Ch 88: Opening a Survival School Before the Zombie Outbreak

On Song Rushuang and Zhang Han’s side, the two drove one after the other along the road, the tension in their hearts stretched tight the entire way.

Song Rushuang had driven this route between home and school several times before. Even then, she had deliberately tried different routes, worried that one day traffic might block a road and force her to switch paths at a moment’s notice.

They had even bought handheld radios and placed them in the cars, afraid phone signals might fail during an emergency and wanting a reliable way to stay in contact.

Sometimes, though, being overly prepared meant nothing actually happened.

That was exactly their situation. They stayed nervous the whole trip, only to arrive at school more than an hour early, without encountering a single incident along the way.

The parents assumed the girls were simply tense because they were inexperienced drivers, even chuckling kindly as everyone got out of the cars.

“You drove really well,” Song Jianguo encouraged his daughter. “Much better than I expected.”

Song Rushuang: “…”

Too tired to explain, she let it go.

The two had already registered all four parents’ information in the system. As they approached the east gate near the underground garage, they lowered the windows for facial recognition. The machines scanned them, and they entered campus without obstruction.

After parking, they stepped out to unload the luggage.

The parents tried to help, but the girls stopped them.

Song Rushuang tapped twice on her wristband. Soon, a cargo robot clanked its way over, using mechanical arms to lift each suitcase onto a platform behind it.

The parents stared in amazement at this unfamiliar piece of “black technology.”

Zhang Han’s mother, Liu Zhen, curiously reached out to pat the robot’s head. It dodged smoothly and said in a flat mechanical voice, “Currently working. Please do not disturb.”

Liu Zhen froze.

Though the robot spoke without emotion, she somehow interpreted it as: I’m already busy, why are customers touching me?

Embarrassed, she hurriedly apologized. “Sorry about that.”

Zhang Han laughed and explained, “These are delivery robots used around campus. Students can borrow them when they’re free by reserving through the wristband.”

Since they had arrived early and few students were around, the robot had been idle and came immediately when summoned.

Dragging a mountain of luggage behind it, the robot departed, announcing that it would deliver everything directly to their dorm.

Song Rushuang checked the time again and exchanged a glance with Zhang Han before saying patiently, “Dad, Mom, Uncle, Auntie, let’s go get something to eat at the cafeteria first.”

On the way there, Zhang Han took responsibility for introducing the campus. Somehow she managed to improvise long stories about student life she had never actually experienced. To Song Rushuang, it sounded like pure fabrication, yet the parents listened with great interest.

While their attention was occupied, Song Rushuang quietly messaged Shen Qingqing and Sun Wei.

[We’ve arrived. Where are you two?]

Sun Wei replied only after a while, clearly still driving:

[Still on the highway. There was an accident ahead so traffic slowed, but the vehicles have been cleared. Navigation says about thirty minutes until I exit. Almost there.]

[Got a livestream to handle, talk later.]

Song Rushuang opened the livestream and saw that all five members had already begun broadcasting. Since Sun Wei was driving, she could not wear her usual mascot head. Instead, she wore a mask and a headband labeled “Green Fish @Dormitory Escape Royale,” practically turning herself into a walking advertisement.

Many viewers in the chat were shocked that such a beautiful face was hidden beneath the Green Fish mask. Even with most of her face covered, her delicate features were obvious.

A few viewers from her old account, Sister Wei, recognized her and began asking questions in the comments.

At this point, Sun Wei clearly no longer cared about being recognized.

Seeing that she looked calm and in control, Song Rushuang relaxed slightly. She then checked Shen Qingqing’s messages and realized there was still no reply.

A sudden unease crept over her. Scrolling upward through their chat history, she realized Shen Qingqing had not spoken at all since the group conversation the previous night.

Her last message had said something had “come up” on her end.

Song Rushuang had meant to ask what happened, but Zhang Han had knocked on her door just then. After that came their encounter with Shi Guangyao, and somehow Shen Qingqing’s message had slipped completely from her mind.

How could she have been so careless?

Song Rushuang abruptly stopped walking.

Zhang Han noticed and turned back. “What’s wrong?”

Song Rushuang quickly explained while sending Shen Qingqing a private message asking about her situation. Zhang Han hurriedly checked her phone too and groaned in frustration.

