Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Madman

"Not human?" At first, Yang Shuo didn't quite grasp the meaning. But after hearing the incessant pounding at the door—with no sound of the knob turning, only the dull thuds and a hoarse, guttural howl—he began to understand.
"There's... not... a person... inside..."
Yang Shuo felt his fingertips go cold from where he had touched the door. The chill wasn't restrained by his gloves; it crept inward, seeping into his body, until he began to tremble uncontrollably.
"Was I really about to open a door behind which there’s a zombie?"
For a fleeting moment, Yang Shuo felt a strange sense of relief—relief that he had realized the truth in time, and that those mindless creatures had interrupted him before he made a terrible mistake.
"Keep going," came a cold, unfeeling voice from behind him.
"No, I can't do this!" Yang Shuo refused instinctively.
Why had he chosen to endure hunger at home rather than venture out for food? The presence of zombies had struck him with profound terror; the bleak corridors echoed with inhuman noises and inexplicable howls. It was fear that made Yang Shuo decide to hole up, just as Fan Li had hesitated at the crossroads of leaving or staying. Until his food was truly gone, Yang Shuo neither wanted nor dared to open his door.
But the zombie behind the door seemed to have caught a scent—now it was pounding ferociously against the security door, so hard that dust was shaking free from the cracks, as though the door itself might shatter.
"Don't try my patience," Fan Li's expression grew icy, her tone colder still. "I am not someone who tolerates defiance."
At that moment, Yang Shuo was gripped by a primal fear—a formless panic, as if he were prey under the gaze of some unknown beast. If he refused, he sensed, something terrible would happen at any moment.
Suddenly, a biting chill pressed through his scarf, grazing his cheek. Fan Li had placed the blade of her katana against his face, its sheen reflecting her eyes—eyes devoid of emotion.
"Do you remember what I told you? If you want to fill your belly, you have to learn to pay the price. If you can't do that, then get back to the first floor and never let me see you again."
Yang Shuo froze for a second, his gaze troubled. He had known hunger, knew its pain intimately. Now, torn by his own inner struggle, he hesitated for a long moment before finally, trembling, he rose again, pressed the wire into the lock, and began to pick at the security door.
Panic spread through him.
In the silence of the stairwell, zombies battered the other side of the door—judging by the noises, there was more than one. And here he was, on the other side, trying to open it. Yang Shuo thought he must have been poisoned by fear or hunger, otherwise he would never have agreed to Fan Li's demand.
Sweat beaded on his forehead—not from heat, but from sheer nervousness.

"Are you sure about this? You said there were other apartments left to search—why not just give up on this one?"
Fan Li didn't threaten him this time. Her voice was calm, almost detached. "There are other rooms here. I want all of them."
"Are you not afraid at all?" Yang Shuo was at a loss for words.
"The door's almost open..."
After a few moments' hesitation, Yang Shuo's voice trembled as he spoke, burdened by the pressure weighing down on him.
"When the door opens, run downward. Leave the rest to me," Fan Li said quietly.
"I was going to do that anyway," Yang Shuo shouted inwardly but didn't dare express it aloud. He only nodded hard.
Click!
"It's open!"
With a sharp snap, Yang Shuo shouted, then turned and bolted down the stairs, leaping three or four steps at a time. Without the obstruction of the door, the entryway finally gave way under the assault.
A head emerged!
The word "emerged" hardly applies to a human, but for a zombie, it's eerily apt. As the door swung open, a head covered in wounds and bite marks appeared in Fan Li's line of sight.
A woman.
Her age was indeterminate.
Her blood had dried to a crust, but her wounds were still visible, the flesh of her forehead gnawed away to the bone, her cheeks likewise ravaged—tender flesh, a zombie's preferred meal.
Every close encounter with a zombie brought a fresh wave of horror, for one could never predict how grotesque a visage might appear.
Fan Li, however, was prepared. Though zombies remained terrifying, she had already killed a mutant with her own hands. Her spirit had changed; she'd reached the very edge of what human nerves could endure.
She had mastered her fear.

Katana in hand, Fan Li braced her body. As the zombie lunged forward through the open doorway, she swung the blade in a horizontal arc, aiming directly for its head.
Wrist strength, speed, and ruthless accuracy—these three elements combined to devastating effect against the zombie.
With a sickening squelch, the head was severed, flying high before thudding to the floor.
[Killing Value +1]
[6/100]
The blood-red notification flashed before Fan Li’s eyes. Without hesitation, having dispatched the zombie, she withdrew and sprinted swiftly down the stairs.
Even before the door was opened, Fan Li had noticed there was more than one zombie inside. In the confined space of the stairwell, with people, corpses, and zombies in close quarters, she would be at a disadvantage.
Opening the door was but a moment’s work; her attention had been focused on the nearest female zombie. As for the shadowy figure behind, she’d only glanced at it, gleaning little information—it was safer to escape and create a defensive distance to observe the enemy’s movements.
And sure enough, as she reached the stairwell’s bend and looked upward, a blood-smeared head poked out.
It belonged to a man, about forty, heavyset—perhaps he’d been at home when disaster struck. He wore only a white undershirt, now drenched in blood, spattered with bits of flesh and viscera.
Fan Li saw all this clearly because the male zombie bore no significant wounds. From her prior experience, she realized he must have been an early victim of the virus, mutated swiftly, and devoured his wife, feasting on most of her flesh.
This time, Fan Li didn't retreat. The danger posed by a zombie depended, in part, on its physical traits. A fat zombie was slow—a perfect target for her.
Yang Shuo stood trembling on a lower floor, softly calling Fan Li’s name, pleading for her to escape. But then he witnessed something that left him utterly bewildered: Fan Li, who had already made a successful retreat, now gripped her katana and walked steadily back upstairs.
"What a madwoman..." was all Yang Shuo could manage, his thoughts stripped to instinct, voicing his most immediate and honest feeling.