Chapter Four: The Bloodstained Path

By the time she had carried the little girl across three streets, Tao Zui’s arms were beginning to ache. The girl remained unconscious, her breathing faint, the feverish heat of her forehead burning through the fabric, pressing against Tao Zui’s arm like a branding iron.

At the street corner, the wind whipped up rotting scraps of paper, rustling them along the ground. Tao Zui halted abruptly, listening intently. Beyond the wind, she caught the distant roar of a motorcycle engine and a few muffled shouts—sounds that could only mean the Hyena Gang was on the hunt.

She darted into a narrow alley and stuffed the girl into a half-open, abandoned trash bin—a humiliating, yet safe, hiding place. She draped a filthy rag over the bin, leaving just enough space for air, then crouched behind a heap of refuse beside the bin, gripping her M1911 tightly.

“Damn it, where the hell did she go?” a coarse voice snarled at the mouth of the alley, heavy footsteps echoing after it.

“The boss said that bitch has a brat with her—she can’t have gotten far! Search properly!” another responded.

Two Hyena Gang members staggered in, reeking of alcohol and blood. One wore a leather jacket and carried a steel pipe; the other was shirtless, a twisted wolf’s head tattoo sprawled across his arm and a machete tucked at his waist.

Their eyes swept over the piles of junk and the bins. The man in the leather jacket suddenly sneered, “Maybe they're hiding in the trash bins? If the brat starts bawling, that’ll be—”

His sentence never finished. Tao Zui had already squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot was deafening in the cramped alley. The bullet struck the man’s chest dead center; his grin froze, eyes widening in shock as he toppled backward, the steel pipe clanging to the ground.

The shirtless one reacted quickly, instinctively drawing his blade to block—only to cut at empty air. Tao Zui lunged from her cover, pinning his knife hand with her left as she pressed the gun muzzle under his chin with her right.

“Don’t—don’t kill me!” he pleaded, voice trembling, face drained of all bravado and color. “I’m sorry, I swear! Please—let me live—”

Her gaze betrayed no emotion, as if she looked upon a lifeless object. Her finger tightened minutely on the trigger.

Bang!

Another gunshot. The man’s body went limp, blood streaming from his chin and soaking the wolf tattoo on his neck.

Silence reclaimed the alley, broken only by the fading echoes of gunfire ricocheting off the walls.

Tao Zui let the corpse slide to the ground. She didn’t leave immediately, but bent to search the bodies—stripping them of bullets, half a bag of moldy bread, and finally yanking the leather jacket off the first man. Though stained with blood, it was warmer than the patched work coat she wore.

Only after this did she return to the trash bin and lift the rag. At some point, the little girl had awakened; she stared wide-eyed, terror written on her face, lips trembling but not daring to make a sound.

“Are you afraid?” Tao Zui’s voice drifted through her mask, unreadable.

The girl nodded, then shook her head, clutching her battered cloth doll with both hands.

Without another word, Tao Zui lifted her from the bin. She was light, but still burned like a brand in Tao Zui’s arms. She shrugged off her patched coat and wrapped it around the girl, then pulled on the bloodied leather jacket.

The scent of blood stung her nostrils, and she frowned, but paid it little mind. In this post-apocalyptic world, the smell of blood was more reassuring than perfume—it meant you were alive, and your threats had been dealt with.

Following the route described by the stranger, she crossed two more streets and reached the entrance of an abandoned subway station.

The station’s rolling gate had been pried open just enough for a person to squeeze through sideways. Still carrying the girl, Tao Zui slipped inside. A musty, heavy odor of mold and dust assaulted her. The station was pitch black, save for a few emergency lights casting a faint green glow that made the corridors appear ghostly.

She flicked on the lighter she’d taken from the shirtless man. Its tiny flame flickered in the darkness. The platform was long deserted, tracks choked with filthy water and garbage. The sudden flare startled a few rats, who squeaked and darted into the shadows.

