June 30th, 2027. 12:00 PM.

Here, the national highway came to an abrupt end, as if severed by a dull blade.

A three-meter-high earthen mound rose from the road's surface, a mixture of loess and mud, tamped solid. Dozens of locust posts were driven into the top of the mound at jagged intervals. Their sharpened tips resembled the half-rotted fangs of a beast, bared in a dusty, gray snarl. Stretched between the posts were several lengths of rusted wire fencing, the mesh stuffed with all sorts of junk—tattered cotton wadding, rotten woven sacks, and even a few door panels torn from who knows where.

Soaked by the Black Rain for two months, the materials had caked into a hardened wall. It blocked the wind, and it blocked the unclean eyes of the outside world.

At the foot of the mound lay a toppled, half-broken road sign. Blue with white letters, its lower half was buried in silt. The two characters for "Liu Village" were smeared with a layer of mold, looking as if they were weeping.

Yu Molan stopped but didn't immediately shrug off his pack.

The pack, holding a ten-*jin* sack of cornmeal, was a dead weight, like a tumor growing out of the flesh of his back. The straps cut into his trapezius muscles, chafing the skin raw. The sting of sweat was an excruciating pain. But he didn't dare relax, for fear of losing what little strength he had left.

"Is this it?"

Lin Zhixi's voice was as faint as smoke, dispersed by the damp air. She leaned on her knees, gasping for breath, a wheezing sound in her throat. Xiaoyu followed behind, her head hung low. Her pink sneakers were an unrecognizable color, and a dark red bloodstain was seeping through the heel.

There was movement atop the mound.

Two figures flickered into view, then ducked back with the characteristic wariness of those who had long survived in the wild.

The one on the left crouched behind a sandbag, holding a steel pipe. A triangular blade was welded to its end, the edge glinting coldly under the gloomy sky. The one on the right was older, full-bearded, wearing a leather jacket shiny with grease. A double-barreled shotgun was slung over his shoulder. The varnish on the stock was worn away, revealing the dark, aged wood beneath, and the barrel was wrapped in several layers of black electrical tape.

That was the hunter, Lao Zhou.

They had long since seen the three living people below, but they hadn't made a sound or a move, only stared down from their high vantage point. Their eyes held none of the joy of seeing their own kind, only assessment and scrutiny.

Yu Molan didn't dare move any closer.

He stopped five meters from the base of the mound and slowly raised his hands above his head, the movement deliberate, exposing his armpits and sides to them.

"Just passing through."

He yelled, his throat full of gravel, his voice terribly hoarse. "Three of us. No ill intent. Just want some water, a place to rest."

No response from the mound.

After a full half-minute, the man slowly stood up and spat on the ground.

"Where from?"

"Linjiang."

"How long you been out?"

"Four, five days."

The man's gaze was thrown down like hooks, snagging on their drenched clothes and bulging packs before sliding to Lin Zhixi's pale face, and finally settling on Xiaoyu's mud-caked calves. The man with the shotgun followed suit, his eyes tracing the same path. Though the muzzle wasn't pointed at them, his index finger rested just outside the trigger guard.

He glanced at Lin Zhixi. "Are you sick?"

"No." Lin Zhixi pulled Xiaoyu a little closer in front of her. "The child has a bit of a cough, from the cold. It's not *that* sickness."

The two guards exchanged a look. The one with the spear turned and yelled to the top of the mound:

"Lao Lian! We've got outsiders!"

A head poked out from behind the cover on the mound's peak.

He was in his fifties, wearing a faded Liberation cap with the brim pulled down low. He didn't come down, his gaze circling from on high like a hawk before he pulled his head back.

After a moment, the man with the spear shifted to the side and gestured with his chin toward the top of the mound.

"Go on. Register first. If you have anything to trade, you can rest after."

They made their way up the earthen slope.

Behind the mound was the Liu Village Old School.

Two rows of wire fencing encircled the playground, the gaps blocked with stacked fertilizer bags filled with earth. Outside the fence, a deep ditch had been dug, filled with stagnant, blackish-green water with an oily sheen floating on top.

But there was life here.

Seven or eight large shelters stood on the playground, their frames made of bamboo poles, covered with plastic sheets and striped tarps of various colors. Clothes, and even children's diapers, were hung out to dry beneath them.

Twenty or thirty people were active in the yard. Men sharpened knives and mended tools while women sorted wild vegetables in a corner. A few children played with pebbles in the mud, their voices hushed. No one dared to make a loud noise.

What hit them the hardest was the smell.

It was completely different from the stench of rot and dead flesh outside. It was the scent of a hearth, of life.

The smell of burning firewood, mixed with the aroma of boiling corn porridge.

