Chapter Seventy-Two: Resisting Evil

“My… my hand is broken…”

Liu Hao was an orthopedic surgeon. When faced with such a severe wound inflicted by a knife, his mind instinctively formulated a treatment plan:

1: Apply tight bandages to stop the bleeding.
2: Wrap the severed limb in gauze, place it in a sterile container, add ice to keep it cool.
3: Most crucially, rush to the nearest top-tier hospital for emergency treatment, because the maximum window to reattach a severed arm is only six hours.

Yet, in their current environment, none of these conditions could be met. What did that mean? The loss of the arm was inevitable, and even more grim, the victim was likely to die from excessive blood loss.

This was a human, not a zombie. Staring at the blood that kept seeping out, Liu Hao felt a coldness in his heart that even thick clothing could not shield.

His trembling voice snapped everyone to attention. Gritting his teeth, Yang Shuo ran over, bent down, and picked up the severed arm. His hands shook as he gripped the limp limb, but he forcibly pried the fingers from the pistol, replaced them with his own, loaded the weapon, and raised it, aiming at their potential enemies.

There was only one pistol. No matter how many thugs there were, it still served as a deterrent.

Yang Shuo had spent years in the underworld, crawling and struggling, learning one crucial lesson: strength aside, what mattered most between people was who could intimidate whom.

In a lawful society, guns were merely underground social tools—one could do without firing them, but not without owning one.

Thus, in the past, he’d only handled guns in private, never actually pointing one at someone. He was afraid.

Whether grabbing the severed limb or prying apart those still-warm fingers, every action made his hair stand on end, yet he knew he had to suppress his fear.

Yang Shuo, holding the gun, stepped forward and spoke in a low, steady voice, “Didn’t you hear what our boss said? Anyone who comes closer, I’ll shoot!”

His threat had some effect. The group, cautious and wary, showed fierce expressions but didn’t advance. After all, Fan Li’s earlier actions were too shocking—a single stroke had severed the triangular-eyed man’s arm. What truly stunned them was that the man before them had been shot at close range and emerged unscathed, with no visible wound or blood.

At such proximity, even a blind man firing by ear could hit the target, let alone a normal person.

Humans fear the unknown. Because they didn’t know Fan Li possessed petrified skin, they were paralyzed by the uncanny scene and dared not approach.

Hu Huayao glanced at Yang Shuo, surprised by the courage it took to step forward first.

As an adult, Hu Huayao had his own ideas, but he understood one thing: whether Fan Li was the victim or the aggressor today, he had to stand with his group—they were a collective.

Without further thought, Hu Huayao stepped up beside Fan Li. He wore a football uniform, still stained with unwashed blood. His weapon was a bat wrapped in iron wire and steel nails, with sticky bits resembling scalp wedged between the nails.

Purely in terms of intimidation, Hu Huayao was undoubtedly the most formidable of the three. Through his helmet, his eyes locked on the enemy, like a caged brown bear ready to crush them at a word.

Fan Li held a knife in one hand and clamped the triangular-eyed man’s mouth with the other. The man’s wounded arm continued to bleed warm blood. The wound was large; his face had grown pale, his struggles weakened—obviously, he was entering a dangerous stage from blood loss.

Yet, despite this, Fan Li had no intention of treating him. A burning pain still throbbed in his chest—the petrified skin protected only the surface, but the internal impact from the bullet had caused some injury.

If he hadn’t awakened the ability of petrified skin, that bullet would have ended his life in this medical wasteland.

When confronted by a vicious dog, running only invites pursuit and biting. The only way to protect oneself is to grab a club or stone and smash the barking beast!

In that moment, he hadn’t even had time to summon Ellie or the Butcher. He could rely only on himself. If he didn’t want to be exploited, resistance was his only path!

Zombies and humans were different. The latter’s hot blood gave Fan Li an unusual sensation.

“Put down the food and take him—get out!” Fan Li swept his gaze around, and seeing no one dared approach, pushed the weakened figure into his companion’s arms.

The combined intimidation of Fan Li, Yang Shuo, and Hu Huayao clearly struck fear into the group. They exchanged glances, set down their food, and prepared to drag the triangular-eyed man away.

“Wait…”

Fan Li called out to them, then said, “You and you—leave your weapons. And you, the one on the edge, take off your clothes.”

Soaked in blood, Fan Li needed new clothes to mask the heavy scent.

Under the icy threat of the gun barrel, the last man had no choice but to strip naked. Perhaps humiliation made him forget his fear; he stared at Fan Li and asked, “Friend, can you tell us a place? So we might pay our respects someday?”

