Chapter Forty-Three

A group of people lacking any military sense led soldiers toward the factory, trailed by opportunists hoping to slip inside. There were two mechas at the front and back, so no one was injured, but the operators could clearly feel the sluggish response of their machines. Both grew anxious; they weren’t skilled at maintaining the mechas, and feared they might collapse before reaching the factory. Their orders had been to protect the leaders—men they deeply resented. Yet, military orders were ironclad; all they could do was obey and hope that, once at the factory, Captain Zhou would deal with these people.

As the group entered the factory grounds, those below were already aware. By the time they reached the entrance, three mechas stood guard, wielding long blades instead of guns—Zhou Zhi had calculated that the mechas left at the base had long since run out of ammunition, and as for ordinary firearms, they were useless against mechas, leaving nothing but a few bullet marks.

Wang Fei and Zhao Long flexed their limbs underground, ready to charge out at any moment. Yuchi Ankang now held a crescent-bladed saber, prepared to avenge his parents’ death with legitimate cause—after all, a society like this was perhaps meant to be overturned. Zhu Anfu stood silently nearby, biting hard on a piece of jerky. He wished he could help Ankang, but he knew his own limits; if he went out, he’d only be a burden. Ah, in a world like this, who truly cared anymore about rebellion or compliance?

“Warriors, this is not a drink for courage, nor a farewell toast—this is a celebration for your victorious return, a preemptive feast. Just one cup for each of you! When you return, we’ll drink until we drop.” Jin She stood atop the table, raising his cup. “Let’s cheer for our brave men!”

Jin She’s words were met with immediate enthusiasm. Everyone raised their bowls to the departing warriors—whatever the reason for their departure, part of it was for those who stayed behind, however small that part might be. Gratitude filled their hearts. In times like these, few risked their lives for others; even blood brothers might hesitate, let alone strangers. Here, they had food and protection. They worked for it, true, but many who labored elsewhere still went hungry. Here, there was meat at every meal, and nothing was hidden from them. In such times, to have enough to eat was rare fortune, and they shared their meals equally. Having seen these things, everyone learned to be content with what life brought.

Wang Fei and Zhen Long abstained from drinking—they were piloting mechas, and it would be like drinking before driving. Watching the situation outside, they bumped fists before climbing into their machines. This, truly, was the start of rebellion against the government; who would have thought they’d become the pivotal players? Yuchi Ankang prepared to follow the two mechas out. Zhu Anfu immediately ran over and tugged at his sleeve. “Be careful.”

“What do you want for dinner? I’ll make it for you when I get back.” Yuchi Ankang didn’t sense much danger in this mission; the enemy’s actual combat ability was hardly worth mentioning, and unlike some leaders who, in life-threatening moments, insisted, “Don’t fire at the ‘people,’ don’t retaliate”—they wouldn’t be so foolish. Honestly, sometimes you had to stop retreating before the so-called “people,” or else wait until those who truly needed protecting were lying in pools of blood. The defenders, too, were someone’s children, flesh and blood, not steel and stone.

Zhu Anfu had wanted to say “meat buns,” but remembering what Yuchi Ankang was about to do, he changed his words at the last moment. “I’d like some vegetables with sauce.”

“That’s too easy—you could do that yourself. When I get back, I’ll make you pine nuts and corn. Wait for me here, trust me, nothing will happen to me—because you’re still here.” Yuchi Ankang kissed Zhu Anfu’s forehead, picked up his blade, and strode out. After he left, Zhu Anfu immediately sat at the monitoring station, eyes glued to the screens. If anything happened to Yuchi Ankang, with his family already gone, he had nothing left to live for in this filthy world. Some might say to keep living is hope itself, but for him, with no family and no beloved, what meaning did life hold? Find a new beloved? Or spend the rest of his days haunted by memories, growing old in longing?

