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墨書 Inktalez
Act 3: The Sky is the Red Riverbank
The two-story building was once a branch of the Beef Noodle King, a chain with a trendy name that could be found wherever there was a train station. Beef Noodle King occupied this prime location at the train station, attracting a steady stream of customers day and night. Whether the food was good or not was another matter, but at least the business was thriving. Unfortunately, time passed swiftly, and everything changed; the bustling crowds were now a distant memory, most of the former patrons had become mere remnants of their past selves, and the once-bustling flow of people had vanished without a trace.
This small eastern city was not far from the Pathogen Zone and was one of the early cities to suffer disaster. The population density in this county-level city could sometimes be unimaginable, with hundreds of thousands facing calamity overnight. By dawn, the city was left littered with corpses. The ever-growing Horde of Zombies rampaged through the city multiple times until nearly all Living Persons had vanished, only then did they move on, dragging their soulless bodies toward another city.
That night, the long-abandoned Beef Noodle King welcomed new patrons once more; unfortunately, no one could take their orders. But it didn’t matter much, as this group wasn’t there for noodles anyway.
The Middle-Aged Man brought from the train station sat in a corner with his arms bound behind him, his thumbs tied together with a shoelace. He looked despondent as he slumped against the wall. Men and women around him sat or stood in silence; occasionally, someone would whisper a few words, but no one paid him any mind. Left to his own thoughts, the Middle-Aged Man felt a deep sense of despair as he recalled the fate of his companions, realizing that his own future seemed bleak.
As a Survivor group occupying this prime location at the train station, they had encountered “black eats black” situations before. However, to be honest, unless there was a large-scale Zombie attack, they had never experienced such heavy casualties. Their group was armed and comprised mainly of former Railway Workers who had managed to survive the initial disaster thanks to their knowledge of the railways. For the past two years, like most Survivor groups, they had lived as refugees—moving from place to place and gradually gathering more people along the way.
The Leader used his professional advantage to always target train stations first upon reaching new territories. While the geographical safety of these stations might be questionable, they were simply places he knew well. These men in their thirties and forties had survived through hardship and were forced to flee for survival; perhaps the train station was the only place that could offer them a sense of belonging.
In the past, they would encounter other Survivor groups; generally speaking, if there were no significant conflicts of interest between them, they rarely resorted to violence. Winning would be fine, but what if they lost? The breakdown of order allowed people to unleash their inner beasts to an extent, yet the harsh reality of lacking medical supplies would also compel them to restrain their actions. Simply put, engaging in futile struggles was something only fools would do.
They had been robbed before; according to the Middle-Aged Man’s memory, the last raid occurred about six months ago. The enemy was strong and aggressive; their sheer presence forced these Railway Guerrillas to surrender without resistance. The attackers took whatever they wanted without hesitation but did not slaughter them all in their defeat.
So when these young men burst into the carriage radiating cold murderous intent, most people—including the Middle-Aged Man—did not muster much courage to fight back. They assumed they were facing another raiding Survivor group; since they couldn’t win against them anyway, they figured it was best to let them take what they wanted—after all, it wasn’t their first time facing such a situation. As long as they survived this encounter, there would always be another chance. However, they only guessed correctly about the beginning and not about how it would end.
Just as the Middle-Aged Man wallowed in regret and self-blame, several figures appeared at the top of the stairs. The last remaining member of the Railway Guerrillas lifted his eyelids to look over and saw a young man striding directly toward him with blood dripping from his slender steel knife.
“What do you want… let’s talk…” The guerrilla shrank back slightly in fear of this young man. In terms of age, he could easily be this young man’s father; however, when it came to skill and ruthlessness, he felt he might as well call him grandfather. Faced with life and death situations where pride mattered little, if it weren’t for several burly Young Men watching closely around him, he would have considered bowing down repeatedly for mercy.
“I just have a few questions for you.” Song Jiu pulled over a dusty chair and sat across from the Middle-Aged Man with his Great Sword resting beside him. Noticing his fearful expression, he waved his hand dismissively and said, “Don’t be nervous; just answer my questions honestly and I won’t kill you.”
“Do you… do you mean what you say?” The Middle-Aged Man swallowed hard and mustered up his courage to ask.
Song Jiu ignored him and turned his gaze toward Luo Yu by the window. “There aren’t many Zombies in the forest; we’ll rest here for one night and leave tomorrow.”
"The station is crawling with zombies," Luo Yu said, flicking her neat ponytail. She didn't really oppose the idea and called a few young men to head down to the first floor. There was no need to look; they were definitely going to keep watch. Song Jiu trusted Luo Yu to handle things well.
"Dream Fan, roll me two cigarettes," Song Jiu said, stretching his shoulders as he beckoned Dream Fan, who was changing clothes in the corner.
"Just a moment, Master Jiu, let me put on some pants," Xin Mengfan replied. She could joke around with anyone, but when it came to Jiao Ziqian, it was always a battle of wits. Jiao Ziqian had initially wanted to bum a smoke but thought better of it due to Xin Mengfan's annoying temperament. Instead, he rummaged through his bag on the table and pulled out a large pouch of dried tobacco leaves.
