Post-Apocalyptic Brother Sandwich (Huo Qingyu | Huo Qinghan)
East District. Old Commercial Street.
Huo Qingyu squatted on top of a crooked lamppost, shading his eyes with one hand as he gazed out at the uneven ruins ahead. The sun had softened the asphalt road, sending up waves of heat smelling of rust and rotting wood. A few crows perched on the sign of the shopping mall across the street, tilting their heads to size him up, as if trying to judge whether this human was about to become their next meal.
"Qinghan, guess how much good stuff is left in that department store?"
Huo Qinghan stood below the lamppost, not even lifting his eyelids.
"Not guessing."
"How do you have zero sense of humor?" Huo Qingyu flipped down from the lamppost. As he landed, a tiny arc of electricity flashed at the tip of his toes, silently absorbing the impact of the fall. "What if there's a whole unopened crate of Spam inside? What if there are those compressed biscuits of your favorite brand? What if—"
"There are no 'what ifs'." Huo Qinghan interrupted coldly, his ice-blue eyes scanning the pitch-black entrance of the department store. "There are zombies inside. At least five. One of them is on the larger side, likely the precursor to a Goliath."
Huo Qingyu blinked, then flashed an overly bright smile. "My little bro is so amazing, sensing them right through a wall. Tell you what—the Goliath is yours, the Spam is mine."
Huo Qinghan finally looked up at him. His ice-blue eyes showed no excess emotion, but Huo Qingyu accurately read the silent disdain of "Are you a three-year-old?" from them.
"Hey, clear division of labor, it's great. Let's go, let's go. If we dawdle any longer, it'll be dark."
Huo Qingyu took the lead and walked toward the department store, hands in his pockets, his back looking so relaxed it was as if he were going shopping rather than scraping by in the apocalypse. Huo Qinghan followed in silence, maintaining a strict three-meter distance behind him. That was the unspoken tacit understanding between the brothers—three meters, just enough distance for one to instantly cover the other with their superpower if they were attacked.
The interior of the department store was dim and cavernous. The once-glamorous ground-floor cosmetics counters were now reduced to lopsided shelves and shattered glass all over the floor, the air thick with stale perfume mixed with the sweet, copper stench unique to zombies.
Huo Qingyu flicked his index finger in the air, and an almost imperceptible arc of electricity expanded into a sensory web, scanning the bioelectric fields of the entire floor into his consciousness.
"Five on the second floor, three in the ground-floor back warehouse. And that big guy you mentioned is in..." He paused, his brow arching slightly. "...the basement. It's moving, heading toward the stairs."
Before the words finished leaving his mouth, the roller shutter of the back warehouse was crashed open. Three common zombies dragged their shuffling steps, rushing toward them. Their cloudy eyes glinted in the gloom, and the drool hanging from the corners of their mouths stretched into long threads.
Huo Qingyu didn't even lift a hand.
Huo Qinghan swept past his side, the temperature in the air plummeting instantly. An ice blade condensed out of thin air in his palm, three feet long, crystal clear, with frost patterns shimmering in a cold white glow in the dim light. Three slashes. Three arcs. Three muffled thuds. The heads of the three zombies rolled to the ground, their severed necks sealed by ice crystals, not a single drop of blood spilling out.
"Nice," Huo Qingyu whistled, bending down to pry out the crystal cores. "But could you not slice them so cleanly every time? That Goliath's core is worth way more than these small fry. What if I accidentally damage it while prying—"
"You won't."
"What if?"
"There are no 'what ifs'."
Huo Qingyu looked up and grinned at him. They had repeated this dialogue no less than a hundred times, and it was exactly the same every single time. Huo Qinghan would always say there were no what ifs, Huo Qingyu would always pester him a bit more about the "what ifs," then Huo Qinghan would fall silent, and Huo Qingyu would go back to prying the cores. The whole process was smooth and seamless, more efficient than an assembly line in the old world.
A burst of roars erupted from the second floor. Startled by the sound of their companions falling, the remaining five zombies came swarming down the stairs. Huo Qingyu stuffed the three cores into his pocket, just about to take care of this wave of small fry—when a massive dark shadow crashed through the stairwell wall and burst out.
The Goliath.
This mutant was at least four meters tall, its body covered in grayish-white silicified armor, and its muscular right arm was nearly as thick as a whole human. It smashed through the wall as easily as tearing paper. Its cloudy eyes rolled around, locking onto the two brothers, and let out a deafening roar.
"Yours," Huo Qingyu took a step back, gesturing "after you."
Huo Qinghan didn't reply. The ice blade flipped in his palm, a second layer of frost patterns condensing on the blade. He dashed toward the Goliath at extreme speed, the ground beneath his feet freezing into a thin layer of frost as he swept past. The Goliath swung its arm down; he sidestepped to dodge, his ice blade flashing a cold light across the Goliath's elbow joint. The silicified armor on the joint, frozen to the point of brittleness, cracked open.
