Chapter 49: Lies
still remembered those three tickets.
Paper ones, stiff, with a castle and a cartoon dinosaur printed on them, and a date written in the bottom right corner.
Dad had specially fetched the paper version to coax him, solemnly handing them over to him for safekeeping.
They had promised him that once they got through this busy stretch, they would take him to the biggest theme park in the country.
From that day on, the first thing he did after school every day was run back to his room, pull open the top drawer of his desk, and carefully take those three tickets out to look at them.
He didn't really care where they went; he was simply and fervently looking forward to the weekend.
Ever since the family moved into this big house, Mom and Dad had gotten busier and busier, spending less and less time at home.
When relatives came to visit, they always praised him for being sensible—look at this child, they'd say, no crying, no fussing; he knows his parents are out there making big money, and one day it will all be his.
He wanted to argue back every time.
He didn't quite understand what a "family fortune" was. He only knew that if Mom and Dad were this tired because of him, he wished they wouldn't have to be so tired.
The days in that little house they used to live in—the three of them squeezed onto one bed watching cartoons—had actually been pretty good.
He thought he was very smart and very strong—that his parents could share a portion of their hardship with him.
When he was five, he finally worked up the courage to say it to his dad once.
But that time, his dad only paused for a moment, then patted his head and said, "Sweetheart, you talk so sweetly. Pick any toy you like—Dad will buy it for you."
That was the first time—and the only time—he ever lost his temper at his father.
He slammed his bedroom door shut with a bang and wouldn't open it no matter who knocked.
He couldn't really say what he was angry about, either. He just felt that Dad hadn't understood what he'd said.
He was so, so angry, and then he fell asleep in a huff.
When he woke up, the house was empty. Two pairs of shoes were missing from the shoe cabinet.
On the coffee table was a box of strawberry cake—his favorite—and beside the cake box, a note was tucked under it, in Mom's handwriting: "Sweetheart, see you on the weekend. Love you."
After that, he never lost his temper again.
He was afraid—afraid that Mom and Dad really wouldn't want him anymore.
Now he just looked at those three tickets every day, pouring all his thoughts and hopes into that dinosaur that looked a little lonely.
But that weekend seemed too far away. No matter how he walked, he could never reach that day.
When the disaster came, it was a quiet day. He had a slight cold, so he didn't go to school.
While playing games alone in his room, he suddenly remembered that he still hadn't returned the little dinosaur to , so he took the elevator down to the second floor to give the toy back.
But as soon as the elevator doors opened, he heard a tsunami of noise from outside.
It wasn't the usual racket of car horns—it was a crowd of people all shouting at once, mixed with the sound of glass shattering.
Clutching the cloth dinosaur, he walked forward a few steps and saw Xiaomin and Xiaomin's mother.
was wearing her favorite pink hoodie, her expression a little dazed, as if she'd just been woken from an afternoon nap.
But Xiaomin's mother— —wore a look on her face completely different from her usual graceful manner.
Her face was ashen as she pulled the bewildered Xiaomin along, as if something terrifying was chasing after them.
"Qiming?" When saw him, her eyes suddenly turned complicated in a way he couldn't quite read.
He handed the little dinosaur to Xiaomin and was about to step aside when grabbed his wrist, her voice tight:
"Qiming, your mother just called me. She said... she said for you to come with us, to a safe place to meet them."
hesitated.
He knew his mom and were best friends, and the two families often ate together.
So he nodded.
Then, holding Xiaomin in one arm and him with the other hand, didn't wait for the elevator. She charged into the fire stairwell and ran all the way down to the underground garage.
stumbled as he was yanked along, but he didn't make a sound.
The underground garage was chaos too. Several cars were starting at once, white exhaust from their tailpipes tangling together.
Someone was honking; someone was shouting, "Quick, quick!"
shoved them into the back seat. Before they could even buckle their seatbelts, the car shot out.
As they drove up the ramp out of the garage, sunlight poured in. squinted, then he saw the street.
People were running everywhere.
No—not all of them were people.
Some of the "people" ran very strangely. Their arms and legs moved in ways that didn't look alive, and their faces were wrong too—mouths gaping unnaturally wide, as if their jaws had come unhinged.
They were chasing other people, and when they caught up, lunged and bit.
's mind went blank in an instant.
He opened his mouth to shout for Mom and Dad, but in the front seat suddenly turned back and looked at him.
That look was fierce, frantic—something he had never seen on her before.
"Don't shout!"
's voice was low and quick. forced the sound at his lips back down his throat.
He saw those monsters turning their heads toward the sound.
