Chapter Five: The Trap

Fear resistance seemed to be a passive trait. Once Fan Li made up his mind, his heart grew calm.

Before searching for food, there were preparations to be made.

“This one isn’t thick enough.”

“This one won’t do either.”

“This one could work, but it’s too loose. I’ll need another pair of long johns.”

Fan Li rummaged through drawers and closets. After half an hour of feverish effort, his transformation was complete.

In the mirror, Fan Li looked somewhat bloated. He was bundled in a winter down coat, and his legs were encased in long johns and cotton trousers. It was only September—though the county where Fan Li lived was in the north with sharp temperature changes, the midday heat still climbed to thirty degrees. By the time he finished changing, he was drenched in sweat, a film of moisture coating his back.

But there was no other way. He had seen with his own eyes how the woman outside had bitten into the teacher’s neck. During the outbreak, the news had repeatedly broadcast how zombies attacked—always with their teeth and mouths. Those bitten quickly transformed into bloodthirsty fiends.

So Fan Li made these preparations before venturing out.

Everything was ready.

He took a deep breath and placed his hand on the doorknob. Now, he was fully armed—not just in heavy clothes, but with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and mouth, only his eyes exposed, and gloves on his hands.

He patted his chest; just in case, he brought the music box with him. It was a last resort. He didn’t know what effect it would have, or whether using it might bring misfortune upon himself, but the memory of Ellie’s twisted face offered a shred of comfort. After all, in every way, Ellie was more hideous and terrifying than any ordinary zombie.

Exhaling slowly, Fan Li knew there was no turning back. Either he found new food and survived, or he would waste away, waiting for death.

Fan Li was no fool. He wanted to live, so he naturally chose the path that offered a sliver of hope.

A clear click sounded as he turned the doorknob. After three days, Fan Li stepped out of his home for the first time.

Blood was splattered at the threshold—a trace left by the teacher, Fan Li knew. In three days, the thick blood had turned black, sticky underfoot and vaguely nauseating.

The apron-clad woman and the teacher, now zombies, were nowhere to be seen. Fan Li scanned the stairwell—the whole place was silent as the grave, as if the entire building had become a ghostly domain, void of the living.

A chill of deathly dread pressed against his chest. Wrapped in cotton garments, he no longer felt hot. Instead, a coldness crept from his heart across his limbs.

Fan Li did not look back. He pushed the door almost shut, not closing it completely, and began climbing the stairs.

He did this so if something happened, he could retreat immediately—he wouldn’t lose precious seconds fumbling for his keys or unlocking the door.

Step by step, Fan Li had never listened so intently to his own footsteps. Even as he tried to tread softly, the faint sound still slipped past his scarf and into his ears.

At the stairwell’s corner, Fan Li craned his neck and peered ahead.

The door was open.

Just as he anticipated—the couple who mutated and fled in panic hadn’t closed their door behind them.

It was high noon. Sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the entryway and the bloodstain by the door.

Thinking of his dwindling food supply, Fan Li summoned his courage and moved forward.

“Five…”

“Four…”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

With the last step, Fan Li gripped the hammer in his hand so tightly that his right hand, hidden in his glove, turned pale.

In peaceful times, anyone seeing Fan Li like this would mistake him for a criminal—a robber, a rapist, or someone out for revenge. Here was a fully-armed man, wielding a hammer, ready to do violence.

But only Fan Li knew the motive for this “crime”: food.

He reached the landing. He could almost see the food calling to him. As a married family, their pantry would surely have more reserves than a single man like himself.

No more hesitation.

Fan Li leaned halfway into the apartment, peering inside—and in that instant, his pupils contracted to slits.

The teacher’s home was modern and minimalist. No fussy decorations—just a shoe cabinet by the door, a sofa ahead, a coffee table and television, and a kitchen converted from the balcony.

Yet now, the once pristine brown sofa was smeared with blood. A man with a torn throat and a drooping head sat on the couch, his vacant eyes fixed on the floor.

He no longer breathed, so Fan Li had heard nothing from outside. Besides the savage wound at his neck, his face bore several bite marks—as if mauled by an animal. His cheek was split open, revealing bloodstained gums and teeth.

And the instigator—the teacher’s wife—stood in the kitchen, just as Fan Li had seen her before: in a peony-printed apron, the once warm garment now caked with blood and flecks of flesh.

Her jaw was clenched, eyes wide—she looked like a puppet fashioned in the image of terror, standing rigidly in the kitchen and facing the doorway, right where Fan Li stood.

The situation had gone beyond Fan Li’s expectations. He never imagined the two who had killed and been bitten at his door would return home, lying in wait in utter silence.

For a moment, Fan Li wondered absurdly if this was a trap—one set by desperate creatures also lacking food, lying in wait for prey to come to them.

The woman saw Fan Li.

A grinding noise broke the deathly silence—it was the sound of her teeth, scraping together. As she spotted him, her expression grew even more twisted, her pupils dilating, her face twitching. Even her legs moved forward, stepping toward Fan Li.

The teacher on the sofa seemed to sense something too. His mangled neck wouldn’t let him raise his head, but his gaze shifted toward Fan Li, and that drooping posture only heightened the uncanny horror.

In that split second, Fan Li saw it all—not just the teacher with his head lolling, not just the advancing woman, but also the fruit on the coffee table, and the instant noodles and refrigerator in the kitchen.

Food.

Driven by hunger, Fan Li was like a starving, rabid dog. He knew he was walking into a hunter’s trap, but if he wanted to live, he had to face every challenge.

Fear resistance.

It didn’t make Fan Li immune to fear, but it helped him stay calm in danger. The five minutes it took to climb those stairs had already drained his strength. He muttered to himself, so softly only he could hear: “Running away won’t solve anything…”