Humans have never felt safe.
In every age – past, present, or future – the relentless drive has always been to find ways to kill others, human or beast, faster.
During his first year at university, Jeff Zhong spent weekends exploring the sights of the ancient city known for its Six Dynasties heritage.
What left the deepest impression was a sword displayed in the city's Six Dynasties Museum – the legendary sword of Eastern Wu Emperor Sun Quan from the Three Kingdoms era.
Historical records claim Sun Quan possessed six precious swords named: White Rainbow, Purple Lightning, Evil-Dispelling, Meteor, Blue Sky, and One Hundred Miles. The sword in the museum was Purple Lightning, unearthed from Sun Quan's tomb on Zijin Mountain in 2028.
Against two thousand years, it was excavated still gleaming and astonishingly sharp, its edge razor-sharp and capable of slicing through hair.
Tests supposedly showed it could cut cleanly through a pile of fifty paper sheets.
Declared a priceless treasure, Purple Lightning was enshrined in the museum.
It was this sword Jeff targeted.
With guns strictly controlled in the country, this relic represented the best weapon an ordinary person could access before the apocalypse began, and the easiest for Jeff to acquire.
Even if he could get a gun later, it wouldn't necessarily prove superior, especially as zombies and evolved creatures emerged.
Firearms faced limitations – low accuracy, dwindling ammo, and eventually, obsolescence against tougher foes.
Crucially, Jeff didn't know how to use a gun.
In his hands, even the finest firearm would be little more than a clumsy hammer.
The subway ride from the university district took thirty minutes.
Adding walking and ticket checks, Jeff emerged from the station at 4:45 PM.
The museum closed at 5:30, but admitted no new visitors after 5:00.
Sliding in at the last possible minute, Jeff entered the near-empty halls.
It wasn't a holiday, and closing time loomed; only a handful of visitors remained. Jeff counted five besides himself.
This suited Jeff perfectly. Fewer people meant fewer complications later.
Near the entrance, a young couple flirted, clearly there more for romance than relics.
As they prepared to leave, the boy boasted, gesturing at an ancient official's uniform, claiming he'd have been a general or king in ancient times.
The girl teased him about ancient harems, sparking a playful argument.
Further in, a pudgy young man held a selfie stick, chattering non-stop to his livestream audience – urging follows and likes, his voice echoing slightly.
Deep in the exhibition hall, closest to the sword display Jeff sought, were two others: a strikingly pretty young girl and a robust, dignified-looking old man, likely grandfather and granddaughter.
Hands clasped behind his back, the old man studied each artifact with intense focus, clearly a serious connoisseur.
The girl, less interested in the surrounding relics, seemed fascinated by one particular display, her hands occasionally gesturing subtly.
The object of her attention was, Jeff realized with a jolt, the Purple Lightning sword.
Is she focused on the sword? Panic flared. Could she be like me? Reborn? Does she know?
A cold certainty gripped him: This sword is crucial to my survival and evolution. I cannot let anyone else have it.
He moved swiftly, positioning himself uncomfortably close to the Purple Lightning display case.
If the girl made a move, he'd be ready to seize it instantly.
His sudden proximity clearly crossed a line.
The girl shot Jeff an unhappy look, her brow furrowing, and deliberately stepped away from the case.
"Grandpa," she said, her voice clear in the quiet hall, though not loud, "the museum closes soon. We should go."
"Yes, yes," the old man smiled, though his eyes lingered on the artifacts and his feet remained planted.
Relief washed over Jeff. He'd misjudged her interest. But impatience gnawed. He needed these people gone.
A glance at his watch: 4:50 PM. The virus outbreak was ten minutes away.
Though his nerves screamed to act now, Jeff fought the urge.
Acting too soon would only summon security, creating unnecessary chaos.
Once the virus hit, all such obstacles would vanish.
He took a slow, deep breath, forcing himself to wait.
He turned, pretending casual interest, and drifted towards the artifacts on the right side of the sword case.
These were older weapons and pieces of armor – rusted swords, bows, crossbows – a stark contrast to the pristine Purple Lightning.
One colossal blade, easily over two meters tall, stood out.
It was remarkably well-preserved and undeniably impressive, something Jeff felt he might find a use for later.
But it looked impossibly heavy, maybe weighing dozens of pounds – far too cumbersome for immediate use.
His eyes scanned further down the row and landed on another treasure he sought: ancient armor.
The display featured various types, mostly dating to the late Han Dynasty and Three Kingdoms period.
In peacetime, Jeff wouldn't spare them a glance.
His past life had taught him a brutal lesson: good armor in the apocalypse was a second life.
Especially during the initial outbreak, before human powers awakened, protection against zombies and infected creatures was paramount.
The first suit that caught his eye was a sleeveless garment shimmering silver under the lights, woven from countless tiny iron rings.
The display label identified it as Three Kingdoms-era chainmail armor.
Astonishingly, after millennia, it looked pristine.
According to the information, this type of armor was incredibly laborious and costly to produce, worn only by high-ranking generals and kings, making its survival rare and precious.
Below it hung another armor piece, this one woven with dark scales interspersed with hints of gold thread.
The label read: "Black Iron Scale Armor," also known famously as "Black Light Armor." It noted that during the Three Kingdoms period, the five great armors were Black Light, Bright Light, Two-Piece Armor, Ring Chain Armor, and Horse Armor, with Black Light being the most renowned of all.
"Young man, you like ancient arms and armor too?"
The old man's calm voice broke Jeff's concentration.
He hadn't noticed the man move closer. "Few youths nowadays pay much mind to these historical treasures."
Beside the old man, the pretty girl watched Jeff with unmasked distaste.
She'd seen this act before – men pretending deep interest in something nearby to get closer to her.
How hypocritical!
Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed letting an impertinent boy learn the consequences of bothering her.
Jeff registered the girl – the high ponytail, strands framing a heart-shaped face, large, expressive eyes.
She was undeniably, vibrantly attractive.
But the thought vanished as quickly as it came. So what?
In ten minutes, beauty might be twisted into monstrous undead flesh.
Even if she survived the initial wave, the subsequent mutations would likely claim her.
Attraction was a luxury the coming apocalypse would obliterate.
"I like them, yes," Jeff replied flatly, not turning.
"But not for the history. I like the weapons themselves."
His gaze flickered to his watch. 5:00 PM.
Time was almost up.
Before the old man could react, Jeff struck like a viper.
He whirled and lunged across the hall towards the Purple Lightning display case.
His foot, clad in its worn sneaker, slammed with desperate force into the thick protective glass.
It shattered instantly.
The quiet sanctuary of the museum vanished, replaced by the ear-piercing shriek of security alarms.
"Stop! What are you doing?"
The girl's scream pierced the air, laced with shock and fear.
The old man flinched, but stood firm, his unruffled demeanor cracking only slightly.
His pupils dilated, registering the shock, yet he remained rooted.
"Young man," he asked, his voice remarkably calm despite the chaos, "what exactly is your intention?"
Across the hall, the young couple jolted apart.
The live-streamer's incessant chatter screnched to a halt, his face flushing with excitement as he swiveled his phone camera – a live museum heist was viral gold.
All eyes snapped towards Jeff and the fractured glass protecting the legendary sword