Zhou Chenghai woke to pain throughout his entire body.
It wasn't the sharp, sudden kind of pain that demanded immediate attention so much as the deep, grinding ache that radiated through every muscle in his body. Honestly, it felt like he had been hit by a truck and then backed over a few times to make sure that the job was done. But nothing was broken, and he wasn't bleeding, so that was a plus.
He tried to move, and his body protested immediately. Every muscle screamed—his shoulders, his back, his legs. Even his fingers felt stiff, like they'd been clenched into fists for hours and had forgotten how to relax.
He forced his eyes open, and sunlight hit him directly, bright and harsh. He squinted against it, his vision blurring at the edges, before slowly sharpening into focus. He felt the stone beneath him, cold and hard.
Right. The balcony. He was still on the balcony.
Chenghai pushed himself up slowly, his arms shaking with the effort, and his head swam in response. The pressure inside his skull intensified for a moment before settling into a dull, constant throb.
He sat up, breathing carefully, and looked around to assess the situation.
Jian Yuche was on the ground a few meters away, lying on his side with one arm stretched out in front of him. His chest rose and fell steadily, so he was only unconscious, but alive. Beside him, Wei Lingyun was closer, sprawled flat on his back near the railing with one leg bent at an awkward angle. His face was turned toward the sky and his expression slack.
But he was also breathing. Also alive.
Looking to the last man, Chenghai quickly spotted Zhenlan. He was slumped against the stone wall near the door, his head tilted forward and his hands resting loosely in his lap, his shoulders moving slightly with each breath.
All of them had been knocked out, but all of them were alive.
Chenghai exhaled slowly, and the cold feeling in his chest intensified for a moment before fading slightly. He didn't know how long they'd been unconscious—the sun was still high, not directly overhead anymore but not far from it.
So maybe an hour, maybe two at most.
He tried to stand, but his legs didn't cooperate immediately. The muscles felt weak and unresponsive. So, he gripped the balcony railing and pulled himself up, his knuckles white against the stone.
The ache in his body intensified with his movements, his head throbbed, and the cold feeling spread through his limbs, making everything feel heavier than it should. But he was upright, and that was something.
Chenghai turned toward the property, his gaze moving across the grounds below, and stopped.
The infected were gone—not all of them, but most of them.
Bodies littered the ground, dozens of them scattered across the lawn, the driveway, the perimeter near the walls. They weren't moving, weren't twitching, just... still.
In fact, they looked dead. Like actually dead.
Chenghai's grip on the railing tightened as the realization settled in. It had worked. The solution had actually worked.
He scanned the area more carefully, his tactical mind automatically cataloging what he saw.
About seventy percent, maybe more—the majority of the infected that had been clawing at the walls, scraping at the doors, dragging themselves across the property were all motionless now.
But not all of them.
Movement caught his eye near the far edge of the property, slow and unsteady. One of the infected was still upright, stumbling away from the house with a gait that was wrong—slower than before, less coordinated, moving like it was drunk with limbs jerking awkwardly with each step.
Another one appeared near the gate, dragging itself along the ground, not attacking or lunging, just moving away.
Chenghai's eyes narrowed as he counted quickly. Five, six, maybe seven still moving within his line of sight. Thirty percent survival rate, give or take. The solution had killed most of them, but not all.
Still it was better now than it was before.
Behind him, someone groaned.
Chenghai turned to see Jian Yuche stirring, his hand moving to his head and his face contorting in pain. He pushed himself up slowly, his movements stiff and uncoordinated.
"What—" Yuche's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "What happened?"
"We passed out," Chenghai said, his own voice sounding rough and strained. "The wave hit us."
Yuche blinked, his gaze unfocused for a moment before sharpening as he looked around, taking in the balcony, the other two men still unconscious, the sunlight that suggested time had passed. "How long?"
"An hour. Maybe two."
Yuche pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before catching himself against the railing, his expression tightening. "I feel like I got hit by a car."
"Same."
Wei Lingyun groaned next, his body shifting on the stone as he rolled onto his side, his hand pressing against the ground as he tried to sit up. Chenghai moved toward him, his legs still unsteady but functional, and crouched down to grip Lingyun's arm, helping him into a sitting position.
