Chapter 558: No Sand in the Eyes! (Dear Readers, Please Subscribe)

Many people acted together, and in no time, the twenty-six surviving Niyazi were bound hand and foot. They cooperated fully, offering not the slightest resistance; some even wore expressions of relief after being tied, sighing deeply as if freed from burden.

"Brother Zhang, don't make exceptions—I should be bound too, or it'll look bad. And this brat of mine—same deal."

Wang Guangjun chatted with Zhang Su, waiting and waiting, until finally no one came to bind him or his son, forcing him to speak up himself.

"Dad, you're… you're putting Brother Zhang in a tough spot."

Wang Zhetao was happily enjoying his privilege when his father suddenly volunteered to be tied up—this was insane.

Wang Guangjun shook his head firmly, raising his voice: "No, no—Brother Zhang's in a hard position, and we'll look out of step with the others! Xiao Lu, you still have rope, right?"

Wang Zhetao felt hollow hearing his father's words—why did he always think of others and never himself?

"I… Brother Su, look…"

Lu Yubo hesitated. For anyone else, it'd be no issue—but facing this uncle who had once saved him, he couldn't bring himself to act.

Zhang Su couldn't help but laugh and sigh. He remembered Wang Guangjun's traits: stubborn, inflexible, and slow to grasp situations. "Old Wang's right. Don't make exceptions because of me. Treat everyone equally."

Since Zhang Su spoke, there was nothing more to say. Lu Yubo moved to bind Wang and his son too.

"Yes, yes—that's how it should be! A straight back casts no crooked shadow. Don't make Brother Zhang suffer!"

Wang Guangjun tested the tightness of his bonds with calm satisfaction, seeing he matched the others who'd shared hardship, his face relaxed. But Wang Zhetao fidgeted, lips pouting, clearly unhappy.

"Old Wang, we'll catch up once we're settled! Old Liu, pick three men to drive these three vehicles—we won't fit otherwise!"

After giving the order, Zhang Su clapped Wang Guangjun on the shoulder and led the fighters toward the convoy.

"Big Brother Wang, bear with it for now—these are necessary procedures. I'll go drive first. Here… take these."

Tan Huajun pulled out cigarettes, a lighter, and a plastic bag filled with pork jerky from her bag.

Wang Guangjun hesitated slightly, then accepted, murmuring low: "Sister, thank you."

"No, Big Brother Wang—you don't owe me thanks. I'm the one who should thank you. For now, let's talk again when we reach Tianmayu."

With that, Tan Huajun smiled and turned away. Back at the gas station, Wang Guangjun had been a flame that warmed her frozen body and soul—she'd never forgotten it.

Only when Tan Huajun was far enough did Wang Zhetao lean close to his father's better ear and whisper: "Dad, who's that fat auntie? You two… hehehe…"

"You little brat, mind your own damn business!"

Wang Guangjun clearly didn't want his son prying into his love life—he scowled and rebuked him.

"Dad, stop hiding things from me. I'm not a kid—I can see right through it. And… I can tell Aunt Tan holds high status at Tianmayu. That means we'll…"

"What does it mean for us?" Wang Guangjun's face darkened instantly. He'd been calm before, but his son's words turned his already fearsome face grim.

Before Wang Zhetao could answer—he knew his son had no answer—he snapped: "If Brother Zhang leads this group, your Aunt Tan is indeed a core member. But why does Brother Zhang value her? Think!"

"When the zombies first broke out, your Aunt Tan fought alone—killed more than one. Far stronger than your useless college classmates!"

"If you think you can use your connection to her for special treatment, forget it. No one will help you if you don't grow stronger—not even me. Understood?"

Wang Guangjun was stern—unlike the man who'd once walked beside Zhang Su. Only when scolding his son did he reveal his true nature as a strict father.

"Got it, got it. Come on, Dad—they're calling us to the vehicles."

Wang Zhetao's expression was complex—grim, wounded. He nodded, accepting his father's rebuke. What he truly planned, only he knew.

"Brother Su, I got a bit worked up just now… you don't hold it against me, do you?"

Tan Huajun jogged up beside Zhang Su near the tank, embarrassed. She'd promised to care for Wang Guangjun without permission—it wasn't right.