Call him pessimistic, disheartened by the world, or even selfish—he lived for himself, and so what? He had no wish to survive alone. Everyone had their own take on life. He scorned those who had family yet chose suicide, but also admired those who made resolute choices. People claimed not to fear death, but when it truly stared them in the face, the bravest words often shriveled away. Zhu Anfu wasn’t advocating surrender—life should be lived with some light—but under certain circumstances, he would never choose to go on alone.

On the ground above, five mechas stood in formation, a man brandishing a long blade at their center. Watching the enemy scatter and some try to force their way into the gate, Yuchi Ankang sneered and charged, blade swinging. None of them hesitated. Zhou Zhi, fighting at his side, kept a keen eye for anyone worth saving—but in this mob, he found not a single one. There were opportunists, thieves, and those who pushed their own companions into danger. If any of these people stayed in the factory, they’d spell disaster for everyone. The ordinary folk dared not approach, instead shouting about patriotism and accusing them of abandoning their countrymen. The six of them could only laugh at such hypocrisy. These people, who moments earlier had betrayed their own, now shouted about great causes—did they not fear biting their own tongues?

What did it feel like to face one’s enemy? Yuchi Ankang stared at a leader whose arm he had just severed. If not for this man, he might still have a happy family. These leaders were all false philanthropists; few ever did real good.

“What are you thinking, Ankang?” As Yuchi Ankang froze in thought, the leader suddenly drew a gun. While a firearm was useless against a mecha, it was deadly against a man with no protection. Luckily, someone had been watching over Ankang; the moment the gun appeared, they rushed in and shielded him. Inside the factory, Zhu Anfu collapsed into his chair, drenched in cold sweat, his clothes soaked through. For a moment, he had thought it was all over. Damn it—when Ankang got back, he’d make him kneel on the washboard.

The mecha pilot who saved Yuchi Ankang stomped the leader, making him cough blood. The chaotic crowd fell silent; some began to flee, terrified—these people were mad enough to attack even their leaders. As one ran, others followed. The wounded soldiers emerged from their battered mechas, glaring at those who had turned on them. Their task was done. The two soldiers exchanged glances. “We mean no harm; we were only following orders.”

Inside his mecha, Zhou Zhi shook his head. These two, honest as they seemed, were still shackled by the old ways. If they stayed, they’d only stir up talk of protecting the survivors, but they had no such capacity now. Zhou Zhi jumped out and approached Yuchi Ankang, who had just returned from the factory holding two guns. Yuchi handed them to Zhou, who tossed them to the two soldiers. “Go home. The magazines are full—that’s all I can do for you. When you get back, tell those who truly protect the people: to defeat the zombies, it takes more than mechas. People need to truly understand the danger. Stop hiding the truth. People’s bodies are not shields for incompetent leaders. If the government keeps going like this, its overthrow is only a matter of time.”

The two soldiers took the guns, exchanging wry smiles. “Let’s hope we can fight side by side again in the future.”

“Let’s hope.” Watching them leave, Zhou and the others turned to the leader who had stopped breathing. Bury him? They had no time for that, but they couldn’t leave him here, either—the smell of blood would attract zombies. They gathered the dead, both commoners and high officials, and burned them together—a sort of fate, to be cremated as one. They buried the bloodied earth with dirt, moving quickly to finish before the zombies arrived, then returned to the factory.

Yuchi Ankang was first back inside. Zhu Anfu sat, face dark, eyes red-rimmed, glaring at Ankang. As Ankang drew near, he saw tears glittering in Zhu Anfu’s eyes, guilt welling up in his heart. “Xiaofu…” he began, but Zhu Anfu threw himself into Ankang’s arms, tears soaking his shirt, shoulders trembling—he had been so afraid.

“It’s all my fault. From now on, I’ll be careful—no, I’ll never leave your side again, so you can always see me.” Yuchi Ankang gently patted Zhu Anfu’s back. He knew how much he meant to Zhu Anfu, and regretted causing him such pain.

No one around them jeered or laughed; instead, everyone sighed in relief. They, too, had been worried. Though Zhou Zhi called the shots here, the true pillars of their spirit were these two.

Author’s note: Throwing some flowers—I finally updated, hahaha! To be honest, I was totally stuck.