“I was busy asking for directions last night, then organizing luggage. I never checked the group chat…”

Sun Wei was probably the same. Between preparing for the livestream, loading supplies early in the morning, and driving, she had been even busier.

At a time like this, none of them had spare attention for their phones.

They had also assumed that if anything serious happened, Shen Qingqing would contact them through the wristband alert system instead of ordinary chat messages. That assumption made them overlook the warning.

Now it seemed Shen Qingqing had only meant to inform them, not ask for help.

Just as their anxiety peaked, a reply finally arrived.

[It’s fine. My dad got sick.]

[I’m staying to take care of him for a bit. Once he improves, I’ll head out.]

[I rented an off road vehicle today and bought fuel. I won’t take public transport. I’ll drive directly there.]

[Don’t worry. I’ll make it back on time.]

…

Shen Qingqing set down her phone and looked at Shen Mingjiang lying in bed.

His face was flushed, his sleep restless, though he no longer looked as pained as he had a few days earlier.

Zang Lijun sat by the window, fanning him gently. Seeing her daughter’s tense expression, she said apologetically, “Qingqing, you could go back first. Don’t delay the start of school. I can visit another time…”

She thought her daughter was upset about canceling their travel plans.

Glancing at the clock, Shen Qingqing walked over, replaced the now warm towel on her father’s forehead with a freshly soaked one, wrung it out, and shook her head.

“Don’t overthink it, Mom.”

Shen Mingjiang had suddenly fallen ill a week earlier.

The summer heat was intense, and his construction work kept him outdoors under the blazing sun all day. Every evening he would gulp down large amounts of cold water before eating. After maintaining those unhealthy habits for years, he suddenly collapsed halfway through dinner.

Shen Qingqing carried him to the car and rushed him to the hospital, where he received IV treatment for three days before stabilizing. The doctor advised that he remain home to rest for the foreseeable future.

Only after careful questioning did she learn that years of overwork had already weakened his health. This illness had struck especially hard, leaving him bedridden and semi conscious for days.

Under those circumstances, Zang Lijun could not possibly leave with her for school.

And Shen Qingqing herself simply could not bring herself to leave either.

Although she worried constantly about the principal and her elite squad teammates, tossing and turning for several nights without sleep,

when morning came, she still had work to do.

After Shen Mingjiang collapsed, Zang Lijun and Grandma Shen felt as if the family’s pillar had fallen. The two busied themselves endlessly, taking on nearly all the household labor, yet whenever they paused, they seemed lost and hollow, as though their backbone had been pulled away.

Shen Qingqing felt frustrated at their helplessness, yet there was nothing she could do.

Looking at the crumbling tile-roofed house before her, she suddenly felt as though fate itself had kept her here, trapped in the village that had confined her for eighteen years.

“Qingqing, you should still go,” Zang Lijun urged anxiously, completely unaware of her daughter’s thoughts. “Your grandmother and I can manage here.”

Grandpa isn’t even dead yet!

The words nearly burst from Shen Qingqing’s mouth as she slammed the towel down with a sharp smack.

Zang Lijun startled at the sudden anger on her daughter’s face. “Qingqing?”

Shen Qingqing’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She glanced toward the inner room, where the old man lay leisurely smoking on the bed, blowing out slow rings of smoke, and forcibly suppressed her anger.

In that instant, she made a decision.

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

“Mom, I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t have to stay for us…”

“I’m not staying for you,” Shen Qingqing said, sitting back down. “There are still things I haven’t finished. I’ll leave after I finish them.”

A year ago, she had relied on her own strength to walk out of this place. One year later, she would leave in an even better way.

“This time, staying is my own choice.”

*

Shen Qingqing’s reply filled Song Rushuang and Zhang Han with unease.

But they could not show anything unusual in front of their parents. They forced smiles and accompanied Xu Mingyu and the others to eat in the cafeteria.

Only scattered students and parents sat inside. As time ticked forward, the sound of the clock’s second hand grew sharper and heavier, each click seeming to strike directly against their hearts.

Click.

Someone turned on the television mounted overhead.

They hoped that if an emergency occurred, the broadcast would switch immediately to live news coverage.

The parents paid no attention to the background noise, but across from them, the students perked up one after another, ears subtly straining to listen.

Ten minutes remained until the apocalypse countdown ended.

