Chapter 25 Chu Mufan

　　Long, long ago—on a certain morning roughly a hundred years ago—the mountain tops of Shen Nongjia in Hubei Province were shrouded in thick morning mist, vague and elusive…

　　The gray, overcast sky hung heavy with oppression!

　　A cold wind, mingled with the chill of the mist, swept over the survivors who were hurrying to harvest crops in the vast farmlands along the mountain ridges…

　　The piercing, frigid mountain wind cut through their tattered, threadbare coats, jolting their nerves! They couldn’t help but huddle their necks and pull their shabby clothes tighter around themselves, desperate to keep warm…

　　At dawn in late autumn, the mornings in the mountains were unusually bitter!

　　In the fields, golden wheat had been bent over in swathes by the cold wind, and the yellow ears of grain were coated with a thin layer of frost—their frosted stalks rustling and trembling in the gusts. All around, the survivors, clutching worn, rusted sickles as they raced to gather the crops, shivered uncontrollably in the wheat fields! Yet not a single one of them dared to leave; they persisted in harvesting, their movements hurried and urgent.

　　They knew that if they failed to gather all the crops scattered across the farmlands on the surrounding ridges before the mountain’s snow season arrived, the women, children, elderly, and infirm—those unable to join the search teams—would face another deadly winter of hunger and cold…

　　These survivors were utterly destitute: sallow-faced, emaciated, with sunken eye sockets that betrayed their endless suffering. There was not a trace of humanity left in their eyes. Like walking corpses, they only knew how to swing their scythes and reap the wheat before them!

　　They lived only for the moment, with no thought for tomorrow, nor any glimpse of hope!

　　Under the gloomy sky, black crows circled overhead, letting out croaks that sounded like the calls of death...

　　In the uneven ditches of the farmland, corpses lay scattered every few meters. The survivors passing through the fields wore numb expressions. They glanced at the corpses with pierced foreheads and empty eyes, and then went back to their work as if nothing had happened!

　　Every winter here, countless among them would die of hunger and cold. Cold and harsh as the mountains were, no one was willing to go down! Waiting for death here was far better than being at the foot of the mountains!

　　The world below was like hell, filled with unknown dangers. From time to time, hordes of zombies would lunge out, tearing and gnawing you into a bloody mess, turning you into one of them! If you accidentally fell into the traps set by the villains roaming around the city edges… They would make you wish you were dead. These villains were strong and brutal survivors who preyed on others, seizing food, weapons, and supplies that their victims had struggled to find. They would do anything to survive. In the apocalyptic era, people like them were simply known as villains.

　　This camp was protected and deterred by powerful figures, so no nearby villains dared to set foot here. That was what made the Shen Nongjia Camp the largest survivor settlement in the region.

　　These survivors did not dare to fight the villains and zombies down below, so they could only struggle with the crops in the mountains!

　　Yet food was still scarce, and no one was safe from starvation.

　　The rotting corpses in the ditches were proof enough. Aside from the occasional zombies that had climbed up the mountain, most were survivors who had starved, frozen to death, or killed themselves, unable to bear the cruel apocalypse — poor, weak souls. These bodies, buried without coffins or cremation, became the best fertilizer to nourish the crops...

　　In the camp, cremation was a privilege reserved only for those who had made contributions or held status. After all, fuel was far too scarce in the apocalyptic era, and the smoke from fires could easily expose the camp. So, when ordinary people died, their foreheads were pierced to prevent reanimation, while their bodies were discarded in the fields to become fertilizer...

　　It was simply undignified. But in the apocalyptic era, no survivors cared about dignity, not any more...

　　Three years ago, such bizarre, inhumane scenes would have caused a huge uproar across society. But three years later, everything felt disturbingly normal and reasonable...

　　Three years after the outbreak of the apocalyptic virus, human civilization had ceased to exist. The world had devolved into one where only the strong survived. The survivors lived on numbly, not knowing where the future lay or why they even lived...

　　Many others had lost the right to life, becoming walking corpses wandering across the world...

　　……

　　When people caught sight of the first ray of sunlight breaking through the thick fog, they would gather up what they had harvested that morning and head toward a large open space in the middle of the fields. They had to time it right: after handing in and accounting for their morning’s work, they would receive a breakfast card — only with the card could they eat!

　　If they worked quickly enough, finishing their tasks and turning in their harvest on time, it would almost be breakfast time. The camp guaranteed three meals a day. But the higher one’s contribution, the earlier the one could enter the cafeteria.

　　The old, the weak, women, and children who labored in the fields were always the last to arrive, usually left with nothing but scraps.

　　Still, something was better than nothing. Some survivors in the camp were too weak to work. They could not even get the leftovers, and could only wait quietly for death, tormented by hunger...

　　The camp’s high-ranking members, however, lived in villas in the upper district, feasting on rich food every day. But there was one rule in Shen Longjia Camp: it never kept useless people.

　　Sure enough, around eight o’clock, a minibus drove down from the mountain villas to the edge of the fields. When it stopped, a group of plump women stepped out...

　　They were plump only in comparison to the survivors who had been laboring since before dawn in the bitter, piercing cold! These women were loaded with gold and silver jewelry, all heavily made up. They looked as if they were attending some award ceremony, instead of standing in a field...

　　They were all wives or family members of the camp’s high-ranking officials. The camp did not keep useless people — everyone had their own duties and tasks. During this harvest season, all wives and female relatives who were not pregnant were assigned to help out in the mornings! Of course, those in charge of assigning tasks were not fools. The jobs given to these elite wives were mostly light and easy ones...

　　Even so, they finally showed up, late as usual after the sun was already high in the sky, and the weather had warmed up...

　　These wealthy ladies posed and preened as they walked to the central square, then reluctantly began to help the camp guards stationed there count and register the grain and hand out meal cards...

　　However, the rule that the camp kept no useless people had recently been broken by the camp’s guardian deity. Sure enough, in less than an hour, the elite wives finished counting the harvest,

　　then gathered in the middle of the square and started gossiping again.

　　They rarely got together so neatly on ordinary days. A round of gossip like this could keep them busy for most of the day — it was their favorite moment. They dug up all the recent happenings in the camp and the gossip about this family or that person, chatting back and forth, exchanging information.

　　Don’t underestimate the truthfulness of the news from their mouths. The husbands of some of these women held considerable weight in the camp.

　　They might be members of a search team, or wives of key figures like captains, vice-captains...