In the latter half of the night, Gu Xun developed a high fever.
He was no longer quiet, plunging into chaotic and painful nightmares.
In his dreams, the hardware store shelves melted into cold iron cage bars. Jiang Jin's figure loomed as vast as a mountain, casting a shadow that carried the scorching, sulfuric stench of burning sulfur, enveloping him completely. He struggled desperately, but his light-elemental ability felt as if an invisible hand had seized his throat, allowing only faint, helpless sparks of electricity to burst from his fingertips.
"You're finally mine..." Jiang Jin's voice was low and hoarse, tinged with a sickening satisfaction. Those burning hands tore through all his defenses with irresistible, destructive force. The cold metal floor dug into his spine, yet the pain paled beside the shuddering despair of being forcibly invaded, utterly possessed. Humiliation, rage, and a bone-deep sense of filth washed over him like a frigid tide.
Amidst this suffocating agony, his unfocused gaze pierced through the gap in Jiang Jin's shoulders and fell upon Lu Zhao.
Lu Zhao stood nearby, leaning against the doorframe, watching silently. His eyes held no emotion, only a detached calm, like observing an insect's struggle.
That utter, detached coldness sent a chill through Gu Xun more piercing than Jiang Jin's violence, accompanied by an indescribable self-loathing.
Even he felt... I...
The thought pierced his consciousness like the sharpest ice spike.
In reality, Gu Xun's body convulsed violently, as if trying to break free from some invisible shackles. A suppressed, death-like whimper escaped his throat, sweat beading on his temples and soaking his dark hair. He curled into a ball, arms clutching himself tightly, broken whispers escaping his parched lips.
"...Filthy... Don't touch me..." At times, during lulls in the nightmare, milder fears would take hold. He would suddenly seize Lu Zhao's arm with astonishing strength, his unfocused gaze darting wildly as he repeated urgently: "Water... Light... Block it... Run... He's coming..."
Lu Zhao was startled by this violent reaction and the starkly different mutterings. He watched the deep pain and terror intertwined on Gu Xun's face, observed his guarded, curled-up, trembling posture even in slumber, and an indescribably complex emotion welled up within him. This wasn't merely delirium from a high fever. It felt more like... a trauma originating from the deepest recesses of his soul, laid bare before him in moments of clouded consciousness.
He didn't know the specifics of Gu Xun's dream, but it must involve Jiang Jin. And he himself... seemed to play an unsavory role in that nightmare. When Gu Xun cried out, "Don't touch me," Lu Zhao's outstretched hand froze mid-air before silently retracting.
He could only clumsily continue wiping Gu Xun's scorching forehead with the dwindling water. The subtle awkwardness lingered whenever his fingertips brushed the skin along the other's neck, but now it was overshadowed by a heavy, tangled mix of confusion and a hint of pity.
When the first thread of grayish-white light finally strained through the filthy curtain slits and squeezed into the room, Gu Xun's body temperature seemed to dip slightly, plunging him into a deeper, utterly exhausted slumber. Lu Zhao leaned against the wall, dark circles ringing his eyes, every bone in his body aching as if dislocated. Yet his mind remained unusually sharp, a result of prolonged tension and the recent emotional turmoil.
He gently removed Gu Xun's hand, still resting on his sleeve, and rose to stretch his stiff limbs. The hostel corridor was deathly silent, yet this stillness offered no comfort. They needed water, they needed food, and Gu Xun's condition... could not wait any longer.
Lu Zhao approached the window and cautiously peeled back a corner of the curtain. The street remained dilapidated, yet offered slightly better visibility than at night. Several zombies wandered aimlessly at a distant intersection. His gaze swept across the shops across the street. A convenience store door had been smashed open, its interior a mess, but perhaps... something had been left behind.
Just then, a faint yet distinct engine roar approached from the distance!
Lu Zhao froze, jerking back into the shadows, his heart pounding. A car! Someone else was alive and moving!
He held his breath and peered out cautiously once more. A jeep, crudely modified with welded metal plates, was slowly driving down a nearby street. Three or four figures sat inside, dressed in a mix of clothing and holding weapons. They seemed to be searching for something too, moving at a slow pace.
For a split second, Lu Zhao nearly rushed out to shout for help. Strength in numbers—they might have medicine, more supplies...
But the thought was instantly quashed by his own caution. In the apocalypse, people could be more terrifying than the undead. Jiang Jin's bloody example was a stark reminder. Who were these people? Would they be willing to take on two burdens, especially one who was unconscious? Could it attract even greater trouble?
In the mere seconds of his hesitation, the jeep had already rounded the corner. The engine's roar faded into the distance, leaving behind a deathly silence.
Opportunities are fleeting.
Lu Zhao slid down the wall, overcome by exhaustion. He had missed a chance at rescue, but perhaps also avoided an unknown catastrophe. The weight of that choice nearly suffocated him.
He glanced back at Gu Xun, still unconscious on the bed. Now, every decision rested solely on his shoulders.
Should he remain holed up in this temporary refuge, waiting for Gu Xun to pull through on his own, only to face the possibility of running out of supplies? Or should he venture out to search for provisions and medicine, leaving the defenseless Gu Xun alone here?
The former felt like waiting for death, while the latter carried immense risk—he might meet an untimely end outside, or return to find Gu Xun in danger, or worse... be discovered by Jiang Jin.
Lu Zhao's gaze fell on Gu Xun's face, now even paler from dehydration. He recalled how Gu Xun had pushed through last night, forging a path and finally blasting open the door lock. Gu Xun hadn't abandoned him. Even in that dire situation, he'd given Lu Zhao the choice.
He drew a deep breath and tightened his grip on the steel pipe.
He couldn't wait.
He quietly locked the door from the inside—though in this environment, it felt more symbolic than practical—then pushed the only movable piece of furniture, the bedside table, against it. Crouching beside the bed, he gazed at Gu Xun's sleeping profile and murmured, as if convincing himself:
"I'm going out to find something... You... hang in there."
There was no response from the figure on the bed.
Lu Zhao stood up, gave one last check to the empty water bottle and half-pipe in his backpack, took a deep breath of the musty air, and quietly opened the door. He slipped sideways out, closing it as silently as possible behind him.
The corridor was deserted, only his own footsteps echoing. He retraced his steps downward, wary of every corner. When he finally stepped outside the hostel door, standing once more in the crisp morning light, he felt like a castaway on a deserted island.
Glancing back at the closed door, Lu Zhao gripped the steel pipe tightly and took his first step toward the looted convenience store across the street.
This was his first time truly facing this apocalyptic world alone.