Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Human Heart (1)

“Are you here alone?” The man sized up Fan Li, and upon seeing the youthfulness of his face, his previous tension seemed to ease somewhat.

“Yes, just me.” Fan Li set his katana aside and replied, “It’s too dangerous outside, no one is willing to come out with me.”

The man nodded and said, “Yeah, it’s much too dangerous out there. Who knows what’s happened by now.”

“You can rest here for the night… I’ll prepare food for you too, but you can’t wander around. You’re only allowed to stay in this room.”

“Of course.” Fan Li smiled. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll stay right here—I won’t be any trouble.”

The man didn’t ask Fan Li for any medicine. He simply turned and left, though his gaze drifted back and forth between Fan Li and the katana, as if he were sizing things up.

Once the man was gone, Fan Li started to look around the room.

This was not a wealthy household: a single bed, a somewhat worn wardrobe, and on the wall hung a photograph. In the picture stood the man beside a woman with a face full of wrinkles, looking slightly haggard, and between them was a young man in graduation robes, appearing to have just finished college.

Unlike the restrained smiles of the man and woman, the young man’s smile was broad and genuine—clearly he had a good temperament.

There was a spark in his eyes and a brightness in his smile, the kind unique to the young. For a family like this, having a college graduate was no easy feat. That upturned mouth seemed to bid farewell to the past and look longingly toward the future.

Is a college degree worthless?

Even if you finish your studies, you’re still likely to work for kids whose parents only had a middle or high school education. That’s just wishful thinking, perhaps, but in a struggling family like this, a college graduate truly has more of a chance to carve out a future for themselves.

Only knowledge can change one’s destiny—this is an unassailable truth.

From outside, muffled whimpers filtered in. Fan Li swore those were not animal sounds, but the noises of humans or something else.

Yet he never once went out to investigate. After scanning the room, he placed his katana at the head of the bed and rested briefly.

He hadn’t waited long before the man returned, carrying a tray and a bowl.

The man made a point of glancing at the katana on the bedside. Seeing Fan Li unarmed seemed to put him even more at ease; his face was no longer tense as before.

The food was unexpected—not because it was poor, but because it was too good. On the plate lay a freshly opened canned mackerel, and the staple was a bowl of freshly cooked rice.

Food was scarce in this world. If Fan Li had been in the man’s shoes, perhaps he would have offered a stranger enough food to fill their belly, but never something this generous.

The man set the meal down and left, only to return with a kitchen knife and a piece of cured sausage. Standing beside Fan Li, he sliced the sausage in front of him and placed the pieces within reach.

“Go ahead and eat.” The man stood by, but the knife never left his hand.

“Thank you. This is a rare feast,” Fan Li said, picking up his chopsticks. He lifted a piece of mackerel and dipped it in the thick sauce, while the man remained motionless, his gaze fixed intently on Fan Li’s hands—his eating seemed to hold the man’s full attention.

As Fan Li picked up the fish, the man’s throat bobbed involuntarily. But just then, Fan Li paused and looked up with a smile, “Excuse me, do you have any chili peppers?”

A flicker of discomfort crossed the man’s face. He hesitated, then shook his head, “No, our family doesn’t like spicy food.”

“I see…” Fan Li shrugged it off and resumed his meal. As he drew closer to tasting the mackerel, the man’s breathing grew uneven. But again, Fan Li set down his chopsticks and asked, “No chili? Do you have any salted vegetables, then? I like strong flavors.”

Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. He shook his head, his tone much darker than before: “No, no one in my family eats that. What you see is all we have.”

“Are you going to eat or not? Stop making things so complicated!” The veins on the man’s face had started to bulge with exasperation.

Fan Li nodded, “Alright.” For the third time, he picked up the fish, dipped it in the sauce, and brought it to his lips. Yet just as he was about to taste it, he hesitated, set the fish back, and said apologetically, “Sorry, I forgot—I don’t like fish. Could you get me something else?”

The man loomed over Fan Li, his face twisting with anger. It seemed Fan Li’s repeated requests had thoroughly infuriated him. He raised the kitchen knife slightly, as if to intimidate, “Why are you being so difficult? This is all I have. I told you to eat, so eat it right now!”

But Fan Li showed not a hint of fear, looking up at the man with an innocent, harmless smile. “But I told you, I don’t like fish. You never asked what I’d like; you just gave me this. Food is scarce. If I won’t eat it, why don’t you?”

The man’s patience finally snapped. His eyes reddened, his nerves stretched taut. He pressed the kitchen knife to Fan Li’s neck. “Why are you forcing me? I just wanted you to leave a little more peacefully—why do you have to push me?”

In this dangerous world, Fan Li had faced plenty of zombie attacks, but never before had he been threatened at knifepoint by another human. The smile faded from his face, his gaze settling coldly on the man. “How am I forcing you?”

The man’s composure unraveled, his features contorting with rage. The knife pressed down harder; one slash and Fan Li’s carotid would be severed.

“My son is hungry. He needs to eat too. Blame your own bad luck—of all the houses, you had to pick mine. I just wanted you to die with a full stomach, but you’re ungrateful. Don’t blame me for what happens next,” the man muttered, his eyes wild.

Piecing together the sobs he’d heard earlier, Fan Li seemed to understand. “Your son… has he turned into one of those flesh-eating monsters outside?”

“My son is not a monster!” The man’s emotions surged, his voice rising to a fevered pitch.