“Professor Zhang,” Chen Liu said, recognising the silver-haired elderly man. They’d played chess a few times, second only to Old Wang as his sanatorium partner. Before retirement, Zhang had been a biology professor at Jiangchuan University.
“Walk with me?” Professor Zhang requested. His smile was soft but weary. “Sure,” Chen Liu replied, attentive to the Professor’s unease.
They climbed to the second-floor leisure terrace, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange. Zhang sighed, gazing out. “Wonder how many more sunsets I’ll see.” His voice carried a quiet heaviness. Chen Liu listened in sombre silence. In the apocalypse, the elderly were vulnerable, surviving only by depending on others’ mercy. Disaster could strike anytime. He’s exhausted, Chen Liu empathised.
“We still have to try to live, don’t we?” Chen Liu offered, his tone gentle but firm. Zhang waved a hand, his face etched with resignation. “Too much struggle. These old bones can’t take it. Better not to waste food.” The hint of surrender in his voice stung Chen Liu. He’s given up, he thought, his chest tightening with a pang of sorrow. He’d assumed Zhang wanted protection, not that he’d lost the will to live. It now dawned on him that many in the sanatorium were old and unwell, their spirits worn thin.
“You’re a biology expert, Professor,” Chen Liu said earnestly, his eyes steady. “The apocalypse needs scientists like you, not just warriors.” Knowledge and experience were civilisation’s backbone, and Chen Liu saw no burden in age—only value.
Zhang’s expression flickered with a spark of excitement. “This is a dazzling era,” he said, pointing to the distant forests. “A grand feast of life’s evolution.” From nature’s view, the apocalypse was a spectacular leap, not a catastrophe.
Chen Liu nodded, his face thoughtful but conflicted. “Yeah.” Logically, he understood, but his heart resisted. We’re just another species, not masters, he thought, his expression heavy.
“Humans feel wronged because we’ve shaped nature for so long, we forgot we’re not its rulers,” Zhang continued. “The Awakened are our only hope. You’re gifted, Xiao Chen, and open-minded—unlike some.” His tone hinted at disdain for Li Dong’s crude leadership. To Zhang, a former elite, Li Dong’s methods lacked refinement, a scholar’s bias against a warlord’s rule. Heroes can rise from anywhere. Chen Liu kept the thought to himself.
“Any advice?” he asked respectfully.
“Don’t worship power,” Zhang said, his voice firm. “Those consumed by it are destroyed by it. With great power comes great responsibility, even now.” His eyes held a quiet intensity.
Chen Liu nodded, his face serious, taking the words to heart. As a struggling survivor, the full weight of the advice eluded him, but it lingered. When Zhang’s stooped figure vanished down the corridor, Chen Liu glanced at the darkened sky, sighing softly. What am I even sighing for? he thought, his expression clouded with unease.
Back in his room, Chen Liu checked Weibo. Urban survivors faced dwindling food, forcing them from hiding to food-rich spots—supermarkets, markets, and factories. Groups formed, some marred by looting or slaughter, but there was still a sort of order. The “Flame Queen” had cleared a supermarket, drawing survivors like a magnet. Her power was growing. Even Awakened follow her, he thought, his expression tinged with admiration. “Wing,” despite his wings’ survival edge, fought alone, his path diverging. Fame doesn’t equal power, Chen Liu thought, his face pensive.
Morning brought grim news: Professor Zhang was dead. He’d left a suicide note and jumped from the third floor to avoid becoming a zombie. Chen Liu was in shock. Just chess partners, but still… he thought, sorrow welling up. Zhang’s roommate handed Chen Liu a thick notebook—academic notes mixed with recent evolutionary theories. “He wanted you to have this,” the man said, voice thick with grief. The notebook felt heavy in Chen Liu’s hands, his expression heavy with loss. Old fox-rabbit sympathy, he thought, a bitter smile flickering.
The living pressed on. After porridge and two steamed buns—a luxury for combatants—Chen Liu and Fang Ruoming prepared to hunt. The team’s perks included cooked meals and laundry done by staff, mostly women. Efficient, but unequal, Chen Liu observed. Li Dong’s leadership was nominal; teams formed freely for hunts, though most joined him for safety, splitting crystals after he took half. Cores are currency now. Chen Liu suspected Li Dong was a five-star Awakened, his hauls boosted by teamwork. Flame Queen’s the same—groups multiply gains. Her mental limits likely slowed her, unlike Chen Liu’s seven-star mind force. I’ve got an edge there, he thought, a faint spark of confidence in his eyes.
thINKer: Think about it, if an animal species suddenly replaced humankind at the top of the food chain, would they be evil for turning us into livestock? Humans have done that for centuries…