Chapter Fifty-Eight: Human Nature (2)

The apocalypse had clearly left its mark on him as well. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes bloodshot, his entire demeanor that of a man ravaged by mental torment. Shaking his head, his voice grew slurred from agitation, “My son graduated from one of the top universities. Even before finishing, he’d already signed a contract with a foreign company—his future was limitless, do you understand? The girl from Old Wu’s family next door, or the boy from Old Zhang’s family at the east end, at best they just graduated from an average college. How could they possibly compare to my son?”

“For generations, how long have we lived here? Whose child could ever match my son? He only came back this time to visit us, then he’s off to work in a big city. Zhenghua said, once he’s settled, he’d bring me and his mother over too. He doesn’t want us suffering here anymore.”

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became. The kitchen knife pressing against Fan Li’s neck pushed harder. Were it anyone else, their neck would already be bleeding. Yet there wasn’t the slightest mark on Fan Li’s skin, though the man, lost in his frenzy, failed to notice.

“Blame it on his mother. She insisted he come home, and look what happened! That day, my boy had a fever, then he became delirious and suddenly bit his mother’s neck. I couldn’t pull him off!”

“Your son turned into a zombie and killed your wife,” Fan Li interrupted, stripping away the man’s façade with brutal candor.

“What did you say?” The man’s eyes reddened further, glaring at Fan Li with venom. “What do you know? Zhenghua isn’t dead. My wife isn’t dead either. They’re just sick, confused, unable to recognize me. I’ve locked them in the small room, tied them up. Once the government finds a cure, they’ll return to normal!”

“So you want to feed me to your wife and son?” Fan Li’s voice grew cold and grim.

“If people don’t eat, they starve. How many days has it been since they ate? They’re skin and bones. I can’t die—I have to stay alive to find them a cure. It’s your bad luck, your fault for coming here. I put sleeping pills in your food, just to make it painless. Now it’s come to this—it’s all your fault! You forced me!”

“No.” Fan Li shook his head, his gaze locking onto the man’s eyes. “Your son became a zombie and killed your wife. Both were infected. They aren’t sick; they’re already dead. That’s the truth. You probably know it all, but you just can’t accept it.”

“My son isn’t a monster! My wife isn’t dead!” The man shook his head, refusing to accept what he’d heard.

“You can’t deceive yourself.”

“No! You’re lying to me. I’ll kill you!” The man’s voice broke with urgency. Suddenly, he raised his arm and swung the kitchen knife down on Fan Li’s head.

No one could possibly survive such a blow.

Fan Li didn’t move. The knife loomed large in his vision, and he watched it fall onto his head.

Bang!

A faint sound rang out. The man’s pupils shrank to mere slits as he stared at the fallen strands of hair—Fan Li’s skin, however, was utterly unharmed. The man stumbled back, disbelief etched on his face. “How…? You… you’re the real monster…”

Pain.

That was Fan Li’s first sensation.

He was testing his newly acquired petrified skin, and, as expected, a kitchen knife couldn’t pierce him. But that didn’t mean he felt no pain. His skin was untouched, yet his body still felt the impact. Still, the petrified skin was even stronger than he’d imagined. If a forcefully swung kitchen knife couldn’t break it, then the scratching and biting of ordinary zombies wouldn’t stand a chance.

Fan Li got to his feet, looking the man in the eye. “Does it feel good?”

“Huh?” The man barely managed the word before Fan Li’s fist crashed into his nose, sending blood gushing. As the man clutched his nose, his abdomen was left exposed—Fan Li’s next punch slammed into his gut, doubling him over like a shrimp.

Fan Li showed no mercy. He knocked the knife from the man’s hand, grabbed him by the hair, and dragged him out of the courtyard.

The courtyard wasn’t large; finding the zombies’ hiding place wasn’t difficult.

Guided by sounds, Fan Li stopped at a door, slammed it open, and two ragged figures—one male, one female—appeared before him. Their clothes were filthy, their hair matted. Thick cloth was stuffed in their mouths, and their necks and limbs were tightly tied to the bed.

“Don’t… don’t disturb them…”

As Fan Li burst through the door, the man became hysterical. He tore free of Fan Li’s grip and threw himself at the two figures on the bed.

“Don’t hurt them… they’re just sick. Once there’s a cure, they’ll go back to the way they were. My wife and I worked so hard to raise Zhenghua… Hui’er suffered a lifetime with me. We were just about to enjoy life… just one more step… I beg you… I…”

His pleading was abruptly cut off. Obsessed with begging Fan Li for mercy, he’d forgotten how close he was to the zombies. Though they were bound and gagged, a zombie could still move its fingers. Hui’er—the plain, steadfast woman from the photographs, who had willingly shared a life of hardship with him—raked her gray nails across his thigh, tearing the flesh.

The man was mad, not stupid. Realization dawned; he collapsed to the floor, sobbing like a crow perched above a grave, his eyes seeing only three tombstones standing in a row.

There was no hope.

From the moment those nails tore his flesh, it was only a matter of time before he turned. He knew it, and that’s why he cried with such despair.

Fan Li watched, expressionless, and murmured softly, “You were a good husband, and a good father. But… you’re not fit to be human anymore.”

He shut the door, tied it with rope, and piled up debris until the room was sealed tight.

When he finished, night had already fallen. It was as if the curtain had come down on a play, swallowing everything on stage into darkness.

Fan Li looked up, staring into the gray-tinged sky shaped by his night vision, lost and silent for a long moment.