Yue Hemian · Chat

Eastern suburbs. Old medical equipment storage area. Yue Hemian stands before a half-collapsed logistics warehouse, his white uniform spotless in the morning light. Behind him stand six elite guards of the Light of Hope in a straight line, their postures perfectly upright, their breathing seemingly synchronized to a single standard. "The perimeter of the storage area has been cleared. Three common types, no mutants." Adjutant Ling Su hands over a tactical tablet, its screen flashing with a real-time scan of the area. "The structural integrity of the main building is seventy-two percent. It is estimated that over sixty percent of the stored materials inside remain intact." Yue Hemian nods slightly, his pale gold eyes sweeping over the half-open rolling shutter door of the warehouse. "Enter." His voice is not loud, but it prompts the six guards to act in unison. This is the standard clearing procedure of the Light of Hope—two guard the outer exit, two take high ground, and two enter with him. Every step is written in Appendix Three of the *Regulations on Resource Management in Survivor Zones*, precise down to individual soldier spacing and field-of-view coverage angles. In the third year of the apocalypse, Yue Hemian personally drafted this four-hundred-page book of regulations. Because he knows better than anyone that order is humanity's final armor. Once there is a crack in the armor, the people inside will die. The warehouse interior is dark and damp, the air filled with the sour, decayed smell of evaporated disinfectant and a faint, coppery sweetness. Yue Hemian raises his hand, and a soft white light glows in his palm. The holy light dispels the darkness, as well as the foul aura hiding in the shadows of the shelves. "The medicine area is in Sector B. Prioritize collecting antibiotics, surgical instruments, and anesthetics." He pauses. "If there are zombies, preserve the head crystal cores as intact as possible. The research department requested a new batch of experimental samples last week." "Yes, sir." The guards disperse, their movements as precise as machinery. Yue Hemian walks deeper into the warehouse alone. He likes this silence. The silence of ruins is different from the silence of peace; it is heavier, more oppressive, like a thick layer of dust settling on one's shoulders. But he has grown used to it. Or rather, he has forgotten what it feels like to not be used to it. At twenty-seven, Yue Hemian commands the largest survivor faction in the north, yet he has never loosened that taut string in front of anyone. Until he hears that laugh. It isn't a zombie. It isn't the wind. It isn't an illusion. It is a human laugh, coming from the other side of the warehouse, frivolous, defiant, and familiar enough to make his fingertips tremble slightly. "Don't be so serious. The world is already broken enough. If we don't laugh a bit more, are we going to let the zombies tell us jokes?" Yue Hemian's steps halt. He didn't even realize he had stopped. It isn't until the guard behind him calls out in confusion, "Speaker?" that he takes a step forward again, bypassing a row of collapsed shelves to stand at the entrance of Sector B. And then he sees that person. Huo Qingyu is squatting on a crate of antibiotics, tossing a crystal core he just pried out of a zombie's skull, purple light swirling between his fingers. In the shadows behind him stand seven or eight people from Raven, loading supplies onto a cart. They don't move fast, but their efficiency is surprisingly high—this flock of crows never plays by the rules, yet they always have their own wild way of doing things. Members of the two factions stand facing each other on opposite sides of the warehouse. The guards of the Light of Hope have already raised their guns, and the hands of the Raven members are resting on their hilt grips. The air suddenly tightens, like a string on the verge of snapping. And Huo Qingyu simply looks up, offering Yue Hemian a smile so bright it borders on obnoxious. "Yo, President Yue. What a coincidence, you out grocery shopping too?" "Huo Qingyu." Yue Hemian's voice is as cold as the first breath of a winter morning. "According to Article Seventeen of the *Regulations on Resource Management in Survivor Zones*, this storage area was designated under the unified management of the Light of Hope last month. Collecting strategic resources without permission requires temporary confiscation of the gains and submission to investigation." Huo Qingyu lets out an exaggerated "Wow." "The way you recite clauses is still so charming, President Yue. Can you send me an audio version next time we have a meeting? I'll use it for my insomnia." "Your frivolity—" "Yes, yes." Huo Qingyu stands up, pats the dust off his hands, and holds up a finger to Yue Hemian, as if correcting an obvious fact. "My frivolity and your rigidity are both incurable, terminal diseases. Since both of us are beyond saving, why don't we save some energy and talk business?" He shakes the purple crystal core in his hand. "We took down this Prowler. While your people were still clearing small mobs outside, we already wiped out all the zombies in the entire warehouse. On a first-come, first-served basis—" "International law has long ceased to apply." "Then let's talk strength." Huo Qingyu's smile remains, but the playfulness in his light brown eyes fades slightly, replaced by something sharper. "We lost three people to get this cargo." His tone is still light, as if commenting on the nice weather, but there are blades hidden in the pauses between his words. "Do you think I'm going to hand over their lives just because you recited Article Seventeen?" Silence. The only sound left in the warehouse is the howling of the wind through the holes in the corrugated iron sheets, and the faint, distant hiss of some unknown zombie. Yue Hemian looks at him. Huo Qingyu looks back. The Light of Hope and Raven, order and freedom—the leaders of two worlds lock eyes in these ruins for three seconds. Three seconds is not long, but in this apocalypse, three seconds is enough for a Chaser to slaughter two people, enough for a lightning storm to condense in a palm, enough for a life-and-death decision to rotate three times in one's mind. Yue Hemian averts his gaze. "Leave the antibiotics and anesthetics. The surgical instruments and bandages are yours." The guards are stunned. Huo Qingyu is also stunned—just for a split second, before that familiar smile blooms on his face again, though this time, there is a subtle layer beneath the amusement. "President Yue is backing down? I thought the word 'concession' didn't exist in your dictionary." "This is not a concession." Yue Hemian turns, the hem of his white coat cutting a sharp arc in the gloom. "This is an exchange. In five days, a horde of zombies in the South District will be moving toward the human settlements. Raven's intelligence network is wider than ours. Share their route and scale with us, and these supplies will count as an intelligence purchase." Huo Qingyu tilts his head, watching him for a long time, then smiles softly. It isn't the exaggerated grin from before, but a quieter, almost nostalgic smile. "You're still the same as you were in college, suffering just to save face. You could clearly just say you need help, but you have to package it as a transaction." Yue Hemian doesn't answer. He is thinking—was he really like this in college? Was it this exact smile, this tone, this blunt way of tearing a crack in his mask that made him feel the fear of losing control for the first time in those long four years? He does not allow himself to remember. "In five days, the clock tower in the South Three District ruins." Huo Qingyu's voice comes from behind. "Bring your light, and I'll bring my thunder. By the way, if you dare wear that white outfit to the battlefield again, I'll think you're throwing your life away on purpose—to act as a beacon for the zombies." Yue Hemian doesn't stop. He walks out of the warehouse, into the midday sun, his uniform still meticulous, his back still straight. But Adjutant Ling Su notices one thing— The Speaker's clenched right hand only slowly relaxes long after they have left the warehouse. "Return to headquarters," Yue Hemian says, his voice flawless. "Have the research department prepare to receive the samples. Also, compile the old data on the South District horde; I will need it in five days." "Yes, sir." The team begins to pack up. Yue Hemian walks at the very front, never looking back. But he knows someone is watching him from behind. He doesn't need to turn around—the other man's gaze falls on his back with a slight burning sensation, like a bolt of unformed lightning, testing the clouds to see if it can rip open the sky.