Zhang Su smiled and shook his head: "Old Tan, don't say that. Old Wang escaped the compound with me. Our meeting was rough, but we shared hardship. Seeing him like this hurts me too—giving him some care is fine. But his son? Different story."

Speaking of Wang Zhetao, Zhang Su's gaze swept forward and landed on Zheng Ziwen trailing behind Ding Yongguo. For some reason, he disliked Wang Zhetao on sight. Compared to him, even Zheng Ziwen—who'd always seemed unpleasant—now looked better…

Tan Huajun understood Zhang Su's nature and nodded quickly: "I get it. Strong young men must earn their keep!"

She had a child of her own—she saw Wang Zhetao's flaws clearly. It was a common ailment among today's college kids: fine without parents, but once they found someone to lean on, they refused to lift a finger. "Alright, go on. Old Wang's group is almost ready."

Zhang Su glanced back.

Three vehicles, ten people each—tight, but for the Niyazi, no problem. If the front seats filled, use the trunk—open it, squeeze three side by side—easy!

Driving slow was safe. But if you needed sudden acceleration? Someone might fly out.

"Husband, husband—was that really Uncle Wang?"

Zhang Su returned to the tank; Zheng Xinyu's voice crackled through the radio.

She'd been on watch ahead, refusing to leave post despite her curiosity, asking everyone for updates. Seeing Zhang Su's group return, she immediately contacted him.

"Correct—it's Old Wang. These are the Niyazi survivors who contacted us last night! Don't dwell on it now—alert everyone, stay alert, we're moving out!"

Zhang Su replied, then issued orders.

The convoy moved again—three more vehicles added, twenty-eight people now, the group stronger than ever.

Inside the tank, Zhang Su exhaled slowly, his face filled with quiet sorrow. He rarely showed this expression before outsiders.

The zombies' strength pressed hard—but so did the world's pressure, drawing scattered survivors together, intentionally or not.

Some, like Absolute Justice and the Bajiazi villagers, were malicious. Others, like Ding Yongguo and the Niyazi survivors, truly sought safety in unity. But after months of apocalypse, Zhang Su understood one truth: more people didn't mean more strength.

As numbers grew, flaws surfaced: rotten apples, parasites, idle officials—all began to sprout.

Only when these problems were fully controlled could true strength emerge from numbers.

The massive convoy—even on wide roads allowing three or four vehicles side by side—stretched four or five hundred meters. Such a sight couldn't go unnoticed.

From the city center to the North Second Ring, ten kilometers, they faced no fewer than ten zombie attacks. Even the largest group had only twenty-some zombies—but they still slowed progress.

Still, Zhang Su didn't send scouts ahead. Zombies were too strong now; lone scouts risked death. Better to move slow as a group—safe, not fast. No need to rush.

He'd hoped more survivors would appear along this stretch—he'd even hoped for it. But none came. At the traditional boundary between city and suburbs, Zhang Su halted the tank and looked back. Towering buildings stood silent, desolate, broken—the whole city exuded despair.

If a city were a person, its people were its blood. Without blood, it would die slowly under wind, rain, and snow.

After entering the North Second Ring, the situation didn't ease despite the sparse population. Zombies trapped in villages now poured out—not just more regular zombies, but hulking ones too.

The test grew harsher. More fighters joined the zombie-killing effort. No shortcuts. Every zombie had to be cleared. Bodies couldn't be carried? Stack them on field ridges—retrieve them later.

If the city was a wasteland of death, the countryside's open fields were drenched in it. Look anywhere—zombie corpses lay everywhere.

The convoy moved slowly, often attacked, but its strength ensured every encounter ended without disaster. Injuries were mostly frostbite, bruises, sprains from the cold. The mood remained light, faces smiled. But at the satellite village beneath Tianmayu Mountain, tension hung thick and heavy.

"They're warm up on the mountain, cozy as hell. We're freezing and starving here. Look at these blankets—torn to shit! What the hell kind of crap is this?!"

In a peasant house, Da Niu stood on the kang, shaking a cotton quilt and complaining loudly.

Inside, over a dozen people gathered. Seven sat on the long kang; others squatted in the center—men and women, several smoking, smoke curling in the air.

After leaving the Tianmayu Shanmen, Meng Changwei brought everyone down to the village. With housing for hundreds, thirty-some people quickly claimed rooms. The Daqiaobao villagers bustled organizing their quarters—but here, a conspiracy brewed.

