On the way back, Feng Qingyue saw someone towing a car. After a moment's thought, she went up and politely inquired.
The staff member's attitude was calm, as if already accustomed to it: "Some people fell ill outside. We received a notification to bring them to the Management Center. Their cars can't be left on the road, so we tow them to a designated location for registration. They can retrieve them later if they remember."
Feng Qingyue looked bewildered: "Management Center? Where is it?"
The staff member gave an address, and Feng Qingyue suddenly understood: "Isn't that an apartment complex?"
The other person perked up: "Yes, yes! That complex is already completed, and some units even have premium finishes. I heard some have been sold. But since no one has moved in yet, they requisitioned it for the Management Center."
Feng Qingyue nodded: "The apartment layout is quite suitable. By the way, is it one person per room?"
"Definitely. We certainly won't lock them up together—if they fought, that would be troublesome."
Feng Qingyue feigned concern: "Is food delivered to them?"
Several staff members laughed: "Zombies don't eat."
Feng Qingyue nodded. Everyone seemed to have tacitly accepted the term "Zombie."
"Hurry home. It's not safe outside anymore. If you're not careful and get caught by an Infected, you'll definitely get infected."
Another person nearby added: "Sigh, some Infected clearly have family at home, but as soon as they hear they need to take them back, they just hang up the phone."
Feng Qingyue sighed along with them, thanked them, and returned to the residential area.
As she was about to go upstairs, she ran into an elderly couple—or more accurately, the residents from the first floor next door came out when they saw her. Holding a box of disposable masks, they pitifully stopped her.
They actually wanted to trade masks for snacks from her home.
After living there for many years, even without speaking, everyone recognized each other's faces. After encountering them many times, she naturally knew their household composition. They knew her family had children, and she knew theirs had children and able-bodied adults too. She had even run into them last time she went out.
The elderly man's hand trembled as he held the box of masks, his eyes pleading and his tone humble, saying he just wanted to trade for something tasty for his own child.
It seemed as if Feng Qingyue would make them cry if she refused.
Feng Qingyue was speechless. She didn't need to look to know that the able-bodied adult and child from that family were definitely watching from behind the window.
Hah, using masks that can't protect against the virus to trade for food, not coming themselves but sending the elderly to play pitiful—well, this was the elderly couple's own choice. After all, their backs and legs were usually quite sturdy.
Feng Qingyue wouldn't stand on moral high ground to criticize others, and others shouldn't try to use morality to guilt-trip her either.
She deftly sidestepped them, ignoring the voices behind her.
Grumbling under her breath, she went upstairs, locked both doors securely, fastened all the safety bolts, and entered the quiet home, free from the occasional howls in the residential area. She sighed in relief, washed her hands and face, changed clothes, and then entered the bedroom.
Both father and daughter were asleep.
She took their temperatures: Shu Dabao was 37.5°C, Shu Hanguang was 38°C.
Feng Qingyue was startled and immediately gave them medicine, then wrung out a towel to wipe them down. After all the busywork, her back ached so much she could barely straighten it. Her temples throbbed, and her head pounded with pain.
She took her own temperature—normal.
She took an ibuprofen.
She made a video call home, checking on everyone one by one—all were fine. Feng Qingyang, however, told her about incidents happening here and there, with armed forces being deployed directly.
He had many friends, so he could learn about news from other places through private chats.
Feng Qingyue told him about the management center.
Feng Qingyang said it had fallen into someone else's hands.
Feng Qingyue said, "It might not be better even if it falls into the hands of our own people. Some of those who fell ill outside, their families aren't willing to take them back."
Feng Qingyang immediately asked about the preparations at her home. After listening, he directly told her not to go out: "It's too dangerous. This morning, I saw a Zombie run out and bite someone's neck."
Feng Qingyue's face tightened: "You went out?"
Feng Qingyang sighed: "Right on the street. That Zombie looked like a passerby to me, and the one bitten was a loafer who always wandered around aimlessly on the street."