But the Goliath reacted faster than he anticipated. Its left fist swept in from the side, striking Huo Qinghan's ice blade head-on. Ice shards flew everywhere, and Huo Qinghan took several steps back to stabilize himself. He looked down at his blade—the blade itself wasn't shattered, but a layer of frost patterns had been shaken loose.
"Need help?" Huo Qingyu's voice came from behind, his tone still carrying that punchable, relaxed air.
"No."
Huo Qinghan condensed his ice blade again. This time, he didn't attack directly. He circled to the Goliath's side, drawing an arc on the ground with his blade as a path of frost spread, freezing the Goliath's feet to the spot. The Goliath roared and struggled, the sound of cracking ice echoing through the empty mall. Taking advantage of the opening, Huo Qinghan leaped into the air. His ice blade carved a cold, crescent-moon arc through the air, slicing cleanly into the crack in the armor on the side of the Goliath's neck that had just been frozen and split.
The Goliath's roar came to an abrupt halt. The massive head slid off its shoulders, crashing to the ground with a heavy, dull thud. The colossal body collapsed with a boom, shaking the glass railings on the second floor until they shattered completely. Huo Qinghan descended from midair, propping himself up with his ice blade as he landed on one knee. A few strands of his silver-gray hair were damp with sweat, but his breathing remained steady.
Huo Qingyu clapped three times.
"Three minutes. Twenty seconds faster than last time. At this rate of progress, in another half a year you'll be able to solo a Zombie King, and I can finally retire—"
"Cut the crap." Huo Qinghan stood up and withdrew his ice blade, casting a glance at the back of his hand, which was stained with zombie slime. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Huo Qingyu caught the expression and threw over a crumpled wet wipe from his pocket. Huo Qinghan caught it, meticulously wiping his hand, and then wiped the hilt of his ice blade as well.
"Your germaphobia is truly the ultimate luxury in this apocalypse."
"So is your mouth."
"Right back at you." Huo Qingyu walked over to the Goliath's head with a grin, squatting down. He expertly pried open the silicified armor with his dagger and extracted a fist-sized crystal core from the skull cavity. This core was three times larger than those of ordinary zombies, its color a milky white with a faint gold tint, emitting a weak glow on its own in the darkness. "B-grade, top tier. We're rich. How many crates of antibiotics can we get for this?"
"Ask Wangshu yourself."
"True, that fox calculates his abacus too shrewdly. Every time I do business with him, I feel like I'm being skinned alive. But with you there this time, he won't dare go too far—after all, you just standing there is more effective than any bargaining."
Huo Qinghan didn't reply. He was wiping the last remaining frost patterns off his ice blade, his movements focused and meticulous, as if it weren't a superpower weapon that could be re-condensed at any time, but an irreplaceable treasure.
Huo Qingyu looked at his brother's profile, his smile fading a layer, revealing a depth he rarely showed others. He remembered this ice blade—not its shape, but the way it was tempered with frost. Three temperings, each after a brutal battle. The first was the day Huo Qinghan awakened his superpower, to save him. The second was during a Raven skirmish, to cover retreating teammates. The third—he didn't remember, or rather, Huo Qinghan hadn't let him see it.
"Qinghan."
"Yeah."
"Next time there's danger, don't always be the first to rush in."
Huo Qinghan's movements paused for a split second. It was so brief that an ordinary person wouldn't have noticed at all. But he couldn't hide it from Huo Qingyu.
"You too." Huo Qinghan sheathed his ice blade—which was merely drawing the superpower back into his body. The chill dissipated, leaving only a lingering touch of cool temperature in the air. Then he turned and walked toward the stairs. "Let's go. There are still five on the second floor."
Huo Qingyu stared at his brother's retreating back and suddenly smiled. It wasn't his usual loud, disarming laugh, but a quieter smile that only surfaced when he was alone. *Keep up with me.* He remembered saying those words a long time ago. Now, the kid who once needed to keep up with him was already standing three paces ahead.
"Coming, coming! Don't walk so fast." He stuffed the crystal core into his pocket, caught up in a few quick strides, and nudged Huo Qinghan's shoulder with his own. "Hey, what do you want for dinner? I'm in a good mood today, so your big bro is cooking."
"Even the zombies wouldn't eat your instant noodles."
"That's just because they have no taste! Instant noodles with a whole marinated egg is a feast fit for an emperor in this apocalypse—why are you rolling your eyes? I'm serious—"
The brothers' figures disappeared around the corner of the second-floor stairs. In the distance, the faint roars of zombies echoed once more, but the sounds between them—bickering, silence, the soft ring of a blade being drawn, the crackle of lightning dancing on fingertips—were far more powerful than any roar.Please log in to continue the conversation.