The car was going very fast. When it turned, he nearly slammed into the door.
In the back seat, Xiaomin, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, tumbled into the gap between the seats and burst out crying.
"Don't cry!"
's yell was choked with sobs.
Then the cars on the street jammed solid.
didn't hesitate. She pushed open the door, scooped up Xiaomin, grabbed his hand with her other hand, and ran.
didn't know how long he ran. He only remembered that 's hand never let go of his—clutching so tightly it hurt a little.
Other people gradually joined them from all around—unfamiliar adults: an old grandpa holding a cleaver, a young woman clutching her bag. Everyone was running.
What happened later, couldn't remember very clearly. He only remembered that he kept running.
Following , following the other strangers he met along the way.
Later, was injured.
She didn't continue with the group. Just before she left, she glanced once toward .
knew she wasn't looking at him—she was looking at beside him.
Xiaomin stood a few steps away, both hands clutching the hem of her pink hoodie, staring at her mother without blinking.
Then he grabbed 's hand.
"Run!"
An eight-year-old boy pulled a five-year-old girl, sprinting behind a crowd of strange adults.
After that, he learned to suppress his fear, learned to find food, learned how to secretly hide what he found, and learned to read people's faces and act accordingly.
The few adults who ran with them had terrible tempers and cursed at the drop of a hat.
He knew they didn't really want to take the kids along; they just didn't want to be the ones to throw children into a pile of zombies.
He also knew that he and the crybaby Xiaomin were useless burdens—hated little pests.
...
When appeared, they had been starving for a long time—there was no extra food for the children; it was already hard enough for the adults to eat their fill.
He drove a big black vehicle and arrived at the abandoned gas station where they were resting with a dozen or so people. Several cases of bottled water and biscuits were loaded in the vehicle.
He wore a white shirt. Though his cuffs were dusty, he looked remarkably clean among a crowd of unkempt, grimy people.
His voice was pleasant, too—slow and measured, a little like the tone 's dad used when answering the phone at home.
"Everyone, don't panic. We're friendly."
That day, and the other children ate something hot for the first time since the disaster—a bowl of instant noodles.
Xiaomin ate quickly. When she finished, she shyly licked the bowl.
crouched down and said to her with a smile, "It's okay, there's more."
The way his hand rested on Xiaomin's head also reminded of his father.
So felt close to him.
Later, 's group took in all of them. The children weren't rejected, the adults became kind again, and from time to time they passed out snacks.
Everything became good again.
Later, they settled in a cluster of countryside villas—a wall in front, a hillside behind—and picked up quite a few more adults and children along the way.
There were more and more people, but food began to run short.
Even so, 's group never refused to take in more stray children. They were truly good people, thought.
Until one night, late, was startled awake by the sound of an argument from the next room.
"...No! Absolutely not! They're children!" It was 's voice, as if he was suppressing his fury.
" , what times are these? Womanly sentimentality! If you can't bear it, we'll all starve together! That stuff kills an adult who eats it, but children—children can! This is an opportunity from Heaven!" another gruff male voice retorted.
"I don't agree!"
"You don't agree? Can you alone feed all these dozens of mouths? Can you bear to watch those children starve one by one?"
listened outside the door, his small body trembling.
He understood now. There was a kind of that, once eaten, would keep the monsters from chasing you.
But the one who ate it would change. Their belly would slowly swell, and as for what would happen in the end, no one knew.
And adults died if they ate it, so only children could eat it.
was afraid. He wanted to slip away quietly, pretend he hadn't heard. But then he thought of the biscuits and canned luncheon meat he had been given these past days—things that shouldn't have belonged to him.
He remembered how had patted his head and said, "Things will get better," with that gentle, weary look in his eyes.
If... if he could be useful.
So he pushed the door open.
All the arguing stopped dead. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to him in unison.
Meeting 's gaze, said clearly, one word at a time: "Uncle, if I can help, I'm willing."
"Nonsense! Go back to bed! This is none of your business!" scolded harshly, his eyes bloodshot.
But saw it—while was scolding him, the man with the gruff voice beside him gave him an approving, relieved smile.
didn't hesitate anymore. He rushed over, snatched the lying at the edge of the table—crimson as blood—and stuffed it into his mouth.
Luckily, the was close to him, and no one had time to stop him.
The proved effective.
After eating it, those monsters really couldn't see him anymore.
He walked right past them, and their heads didn't turn even once.
Then he became a hero.
The first time he came back with supplies, everyone was overjoyed even though there was very little.
The adults patted his head and praised him in the most enthusiastic words.