"I'll ask you again: where is the riverbank? How much do you know about it?" Song Jiu got straight to the point without any small talk.
The middle-aged man hesitated, not getting the answer he wanted. He bit his lip for a moment but couldn't muster the courage. With a sigh, he said, "I can take you there, but I really don't know much else."
"Old man, think carefully before you respond," Jiao Ziqian said, licking the tip of a cigarette paper and handing one to Song Jiu while tossing another to the middle-aged man, giving him a cold smirk.
Song Jiu didn't engage further; he struck a match against his shoe and lit it, illuminating half his face with its glow.
The tobacco had absorbed moisture; although it had been dried out several times afterward, the musty smell lingered. Without filters, smoking it felt no different from burning leaves. Resources were limited, so Song Jiu didn't have much choice. He pinched the rolled cigarette and took a few puffs before coughing violently. He lifted his eyelids and noticed that the middle-aged man was still staring at him with a blank expression.
"Have you thought it over?" Song Jiu asked.
"Well... there are more of them than you... The riverbank isn't really a riverbank; it's just a place name. But there is indeed a small river nearby..." The middle-aged man chose to compromise and began rambling about what he knew. "There are still some living people in the city; those who can't make it on their own have flocked to that group by the riverbank... As for us, we don't want to rely on others, but sometimes when we're short on food and drink, we have no choice but to trade with them..."
"Don't rush. Just answer what I ask," Song Jiu exhaled smoke and tried to make sense of the middle-aged man's jumbled information. "Do they have enough supplies?"
"Pretty much... We've traded many things with them."
"What kind of things? Tell me."
"Dried meat, eggs, antibiotics, rice, gasoline, and..."
"What else?"
“…and there are women.”
“Oh?” Song Jiu raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing smile with Jiao Ziqian. “I didn’t see any women around your place.”
“…A while ago, they were raided, and the women were taken too.” The Middle-Aged Man's expression revealed a hint of sorrow as he murmured, “In this world, it’s all about who has the bigger fist… sigh.”
“Where do they get their supplies?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long have those people been in this business?”
“About a year, I guess. We’ve been here for almost a year, and they’ve always been around.” The Middle-Aged Man frowned in thought and then voluntarily confessed, “We found out by accident. It was snowing heavily that day, and the zombies were hunkered down. We went out looking for supplies and ran into another small group… In the dead of winter, it’s rare to see a living person, so we chatted for a bit. They told us there’s a big camp across the river, and if we couldn’t survive, we could go there.”
“Interesting, huh?” Jiao Ziqian grinned widely and turned to tease Xin Mengfan. “Dream Fan, give me a kiss, and Brother Qian will get you a few nice bras. How about that?”
“Really?” Xin Mengfan lifted her delicate face and flashed him an enchanting smile. “Sure! I’ll go talk to Luo Yu about it. Can you get us both a few sets?”
Jiao Ziqian immediately turned away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything.
“Do those people have guns?” Song Jiu asked. The two guns they had just confiscated from the train station were of little use—both were homemade small-caliber shotguns. They might work for hunting antelope but wouldn’t be effective in a fight; after one shot, they would need to be reloaded with gunpowder.
“Yes, I’ve seen them. They have those big guns that go bang,” the Middle-Aged Man speculated about this young man’s intentions, thinking to himself: Go ahead and seek trouble with them if you dare.
“Oh.” Song Jiu didn’t ask further but leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. After a while, he suddenly asked again, “Where is your vehicle?”
“Ah?” The Middle-Aged Man gaped in surprise.
“What do you mean ‘ah’? I’m asking where your vehicle is!” Jiao Ziqian perfectly played the role of the sycophant, slapping the Middle-Aged Man on the forehead to snap him out of his daze.
"Don't tell me there isn't any," Song Jiu said, bending down closer to him with a cold snort. "Didn't you trade that little girl for gasoline? Are you saying it was for drinking? I've seen the confiscated items, and there's no gasoline as you mentioned."
The Middle-Aged Man lowered his head, the last glimmer of hope in his heart shattered.
"Ziqian, take him to drive," Song Jiu said, realizing there wasn't much more to be gained from the interrogation. Just as he stood up to end it, he suddenly remembered something and called out to the two people heading downstairs, "What about those Zombies you mentioned?"
The Middle-Aged Man was taken aback, opening his mouth but unsure how to explain.
"Are there any nearby?" Song Jiu asked, frowning.
"There shouldn't be... not for now. Haven't you seen any Zombies?" The Middle-Aged Man felt uncertain as he saw Song Jiu nodding. He couldn't help but mutter, "You guys are really lucky."
"Go get the car, Ziqian. Bring the two along, and be careful. Keep an eye on him," Song Jiu instructed.
"Got it."
The Middle-Aged Man felt a bit moved; it seemed this young man wasn't as bad as he had imagined.
"If this old fool tries anything funny, take him out on the spot," Song Jiu added.
The Middle-Aged Man rolled his eyes, the momentary feeling of gratitude vanishing without a trace.
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