Chapter Twenty-Two: Tarzan of the Apes

Coming out of the store, Xu Qiang, despite being a grown man, suddenly felt as aggrieved as a young girl. After all, it was ten pounds of rice—eaten sparingly, it could last him four or five days without any trouble. And now, all of it had been traded for two guns. Was he supposed to use these guns to rob others, or venture outside the base to snatch food from the jaws of zombies? Xu Qiang muttered, “He really does have the nerve…”

The residential area assigned to the newcomers was an old neighborhood. Those highly automated, smart communities were certainly not for the likes of Xie Han and his group; such places were reserved for capable elites, the so-called “high-level talent,” though few placed much faith in the meaning of “high-level.” Still, Xie Han thought things were not so bad. At least, the facilities in these old communities were better than those in his own previous apartment complex.

The neighborhood was already half full. As Xie Han’s group of newcomers arrived, only a few eyes regarded them with kindness or sympathy; the rest glinted with predatory greed. Who among those who had survived three and a half years of the apocalypse could be considered a good soul? Whether it was killing people or zombies, it had long since become routine—a matter as simple as eating or sleeping. They assumed that any newcomers seeking refuge in the base would bring food or valuables, and as veterans, it was only natural to “educate” these greenhorns—and, incidentally, collect a little “tuition.”

Xie Han merely smiled. Even without firearms, he could probably take on ten opponents at once; now that he had guns, if these people dared make a move, he wouldn’t mind teaching them a lesson. It might do them some good to remember: this world was not so kind to bullies of newcomers.

Yet Xie Han overestimated his own image. Though his strength was nearly seven times that of an ordinary man, outwardly he looked like nothing more than a slightly tall but scrawny fellow—the very sort most likely to be picked on. Xu Qiang, on the other hand, with his bulging muscles, was clearly not someone to mess with. But he was just one man, and the rest of their group was women, the old, and the weak. How could they not attract covetous eyes?

No sooner had Xie Han and his people entered the neighborhood than a dozen burly men, lounging idly within, surrounded them.

“Welcome to Bicheng Community, everyone…” The leader, a hulking brute, smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. Clearly well-practiced in such schemes, he didn’t give Xie Han’s group a chance to speak but continued, “My name is Tai Shan—get it? Quite an imposing name, isn’t it? And I assure you, my temperament matches my name. I’m sure you get my meaning, don’t you?” His words drew knowing smirks from his followers, as if Xie Han’s party was already a dish served before them.

Anyone who had survived several years of this apocalypse knew exactly what Tai Shan meant. The muscles in Xu Qiang’s arms bunched, veins standing out as he finally understood why Xie Han had insisted on trading rice for guns. Even in a militarized base, who could guarantee there would be no violence? Xu Qiang slipped a hand into his coat, the cold metal of his submachine gun giving him confidence he could shred these dozen men in five seconds.

Xie Han gently patted the tense Xu Qiang and smiled at Tai Shan. Leisurely, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it with practiced ease, took a drag, and waved it at Tai Shan. “Do you know what this is? It’s a Zhonghua cigarette, discontinued