Chapter 4: Whose Ring Is This?

After quite some time, Qin Zhong finally snapped out of the dizzy spell. He picked up the phone only to find the call had already ended, and his phone had inexplicably returned to being switched off.

“No!”

Qin Zhong was frustrated with himself for zoning out. Had he not been so distracted, he could have asked the woman more questions. He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him. She had claimed the call was from the year 2024—that was ten years ago! How could that be possible?

It had to be fake. It absolutely had to be!

Though Qin Zhong kept muttering that it was false, a flicker of doubt lingered deep in his eyes.

Staring at the phone in his hand, he tried calling back the unknown number, but only silence came through the receiver, heightening his anxiety as if he were roasting over a fire.

After several attempts, hearing nothing but dead air, Qin Zhong finally gave up. The earlier connection must have been an extraordinary fluke; who knew when he might get through again.

Looking out the car window, he saw that the earlier thunderstorm had completely passed. The afternoon sun now poured down, scorching the earth.

His tense nerves finally relaxed, and Qin Zhong felt parched and drenched in sweat, his throat burning as if aflame.

He curled up behind the car seat, cautiously surveying the van’s interior. He had been so tense earlier that he had shrunk back immediately upon entering, afraid to move.

Suddenly, something rolled off his body to the floor, snapping him to attention. He looked down to see a silver ring—old-fashioned in style, adorned with intricate patterns on the outside and inscribed with faint, indecipherable symbols on the inside, giving it a distinctive charm.

“Hmm, whose is this?”

He examined the ring for a moment but soon lost interest and casually pocketed it before looking around the cargo area.

The van had been converted into a freight vehicle: the two rear rows of seats removed, and the back was piled with a dozen or so boxes of beverages and bottled water.

Seeing the supplies, Qin Zhong felt a slight relief. At least for now, thirst wouldn’t be a problem.

He quickly tore open one of the water boxes and drained a bottle. The icy liquid coursed down his throat, soothing his burning body considerably.

Quenched, he dared not move much and curled up again. Through the thin car window, the mournful, drawn-out wails of the undead outside pierced his ears like the cries of tormented souls from hell.

Peering through the windshield, he spotted plumes of black smoke rising in the distance, occasionally punctuated by gunshots. He had no idea what was happening over there.

Drowsy, Qin Zhong drifted off to sleep. When he woke, dusk had fallen. He had planned to use the cover of night to escape, but looking out, he saw the number of zombies had multiplied several times. It seemed hordes from unknown places had wandered this way.

His escape plan was shattered, forced to be put on hold.

After all, the zombies of this apocalypse weren’t clumsy or staggering as often portrayed in movies. Once they spotted prey, their speed rivaled, if not exceeded, that of living humans.

Mutated zombies were even more perilous. Without full preparation, any reckless attempt to flee risked being ambushed and caught before reaching the street’s exit.

“Life is precious and only given once. Without absolute certainty, it’s better not to take risks. Besides, outside is undoubtedly the zombies’ domain now. Even if I escape this street, bigger troubles might await.”

As Qin Zhong pondered this, his stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten much all day and the stress had made him genuinely hungry.

Quietly, he crawled to the back of the van and opened all the boxes. Disappointingly, they contained only water and drinks—good for quenching thirst but useless for staving off hunger.

He could manage a day without food, but two or three days? That would sap his strength and leave him unable to even walk, let alone run.

By the moonlight filtering through the windshield, Qin Zhong stretched and opened the glove compartment. To his surprise, he found half a bag of breakfast biscuits.

His heart lifted. Clutching the biscuits, he knew he couldn’t eat them all at once. He had to save them for the most critical moment to replenish his energy.

Only then could he maximize their value.

Leaning back against the boxes of drinks, arms behind his head, Qin Zhong gazed blankly at the streetlights outside. Surviving this ordeal must have been beyond what Yang Xin expected.

They had to be close to the refuge. If he could just get out of here, he vowed to return and take revenge—he wouldn’t let those two scoundrels live comfortably.

Thinking of Yang Xin and Wu Qian, Qin Zhong clenched his teeth in hatred. Time ticked by into the deep night. Though weary, he couldn’t fall asleep.

How could he? Outside, the zombies wandered tirelessly like headless flies, occasionally letting out low growls that pierced the eerie silence of the night.

If he fell asleep and something happened, he might not even know how he died.

Just before dawn, a sudden thud at the back of the van jolted Qin Zhong awake. Turning around, he saw a hulking zombie had somehow collided with the rear of the vehicle.

The brute was large and muscular, and its impact caused the van to shudder and begin sliding forward.

The street sloped gently, an angle so slight it was easy to miss.

Startled, Qin Zhong looked back to see the handbrake was disengaged. He was about to leap up but then stopped, a smile spreading across his face. He let the van roll forward.

The wheels crept forward slowly, as if ready to stop at any moment. Qin Zhong’s palms sweated as he silently urged, “Come on, don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

Just now, he had realized that whatever consequence awaited from rolling downhill was better than staying parked here.