"Having a place to sleep is enough. Don't whine!"

A man rubbed his leg, face drawn, tired of Da Niu's griping.

"That's not true. We were comfy in Shihu Town. If zombies hadn't suddenly grown stronger, we wouldn't be like this. Now the bold live, the timid starve—and you, old cripple, don't care!"

Da Niu flung the quilt onto the kang, face flushed with anger.

Ten kilometers north of Qingxian lay Shihu Town. These people were survivors from there—the northernmost survivor camp in Qincheng's territory. North of that was Chengcheng's land.

"Who the hell are you calling a cripple? Say it again, I dare you!"

The middle-aged man called "Old Cripple" turned, glancing sideways at Da Niu—his eyes eerie in the dim light.

His real name was Xie Guangfa, a native hunter.

Qingxian was mountainous. Years ago, chasing game, he fell and broke his leg. Not serious at first—just a crack. But delayed treatment left his legs uneven.

Calling him a cripple was exaggerated—he walked awkwardly, but it didn't hinder daily life.

Da Niu's retort ignited his temper. He dropped the old cotton padding, glared at Xie Guangfa seated on the kang's edge, and spat: "I'm talking to you—cripple. Old cripple!"

Silence fell. Only smoke drifted. But it didn't last.

Whoosh.

Xie Guangfa spun like a top, rising instantly from his seat. Those around him felt a gust of wind, then a dark blur.

Thud! Stumble… Plop.

"Ahh… you bastard!"

Da Niu stood on the kang, furious—he never expected Xie Guangfa to strike without warning. No, not strike—kick.

He reacted fast, raising his arm to block. It saved him from serious injury, but the kick's force sent him stumbling back several steps, slamming into the wall. His arm burned.

"How's the cripple's taste?"

Xie Guangfa stood crookedly on the kang, eyes cold as a wounded beast, staring at Da Niu.

Those seated on the kang's edge had all moved to the room's center, fearing collateral damage.

"Hey, Old Xie, Da Niu's just an idiot—he talks nonsense by habit. Why take it personally? Come on, calm down."

Qi Dabin, the wolf leader of Feilang Gang, spoke up, leaning by the window, cigarette dangling. He could've intervened before Xie Guangfa exploded—but he let him vent first.

To him, Da Niu mattered far less than Xie Guangfa.

"You little shit, remember this: clean your mouth. If I hear you speak ill of me again, it won't be just a kick next time!"

Xie Guangfa dropped the threat, sat back on the kang's edge, and resumed rubbing his leg—as if nothing had happened.

"Ugh… ugh…"

Da Niu leaned against the wall, groaning, face flushed red—luckily, the dim light hid it.

Everyone's eyes flickered. Xie Guangfa's temper wasn't baseless—his niece had been bitten and killed yesterday. Add the escape, the near-death struggle, the relief only arriving with Daqiaobao's group—his nerves were frayed. Anger was natural.

"Let me say something fair…"

Gongdao Ge, seeing the tension ease, raised his hand: "Da Niu's words are crude but true. We escaped with nothing. Food and water won't last half a month. What then? Feilang Gang won't survive like this. The mountain's now only full of old, weak, women, and children. If we take it, the path's easy to defend—we'll be safe forever. Isn't that right?"

"Take it? Take your sister! Look at how scared Daqiaobao's bunch are! With our weapons, we've got zero chance!"

The skinny guy in the corner, smoking silently, shot a glare at the speaker.

"What? Old Stick, how the hell do you know the mountain's only got old and weak? Through your dog nose?"

"Women are doing all the talking and showing up—what else is it but old and weak?"

"Enough! You idiots—besides brute force, have you ever thought of strategy? You're all pigs!"

Qi Dabin, convinced of his own courage and cunning, extinguished his cigarette and looked at the group, a look of inscrutable confidence on his face—he already had a plan.

"I have something to say!"

Xie Guangfa, who had just demonstrated the power of a single kick, spoke before Qi Dabin could announce his plan.

As the enforcer of the Flying Wolf Gang, Xie Guangfa was normally silent, but when he spoke, others gave him respect and fell quiet to listen.

"Tianma Yu has already gone above and beyond by offering us a place to stay—I'm deeply grateful!"

Though few in words, his meaning was clear: he did not wish to clash with Tianma Yu.

(End of Chapter)