The undead have descended upon the world? I possess a sword that can cleave the heavens once more!

Wu You walked home along the road in the neighborhood.

As he passed Building 15, he paused and looked up.

On the fifth floor, that window remains dark; it hasn't been lit since the afternoon.

Li Wei's family lives there.

He and Li Wei grew up together, their families living close by, only a three-minute walk apart. When they were little, they often visited each other; Li Wei's mother was a good cook, and Wu You often ate there. Later, as they grew older, he ate there less often, but they would still occasionally go to Li Wei's house after school to do their homework together.

They were a very kind couple.

Li Wei's father works on a construction site, and he's tanned and thin. He always smiles at people. His mother works as a cashier at a supermarket, and she always stuffs food into his hands whenever he goes there.

Now, it's pitch black there.

Wu You stood downstairs for a while, feeling inexplicably choked up.

The police should have already notified them.

What reason was used? A car accident? An unexpected incident? Or something else?

He didn't know either.

But no matter the reason, the result is the same.

Li Wei is dead, and their son is dead.

Wu You gripped the wooden sword in his hand, looked away, and continued walking home.

He had made up his mind to go to Li Wei's house to see Li Wei's parents after school tomorrow.

. . . . . .

When I got home, the living room light was on, but no one was home.

My parents have finished washing up and gone to their room. There's a warm glass of milk on the shoe cabinet by the door, with a note under the glass: "Warm it up in the microwave before drinking."

Wu You picked up the milk, didn't heat it up, and drank it directly.

After washing up and returning to her room, Wu You lay down on the bed, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, her eyelids became so heavy that she couldn't lift them.

After practicing swordsmanship for four hours, I was almost completely exhausted.

. . .

When I opened my eyes again, a ray of sunlight shone directly on my face.

Wu You squinted and picked up her phone to take a look.

7: 03.

on Tuesday.

He sat up and stared blankly for two seconds, his mind slowly starting to work, and then it dawned on him—the morning reading session at No. 5 Middle School starts at 7:30!

Wu You rolled out of bed, put on her school uniform, wiped her face casually, picked up her schoolbag and ran outside.

"Mom, I'm leaving!"

"breakfast--"

"Buy it on the way!"

As he rushed out of the building, he glanced at the direction of Building 15; that window was still dark.

But there's no time now.

Wu You jogged to the bus stop, and luckily, the bus arrived just as she stood down.

After swiping his student card to board the bus, he found a corner to stand in.

The bus swayed and rattled for twenty minutes before stopping in front of the Fifth Middle School.

Wu You jumped off the car, ran to the breakfast stall across from the school, bought an egg pancake for two jade coins, and ran towards the school while eating it.

He stuffed the food into his mouth in a few bites, wiped his mouth, and rushed into the school gate.

7:29.

Wu You entered the classroom at the last minute, and the classroom was noisy.

Although there was only one minute left before morning reading, no one cared. Groups of people still gathered together, chatting about something, with bursts of laughter. Some were catching up on sleep at their desks, some were frantically copying homework, and some were munching on steamed buns with their mouths full of oil.

Wu You had a gloomy demeanor, average grades, no particular athletic ability, and few friends. He was essentially invisible in the class, so his surprise arrival at the appointed time went unnoticed by anyone.

I walked to my seat and sat down: the second to last row by the window.

The table next to it was empty; that was Li Wei's seat.

He glanced at the empty table, then looked away.

"There is a loquat tree in the courtyard, which my wife planted in the year she died. Now it stands tall and spreading like a canopy—"

"Yuzhang, the old prefecture; Hongdu, the new capital. Its stars align with the constellations of Wing and Chariot; its land borders Heng and Lu—"

"In the autumn of the year Renxu, on the sixteenth day of the seventh month, Su Shi and his guests went boating on the shore beneath the Red Cliff—"

When the morning reading bell rang, everyone sat back down, opened their books, and began to read at the top of their lungs. The classical Chinese texts they recited were a mess, with some reading fast and some slow, all buzzing together like a swarm of bees flying around the classroom.

