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墨書 Inktalez
"Kill!" In the darkness, the Zombies had all emerged, frenzied and desperate. The refugees who had come along banded together in groups of three or five, fighting fiercely against the Zombies.
They needed the Zombie Crystal, for Zheng Yifan had promised that with just one Zombie Crystal, they could enjoy a warm meal at the Temporary Canteen.
That meant plenty of Rice, beef, lamb, pork, various Canned Meats, wild vegetables, and fresh produce that no one knew where it came from—all cooked into a large pot of stew. Seasonings like oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar were generously added.
No one complained about the coarse and poorly made stew that few would dare to eat in this Post-Apocalypse world. No one questioned where the canned goods and vegetables came from; everyone kept their heads down, wishing they could swallow their own tongues.
They had eaten tree bark, swallowed dirt, and resorted to cannibalism—it was a matter of survival. As Paupers, they had even secretly consumed the illegal Blackhearted Canned Food outside the city walls.
Now, with real beef, lamb, and pork available along with fresh vegetables, who would let such an opportunity slip away?
To get those vegetables, they formed groups to bully isolated Zombies. Each person wielded two Mop Handles, sharpened to a point; these became their best weapons against the Zombies.
Four or five people would stab a Zombie repeatedly with their Mop Handles until it was riddled with blood holes. Then they would smash its head with mops still attached to their cloths, trying to knock it down before subjecting it to brutal torture.
Often, a Zombie would require dozens of mop strikes to finally perish.
They continued to slaughter Zombies and collect their spoils.
Watches, phones, cash, wallets, jewelry—these items could be exchanged for food at Firestorm Team's leader Zheng Yifan in the New Gathering Place.
In this era, having a place to trade for food was the greatest blessing.
"Captain, what should we do next?" Left Guard asked as he sat beside Zheng Yifan, vigorously gnawing on a chicken leg.
In front of him were seven or eight boxes of roasted chicken sausages and underneath lay dozens of Cardboard Boxes filled with food—all brought up by Zheng Yifan from the basement.
The Ruiguan area had originally been Ancient Architecture but had been repaired by experts; now it resembled ancient skin over a skeleton of steel and concrete. The interior furnishings were quite exquisite.
Among these houses, only a small portion had been damaged; the rest remained intact. Each room had been thoroughly searched by the refugees—no Zombie was left unscathed.
The house had long been ransacked in the aftermath of the apocalypse, leaving little behind—only the simplest wooden beds and basic furniture like tables and stools.
Now, the house occupied by Zheng Yifan was once the General's Office, but it no longer featured the pavilions and winding paths that once offered picturesque views. The place had been stripped bare, a consequence of countless waves of refugees passing through.
In the main hall of the General's Office, seven or eight industrial flashlights illuminated the room, casting almost no shadows. Seventeen Butchers and Han Rui, along with her daughter, were feasting at the largest table in the hall alongside Zheng Yifan.
Their family members and friends had automatically been promoted to Administrators, distributing supplies allocated by Zheng Yifan while waiting for refugees to come and exchange them. In times like these, nepotism was not a fault; despite the risks of being held hostage due to power dynamics, he still wielded the strongest force. Internal issues could be resolved in time; for now, stability was paramount.
As for the food, it was managed by these newly appointed Administrators, ensuring that everyone could indulge heartily.
“Um…” Left Guard looked at the delicious spread on the table and at the boxes piled in the corner, wanting to say something but swallowing his words repeatedly.
After a long silence, no one spoke much. Left Guard was considered a leader among the Butchers and had closer ties with Han Rui than with Zheng Yifan. Many topics were simply inappropriate for him to broach.
“I know what you’re all worried about, but some things are just unavoidable. As long as you have food and drink, and weapons to defend yourselves, that’s what matters. These are my personal belongings. In this era, survival is what counts,” Zheng Yifan said with a smile as he moved aside a roasted chicken and sausages to reveal boxes underneath.
Immediately, everyone’s eyes widened; beneath were two entire boxes filled with beer—two boxes of unmarked bottles.
These were internal supply beers that Tang Hao had procured from a relative’s workplace, sold exclusively to employees of his company. The primary reason Zheng Yifan brought them was that they bore no labels; even the caps featured bizarre designs more abstract than a Picasso painting.
“This is… beer?” Suddenly, members of the Butchers or Firestorm Team gulped hard.
“Boss, I’m sticking with you from now on! Hurry! Hurry! Open a bottle for me! How long has it been since I smelled beer? A lifetime?” The giant known as Devil's Advocate—Pu Qiang—swallowed hard several times before taking the beer Zheng Yifan handed him. He bit off the cap and chugged it down in one go without pausing.
Zheng Yifan’s bottle opener became useless halfway through.
“Take it yourself, Fellow. From now on there will be no Butchers or Gladiatorial Arena; we’re all brothers fighting for scraps from Zombies’ mouths in this apocalypse—Firestorm Team members,” Zheng Yifan said as he opened a bottle for himself and passed beers around.
Han Rui helped Zheng Yifan as well; the warmth of alcohol filled their stomachs and lifted their spirits.
In the apocalypse, one wonders how vast a support system must be to enjoy a drink. Even the former leader of the Gathering Place, Zhang Xiao, never dared to think he could drink regularly.
This was a genuine luxury, even more extravagant than cigarettes, because beer has an expiration date. The latest canned beer had just passed its shelf life, while bottled beer had long since expired and was no longer drinkable.
Sipping a cold beer and gnawing on a roasted chicken was an unparalleled pleasure.
What surprised them most was that the roasted chicken seemed freshly made, still warm to the touch, and each bite was bursting with flavor.
Beneath the roasted chicken lay heaps of fried chicken—certainly not just a few pounds. There were at least thirty or forty pounds of fried chicken, consisting mainly of wings and drumsticks. The tender, crispy aroma made them wish they could swallow their tongues.
“Eat up; after this, we need to settle down here and slowly explore the resort,” Zheng Yifan said as he took a hearty bite of the drumstick. The famous Saiken Fried Chicken from Shengjing truly lived up to its reputation; the taste was exceptional.
Of course, those who couldn’t get roasted or fried chicken tonight would surely be cursing Zheng Yifan for buying over a hundred pounds of it, nearly clearing out both the fried chicken shop and the adjacent roasted chicken place.
“Tomorrow we must explore the Resort. We’ve already spotted over fifty bicycles; it seems there used to be a group here that controlled Ruiguan. But it looks like they were overrun overnight, and those guarding Ruiguan perished here,” Left Guard said as he tore into his roasted chicken, chewing vigorously while downing beer. He had once been able to drink countless cups without getting drunk, and this was merely low-alcohol beer.
“We need to expand our search range while ensuring safety. Tomorrow is just reconnaissance. Left Guard, this is your specialty; let you and your brothers show what you can do. Just gather information—no conflicts. Ensure your own safety first. Once I handle other trivial matters, we can tackle those unknown troubles,” Zheng Yifan said as he gulped down more beer.
There wasn’t much to discuss; a dozen people were scattered around, chatting casually. Han Rui helped Zheng Yifan fend off drinks while Su Qin stuffed his mouth full of food with a mischievous grin on his face.
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