Chapter 49: Light and Judging by Deeds, Not Intentions

Shortly after Fang Shi left, a group of Firefeathers arrived at the scene.

They immediately spotted the shattered black egg and let out mournful cries.

“Leader, we can’t let the killer go so easily,” one Firefeather said, grief-stricken.

“Erikon, I know your brother’s death weighs heavily on you, but the time is not yet right,” replied a tall Firefeather.

He stood 2.4 meters tall, noticeably a head taller than the other Firefeathers, clad in finely crafted black leather armor, his feathers woven into a crown.

Erikon’s eyes burned with vengeance: “I don’t understand—why can the Firewings go, but we cannot?”

The Firefeather leader said, “Watch your tongue. This is the will of Aivandela.”

Then the Firefeather leader recited a prayer.

“Change is inevitable, but only through devotion to Aivandela can change become better.”

The surrounding Firefeathers, hearing the prayer, showed reverence on their faces—even Erikon’s anger lessened, and he began to pray and confess his disrespect.

“In twenty-eight days, our warriors shall step into the Promised Land, seeking the freedom belonging to the Firefeathers.”

…

In the dark basement, Wu Xiaowen trembled beneath her blanket.

Even though it was June and the air was scorching, sweat beading on her skin could not warm the cold inside her heart.

Ten days. Exactly ten days.

Wu Xiaowen had been trapped in this basement for ten days.

Before the apocalypse, she had rented this basement and heard people arguing just outside the door.

Being naturally gossipy, she listened closely—it turned out to be a four-way romance: the man cheated on his girlfriend with a mistress, the mistress cheated with a fourth party, and the fourth party cheated back with the girlfriend.

The man gathered a group and ambushed the fourth party in the underground parking lot.

The fourth party called reinforcements, and another group arrived to confront them.

Then the mistress and the girlfriend were brought in, and they all started yelling at each other.

It was chaotic, dramatic—but somehow, no one actually fought.

Wu Xiaowen posted several blog entries about it.

She shared the spectacle with her group of girlfriends, finding it amusing.

Unfortunately, the apocalypse came.

Most of these young men and women didn’t survive the Law Transformation.

They turned directly into zombies; the few survivors, outnumbered, were quickly wiped out.

Thus, Wu Xiaowen became trapped.

For these ten days, lack of food wasn’t the worst part.

The hardest part was the darkness, loneliness, and fear.

Wu Xiaowen began to think: maybe she could just sleep it off—perhaps when she woke, the nightmare would be over.

But when she woke, nothing had changed.

No power, no water, her phone useless.

She was utterly stranded on an island of confusion.

Wu Xiaowen had tried to escape once—the result was zombies immediately blocking the door.

She grew anxious, panicked, until her overwhelming survival instinct told her: to live, she must wait patiently.

Wu Xiaowen believed the Chinese government wouldn’t abandon such a disaster.

As long as she could survive, she would be rescued.

At first, it was bearable.

Wu Xiaowen rationed her food, eating only tiny portions per meal.

One, to conserve; two, to reduce sugar intake and prolong sleep.

But as time passed, it grew harder and harder.

No clock, no way to measure time in the darkness.

Wu Xiaowen gradually grew delirious; loneliness and despair made her want to die.

But whenever this happened, she remembered her parents.

She lived in the basement not because she couldn’t afford an aboveground apartment.

She saved money—lots and lots of money—to renovate her parents’ old house.

To give them a comfortable home.

Even to take her mother for her back injury, her father for his leg pain.

To spare them from further suffering.

This was the force that had kept her alive.

But even the strongest motivation eventually runs out.

Starting on the seventh day, she stopped eating and drinking, lying still on her bed, eyes vacant, staring at the ceiling.

On the eighth day, she still hadn’t gotten up—even her bodily needs were handled in bed.

On the ninth day, starving beyond endurance, she struggled to sit up and devoured every scrap of food.

Now, on the tenth day.

Wu Xiaowen had wrapped herself entirely in her blanket, sweat pouring despite her dry tongue.

She refused to leave the covers—as if only this could offer her a sliver of safety.

“Am I going to die?”

“Dad, Mom, I’m coming to join you.”

As her consciousness faded, Wu Xiaowen suddenly heard the zombies’ roars outside, and clattering noises.

She even heard men shouting and women calling out.

A flicker of hope surged in her heart—she wanted to struggle up, but her body had no strength left.

She had already suffered heatstroke.