Wu You watched this scene, somewhat dazed.

Just like my high school in my previous life, there was morning reading, the bell, the textbooks, the sound of reciting—it seemed like nothing had changed.

But it seems like everything has changed.

"Why isn't Li Wei here today?" The student in front of me suddenly turned around. "He's late too?"

Wu You looked up.

Tong Hui is a thin, small boy who talks a lot. I sit in the row in front of him. Although we're not exactly good friends, we usually exchange a few words.

"Didn't you all come together?" Tong Hui asked again.

Wu You paused for a moment.

He didn't know what the police department had said to the public, what the "cause of death" of Li Wei was, or what he should and shouldn't know.

"I don't know either." He shook his head.

"Okay." Tong Hui glanced at him, and seeing that he didn't want to say more, he didn't press him further and turned back to continue his morning reading.

Wu You opened the book, staring at the words, but didn't utter a sound.

He was thinking about the man who went for a run last night.

The chilling aura, the unsettling feeling, the middle-aged man who ran past him—was he also a zombie?

If so, will he show up again tonight?

There's also experience points. Killing zombies grants experience points, that's for sure. But he knows too little about zombies right now, and going to find them rashly is too dangerous. But if he doesn't look for them and just relies on practice, his proficiency will increase slower than a snail's pace…

"—There is a sequence to learning, and each profession has its own expertise; that's all there is to it—"

The sound of someone reciting aloud beside him pulled him back to reality.

Wu You took a deep breath, suppressing those thoughts for the time being. He stared at the textbook in front of him, and began to go over the basic sword techniques in his mind.

Footwork. Advancing, retreating, moving horizontally, vertically, and diagonally.

Hold the sword. Hold it with one hand, either a forward grip, a reverse grip, or a single hand.

Breathing. Inhale as you breathe in, exhale as you exhale out; stimulate absorption by exhaling.

Thirteen postures. Pull, pull, lift, strike, stab, point, collapse, stir, press, chop, cut, wash.

Go through it again and again.

. . . . . .

After morning reading, the first class of the morning is Chinese class.

When the school bell rang, a middle-aged man wearing black trousers and a white shirt walked in. His hair was a little thinning on top, but his forehead was shiny. He entered the classroom right on time as the bell rang.

The homeroom teacher is Shu Guoqing, who is also a Chinese language teacher.

He walked to the podium, put down his lesson plan, glanced around the classroom, and his gaze lingered on the empty seat for a second.

"I have something to tell you before class starts."

The classroom quieted down.

"Yesterday, Li Wei, a classmate of ours, was in a car accident." Shu Guoqing paused, his voice lower than usual, "He and his family all tragically perished."

The classroom was quiet.

Wu You's mind went blank for a moment.

Li Wei's parents also...

Let us all observe a minute's silence for them.

Shu Guoqing lowered his head.

The whole class lowered their heads.

Wu You also lowered his head, staring at the tabletop, where the smooth, reflective surface faintly reflected his own image.

He recalled something that had suddenly flashed in the monster's usually lifeless eye before it vanished yesterday.

Relief. Gratitude. And something else.

Li Wei.

It turns out his parents also...

After the moment of silence, Shu Guoqing raised his head, his face also showing a hint of heaviness: "Alright, turn to page 47 of the textbook. Today we'll be discussing 'Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng'."

There were soft noises in the classroom—people turning pages and picking up pens.

Wu You also opened the book and stared at the words.

The seat next to me was empty, and the sunlight from the window shone in, falling on the empty table and chair, and on the notebooks that still had Li Wei's name on them.

He remembered Li Wei's father's dark, thin, smiling face, and Li Wei's mother's hand as she stuffed snacks into his hand.

I remembered that dark window in Building 15 last night.

Wu You took a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable.