Chapter 199: Uninvited Guests

"Didn't bring any gasoline down, I'll go get some."

Wang Xin glanced over, saw no kindling, thought it might be hard to light, and rode his electric scooter back to camp for fuel.

Wu Lue found waiting boring, walked over to the pile of corpses, pulled out a lighter, flicked it repeatedly until it sparked, then lit the corner of a corpse's clothing.

Lighting clothing wasn't hard; the real difficulty was burning the zombie bodies themselves—but when the flames touched the zombies' skin, it didn't ignite as hard as expected, as if the zombies' skin itself were highly flammable, naturally spreading along the flesh!

"Oh oh, oh, hey!"

Wu Lue didn't react at first—until several corpses in front of him burst into flames one after another, and a wave of heat slammed into him, forcing him to scramble backward.

"Little Wu, what did you do?"

Yu Wen stared at the fire spreading rapidly from one corner of the corpse pile, astonished.

Before Wang Xin even reached the foot of the hill on his electric scooter, he noticed the corpse pile was already ablaze; he clicked his tongue and turned around to head back.

Not even Scarface believed it—Yu Wen himself thought that if he hadn't known these were zombie bodies, he wouldn't have believed it either…

The speaking man wore a black down jacket, bulky and broad-shouldered, with a scar on his chin—likely from a burn, very noticeable.

Everyone exchanged glances, wondering whether zombies had a flammable property.

Fortunately, they were downwind; the heat and smoke drifted away with the wind, and any foul odor vanished with it.

"No, you might get stuck somewhere and rot away naturally, haha."

"Are you the one in charge of the village?"

The six people didn't matter; what mattered was that four men standing in the truck bed were all holding guns!

There were submachine guns and assault rifles; Yu Wen didn't recognize their models, but from their design, he could tell they weren't homemade junk—definitely mass-produced industrial weapons!

Over an hour passed; Yu Wen reviewed his written plan, satisfied—then, just then, he heard a voice beside his ear.

Yu Wen wore a professional smile, as if facing a group of middle schoolers waiting for enlightenment.

"Ah, haha, good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm handling some zombie corpses from the village."

Wu Lue couldn't answer Yu Wen's question—he, like everyone else, had retreated far from the roaring fire, and only after stepping back more than twenty meters did he stare blankly: "I… I just lit the zombie's clothes. They caught fire easily… really easily…"

The sudden voice behind him made Yu Wen instinctively flinch—he reached for his rifle to guard himself, then remembered he hadn't brought it; all he had was a steel rod, uniformly forged by the camp.

Slowly picking up the steel rod like a cane, steadying his nerves, Yu Wen stood and turned around—he saw a pickup truck parked on the road, four men seated in the bed, a woman in the passenger seat; the man speaking to him was likely the driver, since the driver's seat was empty.

"Zombie corpses? You're full of shit—how many corpses is that pile?"

"Get lost… Leave, go back!"

"So tragic—if I turn into a zombie, will this be my final resting place too?"

When truth cannot be determined, treat everything as real.

Many who couldn't bear to watch returned early to camp for work, leaving only Yu Wen sitting beside the dirt road, pen and paper in hand, writing, monitoring the fire's spread, and designing plans to renovate the pigpen.

"Hey, old man, what are you burning?"

Yu Wen turned around and froze—before him, the fire pile no longer resembled any zombie; after over an hour of burning, the corpses had turned into a vast, pitch-black puddle.

Scarface stepped forward two paces, lit a cigarette, and looked down at Yu Wen from the roadside, radiating arrogance.

Seeing Yu Wen silent, Scarface grew impatient: "Forget that! You look well-dressed—do you have a safe camp? Which village are you from?"

Yu Wen politely replied: "I'm not local—I came here with companions fleeing the disaster. I don't even know what village we're in. Where are you from? Where are you headed?"

Flames leapt over ten meters high, crackling incessantly; the burning corpse pile resembled a scene from a hell of molten lava.

"Well, that depends on what aspect you mean, old man—I have a few modest insights, and I do handle some internal affairs."

Yu Wen spoke slowly, his mind racing, weighing how best to answer these men's questions.

"Damn it, stop dragging it out—I'll ask you: how many people are in your safe camp?"

Scarface exhaled smoke and asked.

Yu Wen feigned thought, counting on his fingers: "Eighteen people, including children—eighteen total."

