Chapter 38: Simp

In a room in Building 3, a man looked at the message on his phone, the cold white light of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Battery was at 17%. 

That brief message remained on the interface: “Then come find me.”

He stared at that line of words—Lu Dongnuan, the female Doctor who lived in the villa area and was said to be a bit eccentric.

Several empty cans sat on the table, their inner walls reflecting a dull white light.

Chen Qi brought the tin close to his nose; there was only the smell of rust.

He put it down. 

The room was deathly quiet, the air purifier humming continuously like some kind of failing breath.

There were several scratches on the wall. 

On the table were half a bottle of yellowish water, a small pinch of biscuit crumbs, two batteries, and a knife.

His legs felt numb as he stood up. 

He walked to the purifier and patted it; the machine coughed out a gust of wind smelling of rust. 

The fridge was completely empty, and half a roll of yellowing bandages lay curled in the corner.

He sat down again, picking up the biscuit crumbs with his fingertips and putting them in his mouth. 

The powder quickly sucked the last of the moisture from his tongue, turning into a coarse sludge. 

He took a sip of water, the water level just pressing against the newly carved line on the bottle.

Hunger surged up from the bottom of his stomach. 

He suddenly remembered the fried dough sticks from the corner breakfast shop back in the day—fresh out of the pot, golden and crispy, making a slight “crack” when bitten. 

His salivary glands contracted sharply, but only the dry powder and the metallic tang of rust remained in his mouth.

What if he didn’t drink water today? 

Or tomorrow? 

Numbers swirled in his head before finally dissipating into a blank void.

The light flickered for a moment. 

He stared at that gradually fading halo.

Lights out.

The darkness swallowed everything.

Sounds became clear: his own breathing, his heartbeat, and a scratching sound—dull and slow—coming muffled through the metal door.

One after another, like fingernails, or perhaps bone rubbing against bone. 

Occasionally, there were dragging footsteps, coming from far to near, then gradually receding.

The stench of rot seeped through the cracks of the ventilation filter—faint, but constant.

His hand fumbled on the table, first touching the knife handle—cold—then touching the edge of the empty can.

Low growls came from outside, more than one, the sounds colliding and echoing among the ruins.

Something heavy slammed into the outer wall with a dull “thud.” 

Then, the scratching continued.

He was the only living person left on this floor.

He sat there, his fingers tightening on the knife handle. 

In the darkness, the markings on the water bottle were no longer visible.

He typed, his fingertips trembling slightly from exhaustion and tension: “Location.”

Sent.

Almost simultaneously, the “Delivered” prompt popped up.

Without saying much, the other party replied.

“?”

“You really dare?”

“Location.”

He sent it again.

“Go to hell.”

The screen light reflected half of his face in the darkness, his eye sockets sunken.

He had been following this Lu Dongnuan for a long time.

Ever since University.

Back then, she was a genius at the Medical College, always wearing a faded lab coat and keeping to herself.

He was in the neighboring Polytechnic Building, occasionally meeting her in the overnight study room.

She always sat in the furthest corner, diagrams spread out on the table, the pencil lines very hard. 

Around her was the smell of coffee and the sound of keyboards, but her spot was like it was under a dome.

Once, her eraser rolled over and fell by his feet.

He picked it up and handed it back. 

She looked up at him once, her gaze very still, like a deep autumn lake without a ripple. 

Just one look, her eyes very empty, as if she didn’t recognize who he was or simply didn’t care that there was a person in front of her. 

“Thanks.” Her voice was flat too. 

When she took the eraser, her fingertips touched his palm; it was cold.

Just that once.

Later, he couldn’t explain it himself. 

Maybe it was just that the lights that day were too deathly pale, and that thin white scar on her wrist was too eye-catching. 

Even after the Apocalypse came, even when he was faint with hunger, he would still suddenly think of that scar. 

It wasn’t longing, just… it would pop into his head. 

Like a stuck record needle, repeatedly scraping over a single note.

At that moment, Chen Qi felt like he had been pierced by something very clean.

This woman is a woman without a shred of sympathy—this thought suddenly appeared in his mind.

It wasn’t derogatory, but rather like confirming a fact, just like confirming that a knife is sharp or a flame is hot.

The way she looked at people had seemed out of place even before the Post-Apocalypse, even making people feel cold.

The phone screen lit up again, the red battery icon piercingly bright: 16%.

He stared at that sentence “Go to hell,” his lips twitching slightly.

It was her style—direct, blunt, providing no fake warmth or hope.

In the ruins full of lies and traps, this bluntness actually revealed a hint of “reliability.” 

At least you knew she wouldn’t use sweet words to lure you into a pot.

He leaned against the wall and slowly stood up, his legs were still numb, and cold sweat clung to his underwear. 

He walked to the door, pressing his ear against the cold metal.

The sounds outside had temporarily stopped. 

Perhaps they had wandered elsewhere.

He took a deep breath and gripped the knife handle tight.

Then, with extremely light movements, he began to pack the few things he had left.

Half a bottle of water, that knife.

He needed to make a choice. 

Stay here and be completely drained, or head toward the person who haunted his dreams and chilled his heart.

The light from the phone screen illuminated half of his thin face and the faint but unextinguished spark in his eyes. 

In that spark was a will to survive, a paranoia born of long-term loneliness, and a morbid longing for a certain “absolute cleanliness” that he himself was unwilling to delve into.

He turned off the screen.

Darkness closed in again, but this time, there was a direction within the darkness.

He gently unlocked the door.