Chapter Eighteen: The Covenant of Fate (Part One)

The remaining people glanced at each other in utter confusion, unable to make sense of what had just happened.

"Is that woman insane?" Zheng Nanfang muttered in disbelief.

Hu Bi jabbed the syringe left behind by Hong Xiangcai into his arm, coughed a few times, then picked up a submachine gun from beside a corpse and snorted, "I told you, she’s crazy. We should get out of here too. There are too many of them; if they all make it down to the street, we’re done for."

No sooner had he spoken than a thunderous explosion split the air—the truck that had been burning for so long finally gave out, its fuel tank ignited, erupting into a massive fireball in the middle of the street.

The violent shockwave swept down the avenue, and the crumbling old buildings on either side collapsed like rotten wood. Even Zheng Nanfang and his companions, huddling behind their makeshift cover, were caught in the blast; their eardrums rang painfully, and for several seconds, all they could hear was a high-pitched buzz. Smoke and dust billowed before their eyes, tongues of flame flickered, and their heads spun with dizziness.

Mouth agape as he tried to regain his hearing, Zheng Nanfang caught sight of a group of attackers rushing toward them. He urgently signaled everyone to be on alert.

But the attackers seemed not to be seeking a fight—one after another, they darted across the street as if fleeing. Within moments, Zheng Nanfang’s hearing began to return, and he caught the distant roar of engines growing louder, approaching through the inferno blazing in the center of the street, until they came into full view.

Desert off-road vehicles, with their windows rolled down, unleashed a wild barrage of gunfire. Having lost their vantage point, the attackers were now at a disadvantage, routed by these new arrivals, scattering in all directions and abandoning their weapons as they ran.

"Get in!" called a familiar female voice from the lead off-roader.

Zheng Nanfang peered over the wall and saw Laurelie, the proud and voluptuous woman, leaning out the window, gun blazing, a cigarette still tilted between her lips—every bit as fierce and commanding as Hong Xiangcai.

"Let’s go," Zheng Nanfang called out, gathering the remnants of the hospital crew to leap from cover and climb into the nearest vehicle. Laurelie’s convoy, with its overwhelming firepower, shielded survivors from all corners as they converged. Amidst the chaos, Zheng Nanfang spotted Tang Suan and Sha Man—these two clever women had stayed out of the thick of the fight, their faces clean and untouched by even a speck of dust.

Once all the survivors had been rounded up, they squeezed into whatever vehicles were at hand and made their escape.

"Phew..." Having skirted death, Zheng Nanfang finally let his nerves relax, slumping into his seat with a long sigh. "Thanks... You’ve saved my life twice now. I won’t forget it."

Laurelie, at the wheel, paused in apparent puzzlement but said nothing, only offering a faint smile.

"Big sister, you’re so beautiful and so strong. Can I be your little brother?" piped up a childish voice from the back seat.

Zheng Nanfang turned, surprised, to see the raspy-voiced boy from the manor sitting in the rear, his face smudged with soot, his bow tie gone, looking plaintively at Laurelie in the mirror.

A strange feeling stirred in Zheng Nanfang. This boy was no innocent—Zheng Nanfang had seen him shoot his own teammate without hesitation, and now, against all odds, here he was, alive and rescued.

Laurelie ignored the boy’s childish tone, exhaling smoke as she cast a sidelong glance at Zheng Nanfang. "Now, can we form an alliance?"

"We’ve already missed the road race," Zheng Nanfang replied with a wry smile.

Laurelie seemed unconcerned, reaching out her hand to him. "I never said anything about the road race."

Zheng Nanfang hesitated, then realized her meaning. He forced a bitter smile and said, "Whether it’s the race or the Hive, why do you insist on seeking me out?" Even as he spoke, he took her hand.

"Hmm?"

Zheng Nanfang felt something in his palm and looked curiously at Laurelie. She merely curled her lips into a smile. When Zheng Nanfang opened his hand, he found a black pill lying there.

His expression changed instantly.

...

"We’re the same kind of people," Laurelie said, blinking playfully.

"Where did you get this medicine?" Zheng Nanfang’s face was clouded, uncertain, his gaze flickering nervously.

Laurelie drove on, unconcerned by his shifting mood, as if she had expected this reaction all along.

The desert off-roader sped forward. Laurelie seemed intimately familiar with this ghost city, always finding a path the vehicle could traverse. No more attackers appeared. The further they drove toward the city’s edge, the denser the wild grass and shrubs became, making it clear that the attackers’ activity was largely limited to the city’s entrance.

Zheng Nanfang’s question went unanswered. In truth, it needed no answer.

Meng Chang had once told him: only his team possessed the formula for this drug, and there was only one place capable of producing it. Still, Zheng Nanfang was surprised—he hadn’t expected there to be anyone else out there like him. But on reflection, it made sense. If Meng Chang’s team had prepared such a drug in advance, there must have been others like him before.