All their wristbands automatically activated, projecting a floating timer glowing in glaring crimson.

Inside Fangzhou’s administrative building conference room, the teachers watched until their eyes felt dry.

Perhaps sensing the suffocating atmosphere, Zhao Yunxiao suddenly spoke.

“At this exact time last year, what were you all doing?”

“I’ll go first. I was rushing back to school from my internship. The sun was blazing, and I was complaining about commuting back and forth, working nonstop, wondering when that miserable routine would finally end.” He gave a bitter smile. “And then it really ended.”

Bai Tang said, “I was holding my cat while drawing, listening to my mom nag me on the phone.”

“She was always worried about my future, afraid freelance illustration wouldn’t last, afraid no one would support me after they were gone…” She scratched her ear. “But it turns out people shouldn’t overthink things. Most of the time, thinking changes nothing. You never know what will happen next.”

Xu Mingyue said, “I was probably… at work. Nothing special about that day. Though that evening I was supposed to pick up chili sauce my mom mailed me.”

Lu Yan thought for a moment. “I was playing a game. Halfway through, my opponent suddenly logged off. I thought I’d scared him away. Got happy for nothing.”

After a pause, he muttered, “If I’d known… I would’ve killed him a few times less.”

Liu Yingchun said blankly, “I… was video calling my granddaughter. She didn’t answer.”

Hao Zhenye said nothing, only lifting a hand to touch the scar on his face.

Seeing the mood grow heavier, Zhao Yunxiao laughed awkwardly. “Well… that didn’t really lighten things up. Then, P-Principal?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Why ask Fu Qing after such a failed attempt at changing the subject?

Fortunately, Fu Qing did not deepen the gloom. She lowered her gaze to the countdown and said calmly,

“It’s been too long. I don’t remember.”

Silence fell.

For Fu Qing, six years had already passed.

Far too long.

With only minutes remaining, no one spoke again.

…

At the same time, inside Fangzhou’s cafeteria, Zhang Han nervously chewed her chopsticks while repeatedly checking the time.

“Why isn’t Weiwei here yet?”

Song Rushuang shook her head slightly, eyes lowered to the livestream on her phone.

“Let’s wait and see. If she really can’t make it back, we’ll go pick her up.”

Zhang Han’s father, Zhang Feng, looked at his daughter and then at her friend, sensing the tense atmosphere between them.

“Hanhan, what have you two been talking about all this time?”

“Is there anything Mom and Dad can help with?” he asked gently, patting her shoulder.

But his hand suddenly paused.

He realized that the daughter who usually threw herself into his arms and acted spoiled now sat with lowered eyes, calmly watching the clock, her expression focused and composed in a way that felt unfamiliar.

…She no longer seemed to need her parents’ help.

Inside @Dormitory Escape’s livestream, Su Huaijin, who had remained in the dorm, calmly finished interacting with the previous viewer.

“Thank you for participating. Please send us a private message afterward to enter the giveaway~”

The moment her sentence ended, Zhuo Xiaoliang and Yue Yuxuan quickly picked up the pace, trading lines back and forth and keeping the atmosphere lively.

Su Huaijin used the opportunity to spare a bit of attention for the small window in the lower right corner.

That window belonged to Sun Wei.

Because she was still traveling, Sun Wei’s broadcast took place inside a cargo truck, livestreaming while driving. Her interaction with viewers was limited, but fans did not mind, assuming it was some intentional stylistic choice.

After all, each of the five hosts was streaming from a different location, all fitting the survival-apocalypse theme.

The livestream had already been running for nearly an hour and a half. About twenty viewers had been connected on call, each showing off their own wildly varied apocalypse preparations. Even more participants waited in the chat, hoping their names would be drawn before the stream ended.

No one dared leave their homes.

The publicity team’s objective had already been achieved.

As the countdown drew near, Su Huaijin finally could not help becoming distracted, checking on her classmates’ situations.

She noticed that Sun Wei had still not arrived at Fangzhou.

…

At Shen Qingqing’s home.

She ignored the countdown entirely, focusing on tending the vegetables in the field. Beside her lay a sickle sharpened to a gleaming edge.

…

At Shi Guangyao’s house.

Doors and windows were tightly shut. Hidden behind sealed curtains, Shi Guangyao stared with bloodshot eyes at pedestrians walking below, his expression bordering on madness.

