Who was the first to lose their mind?

Sunshine, curtains, and a gentle breeze.

For a few seconds, Wang Chen thought he was still at home in Harbin, his mother’s nagging voice drifting from the kitchen while he lay on his bed, deliberating whether to go play a few rounds of basketball or ask out the pretty girl from high school he’d been chatting with on WeChat, hoping to see if things might “progress.” But then Li Zhanghuai’s face—unpleasant as ever—loomed over him, shattering his daydream.

Rolling over and sitting up, Wang Chen groaned, rubbing his face to clear his head. “Brother Li, aren’t you bored this afternoon?” he said resignedly.

Clearly, Li Zhanghuai didn’t pick up on Wang Chen’s impatience. He was practically radiating enthusiasm, and without a word, stuffed a cigarette into Wang Chen’s hand.

Wang Chen lit it and lay back down. “You go if you want. Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, Brother Wang, you’re the best basketball player in our group. If we win this afternoon, we get five packs of cigarettes!”

“Wang Chen, at least go play ball with Zhanghuai,” interjected Hu Chun, who’d just seen his wife and kid that morning and was in high spirits. “You’ve been lying in the dorm all morning, that’s not right. Or, we could hit the gym and work up a sweat?”

Li Zhanghuai could be brushed off, but Hu Chun’s request was harder to ignore. Wang Chen knew they both meant well. He swung his legs off the bed and nodded. “Alright, I’ll play.”

“That’s more like it! Hurry, the game’s about to start.” Li Zhanghuai wasted no time, grabbing Wang Chen and pulling him along.

The structure of the sanatorium was simple: a lobby on the first floor, a conference hall on the second, living quarters for the residents above. Each floor had two stairwells and an elevator by the stairwell. The annexes on either side housed various venues and the cafeteria.

After civilians moved in, two patrolmen armed with rifles stood by each elevator around the clock. Officially, they were there to protect the civilians infected with the pathogen, but anyone with an IQ above sixty knew the real reason for the guns.

Life for these pathogen-infected civilians at the sanatorium was actually quite good. The state covered all their needs, providing food and drink to the standards of retired cadres, regular health checks with blood drawn from the earlobe, and free access to all sorts of fitness and entertainment facilities. The pool, gym, and broadband internet were all available. Aside from being unable to leave the grounds or post alarming messages online, it was essentially a convalescent home.

The only discomfort was the fortifications: since the arrival of the civilians, barbed wire, surveillance cameras, and mysterious mechanical devices had gone up along the mountain road and in the surrounding woods. The military didn’t hide this, nor did they bother to explain. Anyone with a functioning brain knew better than to try escaping.

Hu Qianqian had luckily avoided infection and safely reunited with her mother, much to Hu Chun’s relief. Even more unexpected, through some connections, Cao Baoquan had arranged for Hu Chun’s wife to be brought to a hotel in the nearby town, all expenses covered by the government, rather than being sent south. Though physical contact was forbidden, with relatives of survivors arriving in Shenyang, the sanatorium had hastily set up temporary sterile isolation rooms. Survivors could now speak with loved ones through glass.

Given all they’d endured—the carnage, the loss, the trauma—these survivors didn’t complain about such arrangements. Even though doctors assured them that, much like HIV, the pathogen wasn’t spread by touch, there was always a lingering “what if?” Just being able to chat with family through glass felt like a blessing. Some, fearing even the slightest risk, refused even that and settled for video calls.

For lone survivors like Wang Chen, Han Li, and Li Zhanghuai, the authorities followed the precedent set in Wenchuan: scheduled psychological counseling sessions to prevent breakdowns, and an announcement that in a few days, these solitary survivors would be relocated elsewhere for rehabilitation, sparing them the pain of watching others reunite with family. Whether this was a matter of “not putting all the eggs in one basket,” opinions varied.

Li Zhanghuai was the picture of carefree indifference. As he put it, his parents died early, and after his grandmother, who raised him, passed two years ago, he had only himself to worry about. Surviving was a stroke of luck, nothing to get upset over. Wang Chen, though outwardly listless, was simply in a period of numbness after too much trauma. He remembered well that his father, Wang Yefei, had saved his life multiple times. He owed it to him to live well, live fully, and live brilliantly.

Han Li, who’d gone from a loving family and boyfriend to fighting for her life alone, struggled more than the others. Counseling hadn’t done much; she couldn’t sleep or eat, and after just a few days at the sanatorium, she was visibly gaunt, her chin sharp and prominent. As Hu Chun put it, at this rate, she’d be nothing but skin and bones within two months. There was nothing anyone could do.

After his afternoon workout, Hu Chun took a quick shower, gave a few pointers to the fitness enthusiasts, and remembered that Wang Chen’s basketball game should be ending. He strolled over to the court and saw Li Zhanghuai, looking dejected, handing a pack of cigarettes to the opposing captain. Clearly, their team had lost.