The sweltering heat trapped under the blanket, combined with dehydration—of course she’d get heatstroke.

The hope she’d just kindled was instantly extinguished.

Wu Xiaowen couldn’t even make a sound; she felt remorse—remorse for giving up.

Remorse for her stupidity.

If she’d just held on a little longer, wouldn’t rescue have come?

But in such an environment—darkness, loneliness, silence, despair—how many could stay conscious?

Bang!

A beam of light illuminated the basement.

“Captain, there’s someone here.”

“If there’s someone, save them—no need to report, why are you standing there like an idiot?”

“Yes, yes.”

A young man looked at the unconscious Wu Xiaowen and immediately yanked off her blanket.

Without flinching at her stench, he picked her up and carried her.

“Captain, this woman’s unconscious—what do we do?”

Qian Cheng, wearing glasses, chopped down a zombie and panted: “What do we do? Give her soup. Cures everything.”

The young man, hearing Qian Cheng, laid Wu Xiaowen on the ground.

He frantically pulled a bottle of mineral water from his pack.

The liquid inside was golden, and when opened, emitted a fragrant scent.

“Gulugulu!”

The golden liquid spilled from Wu Xiaowen’s lips as she lay on the ground.

“Damn it, you idiot, you’re trying to choke her!”

Qian Cheng’s heart jumped at the young man’s action.

He rushed over, adjusted Wu Xiaowen’s body, took the bottle, and slowly poured the liquid in.

“You’re new—watch and learn.”

“Look at me—I’ve been here three days and I’m already a captain.”

“Work hard. Your future’s bright.”

The young man nodded eagerly.

“Yes, Captain.”

Wu Xiaowen couldn’t move, but her consciousness was clear.

She understood every action Qian Cheng and the others took.

Her heart, having plummeted repeatedly, finally rose again.

“I’m alive, Dad, Mom.”

…

“Old Chen, how much more to reach Level 3?”

Zhao Wenjun fiddled with a device on the ground, atop which lay the corpse of a Firewing Bird.

Old Chen was a man in his thirties, with a square face, vigorous and sharp, radiating a tough, capable aura.

“Still need 528.”

Zhao Wenjun chuckled: “I still need 456—I’ve killed one more Firewing Bird than you.”

Old Chen retorted: “If you’ve got guts, don’t steal the kills later.”

“Kill? What’s stealing a kill? If I don’t kill the Firewing Bird fast enough, our squad will take casualties.”

“How can you, as squad leader, stand by and let your own men get hurt?”

Old Chen knew Zhao Wenjun was joking; he feigned annoyance: “Nonsense. When I’m on a mission, I always go first—I’m the one who gets hurt.”

“Since you got out of the army, you’ve made a name for yourself and no longer respect your old squad leader.”

Zhao Wenjun, hearing Old Chen’s anger, recalled the fear of basic training and shuddered: “No, no, just a joke—please don’t take it personally.”

Old Chen snorted, his anger fading: “Just got word—Master Fang has arrived at Yangming Community. We need to send people to clear it out quickly.”

“Otherwise, if another Firewing Bird emerges from the spatial rift soon, it won’t be safe.”

Zhao Wenjun sighed: “It’s not that I don’t want to—I just don’t have enough people. Combat personnel are too few.”

In these five days, they’ve advanced through eighty communities but only control twenty.

There are over six thousand survivors in the controlled zones.

Zhao Wenjun’s team selected those with high base stats and some talent to form a militia unit.

They were sent to clear zombies and rescue survivors.

The rest were assigned to gather supplies and ensure logistics.

As a result, each community averages only a hundred dedicated combat personnel.

They must break locks, smash doors, and clear streets—all at once, overwhelmed with work.

If not for the post-apocalypse, where opening your stat panel

automatically boosts all human strength, agility, and dexterity to ten points,

the logistics teams would have no combat capability, and the militia would be even more stretched.

Old Chen scratched his head: “Then let’s stick with this for now—we can’t split our forces further.”

“Otherwise, we’ll lose more by neglecting one area while focusing on another.”

Zhao Wenjun nodded: “Then we’ll execute Plan Two.”

He turned and called out: “Little Hu, has the printing team finished their task?”

Little Hu hurried to reply: “Commandant Zhao, they just sent word—they’ll be done in an hour.”

Zhao Wenjun laughed: “Good. I’ll go see Master after that.”

…

Fang Shi sat cross-legged on the rooftop, gazing across the entire city, fire elemental energy swirling around him, warping the surrounding air.