…

At Grandma Zhang’s home.

An electric fan turned slowly. Grandma Zhang sat before the television and had already drifted into a comfortable sleep, soft snores escaping her.

Beside her, boxes of supplies were stacked neatly against the wall.

…

In an unknown dark room, a group of figures silently watched a glowing screen. The shrinking pupils of their eyes reflected the countdown displayed upon it.

Drool slipped from mouths hanging slightly open. Starving hunters could no longer suppress the urge to slaughter rising within them.

…

Fangzhou’s students, whether at home, on the road, or already on campus, all turned their attention to their wristbands at the same moment.

For far, far more people, however, this was nothing more than an ordinary sunny summer afternoon.

————————

The arrival of the apocalypse did not come with thunderous spectacle.

No one could say where the first mutation appeared on Blue Planet, nor who screamed first.

It simply arrived, quietly and soundlessly.

During the first minute after the countdown reached zero, no one spoke. Even knowing zombies could not appear inside Fangzhou, everyone remained silent, as if waiting for something unseen.

The television continued playing a dull melodrama. Whether the news had not yet reacted, or too many incidents were happening simultaneously for them to report, no one knew.

At moments like this, the internet responded faster than traditional media.

About five minutes later, phones began vibrating one after another.

Emergency headlines popped up endlessly.

【Multi-vehicle collision at city intersection, driver reportedly incoherent】
【Breaking: Man in X City suspected of mental breakdown bites pedestrians, behaves like a zombie】
【Video uploaded showing woman attacking passengers in subway; even three men struggle to restrain her】
【Live footage: violent group fight in Province A, extremely graphic, viewer discretion advised】

Soon afterward, social platforms began pushing freshly uploaded videos from ordinary users.

Opening them revealed chaotic soundscapes: crowds shouting, screams, gasps, cries of pain.

Chinese communities across the world uploaded footage, different languages expressing the same terror.

One woman, awake at night for water, filmed a figure crawling on all fours across her yard outside the glass doors. Her scream rang out as the cup shattered on the floor.

Another person filmed at dawn, holding a phone in one hand and a pistol in the other, shouting, “Come any closer and I’ll shoot!” Yet the attacker continued forward as if deaf. The video ended with the sound of a gunshot.

In the black screen afterward, the trembling voice whispered, “Oh God… I killed someone… Was he insane? Was he insane?!”

Another tourist captured someone calmly stepping out of a tour group and leaping straight into a volcano crater.

Before jumping, the person turned back toward the camera, eyes showing only white.

Clearly, chaos was erupting across the entire globe at once.

Confused netizens flooded the internet with questions. Others began realizing abnormalities were happening nearby. Panic spread through the online world like a tidal wave.

Group chats exploded. The flood of information nearly overwhelmed the mind.

Finally, about twelve minutes later, the television drama cut abruptly, replaced by an emergency live broadcast.

In the conference room, Fu Qing watched the live feed on her tablet as well.

Same platform, same moment, but the reporter on screen was no longer the familiar female anchor. A strange male host had taken her place.

Fu Qing frowned slightly.

…

In the cafeteria, parents who had been chatting with their children were gradually drawn into the flood of notifications on their phones.

Low murmurs grew louder until everyone began discussing anxiously.

“What is going on?”

“It has to be fake, right? It’s not April Fool’s Day…”

“Is everyone’s phone malfunctioning?”

“A virus? Maybe hackers from Country A?”

“Turn on the news!”

Fangzhou’s safety only made the situation more confusing. They could observe the outside world’s chaos only through small screens.

On television, the male anchor was suddenly dragged into a panicking crowd. Though real, the scene looked like a surreal horror film.

Xu Mingyu and Song Jianguo covered their mouths in shock. Realizing what was happening, they hurriedly tried to shield Song Rushuang’s eyes, only to discover she was not watching the television at all.

Song Rushuang stared fixedly at Sun Wei’s livestream on her phone.

Ten seconds earlier, a violent crash had erupted from Sun Wei’s camera. The phone mounted near the windshield had been shaken loose, falling to the floor beneath the passenger seat.

The camera froze at an upward angle, aimed directly at the passenger-side window.

And at that very moment, pressed clearly against the glass, was a bloody handprint.

₊˚.🎧📓✩