“You mean you’re preparing it in advance so you can eat it in the car later.”
“Hmph~ you’re pretty smart.” Next time, they might not have the chance to cook so leisurely like they did in the forest. Outside, it was better to have food that was easy to eat.
After saying that, she couldn’t help but glance at him again. Even chopping firewood looked so pleasing to the eye—what exactly did the heavens deprive him of?
Fu Yinli must be blinded by his own future prospects every day!
After silently complaining to herself, Ruan Zhe simmered the chicken soup while starting to roll out dough at the small table.
She rolled the dough into a large round sheet, about two millimeters thick—very thin. Then she brushed it with oil evenly, sprinkled a layer of salt over it, and finally added chopped scallions.
After spreading the scallions evenly, she rolled the dough up from one side into a long strip, then coiled the strip into a round disc. She flattened it again with a rolling pin into a larger round sheet, slightly thicker than before.
Then she let it rest for a while.
By then, the chicken had already been stewing for about forty minutes.
Ruan Zhe lifted the lid. Steam rushed toward her face. She narrowed her eyes and stirred the pot with a spatula. The chicken had already turned tender and falling apart. The dried bamboo shoots were fully soaked in broth, the potatoes had completely softened and nearly dissolved into the soup, making it thick and rich.
She then added pine mushrooms and hazel mushrooms into the pot. The moment they went in, the aroma doubled.
The fragrance of pine mushrooms was deep and rich, while the hazel mushrooms were more delicate and clean. After adding bracken and simmering for another ten minutes, the soup was finally done.
She served some to eat, and set the rest aside to cool. Then she packed it into small bowls and disposable lunch boxes so they could eat it in the car later.
She also scrambled eggs with wild scallions.
Finally, she reduced the heat on the stove. Without a flat pan, she used a large iron wok, brushed a layer of oil on the bottom, and placed the rolled scallion pancake inside.
Sizzle…
As soon as it touched the oil, the aroma of scallions was released by the heat, becoming even stronger, with a hint of crisp fragrance. The pancake slowly turned golden, its edges slightly lifting.
She flipped it over, and waited until the other side also turned golden, forming bubbling layers throughout.
The first scallion pancake was done. Ruan Zhe lifted it out, cut it into small pieces, and brought one over to Fu Yinli.
“How is it?”
“Delicious.” Fu Yinli paused. “Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, just the right amount of salt.”
His evaluation this time was detailed, and Ruan Zhe felt quite pleased. “The chicken is even better. Try it later.”
She fried a total of four scallion pancakes and packed them all up.
This meal was, without a doubt, the most abundant one the two of them had ever had.
Fu Yinli himself wasn’t someone who liked mixed dishes, but he still ate several pieces of pancake and quite a lot of chicken.
Their time at the farm had only one day left. The two of them used it to rest and ensure they got enough sleep.
On the final day, they washed the car together, inspected it again, and prepared all necessary supplies. Fu Yinli chopped a lot of firewood, then rested again. With full stomachs, they waited inside the car for the countdown.
Zhao Desheng had seen dead people before, and he had also seen people on the verge of death—but he had never seen anything like this.
Pale gray skin. Cloudy eyes. A mouth opening and closing, teeth still clinging to flesh torn from somewhere unknown.
That day, his family of three was buying groceries when, suddenly, the butcher across from them bit down on a customer’s neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, splattering onto the hanging pork beside him.
He couldn’t remember much after that. He only remembered his wife grabbing him, lifting their daughter, and running.
His wife knew the wet market well. They ran toward the exit—but saw many of those things gathered there too.
So she decisively led them back to her shop and pulled down the metal shutter. She had been selling fruit in the market for years.
The shop was small, about twenty square meters, with a back room stacked with fruit crates.
She locked the shutter with chains and blocked it with boxes.
Outside, there were chaotic screams, cries, and running footsteps—then they turned into a low, continuous sound of guttural growls and chewing.
By the next day, the noise had weakened.
By the third day, the market had gone quiet.
Quiet did not mean safe. They had peeked outside before—the scene was in complete chaos, and those monsters were still there.
They had enough supplies in the shop to last for a while: over a dozen crates of fruit and bottled water.
But then came the continuous rain. Their daughter, already weak in health, developed a fever after being terrified by the horrors outside.
She curled up in her mother’s arms, her face flushed red, lips cracked. Her mother kept placing a wet towel on her forehead.
“She needs medicine,” the wife said.
“Where would we even get medicine?”
“There’s a pharmacy at the east end of the market.”
“You going?”
“I’ll go.”
And she did. When she came back, she was in a sorry state—not only did she bring fever medicine, she also brought other drugs, and even several of those curved flatbreads.
The girl’s fever eventually broke, but she was still very young. Despite trying her best to stay quiet, she still occasionally made small sounds.
Every time that happened, Zhao Desheng would silently stare at her.
Crying would attract zombies. He found a roll of tape and wrapped it around his daughter’s mouth layer by layer.
His wife tried to stop him, but he slapped her away.
“If you want to live, shut up.”
Later, the daughter’s fever went down, but she became extremely afraid of Zhao Desheng and no longer dared to make any sound.
Perhaps there were no living people outside anymore. Zhao Desheng didn’t know how many days had passed. Checking his phone was meaningless. Humans could survive on fruit, but not with strength alone—and the wet market had other supplies too.
Maybe it had been half a month. The zombies began to ram the door, as if they had sensed food inside.
There weren’t many of them, but Zhao Desheng was still afraid. Afraid that staying here meant death.
But in this situation, no matter how afraid he was, he still had to survive—especially he himself.
So he tied up his wife and daughter. He left his wife in place and carried his daughter, looking through the door at the zombies outside.
“You love me, right?” Zhao Desheng looked at his wife.
But she only stared back at him with eyes full of hatred and disgust.
Then he turned to his daughter, who had not spoken a word since that day. “Tongtong loves Daddy, right?”
No response. Zhao Desheng grew angry.
Outside, the zombies seemed excited, several of them pressing against the crack in the shutter, mouths opening and closing, making guttural sounds.
He had already removed the boxes and chains behind the door, and prepared the inner room door.
He stepped back, turned sideways, then slightly opened the shutter—pressing his daughter against the door—before suddenly running backward.
The gap in the shutter widened. A zombie had already squeezed half its body inside, its gray hand reaching toward the girl’s face.
BOOM—
A flash of white light.
Zhao Desheng had already rushed halfway out through the inner door, and he felt himself flying.
“Damn… the right rearview mirror is gone!”