Chapter 61: Old Wang

Zheng Xinyu and Zhong Xiaoshan felt their tense nerves ease slightly upon hearing Zhang Su’s words; they likewise took off their backpacks and set them on the ground, placing weapons across their laps, rubbing shoulders and kneading arms.

“Uncle, what’s your name?”

Zhang Su asked the milk delivery worker for his name.

Wang Guangjun, hearing Zhang Su speak to him, hurriedly replied: “I’m Wang, Wang Guangjun.”

“Alright, then I’ll call you Old Wang…”

“Hehe, the old man next door… sorry.”

Before Zhang Su could finish, Zheng Xinyu laughed—but was glared at, and pouted as she apologized.

“Old Wang, judging by your clothes, you’re the milk delivery guy for that street?”

Zhang Su pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a satisfied sigh, and seeing Old Wang’s hungry gaze, tossed him one.

“Yes, yes. I deliver to four residential compounds on this street, and also to some shops along Xishan Road.”

Old Wang took a deep drag, his negative emotions easing slightly, and for once, he offered a faint smile.

“I don’t know whose house this is, but it looks clean and there are no zombies—Xinyu, check the kitchen; Xiaoshan, check the master bedroom and bathroom; Old Wang, check the other two bedrooms and the balcony—grab anything useful!”

Zhang Su didn’t rest further; he stood up, cigarette in mouth, and assigned tasks.

“This is someone else’s home… is it alright to do this?”

Wang Guangjun clearly hadn’t yet adjusted to life after the collapse, watching nervously as Zheng Xinyu and Zhong Xiaoshan began working.

Zhang Su rummaged through the living room as he said: “Old Wang, times have changed. Don’t cling to old ways. You don’t have to know how—just follow orders. Otherwise, you can open the door right now and go upstairs to find Officer Qin.”

“Yes, yes, Brother Zhang, I understand!”

Wang Guangjun wasn’t rigid-minded—he simply hadn’t had time to shift his thinking. A small nudge was enough; he learned quickly.

Soon, the group reconvened in the living room.

“This family must’ve fled right after the disaster. The kitchen’s a mess—nothing useful left except these seasonings, and yeah, a bit of oil.”

Zheng Xinyu placed several bottles and jars on the dining table.

Zhong Xiaoshan set down a plastic bag and sighed: “They had a baby. Found an unopened pack of diapers, half a can of stage-two formula, two packs of alcohol wipes—nothing else.”

Escaping the apocalypse with a baby who drinks formula—just thinking about it was despairing.

“This family was lucky—all three escaped infection. I hope they made it out.”

Zhang Su held a photo frame: a family portrait of three, clearly new—probably taken for the baby’s hundred-day celebration.

“Brother Zhang, I… could I have these clothes?”

Wang Guangjun had found several rolls of toilet paper, a few sets of clothing, and carried a mop—its appearance oddly comical.

“Of course, take them if they fit. It’s getting cold—stuff extra clothes in your pack for emergencies. But Old Wang, why are you carrying a mop?”

Zhang Su frowned, pointing at the mop whose bristles had dried and hardened into shape.

Wang Guangjun, pleased he could take the clothes, smiled and lifted the mop: “I’m going to turn it into a weapon for self-defense.”

“How are you planning to modify this rotten stick?”

Zhang Su stared at the mop in Wang Guangjun’s hands—he had no respect for it.

“Hehe.” Wang Guangjun grinned sheepishly. “No fancy tricks—just sharpen the head and it’ll work.”

Zhang Su nodded without comment, letting Wang Guangjun do as he pleased.

After searching for supplies, the group stood by the window and pulled back the curtains, staring in stunned silence at the scene ahead.

Building 4 stood at the northernmost edge of Sheng Qin Jiayuan; beyond the wall wasn’t a street, but another old urban renewal community called Tie Zhuang Li, filled with six-plus-one buildings, mostly resettled households with low population density.

Yet even with so few people, Tie Zhuang Li was a scene of utter ruin.

Zombies wandered everywhere. The canopy of a children’s carousel had collapsed, trapping several struggling zombies beneath. The exercise area was littered with severed limbs. Burnt walls, shattered windows, blood-smeared floors—everywhere.

Most strikingly, someone had jumped from a building and gotten caught on a fiber-optic cable; even after turning, they couldn’t break free, their arms flailing aimlessly, their whole body twisting back and forth—heartbreakingly.

“This is terrifying—I can’t imagine when this disaster will ever end!”

Even Zhong Xiaoshan, who’d seen death daily in the hospital, couldn’t help covering her mouth.

“Someone’s calling for help…”

Zhang Su helplessly pointed to a distant building.

Everyone followed his gaze and saw a woman behind a window holding a large cardboard sign: “SOS.” She’d clearly spotted them—her eyes locked onto their position.

“Poor girl.”

Wang Guangjun shook his head, then suddenly thought of his own son—perhaps struggling just like this woman, trapped in the cracks of survival. He turned away, unable to bear it.

Swish.

Zhang Su pulled the curtains shut again—preferring darkness over continuing to witness hell.

The explosion had happened in the afternoon; soon, darkness fell.

“Ha, Old Wang, you’ve been surviving on this?”

Zhang Su licked the white yogurt off his lips, a look of blissful satisfaction crossing his face.

Once an easily accessible treat, now a luxury. After the power went out, refrigerated yogurt would spoil quickly, and ambient yogurt would gradually mold over time.

Wang Guangjun scratched his messy hair and grinned: “I drank milk for two days, then when it went sour, I switched to yogurt… you guys want more? I’ve got a few more boxes!”

He reached for a filthy shoulder bag beside him.

“Enough, enough, Old Wang. Until we find more supplies, don’t gorge yourself—be moderate. By the way… aren’t you choking on these instant noodles?”

Zhang Su poked at the pile of instant noodle packets on the table, unimpressed.

He’d taken three boxes of yogurt from Old Wang and given him two packets of instant noodles in return.

Perhaps it had been days since he’d tasted salt—Wang Guangjun’s eyes turned green at the sight of the noodles. Like a child devouring crispy snacks, he crushed them, sprinkled on the seasoning, and gobbled them down, even licking the sauce packet clean.

Zheng Xinyu and Zhong Xiaoshan stared, stunned by Wang Guangjun’s devouring—whispering to each other whether he’d eat a bag of snail rice noodles whole, his teeth possibly stronger than a zombie’s!

“Brother Zhang, you don’t know how awful it is to go five or six days without salt…”

Wang Guangjun licked his lips, patting the empty instant noodle packet, clearly still craving more: “Brother Zhang, I’ll trade you three more boxes of yogurt for two more packets of noodles—and half a pack of cigarettes. Deal?”

(End of Chapter)