Beside him, Zhao Wenjun respectfully reported something.

“Master, this is our plan—what do you think?”

Fang Shi smiled faintly: “It’s fine. I’ll go myself.”

Zhao Wenjun beamed: “Thank you, Master—you’re truly a great hero to the people.”

Zhao Wenjun’s plan was simple: since they couldn’t spare personnel, they’d make the survivors fend for themselves.

They organized teams to acquire a hand-cranked printing press.

They printed on paper all the experience they’d gathered over these days on how to fight monsters.

Alongside it, they included various information, such as data from Fang Shi on the apocalypse.

Including survivor organization structures, urging party members to lead the formation of post-apocalypse self-help groups.

Gradually sweep surrounding areas, linking all survivor-controlled zones into one continuous territory.

Unite human strength to completely eradicate the apocalypse.

Just like Zhao Wenjun’s group—they were no longer the original gym-based organization.

They had absorbed many survivors from government agencies.

Old Chen was one of them, from the Military Specialization Division.

Fang Shi didn’t care about any of this—the post-apocalypse environment had changed.

Now it was the age of the capable rising, the weak falling, and the meritorious promoted rapidly.

Fang Shi trusted Zhao Wenjun’s ability to rise above others and become the leader of Ancheng Settlement.

Even Fang Shi himself now held an official position—as a government advisor.

Human adaptability was extraordinary; within a short time, they’d regained some organizational strength.

“Wenjun, I have something to tell you. After I finish distributing the flyers, I’m leaving.”

“What!” Zhao Wenjun was stunned. “Is the flyer plan displeasing you? I can cancel it.”

Fang Shi shook his head: “No. I planned this long ago—it was just delayed by a minor matter. Now it’s time to go.”

Zhao Wenjun gritted his teeth: “Master, we need you.”

Fang Shi smiled slightly: “No, you don’t need me.”

“You’re clever—you’ve built a skull-pile from Firewing Bird heads to intimidate them and control the streets.”

“You’ve crafted tools to hunt Firewing Birds—without my help.”

Zhao Wenjun pleaded: “But none of this would exist without your earlier efforts.”

“Without what you did in the beginning, we wouldn’t have these results.”

As he spoke, Zhao Wenjun bowed deeply: “Humanity needs you.”

Fang Shi sighed deeply: “Yes, humanity needs me—that’s precisely why I must leave.”

Zhao Wenjun frowned: “Why?”

Fang Shi fell silent a moment, then said: “Wenjun, didn’t I tell you about the second wave? What do you think of it?”

Zhao Wenjun wasn’t stupid: “Are there going to be a third, fourth wave?”

“Correct. Even a fifth, sixth—each stronger, fiercer than the last.”

Fang Shi spoke gravely: “Humanity must keep advancing to secure its future.”

“And your master? He’s going to fight for that future.”

Zhao Wenjun fell silent for a moment: “I understand. Go do what you must.”

Though Zhao Wenjun didn’t know exactly what Fang Shi intended, the past days had shown him

that his master was no anarchist or sociopath.

His cold, indifferent demeanor hid genuine care and kindness.

“How’s your Double Strike training going?” Fang Shi changed the subject.

Zhao Wenjun blushed slightly: “Master, I still can’t use it.”

“Just remember it—don’t rush. You should be able to use it by First Stage,” Fang Shi comforted him.

“Now, strike me once using the Double Strike technique.”

Zhao Wenjun knew this was his master’s final lesson before leaving.

He bowed respectfully: “Yes, Master.”

As he spoke, he unleashed all his strength, striking Fang Shi with the Double Strike technique.

Boom!

The air shattered—Fang Shi caught the blow effortlessly with his palm.

“Not bad—but this point is wrong…”

An hour later, Zhao Wenjun departed.

The vast rooftop was left with only Fang Shi alone.

Thinking of Zhao Wenjun’s final words before leaving, he fell silent.

“Master, you are a man of great compassion. I’ll handle everything in Ancheng—go without worry.”

A man of great compassion?

Hmph.

Do you really think I’ve never killed anyone?

My leaving isn’t for humanity—it’s for myself.

I killed Firewing Birds for you only because you could lure them.

Now I’m Level 5—I no longer need to kill Firewing Birds.

My leg injury is healed. Staying here is just wasting time.

The help I gave you? You earned it.

I want to end the apocalypse—for myself.

To master my own fate! To decide my own life and death!