Chapter Thirty-One: The Ceased Weeping

The Monster Manual was the foundation of his survival in the apocalypse. It didn't matter that he had only just met Yang Shuo; even if it were another friend standing before him, Fan Li would never share the existence of the manual. This wasn't selfishness—it was self-preservation.

Never flaunt your wealth; this age-old principle still held true. The Monster Manual had chosen him, and this was his unique opportunity in the end times. Enjoyed alone, it was a stroke of fate; split among several, could it still be called fortune? Fan Li had no intention of turning the Monster Manual into a communal resource, letting anyone wind his music box as they pleased.

Compared to his first, nerve-wracking hunt—when it had even taken him half an hour just to get dressed—several battles since had honed his efficiency. Now, his attire was chosen with both protection and agility in mind: a “combat suit” that shielded his vital points without overly impeding his movement.

Once he was dressed, the Muramasa demon blade in hand, and, most importantly, with his music box secured, Fan Li and Yang Shuo made their way to the entrance of the stairwell.

“Brother Li, are you really going out?” Only now did Yang Shuo realize Fan Li wasn’t just talking—he truly meant to hunt that so-called mutated zombie.

In Yang Shuo’s mind, Fan Li’s actions had moved beyond mere madness into the realm of the deranged. They still had plenty of food stockpiled at home—why risk his life for this?

“Yang Shuo, listen to me!” Fan Li’s voice cut through Yang Shuo’s brooding.

“What?” Yang Shuo hesitated.

“Stay by the stairwell door. Don’t close it—just hold it lightly ajar. When I call you, open it quickly and let me in. Do you understand?”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” Yang Shuo asked, nervous.

“You’re too weak…” At this, Yang Shuo felt a warmth in his heart. Despite only having known him a day, and despite Fan Li making him wash clothes and dishes, he realized the man wasn’t a bad person after all.

“You’d only hold me back,” Fan Li finished, then wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“Damn it!”

Ignoring Yang Shuo’s thoughts, Fan Li opened the door to the apocalypse. After nearly ten days, he was finally stepping out of his cage, into the world outside.

Northern nights were harsh, especially after the recent rain. The temperature had dropped to barely above ten degrees, and a chill wind slipped through the door crack, carrying with it an eerie, unsettling sound of weeping. Yang Shuo shivered.

He had no night vision, and could only make out Fan Li’s silhouette gradually fading in the moonlight.

Should he close the door? A wicked thought crept into Yang Shuo’s mind. He’d seen Fan Li’s food stores; if he had them to himself, he could easily survive for months. The building was cleared—no zombies remained—so there was no real danger. He could live in comfort for a while.

“What are you thinking, Yang Shuo!”

At this crossroads, his conscience prevailed. He shook his head rapidly. In this world, loyalty meant everything. Fan Li, though cold and bossy, had shared food with him. As the saying goes, repay even a drop of kindness with a spring—he…

The wailing outside grew louder through the open door, and Yang Shuo shuddered again, swallowing hard. “I’ll wait and see. If Fan Li really gets killed by a zombie, it won’t be too late to close the door…”

Fan Li never worried about the stairwell door—not when he had Ellie by his side. He’d already witnessed the formidable power hidden within her frail form; a mere door would never stop them. If the worst came to pass and the door was broken, letting zombies into the stairwell, well, Yang Shuo would surely regret any wrong choice then.

Having accepted the apocalypse and slain his share of zombies, Fan Li’s psyche had begun to transform.

Now, he had no time to concern himself with Yang Shuo’s loyalty—his attention was seized by the weeping woman ahead.

He saw her clothing, faintly adorned with floral patterns. In peacetime, countless men might have wanted to strip away that fabric to reveal her exquisite figure. Now, her beautiful dress was soaked with blood and clung with chunks of human remains.

Her skin was as pale as ever—almost unnaturally so, completely devoid of blood. If not for the weeping from her mouth, one could easily mistake her for a wax statue or a doll.

Fan Li could see the full outline of her back. The moonlight alone could not account for this—his passive night vision had activated, and he was now barely five meters away.

He scanned the area. No zombies nearby—only distant noises and shrieks. They dared not approach, cowed by the sobbing zombie, and could only cry out hoarsely, like crows coveting a corpse locked in a wooden coffin.

One step.

Two steps.

With each advance, Fan Li held his breath, enveloped completely by darkness. At the dead of night, a weeping woman crouched before him, her sobs echoing through the deserted street, mingling with the wind—a scene of pure horror.

His muscles were taut. Despite his thick clothing, no warmth reached him; instead, the chill on his spine spread outward, freezing him to the core.

Facing such a monstrous being, it would take time for even his hard-won resistance to fear to steady his nerves.

Scenes of hacking down zombies flashed through his mind; the cold hilt in his hand lent him a measure of courage.

Gripping the blade, Fan Li gauged the distance—two meters. He’d softened his footsteps, but in the silent night each step was still painfully clear.

Tap…

Weep…

Tap…

Weep…

Each time his foot struck the ground, it was met by a heart-wrenching sob.

Tap…

He drew closer, and then the sobbing suddenly ceased.

Now!

Fan Li knew the weeping zombie had sensed him. The arrow was nocked; there was no turning back. Without hesitation, he surged forward and swung his blade at the woman’s head.

Critical hit!

With accumulated experience, Fan Li had already mastered the art of killing swiftly.