Tch, winning is fine, but losing is another matter. Hu Chun scratched his head, about to sneak off before the two losers noticed him and he’d have to offer consolation, when he spotted Han Li sitting dazed on the sidelines. Glancing at Wang Chen as he wiped his sweat, an idea suddenly struck him: why not play matchmaker for this pair who’d survived so much together?

He had nothing else to do anyway.

Decision made, Hu Chun walked over to Han Li, making conversation. “It’s almost dinnertime. Let’s get Wang Chen and Zhanghuai and eat together.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Look, Wang Chen’s just lost a game—he’s not in the best mood. We’ve been here three or four days and haven’t had a meal together. Let’s cheer up a bit.” Without waiting for her to object, Hu Chun waved at Wang Chen. “Hey! Over here! Don’t dawdle. Let’s eat!”

“Coming!”

“Count me in!”

And who’s this? Thick-skinned, aren’t you?

Trailing behind Wang and Li was a young man in his twenties, about 1.75 meters tall with a square face, round eyes, sharp brows, and a straight nose. In today’s terms, he had a kind of charming, boyish handsomeness. Before Hu Chun could protest, the newcomer introduced himself, “Xu Dongsheng. Call me Xiao Xu, guys.”

He grinned, dimples showing, teeth gleaming white—a solid eight out of ten, the sort to appeal to anyone from eighteen to eighty.

And not just to women, either.

Standing next to Wang Chen, who was already well-built and scholarly, Xu Dongsheng’s presence made even Wang Chen’s six-foot frame seem less impressive.

Out of courtesy, Hu Chun shook Xu Dongsheng’s hand and introduced Han Li. But seasoned as Hu Chun was, he didn’t particularly like this Xu Dongsheng. The kid’s brazen approach and how his eyes lingered on Han Li said it all—he clearly had designs on her. Plus, those thin lips and charming smile turned cold in an instant, revealing a ruthless streak. Hu Chun wasn’t a fortune teller, but faces reveal character, and after years in society, he could read young men like this easily.

Wang Chen, though not as perceptive as Hu Chun, could sense the competition. He was just thinking of an excuse to get rid of Xu Dongsheng when a shout rang out behind them, “Xu Dongsheng! What’s the meaning of this?!”

Startled, not only were the group caught off guard, but even the lingering spectators turned to look. Xu Dongsheng’s bewildered expression made it clear there was drama brewing.

The woman shouting was young too, about Xu Dongsheng’s height. She had a round face, single eyelids, a small forehead, willow brows, and a slightly flat nose. Not exactly fat, but robust, with a prominent chest—not so much voluptuous as sturdy. A classic Northeastern girl.

Earlier, Xu Dongsheng had noticed Han Li, pale and lost in thought at the edge of the court, and figured, based on his experience, that she would be easy to approach. Even without Hu Chun’s introduction, he’d planned to chat her up after the game, hoping for a new bedmate that night.

That plan was now in ruins. With this public confrontation, Xu Dongsheng’s reputation was shot, and only women with a “playful” streak would still go near him—not Han Li.

But Xu Dongsheng was just an impulsive twenty-something. Angry, he shot back, “And you believed all that crap? You’re out of your mind! I was just having fun! Don’t get in my way! We’re all living on borrowed time. Who takes any of this seriously?!”

Smack!

The woman landed a punch squarely on Xu Dongsheng’s handsome nose, followed by a textbook kick to the groin. Xu barely managed to twist away, but before he could process the pain, she unleashed a flurry of blows, kicking him wherever she could reach.

The four onlookers stared, wide-eyed—this was a sudden shift from soap opera to action movie.

Normally, such an altercation would be reserved for jealous wives or unfaithful husbands, but among twenty-somethings, especially singles, a one-night stand gone sour rarely erupted so publicly. Yet, for survivors of the zombie outbreak, things were different. All infected, outwardly calm, but who knew what turmoil they harbored inside? Psychological stress ran high, tempers short. Even with counseling, an encounter with a scumbag like Xu Dongsheng could easily trigger an explosion.

Moreover, anyone who’d survived Harbin—the city of ten million zombies—might have more than just zombie blood on their hands. People change after killing, especially if they do it more than once. Guilt and fear fade, and so do attitudes toward sex, pride, and chastity.

Xu Dongsheng, of course, understood none of this. He just thought he was attractive and that these traumatized women were easy marks, never considering the risk of provoking a she-tiger with nothing to lose.

As the crowd watched the drama unfold, a warning sounded from the temporary watchtower by the sanatorium walls, urging people to disperse or face tasers.

The delay in response time made it clear the guards weren’t terribly concerned about Xu Dongsheng’s fate. By the time the fully armored patrol arrived and separated them, Xu was battered and bruised, curled on the ground, moaning in pain.