In that instant, Yu Molan felt a hand clench viciously inside his stomach, the cramping pain shooting up his esophagus to his head. Lin Zhixi swallowed hard, her Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

They were led to the foyer on the first floor of the school building.

The light was dim, and the air was thick with the smell of old chalk dust and mildew. An old school desk with a missing leg was placed in the center. Behind it sat a middle-aged man with glasses, clutching a ballpoint pen. An open, yellowed attendance ledger lay on the desk.

"Names, number of people, skills, what you brought."

The man with the glasses didn't look up, his tone as detached as a hospital registrar's.

"Yu Molan, Lin Zhixi, Yu Xiaoyu." Yu Molan unloaded his pack, feeling so light he was almost floating. "I used to be in logistics. I can drive a truck, handle dispatch. She's an elementary school teacher. The child is ten."

The pen scratched across the ledger.

"And your things?"

A ten-*jin* bag of cornmeal, damp from the rain, the surface of the bag slightly sticky. Half a bottle of soy sauce, a small bag of iodized salt, and two cans of luncheon meat.

The man with the glasses glanced at the items, finally looking up and pushing his glasses.

"Lao Lian!"

A grimy door curtain to an inner room was pushed aside. The man in the Liberation cap, Lao Lian, walked out with his hands behind his back. He wasn't tall and his back was slightly stooped, but he stood there like a nail driven into the floor.

He walked to the desk, reached out to squeeze the bag of cornmeal, then picked up the bottle of soy sauce and shook it.

"The meal's damp. We'll dock you twenty percent." Lao Lian's voice was flat, without inflection. "The two cans of meat, the salt, and the soy sauce go to the community. Consider it your joining fee. Here, you get one watery meal and one solid meal a day. You can stay in the empty shelter on the east side. The child doesn't count as labor, so she only gets a half portion. If the communal pot isn't enough, you're on your own."

"Fine." Yu Molan didn't hesitate.

"See any living dead on the road?"

"Saw some. We went around them."

"Many?"

"Just a few scattered ones. More dead ones."

Lao Lian nodded, not pressing further. He turned to the man with the spear. "Xiao Wu, take them to the east side, there's an empty shelter. Tell Aunt Wang to add three portions."

Xiao Wu grunted in acknowledgment.

They walked toward the east side of the playground. As they passed the cooking area, they saw several large iron woks set up on brick stoves, with corn porridge and wild vegetables bubbling inside. A plump middle-aged woman was feeding firewood into one of the stoves. She saw Xiaoyu and smiled. "Well now, little girl, you look lively."

The shelter was constructed from bamboo poles and plastic sheets. Thick straw was spread on the ground, and a few old quilts were folded in the corner. It wasn't large, only five or six square meters, but the striped tarp on top was relatively new, with no holes. It had a smell, but at least it kept the damp out.

"Don't wander around after seven tonight. It's not safe. They seal the gate after that." Xiao Wu tossed the words over his shoulder and left.

"Take off your shoes first." Lin Zhixi had Xiaoyu sit on the straw.

The sneakers were long since soaked and misshapen. Lin Zhixi carefully undid the laces and pulled the shoe off.

"*Hiss—*" Xiaoyu sucked in a sharp breath.

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The sock was stuck to the blood blister on her heel. The bloody fluid had dried and re-wet, welding the fabric to her flesh. Lin Zhixi's hands trembled as she took a small, nearly empty bottle of alcohol from her pocket.

"Brace yourself."

Gritting her teeth, she began to peel the sock away, bit by bit.

Xiaoyu trembled all over from the pain, tears welling in her large eyes, but she stubbornly refused to cry out.

Yu Molan set down his pack and rubbed his numb shoulder.

Suddenly, a shout came from outside the shelter. "Lao Lian! Two more popped up in the north ditch!"

Lao Lian's voice carried across the playground: "Deal with them. Don't scare the children."

Immediately, two gunshots rang out.

*Bang.*

*Bang.*

The sound, muffled by the rain and the tarp, wasn't loud, but it silenced the shelter instantly.

"It's okay." Lin Zhixi pulled Xiaoyu into her arms. "Let's get some rest."

Yu Molan said nothing. He walked to the shelter's entrance, lifted a corner of the striped tarp, and peered out. In the center of the playground, Lao Lian was speaking in low tones with a few others. The man with the shotgun was wiping his barrel, a wisp of white smoke still curling from the muzzle.

Beyond the northern fence, the Black Rain began to fall again, hissing softly as it struck the wire.

Yu Molan let the tarp fall and returned inside. He didn't speak, only placed the axe within easy reach.

Outside, the sound of the rain grew heavier. The three of them huddled together in the shelter and fell asleep.