Lingyun's face was pale, his breathing shallow. "What the hell was that?"
"The solution," Chenghai said. "It knocked us out."
"Solution?" Lingyun's gaze moved past Chenghai toward the property below, and his eyes widened. "Are they—"
"Most of them are dead," Chenghai confirmed. "Not all, but most."
Jian Yuche had moved to the railing, his hands gripping the stone as he stared down at the bodies scattered across the grounds, his expression unreadable. "Seventy percent," he said quietly. "Maybe more."
"That makes thirty percent still moving," Chenghai added. "But they're slower, weaker, and best of all, moving away from the area."
Zhenlan stirred near the wall, his head lifting slowly as he blinked, his gaze unfocused before sharpening as he took in the scene around him. "Everyone alive?" His voice was hoarse.
"Yes," Chenghai said.
Zhenlan pushed himself upright, his movements careful and controlled, not trying to stand immediately but just sitting against the wall, his breathing steady as his gaze moved toward the property below. He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then: "It worked."
"Mostly," Yuche said.
Zhenlan's gaze shifted toward him. "Mostly?"
"Seventy percent dead. Thirty percent still moving."
Zhenlan's expression tightened as he stood slowly, his hand bracing against the wall for support, and moved toward the railing. The four of them stood together, looking down at the aftermath—bodies everywhere, motionless and silent. The infected that had been a constant threat for days, clawing and scraping and relentless, were just... gone.
It should have felt like victory, and it did feel like victory, but something was wrong.
Chenghai could feel it in the way his body ached, in the cold that hadn't left his chest, in the way the remaining infected were moving—slow, uncoordinated, but still moving.
"Why didn't it kill all of them?" Lingyun asked.
No one answered immediately. Yuche's gaze remained fixed on the property. "Maybe they were stronger. More resistant."
"Or the solution wasn't as effective as they claimed," Chenghai said.
Zhenlan's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter. Most of them are dead, which means we can leave the house now. We're not trapped anymore."
That was true—the perimeter was clear, the driveway was accessible, and the gate could be opened without immediate threat. They could leave, they could move, they could actually survive this. But the thirty percent that remained, the ones still moving and still wandering, were a problem. And then there were the bodies.
Chenghai looked down at the scattered corpses littering the grounds—dozens of them, maybe more, just lying there exposed and decomposing in the sun. "We need to deal with the bodies," he said.
Zhenlan nodded slowly. "Before they start rotting. Before they attract attention."
"Burn them?" Lingyun suggested.
"Too much smoke," Yuche said. "It'll draw more infected from outside the area."
"Bury them?"
"That's a lot of digging."
Chenghai's gaze moved across the property, calculating. "We could move them to the far edge of the grounds, away from the house. Pile them. Cover them."
"That still leaves the smell," Yuche said.
"Better than leaving them where they are."
Zhenlan exhaled slowly, his hand moving to his temple and pressing against the pressure that hadn't fully faded. "We'll figure it out, but we need to move now, before more of them show up."
Chenghai nodded.
The ache in his body hadn't lessened, the cold feeling in his chest remained, and his head still throbbed with that inflated, pressurized sensation that made it hard to think clearly. But they were alive, the infected were mostly dead, and they had work to do.
Zhenlan turned toward the door leading back into the house. "Let's go downstairs. We'll assess the situation properly and decide how to handle the cleanup."
The others followed, and no one mentioned Rouxi. Chenghai realized, distantly, that he hadn't thought about her since waking up, hadn't checked on her or wondered where she was. Zhenlan would handle it—he always did. Right now, the priority was the bodies.
The four of them moved through the house, their footsteps heavy and their movements slower than usual. The ache in Chenghai's muscles intensified with each step, but he pushed through it until they reached the main floor and moved toward the front entrance.
Through the windows, the bodies were visible—scattered, motionless, silent.
Zhenlan stopped near the door, his hand resting on the frame, his gaze moving across the property.
"So," he said quietly. "What do we do with the dead bodies now?"