On a street, a girl limps forward alone. Her green tracksuit is soaked in grime, tears running down the fabric like rivers of old blood. Her right hand clutches a duffle bag in surprisingly good condition, rattling with the dull clink of cans and other supplies, while her left presses against a thigh that just won't stop bleeding.
The warm stickiness runs down her leg in slow, teasing streams, and she finds herself almost… enjoying the texture. Every few steps, she glances behind her—the things trailing her are grotesque, misshapen, foul, maggot-stinking, eyes cloudy, jaws gummed and snapping at the air as if chewing invisible meat.
If those wet, cracking mouths, that smell of rotten iron and moldy skin, finally get a taste of her, it would make her the happiest girl alive.
But she doesn't want to get eaten today. Maybe another day—because she has things to do.
Really, she does.
Six hours ago, she transmigrated into a novel she had read once out of boredom, never imagining she'd actually wake up in it.
•
"Have you seen my sister Xu Qingge? I haven't seen her after the supply run—I hope she's okay." A tearful, naive, honeyed voice whines like a kitten. It's Xu Meixiang, biting her lip, her wide, watery doe eyes darting around nervously, searching ever hoping to see her elder sister.
"Don't worry about that selfish girl," Li Wenjie says gruffly, crossing his arms. "She probably found some other group to mooch off of. She's always thinking of herself first."
Beside him, Zhao Jiaqi huffs, a smug little smile playing on her lips. "She's too selfish to die. That kind survives."
Xu Meixiang gasps. "How can you say that! Qingge just… she just has her own way of coping! She's a good girl, really! You just need to give her a chance."
"Hmph. Some chance," Zhao Jiaqi scoffs. "Don't expect her to put anyone before herself."
But Xu Meixiang shakes her head, her expression still one of pure, unblemished concern. "No… She's my sister. I have to believe in her. I'll go look for her. I won't rest until I find her, even if the whole world is filled with those monsters." Her sincerity is a masterpiece. A performance worthy of an Oscar.
•
Xu Qingge presses her back against a graffiti-scarred wall, breathing raggedly through her teeth. The sound of a hundred wet mouths slavering, the shuffle of a hundred decaying bodies, the low, hungry moan of the dead—it fills the alley ahead and it just fills her with glee. She's a cornered little lamb, and she absolutely adores being cornered. A twisted grin spreads across her face as she reaches into her bag.
If she remembers correctly—she's Xu Qingge, the cannon fodder big sister of the heroine Xu Meixiang. In the original story, Xu Qingge dies within two chapters, her death serving only as a tragic motivation for the "pure and kind" Xu Meixiang to become stronger, more determined. She'd have tripped during a supply run, hurt her leg, and been eaten alive by the horde, all while her dear sister watches from a safe distance, crying beautifully for the readers' sympathy. What a beautifully tragic death!
Xu Qingge pulls out two empty cans and a small bottle she has with her from a trashed pharmacy. The bottle's contents—a strong-smelling disinfectant—she pours onto the cans. Then with a piece of torn fabric, she stuffs the can mouths, soaking the cloth in the chemical.
The horde is closer now. Then she lights the rags with a cheap plastic lighter she also has, and throws the incendiary devices right into the middle of the approaching crowd. The cans erupt with a satisfying whoosh, a wave of fire washing over the closest corpses, their rotten flesh catching like kindling. The smell of burning decay is an even more delicious perfume.
They scream and flail, a symphony of agony. It's music. It's a party. And she's the guest of honor.
But the fire, glorious as it is, only stops a fraction of the dead. The rest keep coming, their empty eyes fixed on her. She runs through the finally opened space, past their blackened, twitching forms. She doesn't look back. She runs until her lungs burn, until the bleeding thigh screams with a white-hot pain that is almost as good as the thrill of the chase.
It's been at least three hours later, but she finally finds some real humans. They're not too far away—a group filled with men, women, children, and the elderly but they all look frail. She sees some of them can't fend for themselves even if they want to.
They sit around a small campfire made of broken wooden pallets and dried garbage, cooking a single pot of something gray and steaming.
Xu Qingge leans against a ruined vending machine, watching them. One of the women, a bony thing with sunken cheeks and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun, stands up and walks toward her with stiff steps, wielding a small paring knife like it's a great sword.
Xu Qingge grins, watching the poor woman approach, her knuckles whitening around the handle of the knife. She can smell the woman's fear from here—it makes her mouth water.
The woman stops a few feet away, holding the knife out like a shield. "What do you want?" she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse.
Xu Qingge tilts her head, feigning innocence. "You have food," she states, gesturing toward the pot. The aroma of cooking vegetables reaches her, salty and savory. "I'm hungry."
The woman's grip tightens. "We do not share our food," she says firmly, though her voice wavers slightly. "There's barely enough for all of us as it is."
Xu Qingge steps closer, her bloodied tracksuit making a wet, squelching sound as she moves. The woman flinches but holds her ground. "That's not my problem," Xu Qingge replies, her grin widening as she leans forward face to face with the older woman. She can see the way the woman's pupils dilate with fear, the way her breath hits. "Why have everyone suffer like this? Why not just give up and starve? You might as well eat the weak and keep the strong ones alive. I bet there are some here you wouldn't even miss. At least if you eat them, you could live longer and have more food for the ones you do care about."