“Is… is it safe here?” the little girl finally whispered, her voice trembling with the threat of tears.

Tao Zui gave no answer, only carried her further down the platform. Her steps were soft, eyes sweeping the darkness with wary vigilance, finger always resting on the M1911’s trigger. The lighter’s glow only reached so far; it felt as if countless unseen eyes were lurking in the gloom, hungrily watching.

At the end of the platform, Tao Zui found a staff room. The door stood ajar. She pushed it open and illuminated the interior: a battered desk, two chairs, and a metal cabinet. It seemed reasonably clean.

She set the girl on the desk and quickly checked the room, making sure it was safe, then closed the door and braced it with a length of steel pipe.

“Stay here. Make no sound.” With that, she placed the lighter on the desk and approached the cabinet, trying the handle.

It was locked. Digging into the jacket’s pocket, she pulled out the military knife she’d once bartered from One-Eyed Jack, jammed it into the lock, and forced it.

With a click, the lock popped open.

Inside, there was little of value: a few boxes of expired instant noodles, a roll of bandage, and an old-fashioned flashlight. She grabbed the flashlight and flicked it on. The bright beam cut through the darkness—far better than the lighter.

“Are you hungry?” she asked over her shoulder.

The girl nodded, watching her with wary, hopeful eyes.

Tao Zui took a compressed biscuit from her pack, broke it in half, and handed a piece to the girl, who nibbled at it, her eyes never leaving the mask that hid Tao Zui’s face.

“Sister, why do you always wear that?” the girl finally asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Tao Zui was checking the flashlight’s battery. At the question, her hands paused, but she gave no reply.

The girl didn’t press further, just bowed her head and nibbled her biscuit. Perhaps in her eyes, this masked woman who had just killed two men was terrifying, but she was also the only one who could protect her now.

Tao Zui clipped the flashlight to her belt and took the roll of bandage from the cabinet. She returned to the desk and carefully examined the girl’s arm—only a few scrapes, no serious wounds. Her own arm, however, throbbed with the return of old pain from earlier exertions.

She unbuttoned the leather jacket, shrugged off her coat, and revealed the gray work shirt beneath. Rolling up her sleeve, the maple leaf–shaped scar on her wrist stood out starkly in the flashlight’s beam, alongside a fresh scratch—courtesy of the barbed wire during their escape, its blood now dried.

She dressed the wound with practiced, brisk efficiency, as if tending to something that had nothing to do with herself.

Just then, faint footsteps and voices drifted in from the subway entrance.

“Boss, I think those gunshots came from this way!”

“Search! Check every inch! Dig up the floor if you have to, but find that woman!”

The Hyena Gang had tracked them here.

Tao Zui’s expression turned icy. She switched off the flashlight, lifted the girl from the desk, and tucked her into the metal cabinet, leaving a crack for air.

“No matter what you hear, don’t make a sound.” Her voice was low and implacable.

Frightened, the girl nodded, eyes brimming with tears, but she swallowed them down in silence.

Tao Zui tapped the cabinet door reassuringly, then took up the M1911 and moved to the door, peering through the crack.

In the darkness, more than a dozen shadowy figures advanced along the platform, flashlights and weapons in hand. Beams of light slithered across the walls and tracks like venomous snakes.

She drew a slow breath and tightened her grip. She was down to twenty-eight rounds—after using two earlier, it was barely enough for this many foes.

But she felt no urge to retreat.

In this world, hesitation meant death.

Her gaze fixed on the fire hydrant in the corner of the staff room, a cold glint in her eyes.

The hunt had begun.

She would not beg for mercy like a saint, nor would she cower at the sight of so many enemies. She would eliminate every threat in the most direct, efficient way.

Because she knew—survival was the only account she could give, to herself and to the dead.

The footsteps outside drew closer; the Hyena Gang’s shouts grew clearer.

Tao Zui’s body tensed, coiled like a leopard waiting to strike. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed with a poisonous, icy light.

The smell of blood was about to thicken once more.