Feng Qingyue: "…Then why were you wandering around on the street?"
Feng Qingyang: "I had a legitimate reason. The village organized a group of people to patrol. I went on patrol."
Feng Qingyue bit her lip. She couldn't tell him not to go. How many public positions could the village have? What could be accomplished by relying on just a few people from the village committee? Besides, everyone in the village was familiar with each other, and there were so many households from the same clan. To ensure their own families were protected by the village, each household would surely have to contribute one person.
Who could her family send? Only Feng Qingyang. There was no one else to replace him.
Only now did she realize the advantage of having a large family.
She could only remind him to carry plenty of cooling oil in his pockets, sprinkle more essential balm on his clothes, and never be without floral water in his hands.
Speaking of this, Feng Qingyang also found it strange: "Zombies really are afraid of this stuff. What's there to be afraid of?"
Feng Qingyue didn't know either. She ended the video call and went to check on the two, taking their temperatures. There wasn't much change. Shu Dabao was sleeping soundly, so she changed the towel on his forehead. Feng Qingyue woke Shu Hanguang and asked if he wanted to eat.
Shu Hanguang did. Even with his mind muddled by fever, he still wanted to eat—no, he wanted to eat meat.
Feng Qingyue helped him lean against the headboard, scooped up some meat dishes and a little broth, and fed him one bowl after another. Shu Hanguang ate comfortably and then lay back down, pulling the blanket tightly around himself.
Feng Qingyue cleaned up and sat by Shu Dabao's bed, scrolling through her phone. Human adaptability was remarkable. By now, she had grown accustomed to the appearance of Zombies and noticed a problem: some people didn't change much in appearance after turning into Zombies and still resembled their former selves, while others had exaggeratedly distorted features. What was the reason for this?
Was it due to differences in the depth of infection or the duration?
Would there also be differences in their subsequent recovery?
As dusk approached, Shu Hanguang broke into a sweat, soaking the bedding. Feng Qingyue changed his clothes, replaced the blanket, sheets, and pillowcases, washing what needed to be washed and hanging what needed to be dried.
Suddenly, it dawned on her: Shu Hanguang had sweated, but Dabao hadn't sweated at all!
Her heart tightened. She didn't know which symptom was better at this point. She immediately started scrolling through the news, where reports of recovery after illness began to appear. Feng Qingyue read about people sharing their firsthand experiences of surviving the infection. They spoke clearly, their minds sharp, and they seemed as if they had only gone through a common cold, without even showing signs of weight loss.
As for the progression of their infection, fever was inevitable. Some had higher fevers, others lower, and some experienced other complications. Sweating was also more pronounced in some and less so in others.
After listening to all this, she found little reference value.
There was also a little boy completely immersed in the excitement of showing off the green light emanating from his palm to the camera. His broad smile and pride made it seem as if falling ill was entirely worth it.
This was the Awakening of a Supernatural Ability.
Feng Qingyue rubbed her chin. They were about the same age, and her Dabao wasn’t lacking in any way—he was sure to awaken a Supernatural Ability.
There were also cases of people displaying great strength and speed after recovering from illness. Feng Qingyue felt that Shu Hanguang was bound to become incredibly strong; otherwise, that big frame of his would be wasted.
Yes, everything was looking up, just like that!
Shu Xin called over video, and the two of them discussed the news through the screen, both somewhat deliberately insisting that Shu Hanguang and Shu Dabao would definitely recover and even become Ability Users. They even debated which Supernatural Ability was the best.
In the background, Father Shu and Mother Shu frowned, trying hard to understand but looking confused. What Supernatural Ability? What exactly was the news talking about?
After the call ended, Feng Qingyue’s shoulders slumped, and the forced energy on her face vanished completely. Her temples throbbed as if being hammered, her nerves stretched taut like a bowstring, unsure when they might snap.
She set an alarm on her phone to go off every twenty minutes, hoping that the two of them would recover by tomorrow so she could finally get some proper sleep.
She swallowed two ibuprofen tablets.