Chapter 8: One Must Still Have Morals
“Hurry, move everything and block all the stairways.” I lowered my voice, eyes locked on those slowly writhing figures.
Zhuo Lei responded immediately, his sharp gaze sweeping over the Zombie Horde that was inching closer.
He quickly estimated the distance from the stairway to our location, then glanced at the nearby obstacles we could use.
He made a decision almost instantly.
“Listen to Dr. Lin! Quick! Move everything you can!” he growled, grabbing a heavy metal display rack nearby, muscles taut as he dragged it towards the stairway.
The legs of the rack screeched harshly against the floor.
Sister Jing and Xiao Fang didn’t hesitate for a moment and jumped into action.
Xiao Fang, young and strong, shouted, then toppled a heavy plastic base full of clothing mannequins, pushing it with all his might toward the stairway.
Sister Jing, nimble and swift, quickly stacked several wooden crates lying around, bracing them with her shoulder and shoving them forward.
I knew my strength was lacking, so I didn’t go for any of the large pieces.
My judgment was based on a cool assessment of the Zombie Horde’s movement speed and the width of the stairway.
There were many of them, but squeezing up the narrow stairs would take time.
Their bodies were stiff and clumsy.
As long as we could block off the stairway entrance with obstacles before the main force swarmed up, we could greatly delay or even halt their breakthrough.
Fortunately, the zombies didn’t seem to realize there were survivors on the second floor.
It was as if they were being driven upward by some invisible force.
That gave us the chance to arrange our barricade carefully, prioritizing large items that could both block their impact and obscure their line of sight.
The Dead Mall was enormous—just the main escalators numbered four, with several small staircases and safety exits scattered around.
The four of us held our breath, moving as lightly and efficiently as possible.
Despite the skin-crawling growls of the zombies just nearby, their lack of a clear target gave us a precious window to act.
But there were simply too many stairways.
We had to split up, blocking as many entrances as we could.
***
“Whew—”
After working all afternoon, sweat had already soaked my back.
My long black hair was smeared with dust and grime, sticking to my cheeks.
The four of us slumped with our backs against the makeshift barricade of shelves, furniture, and assorted debris.
I gasped for breath, chest burning from exhaustion.
I admit this was the hardest I’ve ever worked in my life.
The main stairways and visible safety exits on the second floor of the Mall were now temporarily blocked.
It wasn’t exactly impregnable, but it would greatly slow anything trying to get upstairs.
Yet, as expected, the zombies didn’t launch a continuous assault or scratch at the barriers in a frenzy.
After the initial chaos and roars faded, a strange silence fell over the place.
A handful of zombies that managed to squeeze onto the second floor just wandered aimlessly before the barricades, making low, meaningless guttural sounds, not showing the usual obsession for living flesh.
Some even seemed hesitant.
After pacing before the obstacles for a while, they sluggishly turned around and squeezed back down, preferring the packed horde below to lingering even a moment longer on the open second floor.
I quickly noticed how abnormal this was.
Leaning against the wall, I worked to steady my breath and suppress the discomfort from all the exertion and nerves.
My mind raced, analyzing this illogical scene.
There could be many reasons: zombie behavior, the environment upstairs, or—worst of all—something on the second floor even more terrifying than “Li Qing” downstairs.
I remembered the direction Li Qing fled before; he hadn’t gone up either…
‘Please, no…’ The bitter thought crept up, sending a chill through me.
While I was lost in this ominous speculation, Xiao Fang suddenly pointed at me, his face reddening so fast it was visible, his eyes darting away, lips trembling as if he’d seen something he really shouldn’t have.
“Dr… Dr. Lin… you…” he stammered, pointing at me, but too embarrassed to look straight at me.
“What?” His reaction left me confused.
Instinctively, I looked down, following his gaze.
The moment I saw it, my scalp tingled.
My jacket, already damaged, had torn further in the chaos—at my side and under my ribs, revealing a stretch of pale waist, with even a hint of curve showing through the rip.
