Chapter Six: The Beginning of a Sinister Plot

She was neither the light of life nor the flame of desire, neither sin nor soul.

She was, simply, a little girl. A pink dress, tightly braided hair, chubby cheeks, a plump and tender body—small, fragile, wailing loudly. Squeezing her, she felt soft enough, but there was nothing particularly endearing about her.

If I were to seek a woman, I’d choose one fully matured.

But she had done nothing wrong; she did not deserve death, nor to become a stiff, decaying little corpse.

Even if she were American, it would make no difference.

—Wang Luo

August 15, 1993, 11:03 a.m.

Tral Café, 140 meters east of the rendezvous point on East Street

According to their previous agreement, they were to gather at the Tral Café at noon.

It was a rather large café, its interior exquisitely arranged and comfortable, with soft music playing. A few couples conversed quietly inside.

He wondered what they would look like as zombies. As Yang Wentian entered and caught sight of them, the thought flickered through his mind.

Though it was only half past ten, someone had already arrived—Zhou Yingxiong, that scrawny, emaciated, somewhat disreputable-looking man. He sat inside, head bowed. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Zhou glanced up, then down again, apparently absorbed in studying the patterns on the floor.

A coward? Or perhaps, the variable Zhu Cunjia had mentioned?

Yang Wentian couldn’t be sure.

If Zhu Cunjia was to be believed, then none of the team members should be underestimated.

Turning these thoughts over, he chose a comfortable chair and sat down, reflecting on the earlier battle, weighing his gains and losses. At 11:15, another person entered.

It was Wang Luo.

“Good afternoon.” Wang Luo waved upon seeing them. “The bus arrived at just the right time.”

Could it be him? “How was your walk around the city?”

“I toured the city a bit.” Wang Luo took a seat opposite him. “Checked out the newspaper office and the TV station, but couldn’t find the radio tower. The bus doesn’t seem to go there either.”

Would there be tasks at those places? No, he’s new… “Were there any pretty girls at those places?”

“Um… that’s not why I went.” Wang Luo grinned awkwardly. “What do you think about us attacking the TV station together?”

“What are you planning?”

“This is my thought: since that sinister company intends to infect the city with the virus, isn’t it foolish to wait until the infection succeeds before dealing with the zombies? Why not mobilize all the citizens to resist the company instead?”

A bold idea. Yang Wentian studied Wang Luo—thin, ordinary-looking, his face youthful, his eyes innocent. What exactly was he planning? Could it be him? “How do you propose we do that?”

Wang Luo fell silent for a moment. Yang Wentian, feeling the weight of Wang Luo’s gaze, grew uneasy.

“Do you think the people here, the residents outside, are truly alive?”

“What do you mean?” Yang Wentian didn’t quite follow.

“I mean…” Wang Luo gestured. “Are they really people? Ordinary, living people—those who feel joy at praise, anger at criticism, heat in summer, cold in winter, greed at the sight of gold, fear at the sight of zombies. Hateful and lovable, strong yet weak, clever yet foolish, brimming with potential yet stubbornly set in their ways. In short: complex, unstable, multifaceted… human.”

What was he getting at? Nonsense. “I suppose so. I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary…”

“There’s another possibility,” Wang Luo said, fixing Yang Wentian with a steady gaze. “What if this is a world like a game? The people here only look human, but are actually just NPCs. Their every action and thought is pre-set—once the plot advances, they all become zombies. Nothing we do can change that outcome.”

“If that’s true…”

“Then we can act ahead of time. The dead shouldn’t become zombies, right? And if they do, then burn them to ashes—ashes shouldn’t become zombies. We have two and a half days. If all the civilians are NPCs, it shouldn’t be hard to kill them. And if they’re mindless puppets, there’s no guilt in killing them.”

He wasn’t wrong. If there were tens of thousands of puppets in the city who would become zombies in three days and come for me, I’d destroy them all without hesitation… They’re not real people—there’s no psychological burden in killing them. “But they’re not puppets. In previous scenarios, they were all ordinary people. Many have made friends or found lovers among them… That’s perfectly normal.”

Wang Luo was silent for a long while—at least five or six minutes. Only when Yang Wentian’s patience was wearing thin did he speak again.

“In that case, we can deal with them as we would ordinary people. My plan is as follows:

First, we rob a bank and seize the gold and cash inside;
Then, we take over the TV station and broadcast the crimes of Umbrella Corporation to all the citizens;
At the same time, we scatter the stolen gold and dollars throughout the city, sowing chaos. When the company focuses on suppressing the disorder and quelling rumors, we infiltrate the underground laboratory—as the mission requires—to resolve the problem there.”

“How will you convince the residents that the company is spreading a virus?” This plan didn’t seem so impressive.

“We’ll impersonate Umbrella Corporation employees. We’ll steal some of their uniforms, and at the TV station, we’ll pose as ‘conscientious staff’ coming clean.”

“The key to this plan is that, no matter how powerful Umbrella is, they must issue a clarification and make concessions. Unless they immediately turn the entire city into zombies, they’ll have to respond. If things go well, they might even open the laboratory to the public to prove our claims false. That would force them to delay their plans for the sake of secrecy, and our mission would be accomplished.”

A solid plan… if only this weren’t the Space.

Had he missed the warning? If a contractor reveals any plot-related information to local residents, they’ll be erased.

Still… the plan was quite creative. What would Zhu Cunjia think?

“I think it’s an interesting idea.” Yang Wentian did not warn Wang Luo; the constant life-and-death trials had long taught him when to hold his tongue. “When he arrives, we can discuss how to proceed together.”

“Great.” Wang Luo, reassured, smiled and rubbed his hands. “I was worried…”

He paused, found a chair, and sat down. “Will Mr. Zhu Cunjia approve?”

Heaven only knows. “He probably will.” Maybe Zhu Cunjia would scoff and reject it; maybe he’d see it as the source of scenario shifts and make full use of it. I won’t stop a teammate from doing something inconsequential—if he succeeds, I benefit; if he fails, I suffer no loss.

“What you’ve suggested isn’t difficult to carry out. He’ll likely support it.”

This one is clever, knows whom to ask. His ideas are generally sound. In a world where zombies are the main threat, robbing banks and taking over the TV station is hardly a challenge—even if the police are stronger.

Only, he intends to break the Space’s most severe rule: never reveal plot-related content to beings in the scenario, or face erasure.

What a pity.