Chapter Twelve: Arrival at Desheng Steel Ball Factory (Part Two)

“Boss, what are we going to do next? Some of them said this afternoon they’re heading to the Hualian supermarket up ahead.” Liu Zhixiong munched on compressed rations from ’09, gazing at the three factions scattered across the hall. A wave of happiness washed over him, a blissful sensation he’d never experienced before.

“This afternoon, we’ll head to the Victory Steel Ball Factory first. I have some business there, and then we’ll see.” In truth, Liang Jing thought to himself, most people around here are laborers, not farmers, so few have food stored at home. Supermarkets would be a hotspot, with many risking their lives to scavenge. A supermarket the size of Qianbaihui at Clear Water Bay—how much food could possibly remain? Moreover, who knows what dangers lurk inside.

“Brother Wang, haha… do you guys accept new members? The few of us want to join your team.” At that moment, the short man with glasses couldn’t bear the torment any longer. He conferred with Chen Gong and the others, deciding to throw their lot in with the burly man’s group.

“You few? Why don’t you join the other team? They don’t want you?” The burly man glanced at the group, his eyes narrowing as he asked.

“Uh… well, it’s just that they don’t want us. They only want the woman, and those two guys are old acquaintances.” The short man with glasses, teased by the question, glanced back at Liang Jing’s group, who were eating and chatting, and replied quietly.

“Alright, this afternoon you’ll come with us to the supermarket. We’ll divide the food according to individual contributions. Wait here for now—we’ll finish our meal first.” The burly man cast a sidelong glance at the group, seeing through their insincerity but choosing not to expose them, and spoke directly.

What? That’s it? The short man and his companions were dumbfounded. Joining your team, shouldn’t you at least give us some food? Look at Liang Jing’s side—they have everything. Why is the treatment so drastically different? And dividing food by contribution? Nonsense!

The more they thought about it, the worse their faces became. Already pale from hunger, now the world seemed darker than ever. They were filled with endless regret—why hadn’t they decisively accepted Liang Jing’s invitation? Look at what others get when they join, and compare it to what you get after voluntarily “surrendering” to this group. Not only are they unhelpful, they won’t even spare some leftovers. Stingy beyond belief.

They’d turned down Liang Jing’s invitation, and now, by volunteering for the burly man’s group, they were being “mistreated.” The gap between private workshops and state-run factories couldn’t even begin to compare!

Frustrated to the point of wanting to spit blood, they had no way to voice their complaints, powerless to resist, forced to slowly endure…

Meanwhile, Liu Zhixiong and his two companions felt incredibly wise for their decision. If they hadn’t joined Liang Jing’s team, their fate would have mirrored that of the short man and his group. Ling Qinghe’s gaze at Liang Jing grew ever more undisguised. Happiness, after all, is born from comparison.

Under the blazing twin suns, with no wind and stifling air, the four set out on their journey.

“Hurry up, the Victory Steel Ball Factory is just ahead.” Liang Jing strode forward, canvas bag slung over his left shoulder, a short blade in his right hand. Ling Qinghe, the only woman in the team, walked in the middle, followed by Zhang Huke and Liu Zhixiong; one carried a sling bag, the other a hiking pack. Liang Jing felt a touch of annoyance—after lunch and a brief rest, he’d decided not to waste time waiting for the thirteen others still lounging in the hall and set off ahead. With three new additions, their pace slowed to a third of his solo speed; to Liang Jing, it was like crawling at a snail’s pace. Thankfully, the intense sunlight kept most mutant creatures at bay, and they hadn’t encountered a single one so far. This meant their progress wasn’t further delayed, much to the joy of Zhang Huke and the others.

What troubled Liang Jing even more was that the mutated black-backed dog zombie, enslaved by his “Corpse Slave Technique,” couldn’t linger in sunlight for long. It was forced to dart through nearby buildings, leaping from shadow to shadow. If exposed for too long, its body would begin to corrode, dissolve, even emit sizzling sounds and roll its eyes. Apparently, only higher-level monster corpses, once enslaved, could withstand the sun’s rays.

Of course, the trio’s excitement wasn’t just about their safety. Since lunch, they’d been elated, feeling as though they’d won the lottery. Compared to the burly man’s group of nine, they were like aristocrats. And after setting out, Liang Jing had handed each of them a pistol. A pistol! For ordinary citizens of Huaxia, that was monumental. Their sense of security soared, and their loyalty to Liang Jing grew ever deeper, seeing him as unfathomably capable.

Bang!

The workshop door flew several meters as Liang Jing kicked it open, stunning Ling Qinghe and the others. That aluminum door, though not as sturdy as iron, was still far superior to any wooden door—a regular person would have struggled to budge it. Yet Liang Jing’s kick sent it rolling and tumbling like it had been hit by a car, utterly vulnerable.

Buzz… buzz… buzz…

“Damn! There are loads of mutant creatures inside!” Liang Jing had barely kicked open the Victory Steel Ball Factory’s workshop door when a wave of putrid stench hit them, unbearable—the smell of decaying human bodies! Worse still, inside swarmed countless mutant flies, each nearly as big as a small dog, gathering by the dozens.

“Attack!” Liang Jing ordered the mutated black-backed dog zombie lurking in the shadows to charge.

Blocking this meter-wide doorway was good, but outside wasn’t safe at all—it was wide open, a death trap. While it currently seemed secure with no mutant creatures in sight, who could say when a horde might burst out? Then they’d be surrounded with nowhere to hide. Betting on not encountering mutants? He wouldn’t risk it; he refused to stake his life on mere luck.

“Quick! Follow me.”

Liang Jing strode into the workshop. Just by the small entrance was the supervisor’s office—once inside, they could guard the door and not worry about attacks from behind.

At Liang Jing’s signal, the three hurried after him. Ling Qinghe even performed better than Liu Zhixiong, who, though steadier than before, was still so nervous he nearly tripped again, prompting Liang Jing to shake his head in disappointment.

Thud!

Whoosh…

Liang Jing kicked open the supervisor’s office door. A wooden chair flew at him, as if anticipating his entry. Liang Jing’s short blade snapped forward, swatting the chair aside like a fly. It crashed into the wall, splintering.

“Stop!”

Crash! Crack!

With a loud shout, Liang Jing lashed out, his foot striking the fallen chair, smashing it to pieces, wood fragments scattering. In such urgent circumstances, he had no patience for complications—regardless of whether the person inside attacked him intentionally, he wouldn’t let it slide. He didn’t seek trouble, but he had no qualms about teaching a lesson.

Inside, several people were stunned. A man in his thirties, the one who’d hurled the chair, had blood streaming from multiple wounds on his hands. Behind him stood two young women and three men in blue uniforms, all frozen in terror by Liang Jing’s violent display. They stood, speechless and trembling.