Worse, I suddenly remembered that in the rush to escape earlier, I hadn’t managed to put on any undergarments.
A surge of indescribable embarrassment and a trace of annoyance rushed up inside me, but I didn’t let it show.
“I’ll go find something to wear.” I kept my voice as calm as possible, straightened up, and tried awkwardly to pull my torn jacket closed, scanning the mess of clothing stores nearby.
Zhuo Lei noticed Xiao Fang’s odd behavior and my own movements.
His brows knitted together, but clearly, there were more pressing issues than attire right now.
His sharp eyes once again flicked toward the eerie silence deeper inside the second floor.
In a low voice, he said, “Sister Jing, go with Dr. Lin to find some clothes and keep watch.”
“Xiao Fang, you BYD, that’s something for Sister Jing to say? Was it your place to say it?!”
Sister Jing nodded and came to my side, her voice warm and eager, “Come, Dr. Lin, I know a few shops around here.”
I followed her, hurrying to a women’s boutique with a crooked sign.
Inside was chaos—shelves toppled, clothes strewn everywhere, all coated in thick dust.
The air was heavy with the moldy scent of fabric and dust.
I quickly crouched down, rummaging through the mess, fingers brushing over both soft and rough fabrics.
Most of it was either filthy and torn or too cumbersome to move in.
Sister Jing stood watch at the door, back to me, her eyes sharply scanning the outside.
Finally, I found a dark gray sports T-shirt and a pair of black cargo pants.
The fabric was sturdy and the sizes looked about right.
Not bothering with much else, I shrugged off my ruined jacket and pulled the shirt on.
The fabric was cool against my skin.
The cargo pants had an adjustable waistband, letting me fasten them securely in place.
As I tightened the waistband and was about to toss aside my tattered old jacket, Sister Jing suddenly spoke softly—her voice quiet but clear: “Dr. Lin, you really are good-looking.”
Her words made my hands pause as I buckled the belt.
She was still facing away, eyes on the doorway, but her tone was filled with a warmth so out of place in this apocalyptic ruin that it was almost startling—like we were shopping in the mall on a peaceful day, not fighting for our lives.
I zipped the cargo pants and kicked the old jacket into the corner, an alarm bell quietly ringing in my heart.
Complimenting the looks of a newly met teammate at a time like this, she was either trying to break the ice, lower my guard, or hinting at something more.
I straightened, smoothing the wrinkles from my T-shirt, and replied with just enough distance in my tone, “In times like these, just surviving is a struggle. Looks don’t really matter.”
I walked to her side, looking out at the dim light beyond the store, “We should focus on what’s in front of us.”
Only then did Sister Jing slowly turn her head, an enigmatic smile on her face.
Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment—not with Xiao Fang’s shy awkwardness, but with a calm, penetrating scrutiny, as if she were studying every detail.
“Maybe so,” she said softly, a note of wistfulness in her voice.
“But good-looking is good-looking, regardless of the times—especially your eyes. They’re really something.”
She paused, then asked casually, “Dr. Lin, are you from around here? Back at the hospital, I bet you were popular?”
A test.
I lowered my lashes, hiding my thoughts, then bent to pick up a spare black windbreaker from the floor.
As I dusted it off, I replied with a hint of self-mockery, “I’m from a small town. Hadn’t even finished my residency before all this happened. I was so busy every day, I barely had my feet on the ground. Who had time for anything else?”
I skillfully steered the topic away from “looks” and “past” toward “busyness” and “the present,” sidestepping any specifics.
Sister Jing’s gaze lingered on my face.
Her faint smile faded a little, her eyes flashing with a mix of emotions—something like reminiscence, tinged with a kind of indescribable longing.
“Yeah, keeping busy is good…” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“If my daughter could have grown up safely, maybe… she’d be as good-looking as you.”
She said it so softly, almost to herself, as if it were an idle sigh.
But as soon as the words left her mouth, her own expression shifted slightly, as though realizing she’d said too much.
She quickly looked away, once more staring out the door.
‘I’m hopeless.’ That thought suddenly crossed my mind.