Watching from the crowd, Han Li suddenly burst out laughing, and as all eyes turned to her, her laughter grew—deep, unrestrained, shaking her whole body. The sound was strange and unsettling, so much so that even the guards nearly dropped Xu Dongsheng off the stretcher.

A nearby guard hesitated, finger on his taser’s trigger, wondering if he should use it. They’d been ordered to immediately intervene in any civilian dispute, and to use tasers without hesitation should anyone attempt self-harm or attack others. But laughter wasn’t self-harm. Still, Han Li looked on the verge of passing out, and her laughter was outright disturbing. Was this a psychotic break? Should they intervene?

Hu Chun realized they needed to stop Han Li’s laughter. Wang Chen, thinking the same, exchanged a glance, and they quickly supported Han Li, explaining hurriedly, “She’s fine, really! We’ll take her to the infirmary right now.”

Without waiting, they half-carried her away. Li Zhanghuai hesitated, saluted the guards, remembered he wasn’t military, tried to bow, realized that was odd, and simply ran after them, leaving the guards perplexed as they watched the four dash off.

As they reached the entrance, one guard snapped out of it. “Wait, we’ve got the one who got beaten, but what about the one who did the beating? Regulations say we should detain her for a checkup too!”

“Yeah, where is she?!”

But the fierce woman was already gone.

Having run all the way to the cafeteria, Han Li, light as she was, finally stopped laughing, though the mirth still lingered. Something had changed—she seemed to have emerged from her slump, not exactly relaxed, but with a new, crazed glint in her eyes.

Of course, the three men didn’t notice this subtle change.

Panting, Wang Chen grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it. Hu Chun and Li Zhanghuai did the same. Han Li watched them, then casually said, “Brother Chen, you free after dinner? Can you do me a favor?”

“Come on, no need to be polite. Just tell me.”

“Alright. After dinner, let’s go have sex.”

“Pfft!”

“Pfft!”

*Cough* *Cough* “What did you say?!”

“Uh, I’m going to check what’s for dinner. Zhanghuai, come with me.” Hu Chun winked at Wang Chen, signaling him to stay with Han Li, then dragged Li Zhanghuai away.

At this point, not calling a doctor was no longer an option.

While Wang Chen was still reeling, unsure how to respond, Cao Baoquan, responsible for security, was also troubled. As an officer commended for his “bravery in the epidemic zone,” promoted to major, he was now the chief of security for hundreds of civilians at the sanatorium.

“Regulations say we should report this sort of thing immediately, Captain,” a patrolman reminded him.

Cao Baoquan waved him away irritably. He knew the rules, but how was he supposed to report this? “Two young people had a lovers’ quarrel, and a spectator laughed herself silly”? Was there ever a less serious incident to put in an official report?

Lost in thought, a real-time epidemic update flashed on his screen. Cao Baoquan zoomed in on the northeast, noting that the number of incident reports had dropped since four hours ago and the infected area was now contained at the Changchun line. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Northeast China’s geography had helped: the Greater and Lesser Khingan ranges and the Changbai Mountains formed a natural barrier, making it difficult for zombies to spread beyond the line. With roadblocks, satellite imaging, drones, and military patrols, any zombies that did make it over could be quickly dealt with.

Public panic would hopefully ease as well. These days, nothing could be hidden, and trying to cover things up only made matters worse. Publishing updates every four hours about epidemic areas and incident numbers did much to reassure the public.

Pulling himself away from epidemic news, Cao Baoquan stared at the troublesome report icon. After much hesitation, duty prevailed. He pressed send.

Seconds later, a soft green icon flashed on the military commander’s screen, indicating a low-priority report. The commander, already distracted, glanced at the note—“Isolated civilian psychological distress, no group response”—and closed the window, frowning as he returned to the video conference on pathogen research.

On the screen, the thin-faced, sharp-featured middle-aged researcher was presenting his latest findings to the central leadership and regional commanders, far more serious and urgent than before. The technical terms—reverse transcriptase, gene chains, siRNA, DNA, viral transgenics, artificial gene expression—were baffling for the commander, but he had to attend. Thankfully, the researcher kept things as simple as possible, but even so, by the end of the meeting, the commander’s head was spinning.

Rubbing his aching temples, he looked at the lengthy documents and the central government’s request for feedback. He decided to consult an expert—someone authorized to attend the conference and with enough knowledge to explain the pathogen clearly. As the highest authority in the epidemic area, he couldn’t afford to misunderstand. A wrong decision in a crisis could have catastrophic consequences.

Consulting an expert was understandable, but under security protocols, only the commander and specially cleared academicians from the Academy of Sciences had access to such classified information. Still, he resolved to seek advice. There weren’t many suitable candidates—someone with the necessary expertise, security clearance, and firsthand experience in the epidemic zone was a rare breed.