Chapter 27: General Liu’s Integration (1)

This time, luck was on their side—only a few people had been scratched, and as usual, they were left to spend the night in Units 1 and 2, while the rest handed their completed résumés to the organization’s personnel department.

Li Fengyi and Commander Liu enjoyed priority treatment, being checked first. Commander Liu also filled out his résumé meticulously. No one asked Li Fengyi to fill one out—it seemed his leadership status had been recognized, and he was quietly pleased.

“The organization is quite systematic,” Commander Liu remarked, sitting grandly in the chair of Unit 6, Room 607, sipping tea with composure. “Delightful aroma.”

Li Fengyi blushed again—there was barely any tea left, just a bit of leaf dust. Yet everyone praised the aroma… Clearly, people’s standards had dropped significantly in this post-apocalyptic world.

Li Qiang had also returned with Company 1. They had retaken the entire supermarket, bringing back a great deal of supplies, though at the cost of five people bitten and eight scratched. There were no survivors in the supermarket—an open hall where no living soul could last—but they rescued seven people, five men and two women, from nearby shops.

Upon his return and seeing Commander Liu, Li Qiang felt as if he had finally found the main force, overcome with joy.

After dinner, the platoon leaders held a meeting to introduce Commander Liu. Everyone felt it an honor to fight alongside him, and their confidence soared.

Li Fengyi and Li Qiang summarized the day’s actions and announced plans for new reforms, having already conducted a personnel census.

“No matter what position you’re assigned,” Li Fengyi emphasized, “take it on gladly. If there are any issues, report them to me or Deputy Battalion Commander Li—we’ll handle them as appropriate.”

“Our current plan,” Li Fengyi continued, “is to structure ourselves according to the functions of pre-disaster government institutions. Of course, adjustments will be made for our current circumstances. Positions will be assigned based on your actual work experience and your performance these past few days. Nothing is set in stone—those who excel or fail will be reassigned accordingly.”

Everyone, anxious to make a good impression, voiced their support and then retired for the night.

There was no logistics summary from Wang Shujuan today; it was decided that once the organizational structure was complete, such matters would be properly delegated.

Li Fengyi, Li Qiang, and Commander Liu listened to reports from Tian Yali and two other personnel officers.

“If the leaders agree,” Tian Yali asked Li Fengyi, “I propose that Sun Xiuqing take charge of meeting minutes and Wang Shujuan handle meeting arrangements.”

Li Fengyi broke into a sweat—he hadn’t expected so much formality just for a meeting. In his old company, meetings had been rather casual.

Meeting arrangements now amounted to serving tea and water, a light and safe duty in these times. It granted legitimate participation in meetings without having to risk dangerous assignments—Tian Yali certainly knew how to manage things.

“This was the structure of pre-apocalypse government organizations,” Tian Yali explained, producing several sheets of A4 paper.

The final government announcement had classified this disaster as Level 4—an apocalyptic event. Yet the naming varied: some called it apocalypse, some disaster day, others simply the day it all began. As a former government worker, Tian Yali used the term ‘apocalypse.’

They bent their heads together, editing and streamlining the structure, strengthening certain departments.

When Li Fengyi brought up the organization’s name, Commander Liu suggested a change. “The organization could be called the Beijing Special Working Committee for the Apocalypse,” he said. “It’s distinctive and makes coordinating rescue efforts easier. If we encounter officials who refuse to cooperate, this title will carry weight and help prevent chaos. You really don’t understand how minor your rank is until you’re in Beijing.”

“That name is a bit grand, isn’t it?” Li Fengyi doubted. “Can we live up to it? We’re just a few survivors, a temporary self-help group waiting for government rescue.”

He also felt a subtle unease—Commander Liu was military; could too much involvement in politics cause trouble when the government returned?

“Heh, of course it’s not quite right,” Commander Liu replied with a childlike grin. “I may be retired, but I’m still a Central Committee member—well, an alternate, at least.”

“By the way, Commander Li,” Commander Liu turned with a new question, “are you a Party member?”

“No,” Li Fengyi admitted, a little embarrassed. “I wrote an application to join back home in Shandong, but it wasn’t approved.”

“Oh? Why did you apply?” Commander Liu pressed.

“That was around the year 2000,” Li Fengyi recalled. “The country was on the rise. Despite various democratic movements and calls for Westernization, I felt China had its own path. I believed the country truly couldn’t do without the Party, and I wanted to contribute to its development.”

He remembered his youth and realized—ah, he’d been young and impulsive once, though at thirty-five, he was hardly old now. “So I applied, but wasn’t accepted.”

“There’s a national highway, Route 104, back in my hometown. It runs through the county seat, and I’d commute along it every day. I could see the pace of development—the road got busier, the town grew, though corruption was rampant too. I thought maybe the Party needed people willing to get things done.”

“In the end, I wasn’t accepted. I thought my work—oh, I was a chemical plant worker then—was too easygoing. I figured I could do better, so I taught myself software programming and moved to Beijing. Eventually, I became, well, a manager.” He chose his words carefully. “It probably sounds naïve, doesn’t it?”

Commander Liu didn’t laugh. He pondered for a long moment. “In the Party’s early days, many had ideals. They went abroad to study—back then, that was far more impressive than it is now—gave up high salaries, and, driven by the simple hope to make the country better, climbed snowy mountains, crossed grasslands, fought the Japanese with swords and spears, fought Chiang Kai-shek with old rifles, and battled the Americans with mismatched weapons.”

“Later, after a long period of peace and prosperity, many people grew corrupt and degenerate,” Commander Liu continued. “But that idealism wasn’t childish.”

“Would you like to join the Communist Party of China?” Commander Liu asked, enunciating each word, his gaze fixed on Li Fengyi.

“Now?” Li Fengyi asked, surprised. “Where would I even apply? Who would approve it?”

“Deputy Commander Li, are you a Party member?” Commander Liu turned to Li Qiang.

Li Qiang sat up straight. “Yes, sir! I am a Party member!”

“Mm, you have that look,” Commander Liu nodded, then turned back to Li Fengyi. “Joining the Party now isn’t necessarily a good thing. Party members are expected to charge into danger first and rest only after—on the battlefield, that means leading the charge against flesh-eating zombies!”

“So I ask you, Comrade Li Fengyi,” Commander Liu stared into his eyes, “do you want to join the Party now?”

Li Fengyi swallowed. The youthful ideals he’d once buried deep resurfaced. Everyone is impulsive when young, but now he was no longer so naïve.

In China, having this status often made things easier. If you made a mistake, you could always be expelled from the Party—it was almost like a free pass.