Chapter 19: Kill

Qu Yan was thrown to the ground, his body covered in dust and dirt.

It was a small studio located on the street opposite the shopping mall. The cluttered workbench was piled with instant noodle cups and miscellaneous debris. Because the doors and windows were tightly sealed, a sour, foul odor permeated the air, causing Qu Yan to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"Damn you, you bitch! Who do you think you're looking down on!"

Perhaps because his expression was too obvious, he was kicked in the chest shortly after. His head struck the wall, and the raw wounds on his hands throbbed with intense, sharp pain. He had been dragged here the entire way, and by now, there was hardly an inch of his body that remained unscathed.

The middle-aged man, gaunt to the point of appearing sickly, had trembling hands. He was actually terrified—afraid of attracting zombies and afraid of Qu Yan's retaliation—but soon, the thrill of power eclipsed his trivial fear. He let out a breath of pure satisfaction and crouched down in front of Qu Yan.

"Young Master, do you remember who I am?"

A damp, cold palm patted Qu Yan's face. It wasn't a heavy blow; the gesture was meant only to humiliate.

Qu Yan’s head buzzed, but he narrowed his eyes and said calmly, "It’s you."

Lian Jiayun, Qu Zizhi’s uncle. He had enjoyed a period of prosperity while clinging to the Qu family, but after Qu Zizhi took over the family business and suppressed him, he lost his footing and vanished in disgrace.

Qu Yan only remembered him because of Qu Zizhi. Perhaps due to the old saying that a nephew resembles his uncle, Qu Zizhi and Lian Jiayun looked remarkably similar; their brows and eyes seemed carved from the same mold.

"The Young Master hasn't forgotten his old acquaintances after all..." Lian Jiayun sneered in a strange, grating voice. His gaze drifted downward, suddenly catching the red marks on Qu Yan's neck. He grabbed Qu Yan’s hand, pulled back his collar to take a look, and then let out a short, sharp laugh. "No wonder, no wonder... so you've become someone's whore."

So much for being the Young Master of the Qu family or the head of the Qu enterprise. To survive, he still had to spread his legs and gasp beneath someone else. Lian Jiayun’s slick palm opened and clamped tightly around Qu Yan's throat. The small, newly healed wounds split open, seeping blood.

Seeing the blood excited Lian Jiayun even more. His tone turned venomous. "I was wondering, why have I had to hide and skulk around to survive, turning into this pathetic ghost, while you get to stay clean and safe in a car? So that’s it—you’ve become a dog."

"Ha." Qu Yan tilted his head back, curling his lips slowly. "It seems you haven't been doing very well."

"Not doing well" was an understatement. Without the Qu family’s protection, former fair-weather friends had kicked him while he was down. On top of that, he had debts from a casino, and waves of debt collectors had come knocking. Even after hiding, they still found him... Remembering the finger he had lost, Lian Jiayun’s hatred deepened. He squeezed his hand tighter. "It’s all because of you! Everything I’ve become is your fault!"

Qu Yan’s expression twisted from lack of oxygen. Seeing Qu Yan's useless, atrophied legs, Lian Jiayun felt a flicker of cruel satisfaction. "Qu Zizhi didn't tell you, did he? I was the one who helped him find the person to hit you with that car back then. But he was too cowardly; he only wanted your legs. If it were up to me, I should have just had you killed right then and there."

He fell into a fantasy: if Qu Yan had died back then, it would have been perfect!

Hatred flared in Qu Yan’s eyes. His dark pupils, set against his pale cheeks, made him look like a vengeful demon returned from the grave. Lian Jiayun trembled under his gaze, then grew even more furious at his own cowardice. "Die!"

No matter how high and mighty he used to be, he was just an ant in his hands now. Lian Jiayun exerted more force, laughing in a mad, grotesque way.

He was losing his ability to breathe. Qu Yan felt his vision clouding over; the footsteps of death were drawing near. His hand, resting at his side, curled silently. A vine the thickness of a finger barely peeked out before snapping and vanishing.

No, perhaps he should wait a little longer. He gripped the walkie-talkie hidden beneath his clothes tightly. "Do you dare kill me?"

This was nothing short of a provocation. Lian Jiayun’s eyes turned bloodshot. He raised his other hand and clamped both hands firmly around Qu Yan’s throat. "I’ll show you right now whether I dare..."

*Bang—*

The tightly shut door was kicked open. The warm light of the setting sun spilled in, serene and peaceful. Qu Yan silently curled the corners of his mouth toward Lian Jiayun, signaling his victory.

