and Feng Qingyue pinched her thigh hard. She couldn’t collapse. Even if she were to collapse, she had to see this through for the man and the child first.
She turned off the alarm, went outside, picked up the ibuprofen left on the table, took out a blister pack, and frantically popped out a handful of pills. Without counting how many, she tossed them into her mouth and washed them down with water.
She didn’t leave the house that day. Early in the morning, both sides of the family video-called, but seeing her exhausted and haggard face, they hesitated to ask anything.
Feng Qingyue’s head was still throbbing with pain, and the ibuprofen seemed to have lost its effect. With what little rationality and patience she had left, she forced a smile, unaware of how terrified the people on the other side of the screen were, fearing she might collapse at any moment.
She said, “Everything’s fine, all normal. I think they’re almost better.”
She thought she was smiling, but her face had grown numb, unable to form any expression.
Both sets of elders shed tears. Feng Qingyue didn’t have the energy to say much, barely managing to urge them to take care of themselves before ending the call.
By noon, the father and daughter’s temperatures had stabilized, and Feng Qingyue saw a glimmer of hope. She seized the opportunity to sleep for a while, still setting intermittent alarms. Fortunately, their temperatures remained steady until evening.
But Feng Qingyue couldn’t relax, as the roars erupting in the residential complex grew more frequent. Standing on the balcony, she even caught glimpses of figures swaying behind some windows. Accompanied by the sounds of shattering objects, things falling over, and walls and doors being pounded.
It was deeply unsettling.
She clutched her clothes tightly.
Suddenly, a clattering noise from an iron door startled her. She looked sharply in its direction and saw a household diagonally across opening the sliding iron door that sealed their balcony. A figure quickly retreated inside, followed by inhuman roars, as a stiff figure half-walked, half-crawled onto the balcony.
Feng Qingyue craned her neck, watching clearly as the person inside held two bottles of insect repellent in their hands, spraying frantically at the infected person who had turned into a Zombie from a distance of over a meter. The Zombie hissed and roared, crawling backward until it reached the edge of the balcony.
With a loud clatter, the iron door swiftly closed and locked, and the glass door inside was quickly shut as well.
Feng Qingyue: “…”
She had misjudged them. She had thought they might push the Zombie over the edge… Ahem.
She examined the zombie closely—its limbs stiff, face bluish with bared fangs, eyes bulging, and blood vessels thick and prominent. It clung to the balcony railing, growling and snarling, its feet constantly kicking backward as if it had suffered some immense injury.
Was the mosquito repellent really that damaging?
She couldn’t make sense of it.
Many people in the surrounding area were watching that household, and someone shouted loudly, "Hey, you in that house! You’re just keeping the zombie locked on the balcony? Have you no sense of public decency?"
The tone was furious.
Another voice yelled, "You’re even abandoning your own son?"
There was no response.
Feng Qingyue retreated indoors. In the residential complex, aside from the top floor and the first and second floors, which were required to have fully enclosed protective barriers, some households on other floors had installed them while others hadn’t. Those who had installed them were better off—they had enclosed the outer edges of their balconies, effectively making the balcony part of the indoor space. But for those hastily added later, where could they find workers to install such barriers? For example, in her home, Shu Hanguang had purchased sliding frame doors installed outside the glass doors, so the balcony was considered an outdoor area.
The dramatic scene at that household provided a new idea for those with outdoor balconies.
Perhaps the wind had dispersed the scent of the mosquito repellent, as the zombie driven onto the balcony gradually regained its energy, shuffling around and growling incessantly. Its movements were stiff, wandering aimlessly—when its feet were blocked, it simply changed direction. It could only take steps, unable to run, jump, or climb.
Likely because traces of mosquito repellent remained on the door, it never ventured in that direction.
This was far more authentic and reliable than what was shown on television, and Feng Qingyue observed it from time to time.
A few hours later, the balcony door reopened. Craning her neck, Feng Qingyue saw two workers cautiously slip a restraint over the zombie and drag it away.
Yes, drag. The zombie didn’t want to leave the balcony, but it couldn’t even bend over to grab anything. With its arms bound stiffly, it fell over and was dragged away without mercy.
Probably the strong smell of mosquito repellent inside the house made it instinctively avoid the area.
The workers deliberately spoke loudly, standing by the open balcony door: "We’re taking him to the XX apartment. Once he’s registered, we’ll send you his address and room number. You can bring him back anytime you want."
She didn’t know how the family responded.
In any case, things quieted down.
But the peace didn’t last long. More workers began entering and leaving the complex, each time taking away one or two zombies.
Feng Qingyue sighed. It was probably for the best—they’d get their own rooms at the management center, which had to be better than staying at home smelling mosquito repellent, right?
During video calls with both families, Feng Qingyue didn’t mention the situation here, but the other side brought it up first. It turned out the news had reported on management centers being set up across various regions, including their city.
Feng Qingyang laughed with a complicated tone: "They built so many housing projects that couldn’t sell, and we thought they’d be abandoned. Who knew they’d end up being used for something like this?"
Shu Xin also mentioned that a new housing project they had previously considered had been requisitioned.
Her words were tactful, but Feng Qingyue could tell they were afraid she might send Shu Hanguang away.
"His temperature has stabilized. He’s been feverish for three days, and the news said temperatures usually drop after three days, right? It should be about time."
Shu Xin insisted he would recover, and Feng Qingyue agreed, saying everything would be fine.
But that very night, the roars of zombies in the complex rose and fell in waves, making it impossible for anyone to close their eyes.
It seemed the complex was experiencing a true zombie outbreak.
From around eight or nine in the evening, Shu Hanguang and Shu Dabao suddenly spiked a high fever again. Feng Qingyue dared not pause, continuously administering medicine, wiping them down, and checking their temperatures, completely ignoring the cries of zombies outside, the shouts of people, and all sorts of sharp, muffled, chaotic noises.
She only knew she had to protect their small home.
Sleepless through the night, Feng Qingyue swayed on her feet, exhausted. Swallowing a whole tablet of ibuprofen at once did little to ease her headache. She thought she probably wasn't infected, as her temperature had remained normal. But with the situation around them like this, who could avoid infection?
By eight or nine in the morning, the father and daughter's temperatures had dropped slightly again. Shu Hanguang's bedding was soaked through, while Shu Dabao still showed little sign of sweating.
Feng Qingyue couldn't let her guard down. She continued filling out the routine reports. The property management's check-in chain allowed her to see the submission status. With a quick scroll, she noticed many unit numbers had not yet submitted, uncertain of their circumstances.
After changing the clothes and bed sheets for both, washing and hanging them out to dry, Feng Qingyue stepped onto the balcony. People were moving about in the residential complex, many wearing identical uniforms—they were here to take the infected to the management center.
If no one could escape infection, wouldn't it be more convenient to manage them right within the complex?
For now, it was probably to reassure the uninfected, to give everyone a sense of security.