Chapter Forty-Four: Indescribable

The night at the end of the world.

Everything was shrouded in silence; the entire world seemed to be left with only the mournful wails of zombies, devoid of any trace of human activity.

Suddenly, Fan Li’s tightly shut eyes opened. Instinctively, he sat up from the bed.

The thin blanket slipped off as he rose, gazing around in confusion.

His memory was fixed on the bloody characters that appeared when he killed the zombie dog and the mutated zombie. Since then, he had slipped into a dreamless sleep.

A wave of dizziness assaulted his mind, prompting Fan Li to hold his head. He had gotten up too quickly, his body feeling a touch of discomfort.

“Brother Li, you’re awake?”

“Uncle Li’s awake.”

Two voices sounded beside him. Fan Li looked up to see Yang Shuo, wearing an apron, busy at the stove, while a chubby-cheeked little girl stood nearby.

Hu Jia.

The daughter of Hu Huayao. The child was obedient; at two and a half years old, she had outgrown the age of frequent crying, reducing the risk of attracting zombies. Yet, she would occasionally ask where her mother had gone—a mother who could smash a zombie’s skull without expression. Every time, Hu Huayao would show a different face, only able to brush the child off with a vague answer: her mother was away on business.

It must be admitted: it’s nearly impossible for a child this age to survive the apocalypse. Fortunately, she had a good father.

The food scavenged was piled in the corner, evidence that Hu Huayao had brought back their spoils.

Bronzed-skinned Hu Huayao came to the bedside, handing Fan Li a bowl of thick soup scented with herbs. “I found some ginseng among your supplies. You’ve used up too much strength—I took the liberty of making you some ginseng soup.”

The ginseng was discovered by Fan Li in the home of an elderly man who had committed suicide in a funeral robe. The man had lived well; his supplies were of high quality.

Fan Li couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or not, but he noticed Hu Huayao’s eyes avoided his own—a hint of fear.

But thinking it over, Fan Li understood. His display of power could not have escaped Hu Huayao’s notice. Could a normal human’s hair cover half a street?

The answer was obvious.

When people interact at the same level, there is little awe. But with Fan Li’s abilities, he must appear monstrous in their eyes.

Ignoring the fear, Fan Li ruffled Hu Jia’s hair and took the ginseng soup, thanking Hu Huayao.

Hu Huayao’s gaze lingered on Fan Li’s hand as it touched Hu Jia’s head, his body tense, throat tightening with a swallow. Only upon hearing the word “thanks” did he shake his head and reply, “It was nothing.”

Fan Li’s gratitude was not merely for the soup, but for being carried back and laid to rest after his unconsciousness.

This is the advantage of a team.

Compared to lone wanderers, a team can handle far more complex and difficult situations.

Consuming the soul of the Cryer was an unforgettable experience for Fan Li.

A grudge from the dead now clung to his body—an unbearable feeling for most.

Fan Li had not known that using a soul to gain thirty seconds of its abilities would leave such strong aftereffects.

His consciousness had been shrouded in darkness, his stamina drained to its lowest. He felt as weak as someone starved for three days.

He could hardly imagine what would have happened had he collapsed. Even after killing the zombie dog and the mutated zombie and gaining kill points, he would have been devoured by the zombies drawn to the commotion, left a skeleton.

Both were adults; the word “thanks” carried dual meaning and required no further explanation.

“If you’re fine, I’ll leave you to rest. Jia should sleep too,” Hu Huayao said, anxious, occasionally tugging his daughter closer. Fan Li saw the careful thought and said nothing, only nodding.

Hu Huayao picked up Hu Jia, opened the door, and headed upstairs. The building had been cleared days ago; Hu Huayao now lived in the home of what had once been a family of zombies.

A haunted house? Death had occurred there?

This was the apocalypse. Look out the window: corpses with half-broken necks swayed outside in search of food. The world was already terrifying—a room where someone died was hardly worth fear.

“That… Brother Li, you’re awake? I put the noodles on the table for you. Eat them while they’re hot—I won’t disturb your rest. I’ll head downstairs.”

Yang Shuo greeted Fan Li with apparent calm, but Fan Li noticed his trembling legs.

Were it not for the tattooed sleeve on his arm—his last pride—Yang Shuo might have cried.

He felt that from the moment he met Fan Li, his life had changed completely.

In their brief time together, Yang Shuo found Fan Li somewhat aloof, prone to assigning menial tasks. On the whole, Fan Li seemed normal, and the murmured “executioner” or “butcher” only underscored his strength. Relying on Fan Li, Yang Shuo felt safer.

But everything changed two days ago. What was that monster with a mouth full of teeth? What was with the suddenly surging hair?

Previously, Yang Shuo viewed Fan Li as human. But today, seeing Fan Li use his hair to ensnare two zombies, wrapping them tight, then hacking at them with a katana, Yang Shuo’s mind went numb. He felt the face before him was but a mask, hiding an indescribable being within.

Yang Shuo cursed Hu Huayao for hiding behind his daughter and sleeping through danger: “I thought you were some big shot, but you just slept thanks to your kid? Bah!”

Yet, as he thought this, Yang Shuo’s feet carried him to the door. He turned the knob to leave.

“Wait…”

Fan Li’s voice sounded behind him.

Yang Shuo’s body tensed, feeling as though a pair of eerie green eyes watched him.

He wondered if he would be silenced for knowing Fan Li’s secret.

His chest tightened, ready to beg for mercy, when Fan Li’s weak voice spoke again:

“After I finish eating, wash the bowl before you go…”