The last words were weighted, clearly meant as a double entendre.

“You’re nothing but garbage. Want to die?” Yang Shuo stepped forward, gun in hand, face and tone all intimidating. The man instantly regretted his boldness and took a step back.

“In the fortress, number fourteen—I’ll be waiting,” Fan Li said coolly.

Yang Shuo paused, exchanged glances with Hu Huayao, and nodded knowingly.

Of course, Fan Li had given them a false address. If they followed it, they’d find nothing but three zombies locked in a room.

With Ellie and the Butcher beside him, Fan Li had no fear of their so-called revenge. But who would invite trouble without need?

He never believed his team were the only survivors in such a vast county. As expected, hidden corners still harbored others.

Without law, these people’s brutality was magnified; they would shoot without hesitation.

The triangular-eyed man, having lost too much blood, had little chance of survival—he’d already received due punishment. As for the rest, since they hadn’t harmed him yet, Fan Li saw no reason to kill them all.

He had his own rules for surviving the apocalypse. He was neither mindless nor a demon immersed in slaughter and madness; nor would he be a lamb waiting for slaughter.

He was a survivor, one who preemptively eliminated threats but preserved a strand of humanity!

Of course, part of this was due to the Monster Manual. After mastering the book that could summon monsters, Fan Li noticed changes in himself—becoming colder, losing interest in most things, yet feeling a strange delight when killing zombies and watching heads fly.

This unsettling change made Fan Li frown in secret. If one tangled too long with the dragon, one risked becoming the dragon. He wondered if, in the summoning room filled with myriad media items, some of those items belonged to previous owners of the Monster Manual.

Perhaps, after prolonged contact, they were assimilated by the dark powers and became monsters themselves.

If one day he became assimilated, what would his media be? Would it be this katana that drank monster blood?

Whenever he thought of this, Fan Li felt a helpless plunge into the abyss. Precisely because of this, he deliberately resisted evil.

In the apocalypse, kindness and malice seemed separated only by a single thought. Fan Li’s task was to guard the last gleam of his humanity.

Kindness did not mean saintliness.

Evil did not equate to indiscriminate killing.

If there was only one bun, Fan Li would fight tooth and nail to claim it for himself; but if there were ten, he’d keep two, leaving the rest to help the starving. He didn’t believe in justice—only in himself.

Fan Li was lost in thought. To his adversaries, it became an aura of unspoken authority. They never imagined he’d deceive them; instead, his casual tone showed he didn’t fear their revenge.

Thinking this way, the group wilted like frostbitten eggplants, not daring to utter threats, and slunk away.

Seeing them leave, Yang Shuo stepped forward, ingratiatingly offering the pistol to Fan Li.

Looking at Yang Shuo’s smiling gesture, Fan Li found it hard to connect him to the full-time housekeeper who washed clothes and cooked for the kids at home. Clearly, he was more capable than Fan Li had assumed.

“You did well this time. Keep the pistol for yourself.”

Fan Li, with petrified skin, had no fear of such weapons—it was better used to win loyalty.

“You’re giving it to me?” For ordinary people, a gun was far more revered than a knife. He felt the last few weeks of dishwashing hadn’t been for nothing and planned to tidy up Brother Li’s room as thanks.

Hu Huayao’s gaze toward Yang Shuo grew complicated. He’d originally looked down on the unreliable thug, but now with a gun, even if he was just a useless dishwasher, he became someone worth attention.

A small-time hoodlum couldn’t kill, but one with a gun was a real threat.

Ignoring their thoughts, Fan Li turned to Liu Hao, who was standing dumbly nearby, and said coldly, “Pick up the packed food.”

Liu Hao shivered. He knew he’d lost composure earlier—of the four, only he hadn’t stepped forward, clearly displeasing Fan Li. He dared not refuse, nodded, and hung the bags over his shoulders.

Fan Li wasn’t interested in their kitchen knives and clubs, but made sure they left two fire axes behind. Compared to short hammers, these axes were far more deadly.

Yang Shuo unloaded the bullets, tucked the gun at his waist, and walked over to Fan Li. “Brother Li, everything’s packed. Shall we go now?”

“No.” Fan Li shook his head. “Wait. The gunshot surely attracted zombies. Those people are dragging a severely wounded man—like minnows swimming among sharks. Let them draw the predators away, and then we’ll move.”

Fan Li’s tone was calm, but the other three shivered. With a touch of pity, they looked outside, feeling the fate of those men was as precarious as a winding mountain road, full of hardship and danger.