"Where are you from?" Having thought it through, Zheng Nanfang no longer pressed the previous question, and instead asked, "From the west?"

Laurelie nodded, then shook her head, smiling. "You don’t have to worry. I’m not from the same place as you—but there is some connection between us."

Zheng Nanfang was only half-comprehending, his eyes studying Laurelie’s profile intently.

Their previous encounters had been under less than ideal circumstances, and his impression of Laurelie barely extended beyond that impressive bosom. Now, observing her closely, he noticed something odd.

Her skin was strikingly pale, with black hair and eyes, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes—features strongly foreign. Yet her heavy makeup and flawless accent made it hard to tell at a glance that she was anything but local.

About half an hour later, Laurelie’s convoy finally emerged from the city’s confines, turning off onto a muddy dirt road that wound through rampant wild grass. When they reached an open area, they stopped to rest, standing guard and tending to those injured in the earlier street battle.

Tang Suan and Shu Yangcong looked dejected. The sudden death of Li Qingjiao had hit them hard. The three women had defected to Zheng Nanfang’s side together, and after these past few days, some bond had formed. Life and death were everyday matters in these times, but Li Qingjiao’s end had come out of nowhere.

Sha Man had become thoroughly subdued, quietly tending to the still-recovering Hu Bi nearby. The head of the raspy-voiced manor delegation had perished in the dead city, leaving its gunmen leaderless. The boy might have some standing back at the manor, but it had little to do with command. The gunmen barely acknowledged him, and the dozen or so survivors were now little more than a rabble. As for the Deep Blue Hospital, their numbers had been decimated—Hong Xiangcai had left, and the rest, glancing around, seemed to drift naturally toward Zheng Nanfang, as if hinting he was now their leader.

Zheng Nanfang had no interest in rallying followers and pretended not to notice, offering only a few words of comfort to Tang Suan and Shu Yangcong before returning to Laurelie’s side, pondering how to broach his questions.

After a long silence, Laurelie broke the ice.

"What did you mean when you got in the car earlier?"

"Hmm?" Zheng Nanfang didn’t catch her meaning. "What?"

Reflecting for a moment, Laurelie recalled, "You thanked me for saving you twice? Just now was one—what about the other?"

Zheng Nanfang was momentarily at a loss, unsure if she was feigning ignorance or hinting at something deeper.

Seeing his hesitation, Laurelie looked puzzled. "What is it?"

"The sandstorm... that time..."

Laurelie’s expression shifted to one of surprise. "Sandstorm?"

"Yeah..." Sensing something amiss, Zheng Nanfang replayed the memory in his mind, scrutinizing the woman before him... It was her, wasn’t it? She had been the one to help him through the sandstorm. So why did she look so confused?

Laurelie blinked, took out a cigarette, and lit it. "I know about the sandstorm. We were following behind you, but when the weather turned, we found shelter ahead of time and weren’t really affected. After it passed, we tried to catch up, but you’d already moved on."

"And then?" Zheng Nanfang pressed.

"What do you mean, ‘and then’?"

He rephrased, cautiously, "You mean, when the sandstorm hit, you were far from us?"

"Not too far—still within sight."

"And you only caught up after it ended?"

"That’s right."

"..."

"What’s wrong? Is there a problem?"

Zheng Nanfang opened his mouth but couldn’t produce a sound.

He strained every ounce of perception to read Laurelie’s expression for any sign of deceit, but it was clear—she truly didn’t understand his words or actions.

"Never mind, it’s nothing," Zheng Nanfang said, pressing his fingers to his temples, trying to convince himself he was mistaken. But deep down, he was certain he had seen this very face in that sandstorm.

Laurelie didn’t question further, but a faint gleam flickered in her deep eyes, as if something had occurred to her, though she dared not be sure.

Having survived both the sandstorm and the ambush in the dead city, the sun was now sinking toward the western horizon, its fiery afterglow dazzling in the sky, and the intense heat had finally begun to ease.

The surviving gunmen from the raspy-voiced manor decided to return home. Their leader was dead, and the boy had no authority, so it was up to them to report back to Xi Bafeng.

As fellow survivors from the lower city, they expressed their gratitude to Laurelie’s convoy for saving their lives. Laurelie and her crew didn’t mind the extra peace—information about the Hive was best kept secret. By the time the gunmen returned to the manor and Xi Bafeng could arrive with reinforcements, it would all be over—there was no need to worry about any disputes the Hive might provoke.

The boy didn’t want to leave, but with no power to command the others and uncertain about staying here alone, he eventually chose to go. Before leaving, he whispered something in Sha Man’s ear. Her expression flickered as she glanced at Zheng Nanfang but said nothing.

After a few minutes, preparations were complete, and the convoy set off once more.

...

Before the sun had completely set, the convoy finally returned to the national highway. Now, less than thirty kilometers remained to the domed fishery.