The young man leaned closer, pulled into the soldier’s arm. The camouflage-clad long legs firmly enclosed him. Before he could struggle, he was wrapped in a warm tactical jacket, even his neck stuffed tightly, not a breath of wind could penetrate.
“Trick’s done,” the soldier said briefly. “Sleep.”
The back of the young man’s head was pressed, his head resting on a broad, solid chest, momentarily stunned.
He could hear the other’s steady, powerful heartbeat and the soft crackling of the campfire, with distant night forest winds whistling beyond.
But the cold wind whistling through the treetops suddenly seemed very far away, having nothing to do with him. The warm embrace isolated the cold, dangerous, lonely world.
He carefully took a breath, the Alpha pheromones in his nasal cavity mixed with a hint of sweat.
This was the first time he’d felt secure in such an atmosphere.
“…I haven’t asked your name yet,” the young man murmured, half-asleep.
The soldier, one hand on his gun, warily surveying the forest night: “Hm? Exchanging names between contestants and hostages violates the rules.”
“Tell me…”
The soldier pressed the young man back into his embrace: “Fine, fine… don’t tell anyone.”
“Mm.”
“…My surname is Zhou.”
“Zhou what?”
“…”
“Zhou One, Zhou Two, Zhou Three, Zhou Sunday…”
“Zhou Rong!” The soldier was exasperated, lightly patting the young man’s head as punishment: “Rong, as in military warfare.”
The young man seemed somewhat satisfied, responding with an “Mm.”
“Call me Rong-ge if there’s danger next time,” the soldier paused, his face slightly red in the firelight, speaking softly: “No matter where, I’ll come rescue you.”
No matter how far, I’ll always come.
★ Chapter 43
06:08 AM Third day at dawn. Zhou Rong lay on the roof eaves, exhaling a white breath exhaustedly at the moment the eastern sky turned fish-back blue. Bullets left only twenty-one, four grenades, one tactical knife, one dagger, one assault rifle.
Although at the end of his strength, he had survived two long nights in the zombie city, and even Zhou Rong felt some mysterious force was protecting him.
But was Sima Nan still alive? Looking across the vast sea of corpses, in which hidden corner of the city was he hiding? Zhou Rong glanced at his watch – thirty-six hours had passed since Sima Nan disappeared. Had he given up, and perhaps already… died?
No, impossible – Zhou Rong inexplicably felt Sima Nan wouldn’t be killed so easily. Most likely, he was unarmed, unable to break through, gradually losing confidence in 118 squad returning to rescue him, hiding somewhere crying; or preparing to set out walking to the suburban helicopter airport.
“Hold on,” Zhou Rong bit his back teeth, forcing himself to sit up. If no results after 48 hours of searching, he’d gamble on heading to the airport, deciding based on circumstances whether to wait or return to the city in an armored vehicle to continue searching.
“Hang in there,” he murmured, unsure if to himself or to Sima Nan smiling and waving at him in the void. “As long as we hold on, we’ll meet again.”
Si Nan turned his head away.
“Drink it!” No response.
“Just like chocolate, right?” Luo Mu’er finally gave up his efforts and asked coldly.
Si Nan had no intention of responding and closed his eyes.
This silent rejection left Luo Mu’er at a loss. He violently smashed the maple syrup glass, and glass shards scattered all over the floor.
The dilapidated room was suddenly quiet, with cold wind howling through the window cracks, and only Luo Mu’er’s suppressed angry breathing could be heard.
The stalemate continued for several minutes.
“Okay, I admit it,” Luo Mu’er spoke again, surprisingly calm. He said, “I admit that I was wrong about the chocolate incident.”
In Luo Mu’er’s life, saying “I was wrong” was rare.
But Si Nan remained unmoved.
“I shouldn’t have made you use the electric shock device yourself as punishment using chocolate when you were weak.”
“—But you know,” Luo Mu’er paused, then continued coldly, “Being bitten by a zombie in the test was always going to be punished. We’ve both experienced this. Although the simulation intensity you underwent was indeed greater than anyone in the White Eagle Force, and you believe using food as an inducement is an insult…”
Si Nan showed no reaction.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Luo Mu’er took a deep breath to control his emotions: “Your childish persistence is meaningless, Noah.”
Hypothetically, if you were starving to death now, with only a piece of chocolate in front of you that you must eat to survive, would you still insist on this pale and ridiculous personality?”
What he didn’t expect was that Si Nan actually opened his eyes, turned his head, and smiled: “No.”
—The three short words were hoarse and almost inaudible, but the slight curve at the corner of his mouth was genuine, leaving Luo Mu’er stunned.
“I’ve already started eating chocolate,” Si Nan said, his smile carrying undisguised malice: “Someone gave me some a few days ago. I ate a big piece.”
Luo Mu’er was completely at a loss for words and stood there dazed.
Si Nan sat on the ground, once again resting his neck on the bed’s edge, as if those two sentences had exhausted all his strength.
Luo Mu’er had always known that Noah’s true personality had an extremely radical side. He hated others, and he hated himself.
He would be willing to accept Luo Mu’er’s conditions when hunger was unbearable, pressing the electric shock device himself, enduring both physical pain and the mental humiliation of this double torture.
But he would also develop a stress disorder afterward, completely refusing chocolate, and even experiencing a conditioned reflex of vomiting whenever he ate this food.
Luo Mu’er had observed that his vomiting, like some eating disorders, was initially a self-punishment and self-loathing he forced upon himself. But it soon evolved into a genuine stress response, to the point where he couldn’t even touch anything with a chocolate flavor.
—Obsessive, self-controlled, stubborn. Once he decided on something, he would continuously reinforce his self-awareness, deeply etching it into his mind and catalyzing it into a part of his behavioral instinct.
This personality typically wouldn’t change.
Luo Mu’er never imagined that his so-called brother would one day be able to overturn his self-awareness—if he wasn’t lying.
Something stirred deep in Luo Mu’er’s heart, seemingly wanting to attempt something, but hesitating.
After a while, he coughed with complex meaning, unzipping his assault jacket to reveal a corner of an inner scarf: “…Noah.”
“Look at this, Noah,” he gently grasped Si Nan’s chin to make him look at him, this time deliberately using a softer touch: “Do you remember?”
Si Nan glanced at it.
“The year my mother passed away, I flew from New York to Los Angeles to attend her funeral,” Luo Mu’er said slowly. “And you were there too. After the funeral, I walked alone into the forest, and it was raining.”
Suddenly you walked over and gave me this scarf…”
“‘Aren’t you cold?’ you asked me then. And my response was to wave the scarf away and angrily tell you to get lost. You didn’t speak again, looked at me for a while, and then turned to walk out of the forest.”
Many years later, Luo Mu’er could still vividly recall every detail of that moment, including his brother’s pale face wrapped in a black coat, his eyelashes moistened with fine raindrops, and the arc of his coat’s corner when he turned and left silently.
But it was also the last time, so Luo Mu’er never had the chance to verify the hypothesis he had repeated countless times—if he had responded differently then, would many things have been different?