All those smiles made him a little embarrassed, but deep inside, he was happy.
However, he actually didn't want to be so conspicuous. He didn't want the other children to know what he was doing, either.
He just wanted to quietly work a little harder, so everyone could eat their fill, and wouldn't have to frown so much anymore.
But his "superpower" was still exposed because of everyone's celebrating.
Soon, a second child ate that kind of , then a third.
Except for . He hid the from her and said, "You don't need to go. Having me is enough."
Xiaomin looked at him quietly, said nothing, and just nodded.
...
Relying on the supplies and survivors that more and more children continuously brought back, the settlement rolled up like a snowball, bigger and bigger, and soon gathered more than five hundred people.
The adults began clearing land and trying to farm.
They told and the other "little heroes" that once grain grew in the fields, the children born in the would never have to take risks again.
That made and the others feel very proud.
Although the feeling of something like worms crawling inside his belly grew more and more obvious, although his belly swelled more painfully day by day, although he couldn't taste anything he ate anymore... being able to help everyone made them happy.
and three pretty aunties together "adopted" and the other children who had eaten the earliest.
They would smile at them, tell them stories, and dress them in the best clothes—even though the children had actually outgrown them.
But most of the adults in the , when they faced them, would always lower their heads in silence and say, "I'm sorry."
This made feel they were really overthinking things.
There was also a small group of people who quarreled fiercely with and then moved to the other end of the villa area, preferring to risk going out to find food themselves to ever accepting anything the children brought back.
didn't understand why. Weren't they all working hard to survive?
The adults did their part; they did the part they could. Wasn't that fine?
Once, on an outing, under the shelves of a collapsed supermarket, he unexpectedly found " ."
He could never mistake it—that round, plump shape and its pattern. Although the mark he had drawn on its side with crayons as a little kid was gone, it must have just been rubbed off.
This was definitely his family's , " ."
Every time before Mom and Dad came home from a business trip, they used " " to tell him in advance and had it clean the house.
So as long as " " sounded, it meant Mom and Dad were about to come home. It had to be!
He was wild with joy. With tremendous effort, he dug " " out of the ruins, and it took him a long time to find a device that could charge it.
He brought it back to the base, hid it under his bed, and every day used the tiny electricity allowance he was given to charge it.
As long as " " beeped, Mom and Dad would definitely come back!
Thinking this, he stroked his slightly swollen belly—something seemed to pulse beneath the skin—and pleaded in his heart:
Please, he thought, closing his eyes, grow slower, okay?
I'll just wait a little longer. Let me see Mom and Dad one more time, and that'll be enough.
...
"Give it to me." reached out and snatched the from the new child's hand.
"There's no need. We already have enough people!" His brows were tightly knitted as he glared at the child.
He had to go find and make him keep a stricter control over these fruits.
"No way!" The little boy whose had been taken flushed red, craning his neck stubbornly, and actually pulled another one out from inside his clothes. "Every time, you 'family' kids get the biggest shares! The uncle and auntie in my house only get a tiny bit! They're so pitiful!"
The little boy's voice grew shrill.
"Why can only you become useful? Do I have to stay a hated, useless piece of trash? I want to be useful too! It's just worms growing in my belly! I'm not scared!"
With that, he opened his mouth, about to shove the red in.
"No!" lunged, but he was a step too slow.
But at that critical moment, a clean, powerful hand appeared out of nowhere and snatched the from the little boy's hand like a flash of lightning.
Then a voice—unbelievably gentle—sounded above their heads.
"Little one, in this world, there is absolutely no such thing as a 'useless child.'"
looked up.
A man he had never seen before stood before them.
He was very thin, his cheeks somewhat sunken, wearing a gray coat. He looked like a very gentle man.
"Your responsibility has never been to bear things too heavy, too early." He crouched down, his eyes level with the little boy's.
"It's to grow up, healthy and lively, in the sunlight, behind the adults, into a mature, steady adult who stands tall between heaven and earth."
"So don't be in a hurry to grow up, and don't go asking for help from things full of malice, understand?"
The little boy was cowed by his presence and nodded instinctively.
, meanwhile, stared at him blankly, stunned.
He had never met this man, but he didn't feel afraid at all, because his voice was gentle beyond belief.
It was as if it held sunlight inside it. Uncle Cheng's voice was gentle too, but it didn't feel like this.
"Y-you... who are you?" he asked dazedly, his hands unconsciously twisting the hem of his clothes.
The man crouched down, leveling his gaze with 's, his smile unchanged.
"Hello, little friend Qiming."
"My surname is Chen. . Very glad to meet you."