Chapter Seventy-Eight: Deserving of Death

The screams came from the last section of the bus, and what struck Yang Fan most was that the cries seemed to be from Fu Gaobin. Yang Fan’s expression darkened; he no longer cared to compete with Li Qiang over who could endure the cold better. He strode directly toward the rear bus compartment, Li Qiang following close behind, his own face shifting as well. He knew all too well that most of the survivors with inherited apocalypse systems were either in the first or last bus section. They already understood their own strength in this world’s end.

These people were lawless, unruly. If not for Li Qiang’s own abilities and a large number of subordinates, he wouldn’t have been able to keep them in check. Now, it seemed Yang Fan’s brothers had run into trouble in the last bus section, and as the chief commander, Li Qiang knew he couldn’t escape responsibility.

He wasn’t actually afraid of Yang Fan seeking revenge; rather, he hoped to keep Yang Fan as his subordinate. But if something like this happened, nothing would be certain anymore. Li Qiang frowned, cursing inwardly—if it was one of his own men bullying Yang Fan’s friends, he would not let it slide. If it was someone else, perhaps he could use Yang Fan as an example to scare the others.

Li Qiang had made up his mind in a matter of moments, then arrived at the last bus compartment. Yang Fan pushed the door open, letting the fierce wind and snow sweep inside. From outside, one couldn’t fully see the bus’s size and might have thought it small, but upon opening the door, the compartment revealed a width of two or three meters, lined with bunk beds—three tiers high.

Trash bins stood in every corner, and the air was thick with an indescribable, unpleasant smell—likely body odor mixed with the lack of ventilation. Yet, in the apocalypse, such conditions were already considered decent.

Few paid attention as Yang Fan walked in. Li Qiang entered behind him, shutting the door. He was about to speak, but saw a crowd gathered ahead. The compartment was not all beds; the center was an open area, with toilets nearby. The whole place resembled a derailed subway car.

“Ha ha ha… made them eat ****, ha ha ha!”

“The new kid wanted to act tough—he’s looking for trouble. Make him eat ****, break his bones, throw him out, and then we can enjoy these two women.”

“I’ve been holding back for so long, ha ha. Now finally two new guys have arrived. Wanted to play around, but they’re so arrogant—asking for death.”

A dozen men surrounded the open space, while others lounged on their beds, watching the spectacle. Yang Fan immediately heard the furious shouts from Fu Gaobin and Wang Cheng within the crowd.

“Bastards, let go of me! I curse your whole family! You damned scum! Yang Fan, Yang Fan!”

“Let me go, damn it! Yang Fan, come save me!”

These were Fu Gaobin and Wang Cheng’s cries, joined by the desperate sobs of two women. They were being held down by several men, arms twisted nearly to breaking, faces contorted in agony as they wailed pitifully.

Yet the others showed no pity—only wild, sinister laughter, reveling in the darkness within, tormenting their victims.

Fu Gaobin and Wang Cheng hadn’t expected this. After bringing the two women into the compartment, hoping to keep a low profile, Wang Cheng had meekly greeted the others, while Fu Gaobin led the women to find their beds. When they finally found their spot, the blankets were gone—snatched by a burly man with a face full of scars. Fu Gaobin settled the women, went to wash up, and returned to find Wang Cheng being beaten. Before he could react, he was kicked himself, and heard Wang Cheng’s shout: “Gaobin, these bastards are trying to hurt your women!” Wang Cheng was slapped, then both were beaten by the group. In the cramped space, Fu Gaobin couldn’t move, and after being subdued at the start, things escalated to this—faces bruised and swollen, Fu Gaobin dragged by the hair toward the toilets by the burly man, about to be forced to eat something foul.

Wang Cheng fared no better, bruised all over, tossed to the floor like a dead dog. Some men were unbuckling their belts, apparently intending to urinate on him, humiliating him so he would never be able to lift his head again.

The crowd jeered. Here, pity was rare—perhaps a sigh, then eyes averted.

Li Qiang walked in, unsure of the details but understanding enough at a glance to frown deeply. He wanted to rebuke the perpetrators, to order them to stop, when suddenly he saw Yang Fan move—making his way from the perimeter inward.

“Damn, what are you shoving for—ah, ah, ah!”

Yang Fan’s face was aflame with fury, his eyes seeming to devour everything, anger rising within. He pushed through the crowd, drawing curses from a man who mocked him, only to receive a resounding slap that sent him sprawling, crying in pain as tears and snot streamed down his face.

Immediately, those around Yang Fan parted to make way. Even those who didn’t move were shoved aside, none daring to utter a word. The atmosphere grew tense; spectators chose to stay silent, watching Yang Fan.

Yang Fan entered without projecting any so-called aura of strength, but his silent advance carried an invisible pressure.

The burly, scar-faced man at the front released Fu Gaobin, looking at Yang Fan with utter disdain, no hint of fear in his eyes. He sneered, “So you’re that Yang Fan?”

Sizing up Yang Fan’s thin frame, he felt no fear whatsoever, hence his words. Before the apocalypse, he’d been a petty thug; afterward, he’d inherited a system, gaining rich rewards and enough power to dominate Wang Cheng, Fu Gaobin, and many others—so he acted without restraint.

He sized up Yang Fan, but suddenly—Yang Fan seized his throat, and to the shock of everyone, lifted him off his feet, gritting his teeth: “You’re dead!”

His words brimmed with hatred and uncontainable fury.

Fu Gaobin was his closest brother; Wang Cheng, his loyal subordinate. Now, they had been abused like this. Yang Fan’s rage was explosive. He had come back—restarted his journey—to protect his friends. If anyone dared to harm them, they deserved death. They deserved to be killed.

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(A new week begins. Next week and the week after, there will be two very important recommendations, so I need to save up chapters. I’m not in the best mood, so I’ll manage two updates a day, but I’ll push for three, saving one for explosive releases. Still, this week mustn’t fall behind. Brothers, please vote for me in support of my efforts! Thank you all!)

(Thanks also to LAVA, Qin Tianzi, Bored Little Chicken, Xingfeng Xiaoye for your donations and review votes—thank you so much!)