Chapter 121: Cangzhou Survivor Zone (2) Refusal

During the broadcasts from the Special Committee base, this was the place most frequently met with angry retorts. Almost every faction had managed to acquire a radio station; there was no other choice. Without a radio, a group was considered second-rate, with no hope of dominance. Many factions saw their members scatter because of this and eventually vanished.

Apart from the Special Committee base, Cangzhou was one of the few notable human survivor bases in the world, housing about one million people. Among them, approximately 500,000 were martial practitioners. In the absence of a great hero to unify them, a loosely connected alliance known as the Martial Arts Association had formed.

This name did not quite align with their ambition to unite the world. However, with over fifty factions involved, they had no choice but to adopt this noncommittal title to gain general acceptance.

The Martial Arts Association Council consisted of 102 members, two representatives from each faction. Every major decision required unanimous approval—yet, no decisions were ever unanimously agreed upon.

They spent their days entangled in internal disputes. One day, a faction would accuse another of having inferior skills from years past, and the opposing faction would demand a showdown to reclaim honor, “Today, we specially seek your witness!” or, “We both use claw techniques; just say the word and we’ll let it go. Otherwise, we must spar to settle this!”

Such chaos made it impossible to regard them as a proper base. Hence, the Special Committee officially designated the area as the Cangzhou Survivor Zone.

Ma Xiaoshuai led Armored Train No. 1 along the Beijing-Shanghai railway, passing many abandoned trains along the 262-kilometer stretch. These trains had run out of fuel, their passengers either zombified or fled. Fortunately, the tracks remained largely intact. They pushed these trains onto sidings, restored the rail line, and rescued over ten thousand survivors for evacuation.

Upon arriving in Cangzhou, they were met with an enthusiastic welcome. Tens of thousands of people, brandishing knives, swords, spears, and halberds, lined the railway, shouting loudly, “Get lost!”

Occasionally, gunshots rang out to the sky or rocket launchers were fired.

“My goodness, this is intense!” Ma Xiaoshuai’s bodyguard glanced out the observation window, seeing a sea of people filling every valley and hill, sticking out his tongue.

This time, the United Front Minister Ye Liusun personally took charge. After surveying the survivor zones accessible to the Special Committee, he deemed this chaotic base the perfect opportunity to showcase his talents. He even assigned several skilled martial artists to the United Front Department, waiting to make a grand impression.

Looking out from the observation window, Ye Liusun noted the good health of the Cangzhou survivors. Unlike ordinary survivors who were pale and gaunt from hunger and cold, these people seemed well-provided for. Clearly, no faction dared neglect their own hometown kin.

Before the apocalypse, China had boasted grain reserves sufficient to feed over a billion people for years—a claim not made lightly. As long as the granaries could be located and the leadership competent, basic sustenance was assured. Otherwise, there was little hope.

Some people wore armor, standing beside banners bearing names like “Zhang,” “King of Bajiquan,” and “Sun of Tongbi.” Counting carefully, there were forty-two such banners—nine fewer than previously known—indicating some factions had vanished.

Before them was a surreal scene: a parade of ultra-modern factions welcoming them, clad in armor, sweatshirts, suits, traditional robes, wielding a bewildering mix of weapons—spears, swords, firearms, rocket launchers. The entire crew of Armored Train No. 1 was speechless. This scene was chillingly bizarre.

The soldiers opened the train doors. Armored warriors quickly lined up on both sides, standing guard.

A platoon leader clad in plate armor approached the flags. Inside his helmet was a personal radio, connected directly to the armored train’s base station, which linked to the Ministry of Defense. He saluted and announced, “Greetings from Platoon Leader Ma Hongwu of the First Platoon, First Company, First Battalion, First Regiment, First Brigade, First Division, First Army of the People’s Liberation Army of Apocalyptic China!”

He then asked, “May I know who is leading you?”

The disciplined armored soldiers and the platoon leader’s string of “firsts” stunned the martial artists, who exchanged glances.

A middle-aged man clad in armor stepped forward, holding a large guandao. He slammed the long-handled weapon into the concrete platform, cracking it. “I am Cai Hongzhang, Chairman of the Cangzhou Martial Arts Association and the ‘Rebel King’s Blade.’ What instructions do you have?”

Platoon Leader Ma saluted again, slowing his tone, “Our commander wishes to meet with your association. Please arrange a meeting.”

The face-to-face meeting was set for the conference room of the Huiyuan Hotel on Xinhua East Road, west of Cangzhou Railway Station.

Ma Xiaoshuai and Ye Liusun, accompanied by their armored soldiers, marched in with a clatter. Each wore a one-and-a-half-meter short steel pipe at their waist, carried dog-leg sabers on their back, and held Type 81 rifles newly produced by the Special Committee. These rifles were old 7.62mm caliber weapons.

Modeled on the AK-47, the Type 81 matched its reliability but far surpassed it in accuracy.

This accuracy was precisely what the Special Committee valued. The rifles required no meticulous maintenance to remain reliable, yet their precision was excellent.

Reliability was especially crucial, surpassing even new-generation weapons requiring careful upkeep. The Special Committee’s soldiers were mostly ordinary civilians before the apocalypse, with neither the time nor materials—such as synthetic maintenance oils—to maintain their firearms. Moreover, the new adversaries were no longer humans. Nobody could predict when a 5.8mm caliber bullet might fail to stop a zombie. Thus, the flashy new guns had all quietly faded away.

Members of the Cangzhou Martial Arts Association approached from the other side, dressed in ancient, modern, and contemporary attire, wielding weapons from every era. Hair lengths varied wildly—those who kept their hair trimmed had short cuts, while others sported shoulder-length locks—adding to the bizarre spectacle.

Each side left a contingent outside to secure the perimeter.

The conference room was surprisingly clean. Both parties took their seats on opposite sides of the table.

After introductions, silence fell.

After a moment, Ye Liusun spoke, “The apocalypse struck suddenly. We too organized only afterward.”

He needed to clarify why timely aid had not been delivered. Whether or not it was fair, the blame fell on them. Wearing the state’s mantle meant shouldering national responsibility. They were not shameless politicians.

“We deeply appreciate your organization and the rescue of so many people. Now, we have come to bring you home.” He attempted to appeal to their emotions.

“Hmph,” Councilor Cai was clearly unimpressed, “Bringing us home? Hmph! We didn’t build such a grand foundation just to add glory to you!”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple. You are you, we are we. The road is wide open—let’s go our separate ways!”