Chapter 4: Trump Cards and Achilles' Heel
680 Words
Su Qingyan wasn't asleep.
She sat in the corner of the living room, scrutinizing the room by the dim light of the security monitor screen, as if evaluating a venture capital report.
The more she looked, the more alarmed she became.
What she initially thought was simply the cramped apartment of an autistic person now appeared to be a meticulously crafted apocalyptic fortress.
The mountain of compressed biscuits, canned food, and bottled water piled up in the corner was, roughly estimated, enough to feed a hundred people for a year. The walls weren't adorned with decorative paintings, but rather hand-drawn circuit diagrams and structural breakdowns of the neighborhood. Behind the seemingly ordinary security door lay a complex independent power supply system and multiple alarm devices.
Beside the wheelchair she considered a "burden," boxes of medicine were neatly stacked.
Su Qingyan stood up, her gaze sweeping over the labels on the medicine boxes—a specific drug for neuromyelitis optica, immunosuppressants, neurotrophic factors…
All expensive imported medications.
She abruptly turned her head to look at the tightly closed bedroom door.
This man named Lin Ye was not only a physics genius, but also a madman. He foresaw everything before the virus outbreak, or more accurately—he spent three years transforming himself into a "monster" always ready for the apocalypse.
"A seemingly useless shut-in..." Su Qingyan's lips curled into a self-deprecating smile.
In this world where order has collapsed, possessing such a well-supplied, top-security fortress, even if one is paralyzed, is the most valuable survival partner.
She had initially hesitated about whether she had brought up the "symbiotic contract" too late, but now it seemed she had struck gold.
Night deepened.
The screams outside the window gradually thinned, replaced by chilling chewing sounds and the low growls of wandering zombies.
The entire building resembled a silent tomb.
Suddenly, an unusual sound shattered the tranquility inside.
"Ugh..." It was a suppressed groan of pain coming from the direction of the sofa.
Su Qingyan opened her eyes with alarm, her hand instantly gripping the broken golf club tightly.
By the blue light of the screen, she saw the man who should have been fast asleep on the sofa in the center of the living room, now curled up like a shrimp.
Lin Ye was trembling violently.
He clutched his head tightly, his hands buried in his hair, his knuckles white from the force. His already pale face was now ashen, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Hello?” Su Qingyan put down the golf club and hurried over. “Lin Ye?”
There was no response.
As she got closer, she heard a broken groan coming from Lin Ye’s throat. His body was convulsing uncontrollably, his usually cold and aloof eyes tightly closed, his eyelids twitching wildly, as if he were enduring some extreme torture.
“It hurts…” He squeezed out a single word through clenched teeth, his voice so weak it was almost inaudible.
Su Qingyan’s heart skipped a beat.
This wasn’t an infection.
She had seen the infected before—madness, bloodlust, violence. But the Lin Ye before her was only vulnerable.
It was as if some old, incurable disease was slowly consuming his nerves.
Su Qingyan's gaze fell on the overturned medicine bottle beside the coffee table—his ever-present first-aid medication.
Acute attack of neuromyelitis optica.
In this dead of night, without doctors, without emergency equipment, in this desperate situation besieged by zombies, this man who held the core lifeline of the entire fortress was teetering on the brink of collapse.
Su Qingyan reached out, wanting to touch his shoulder.
But she stopped mid-air.
She remembered his cold rejection during the day, his wary eyes.
If he were to die like this…
Su Qingyan took a deep breath, her eyes instantly hardening.
No, he couldn't die.
He was her only bargaining chip for survival.
"Lin Ye! Can you hear me?" Su Qingyan's voice was steady and strong, trying to penetrate the barrier of pain. "Tell me, where is the medicine? What do you need to do?"
- Writer
