Chapter Forty-Three: The First Cycle

“Mm.” Lingkong caught the biscuit, and Liu Chang brought it to his nose for a careful sniff. “It doesn’t really smell moldy, but it’s lost even the original aroma of a biscuit. I suppose it’s almost spoiled.”

“It seems we really need to think of another way,” Li Qingshui said, glancing at the box of biscuits. “Even the army’s rations are almost inedible now, and they’ve already started to keep an eye on us. It seems the biscuit trade route is completely cut off.”

“Didn’t I hear someone say they were going to try growing crops?” At the mention of dwindling food, Fatty spoke up anxiously, “The plants outside are so lush now. Someone suggested trying to grow the old crop varieties. Judging by how fast other plants grow out there, you could probably get a crop cycle down to less than ten days.”

“It’s not that simple. So many things we used to eat are now inedible. How can you be sure the crops will be safe? Crops are plants too, they can mutate and evolve just like everything else,” Li Qingshui replied. “And even if they are edible, what do we do in those ten days? Are you suggesting we eat tree roots and wild grass like those desperate people outside?”

“What else can we do? The meat we hunt spoils if we don’t eat it right away. Even if we bring back a ton, we can’t finish it in one sitting, so most of it gets thrown away!” Fatty exclaimed anxiously.

His words brought a moment of silence to the room.

“It looks like we’ll have to use that method,” Liu Chang finally spoke, breaking the awkward quiet. He glanced at Zhu Lin. “We’ll have to use the method she suggested before—to give the meat a stronger form of preservation.”

“You mean…” Li Qingshui, reminded by Liu Chang, instantly recalled Zhu Lin’s suggestion from ten days ago. “You mean using formalin, the stuff they use to preserve bodies?”

“Yes. With formalin, even now, meat should last at least two or three days. As long as we can preserve it, the meat we hunt will have value, and we won’t be completely cut off from food,” Liu Chang replied, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“But where can we find formalin?” Fatty questioned again.

“There’s plenty in hospitals.” Liu Chang couldn’t help but recall the first time he’d gone scavenging for medicine. “It’s just that hospitals are a bit… creepy these days.”

“It’s a feasible plan,” Li Qingshui agreed. He patted the dust off his little stool and stood up. “Let’s go. It’s getting late; we can talk more on the way.”

After Li Qingshui stood, Liu Chang and the others followed suit. As they discussed the issue, they tidied up the kitchen and left, returning to their dormitory.

Their quarters now felt much more spacious than when they’d first arrived. One by one, people in the military camp had died, leaving the once-crowded dorms emptying out. Liu Chang’s dorm was originally an eight-person room, but with three families packed in, there had been twelve people and not enough beds to go around. Yet in just ten short days, demand for bunks had all but vanished—for out of everyone except Liu Chang’s group, more than half had perished.

In the four-person household, Xiao Gang had been torn apart by tentacled creatures the very day after moving in. During the recent wave of deaths, his father couldn’t survive the bacterial attacks either, leaving only Xiao Yong and his mother. As for the miserable family of three, there had been only the silent young woman left even before the “death period” began. Since losing her parents, her mind had almost collapsed, surviving only on wild grass and tree bark. Though she’d been tormented into a wretched state, she had, surprisingly, managed to live on.

Seeing her survive, even Li Qingshui couldn’t help but marvel at the resilience of human life.

Now, with four fewer people, there were finally enough beds in the eight-person dorm. In fact, since the little girl liked to sleep next to Liu Chang, one bed was even left over—there was no longer any conflict over sleeping arrangements.

But although the bed disputes had ended, the atmosphere hadn’t lightened—in fact, it had become far more oppressive. Death and gnawing hunger made the air as heavy as mercury, the room as lifeless as a morgue. If someone who hadn’t lived through the apocalypse walked in, they would have felt suffocated and nauseous just from the atmosphere.

Upon entering, Liu Chang’s group, as they had for days now, lapsed into silence. Their small group of five was a rare exception among the survivors—none of them had died, so their spirits remained relatively high, making them seem out of place compared to the others.

So, when they returned, they blended in with the silence, so as not to upset the remaining residents. Each of the five quietly busied themselves with their own tasks, and when darkness fell, they all lay down to sleep at the same time.

Another wordless night passed.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight ignited the bloody haze outside, they all woke at once, and, driven by survival instincts, sat up in their beds.

Liu Chang and the little girl were an unchanging hunting pair. Fatty and Zhu Lin always followed Li Qingshui in search of edible plants. When Liu Chang failed to hunt meat, these plants were life-saving; when there was meat and biscuits to exchange, they became side dishes. In a sense, their importance rivaled anything Liu Chang could bring back.

With these clear divisions of labor, the group stepped out into the first light of dawn, merging once more with the wilderness like ancient hunters, struggling for food and survival.

“There’s a saying that good or bad luck always comes in pairs—that’s why blessings come in succession, and misfortune seldom comes alone,” Li Qingshui said as they left the dorm, patting Liu Chang on the shoulder. “You were lucky enough to catch a chicken yesterday. Today, I wish you another victory.”

“Thanks for your kind words!” Liu Chang laughed, bent down and lifted the little girl onto his shoulders, waved to the others, and strode into the bloody mist.

Leaving the military compound and moving through dense grass, Liu Chang carried the little girl with steady, rapid steps. His second stage of physical evolution had made him much stronger—the girl was weightless on his shoulders, and his wide field of view took in everything within fifteen meters. For once, he could see with perfect clarity in the fog-shrouded world.

“Xiao Jing, how much has your perception range increased in the last couple of days?” Liu Chang asked, gripping his military crossbow as he crept forward.

“A bit over one hundred and thirty meters now, but the growth rate has slowed down a lot these past two days.”

“Mm. Teacher Li said the first mass mutation period is over for humans. Who knows when the next one will come. What’s my current danger index?”