He had gambled correctly once again.

The pressure on his neck vanished abruptly. The rush of air felt like needles, pricking his lungs with intense pain. Qu Yan clutched his neck and coughed violently, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

His vision, now clearing, was enough to see everything clearly: Lian Jiayun lay on the ground with a look of terror, while Yan Zhuo held a dagger high, the blade reflecting the light and casting a shadow over his expressionless, ruthless profile.

*Thwack.* The dagger pierced the heart, and everything went silent.

The spurting blood stained the clothes and cheeks of Yan Zhuo. He raised his hand, wiped a drop of blood from his eyelid with his thumb, and walked toward Qu Yan.

The door stood wide open. Qu Yan leaned against the wall, watching Yan Zhuo walk toward him against the light, the dagger still dripping blood, forming a crimson trail on the floor.

Lian Jiayun’s blood had dirtied Yan Zhuo, Qu Yan thought, before he was suddenly pulled into an embrace—familiar, firm, and warm.

Yan Zhuo’s lips moved, but with his ears ringing, Qu Yan couldn't hear a thing. Yet, he guessed that Yan Zhuo must be saying, "I'm sorry."

He pressed his face against Yan Zhuo's chest, his voice weary but relaxed. "I'm sorry for making you kill someone."

The sunset covered the horizon. When Yan Zhuo carried the unconscious Qu Yan out, Song Chengfeng was standing outside.

The blood on Yan Zhuo's face had already congealed. When his eyelids drooped, he looked like a heartless murderer, yet he held the person in his arms with extreme care, his every movement gentle. It was a stark contradiction, yet strangely harmonious.

Song Chengfeng was lost in thought at this contrast, recalling how Yan Zhuo had raised the blade—the action had been decisive and resolute, without a moment's hesitation. He hadn't shown a flicker of panic after killing, which was hardly typical for someone his age.

For every bit more he learned about Yan Zhuo, his wariness increased.

The commotion had been loud, and a few stray zombies nearby had been drawn over. Yan Zhuo, not wanting to wake Qu Yan, dealt with them with fast, precise, and lethal strikes.

Song Chengfeng followed behind him, delivering finishing blows. Occasionally, he stepped forward to practice; he knew all too well that staying behind others forever wasn't a long-term solution—becoming strong himself was the only way.

The glass on the rear window of the car was cracked, but it hadn't shattered completely. It hadn't caused much trouble, and the "little thing" lay safely on the seat, completely unaffected, with an unbelievable amount of luck.

"Shall we continue searching for supplies?" Song Chengfeng asked while putting a pacifier into the little thing's mouth. They had left in such a hurry earlier that they hadn't taken anything.

"Yes," Yan Zhuo replied briefly, still holding Qu Yan firmly, as if he intended to take him along inside.

Fine, Song Chengfeng couldn't be bothered to argue. The worst that could happen was that he’d have to make a few extra trips; as long as Yan Zhuo provided protection from the side, it was enough.

Entering the mall again was much smoother. They were familiar with the route and soon reached the supermarket. Song Chengfeng picked up the bag he had dropped earlier and checked its contents—nothing was missing. It seemed no one had been there.

"How long have you two known each other?" Yan Zhuo asked, watching his movements.

It went without saying who "you two" referred to.

Song Chengfeng glanced at Qu Yan in Yan Zhuo's arms and replied naturally, "Quite a while. Why do you ask?"

Yan Zhuo paused for two seconds, as if pondering or perhaps confirming something. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "His legs... was it an accident?"

He had asked Qu Yan before, and at the time, Qu Yan had seemed indifferent, his tone nonchalant. He had said it was an accident, but now it seemed that wasn't the case. He recalled the fragmented words he had overheard through the walkie-talkie.

Song Chengfeng had been behind him the whole time and had heard them too. He did know some of the inside story from back then, but it was Qu Yan’s private business. Since Qu Yan hadn't said anything, he couldn't take it upon himself to spread it. He smiled apologetically. "I'm not entirely sure. When I met him, he was already like this."

He picked up the plastic bag full of items and added, "If you want to know, you can ask him yourself. Given your current relationship, he should tell you."

Song Chengfeng felt his previous perception of Yan Zhuo had been somewhat biased. If he could kill for Qu Yan, he must truly care for him.

Although it was uncertain how long this affection would last, at the very least, Qu Yan was in an advantageous position right now.

Their relationship? Yan Zhuo looked down and adjusted his posture to make Qu Yan lie more comfortably.

If Qu Yan were willing to tell him the truth, would that mean their relationship had taken a step closer?