This number was carefully chosen: too few or too many would seem fake; he ultimately excluded Zhang Su and others who were away, giving the actual current population of Tianma Yu—in case they insisted on climbing the mountain to verify, he wouldn't be exposed.

"Old man, you're not lying to me, are you?"

Scarface glared at Yu Wen with murderous eyes.

Yu Wen spread his hands wide, utterly open, and casually pointed: "If you don't believe me, come with me and see for yourself—what's the point of lying about something like this?"

"Wait to find the way later—first, let me tell you: we're from the Northern Dragon Army. We're collecting protection fees from your survivor camp—fifty units per person per month. Here's the list of acceptable goods!"

With a rustle, Scarface pulled a relatively flat A4 sheet from his pocket and handed it to Yu Wen.

Yu Wen didn't react immediately; he calmly took the list and examined it.

Flour: one jin equals one unit

Pork: one jin equals two units

Corn: two jin equals one unit

Potatoes: one and a half jin equals one unit

Sweet potatoes: same as potatoes

Vegetables: two jin equals one unit

Beef: eight liang equals one unit

Peanuts…

Fruit…

…

And so on—over a dozen food items listed clearly and systematically, followed by supplementary provisions for special goods like medicine, though their value was generally low.

"Since these supplies are officially called protection fees, what protection do you provide in return?"

Yu Wen neatly folded the list and tucked it into his pocket, treating it with great care—but his tone remained calm and unyielding.

Scarface watched his actions, wanting to rage but holding back: "Do you have a radio transmitter? Our headquarters receives broadcasts on all frequencies. If you don't, we'll give you one when you first deliver food—if zombies attack, broadcast for help, and the Dragon Army will come to exterminate them!"

Yu Wen nodded with apparent admiration, probing: "May I ask, sir, what is the scale and strength of your Dragon Army? What level of zombie horde can you handle?"

"You old bastard, why ask so many questions? Our Dragon Army has over a thousand brothers and sisters—hundreds of combatants, all armed and fully equipped. Ten or twenty thousand zombies? No problem. But listen up: we won't respond to attacks under three hundred zombies—if you can't survive, then die!"

Scarface kicked a stone on the road impatiently.

Over a thousand brothers and sisters…

Yu Wen's heart sank—he was certain the man was bluffing, but how much of it was bluff? Even if halved, then halved again, there were still two or three hundred people—a formidable survivor force!

Even if only one-tenth were real—that's still a hundred armed men. If they were all like this, the threat was still enormous!

"Sir, don't be angry—I'm just trying to understand clearly, so I don't bother you unnecessarily."

Yu Wen's mind churned with thoughts, but his face remained calm and composed.

Scarface grew tired of dawdling with the old man: "Come on, take me to your camp. You have one week to prepare the food. Delay one day, add fifty units. Delay five days, and you pay with lives!"

Yu Wen feigned shock: "Oh my, sir, according to your standards, we can't possibly produce nine hundred units a month—we only have ten able-bodied workers!"

Seeing Scarface's darkening expression, Yu Wen hurried to add: "Sir, to avoid arriving at payment day with nothing to give, I'm being upfront about our hardship. I know our camp's situation—winter's here, and we're truly struggling."

"Besides, you don't want us to starve to death, do you? If we all die, who'll pay you? As long as people live, they'll pay something—however little. Isn't that logical, sir?"

Scarface didn't know Yu Wen's profession or education—but he was convinced by his words…

Yes—the Dragon Army's goal was to collect food, not kill. If everyone died, they'd have to scavenge for themselves anyway.

"Didn't expect an old man to have some brains. No need to say it—you're clearly in charge. Fine, since we're talking, I'll give you a discount on the first payment: eight hundred units. No haggling. Even with sixteen workers, eight hundred units isn't hard. In the apocalypse, you must strive to survive—or you don't deserve to live!"

Scarface shut down any further price negotiation.

Yu Wen put on a look of deep sorrow: "Alright, eight hundred units it is. Then, gentlemen, come with me—this way."

But Scarface frowned as he watched Yu Wen point toward Tianma Yu.

"Old man, you agreed too easily—are you trying to trick me?"

Before this, they'd found two survivor settlements near Qingxian and demanded the same fee—but both encounters were unpleasant, with the survivors fiercely resisting their entry. This old man's unusual eagerness made him suspicious!

Yu Wen smiled calmly: "Why not agree? It's a good deal."

(End of chapter)