Chapter Thirty-Nine: City Center

In an age of peace and prosperity, a prison was hardly a suitable place for anyone to live. Within its walls, darkness and dampness prevailed; aside from a few minutes each day to stretch one’s legs within the confines of the yard, all other hours were spent locked in a cramped cell, enduring endless misery.

Zhao Qiang had once considered setting up his base on the famous Orange Isle in Changsha. Surrounded by water, with access above via the Xiangjiang First Bridge and below through the subway tunnel, the island boasted fertile land and excellent transportation, making it an ideal sanctuary, vastly superior to any wretched prison. Yet the more he pondered, the clearer a grave flaw became: every winter, the Xiang River entered its dry season, allowing anyone to walk straight onto the island across the exposed riverbed, and come summer, the river’s floods could easily submerge the entire isle. Such a disaster would be even more terrifying than the zombies themselves.

After much deliberation, it seemed there was no place more suitable as a sole refuge than the prison. Lying restlessly on the hard wooden cot, Zhao Qiang turned over these thoughts about the future again and again, only to find himself more and more hopeless. Zombies roamed everywhere; who could tell how many survivors remained, and among them, men like Li Zixin—villains even as humanity teetered on the edge of extinction, still scheming against their own kind.

All those around him pinned their hopes on him and his group, yet now they themselves felt even more adrift. The prison could offer momentary safety—but what then? Where did their future lie?

Lost in these worries, little Zhang Yu suddenly ran over, brandishing a wooden sword hewn into the shape of a broadsword, bounding with playful energy. Seeing Zhao Qiang lying in bed, he leapt right onto him and called out in his childish voice, “Uncle Fatty, Uncle Fatty, let’s play a game together!”

Back in school, Zhao Qiang had long been called “Fatty” by his peers. When Zhang Yu first called him “Uncle Fatty,” Li Yun had scolded the boy sharply, but Zhao Qiang quickly intervened, hugging the tearful and aggrieved child, saying that “Uncle Fatty” sounded endearing. From then on, every time Zhang Yu saw him, he would endlessly cry out, “Uncle Fatty, Uncle Fatty!”

Zhao Qiang tossed Zhang Yu onto the blanket, played with him for a while, then asked, “Little Octopus, tell Uncle, what do you want to play today?”

Giggling, Zhang Yu waved his wooden sword and said, “Let’s play Ultraman versus the Monster!”

“Heh, I’ll be the chubby Ultraman, and you’ll be the octopus monster, how about that?” Zhao Qiang grinned slyly, tickling Zhang Yu’s armpit.

“No way! I’m Ultraman! You’re the fat monster—hahaha! Let’s fight!” With that, he charged at Zhao Qiang, swinging his wooden sword.

After a bout of rambunctious play, Zhang Yu, exhausted, curled up in Zhao Qiang’s arms and quickly dozed off. Once he’d brought the boy back to Li Yun’s quarters, the gloom that had weighed upon Zhao Qiang’s heart had vanished without a trace. Why worry so much about the future? Wasn’t Zhang Yu himself the future? To live—that was the future, right beneath one's feet.

With a hearty laugh, Zhao Qiang strode back to his own quarters. Though the cell remained as cold and bleak as ever, having set down his burdens, warmth and light now filled his heart. Though he still didn’t know where his wife was, he was certain she was out there, waiting for him. As long as he didn’t give up hope or stop striving, he would one day be reunited with her.

Tucking Peng Sha’s photo safely against his chest, grabbing his gear, and bidding a hurried farewell to Wei Tao and the others, Zhao Qiang left the prison. His destination was the city center. Yes, there would be more zombies there—but also more survivors. If he couldn’t find his wife for now, saving more survivors would be enough.

Driving the armored van, Zhao Qiang wandered the streets of Changsha. The difference from the outer ring was stark—the number of zombies was far more terrifying. Crushers and zombie hounds lurked everywhere. Yet from their scattered distribution, it seemed there were no intelligent ones among them.

Zhao Qiang stood atop the Peace Hall, gazing down at what had once been the bustling Huangxing Road pedestrian street. This had always been the city’s busiest district; today, it was just as lively—at least, it looked that way.

He parked the armored van far off by the roadside, not daring to risk forging a path of blood through the hordes. The memory of nearly having his vehicle overturned by zombies was still fresh. Faced with such a sea of undead, Zhao Qiang could only approach stealthily.

Why had all these zombies gathered here, refusing to disperse? As Zhao Qiang pondered how to search for survivors in such a situation, a fireball trailing a tail of flame slowly ascended into the sky.

With a thunderous “boom,” the fireball exploded midair into a dazzling blossom of multicolored fireworks. There were people! At last, Zhao Qiang had found a clue—zombies certainly didn’t set off fireworks.

The flare had been launched from the upper floor of Wangfujing Department Store. As the fireworks blossomed, every zombie nearby lifted its head, staring unblinking at the fading sparks. Even after the lights died away, they remained fixated on the sky, as if yearning for the next display.

Zhao Qiang was puzzled. The surrounding zombies seemed to have lost all interest in flesh and blood, staring only at the heavens above. Thanks to this, he slipped easily into Wangfujing Department Store.

The main entrance was tightly shut, without the slightest sign of forced entry, but dozens of corpses with shattered skulls lay piled haphazardly at the threshold.

Excitement surged through Zhao Qiang—every sign indicated survivors must be here. The locked door presented no real obstacle; with police-issued high-tech climbing gear, he was up to the third-floor windows in no time, moving with the agility of a gecko.

There was no need to worry about zombies breaking in. Smashing a pane of glass, Zhao Qiang vaulted into the mall. The fireworks had been set off from the top floor; the survivors were likely nearby. After quickly assessing the situation, he dashed for the rooftop.

The top floor of Wangfujing Department Store was swept by a biting wind. Spent fireworks casings were strewn all about. Searching the area, Zhao Qiang found not a single soul. Yet the debris was still warm—someone was definitely inside the building. Touching the remnants, he confirmed his suspicion.

A metallic click sounded behind him—the distinct snap of a pistol safety being released. Zhao Qiang tensed. He had no idea who this person was, but now a gun was trained squarely at him—never a good sign.

“Raise your hands and stand up slowly,” a clear, crisp voice commanded.

It was a woman. Zhao Qiang felt a pang of helplessness. He heard the tremor in her voice, the unmistakable quiver of someone deeply nervous. In his mind’s eye, he pictured a young woman summoning all her strength to aim a gun, her hands shaking uncontrollably. In such cases, it was best not to provoke the armed party—a trembling finger could easily squeeze the trigger by accident.

Sighing softly, Zhao Qiang slowly raised his hands to his sides, then gradually lifted them higher and slowly rose to his feet.