Chapter Seven: The Beautiful Captain

Staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at him, even though there were still over ten meters between them, Xie Han could already sense the murderous intent radiating from the other side. He had no doubt that if he hesitated even a moment longer, the man would pull the trigger without hesitation. Because of this, as soon as the other finished shouting, Xie Han responded without delay, “Don’t shoot…” He raised his hands and stepped out from behind the stone.

The burly man was relieved to see that it wasn’t a zombie emerging, but his gun remained trained on Xie Han. Experience had taught him that sometimes fellow humans were far more brutal than the undead. He barked, “Don’t come any closer. Stay where you are or I’ll open fire.”

Xie Han complied, saying, “Ok, ok, I mean no harm. I don’t have a gun, and I’m alone.”

A wary woman approached, her flashlight beam sweeping over Xie Han. After confirming that his hands were empty, she cautiously circled around the stone. Only after she had checked the area thoroughly to ensure there were no others lurking nearby did she finally say to the strong man, “Xu Qiang, lower your weapon. There’s no danger here.” With that, she signaled to the elderly and vulnerable in the distance that it was safe, then turned her attention to Xie Han.

Xie Han, for his part, was appraising her as well. She had a delicate oval face, fair skin, her jet-black hair tied up, giving her an air of spirited elegance. Her eyes glinted coldly, filled with suspicion as they fixed on him. The fitted windbreaker she wore accentuated her slender figure, her chest so prominent it seemed ready to burst the seams; by Xie Han’s estimation, she was at least a D cup. Altogether, she possessed the face of an angel and the figure of a temptress.

They sized each other up in silence until she broke it, asking, “Why are you alone here?” The question was not easy to answer, but Xie Han had already prepared his story. “My teammates were all killed by zombies on the road. I’m the only one who escaped.” He offered a smile. “Xie Han. May I ask your name?”

Perhaps meeting another survivor eased her guard, and she replied, “Qi Feiwu.” In this world overrun by zombies, after more than three years of brutal struggle, encountering another person was a rare joy. For this reason, Qi Feiwu was not as cold as she appeared.

Hearing her name, Xie Han couldn’t help but remark, “Such a beautiful name, befitting your appearance.” Qi Feiwu’s expression darkened for a moment, then she quickly regained her aloof composure, sneering, “No matter how pretty you are, without ability, in this apocalypse you either become someone’s plaything or end up a soulless zombie. Beauty is less useful than a pack of compressed biscuits.” With that, she turned to direct the others in her group to set up camp by the stone.

It was clear the group’s situation was dire. Three elders, all over fifty, had grown frail from chronic hunger. Climbing this small hill seemed to have exhausted their last reserves of strength. The other three youths, around fifteen or sixteen, were almost as weak as the elders, their faces pale and gaunt from lack of food. As soon as they reached the hilltop, they set aside rest and unloaded backpacks from an injured man’s back, taking out several thin, tattered tents to set up.

They worked together as if long accustomed to it, with Qi Feiwu and the burly man keeping watch, their flashlights scanning the surroundings vigilantly.

Xie Han noticed that, although they had camped near him, they did not merge their camp with his, obviously still wary. He retreated, feeling somewhat bored. After all the commotion, hunger crept up on him. He looked at the pot of cola-boiled instant noodles, now cold, and from the stone’s edge snapped off two small twigs to use as chopsticks, then began to eat with relish.

The aroma of instant noodles was among the most tantalizing of all foods, its scent carrying far and wide. Cola-boiled noodles, especially, seemed to release an even richer fragrance. As Xie Han picked up the noodles, the scent drifted through the air.

He had barely managed a couple of bites when hurried footsteps approached. Three elders and three youths rushed over from their camp, crowding around him, their eyes fixed desperately on the pot. The rich aroma made their mouths water uncontrollably; they licked their cracked lips, their breathing heavy as they struggled to restrain themselves.

At some point, Qi Feiwu, the burly man, and the injured man had joined the circle as well, their eyes locked onto the noodles, swallowing hard.

A metallic click sounded—the chambering of a bullet. The burly man abruptly leveled his gun at Xie Han, growling in a low voice, “Hand over the food, or I’ll blow your head off.” In this apocalypse, finding even a morsel to eat was an ordeal; if it wasn’t zombies blocking the way, it was other survivors who had already stripped resources bare. For a weak group like theirs, food was almost impossible to obtain.

Xie Han stared in disbelief at the burly man, thinking, “Isn’t this a bit much for some instant noodles?” But seeing the veins bulge on the man’s gun-wielding arm, he dared not doubt the threat. Obediently, he stood and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. The noodles are yours.”

After Xie Han retreated several paces, the other seven, apart from Qi Feiwu and the burly man, cheered and crowded around the pot. They didn’t simply snatch the food; instead, the injured man divided it evenly among small metal bowls. Two packets of noodles weren’t much—each received only a meager portion. Yet seeing how they cherished every drop, licking the pot clean, Xie Han suddenly understood their true predicament. This was survival.

Qi Feiwu and the burly man also received a share, and neither was shy—they gulped down their noodles in one go. It was nowhere near enough to satisfy, but to have anything at all was already a stroke of luck. Once the noodles were divided, the burly man finally removed his gun from Xie Han and went back to stand guard.

A faint blush appeared on the icy face of Qi Feiwu as she approached Xie Han, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m sorry, just now we…” Xie Han waved generously. “It’s fine. I understand.”

Qi Feiwu spoke softly—a rarity for her. “We haven’t eaten in three days, so we lost our composure. But we won’t eat your noodles for nothing.” From her person, she produced a gold ring. “This ring, in exchange for your noodles, should be sufficient.”

Xie Han instinctively took it, half wondering if he was dreaming. “You’re trading this ring for my noodles?” Qi Feiwu, thinking he was reluctant, hesitated, then brought out a small platinum bracelet and handed it to him. “This should cover it, right?”

Xie Han could hardly believe it. Two packs of instant noodles worth barely a dollar and a few cans of cola, traded for a gold ring and a platinum bracelet—was this real?

But he quickly realized the truth. In this apocalyptic world, fields lay abandoned, zombies roamed, and finding food was extraordinarily difficult. The only places with supplies were towns and cities, but those were infested with thousands of zombies, making retrieval nearly impossible except for the most heavily armed groups, who could fight their way to a small cache.

In such a world, paper currency was as useless as scrap, while gold and diamonds became the sole trading standards. In fact, food was even more precious than gold; with food, one could exchange for all the gold one wanted, but gold did not guarantee food. This was why Qi Feiwu had offered a gold ring and platinum bracelet for two packets of instant noodles.

Understanding this, Xie Han suddenly became excited. In his own world, that ring and bracelet could fetch several thousand dollars, making the profit on those noodles more than a thousandfold.