Chapter Eighty-Three: Understanding

A piece of meat could grant a woman to one’s possession; before the apocalypse, such a notion was pure fantasy, but now, even that seemed extravagant to some. The first woman agreed, and the other lingered, hesitating, her gaze fixed on Yang Fan. When he produced a tender cut of meat, she, too, came forward. She appeared to be around twenty-three or twenty-four, an appealing figure. Thus, in this carriage, Yang Fan selected two women.

He moved on with Li Qiang to other carriages. Because Yang Fan took two women from the first carriage, everyone else received some meat broth and scraps of meat—an unimaginable luxury, considering their daily fare was something not even pigs or dogs would touch. The days of feasting before the apocalypse were long gone.

The second carriage was much the same, though there was not a single suitable woman. In the third carriage, one met the requirements, but none matched the standards of the goddess depicted in the Lady’s Portrait. This process repeated several times. By the time Yang Fan reached the seventh carriage, he had chosen eight girls who fit the ordinary lady’s criteria, each possessing their own unique allure.

Now, only the last two goddesses remained to be found. The carriage was in turmoil; in truth, every carriage was filthy and chaotic, but Yang Fan had grown accustomed. Yet, the seventh carriage held an unexpected surprise.

“Beep, beep, beep… A lady meeting the criteria for the Goddess of Wisdom has been detected nearby. We suggest the host seize the opportunity quickly!”

The Lady’s Portrait was becoming increasingly indecent, and Yang Fan wiped the sweat from his brow, though a flicker of surprise remained. Was there a new goddess type? Goddess of Wisdom—it sounded formidable. Using the Lady’s Eyes, Yang Fan scanned the crowd. The auxiliary goddess was deep within the throng—a little girl clutching a doll.

She appeared to be twelve or thirteen, wearing what once was a white dress, now stained and grimy. Her hair was tangled, and the rag doll in her hands was torn. She crouched there, weeping softly, with a small boy about one meter forty tall leaning against her.

With the Zombie’s Eye, Yang Fan saw the boy was badly wounded; blood stained his abdomen, as if slashed by something sharp. When the crowd parted, the girl gained a little space, then opened her eyes wide—beautiful, shimmering, veiled in tears.

“Big… big brother, I beg you, please, save my brother, save my brother,” the girl sobbed. Several faces in the crowd changed drastically. Yang Fan approached. The girl curled up, fragile, her clothes seemingly torn by someone. It was not difficult to guess what had occurred.

Such a young girl—so appealing—was a deadly temptation to those with certain proclivities. Someone had tried to violate her, but her brother intervened and was injured; thus, she had come forward.

Upon realizing this, Yang Fan snorted coldly, surveying those around him. For a moment, many refugees dared not speak, heads bowed. Li Qiang’s voice rang out, “Who did this? Step forward!”

His words were authoritative, the aura of command spreading instantly. Several people dropped to their knees with a thud, crying out, “Sir, we were wrong, we know we were wrong, we were possessed!”

“Sir, please spare us!” Two or three of them knelt, repeatedly kowtowing. Li Qiang signaled to his soldiers, who immediately dragged them out, heedless of their anguished screams, and drove them away coldly.

The girl was clever; she sensed Yang Fan could help her. She timidly approached, tugged at Yang Fan’s sleeve, and pleaded, “Please, save Xiao You’s brother. Xiao You can wash clothes, cook, tell stories, anything, as long as you save my brother. Xiao You will do anything you ask!”

Her voice was choked with sobs, her body battered. Yang Fan could see her arms were bruised, her eyes glistening with tears—a pitiful gaze. Her faint cries and words moved many, and Li Qiang’s face darkened further.

After all, such a thing happening on his territory was unforgivable, especially for a soldier. Li Qiang cursed inwardly and went out; evidently, those three men were doomed.

Yang Fan looked at her, a wave of empathy washing over him. The girl, calling herself Xiao You, with her frail voice, evoked compassion. Before the apocalypse, she was a cherished jewel, but since its arrival, everything had changed.

The wealthy of yesterday had become dogs at others’ feet.

The socialites of yesterday had become playthings.

The officials of yesterday had become objects to be trampled at will.

In the apocalypse, the most frightening thing was not mutated beasts, nor zombies, nor the insect horde, but people themselves. Human nature was more terrifying than any monster. They said it was the end times, lawless chaos, where anything could be trampled.

Zombies hunted humanity, mutated beasts hunted humanity, and even humans hunted their own kind—treating them as toys, prey, even less than animals.

This was the tragedy of the apocalypse. What made people human was faith, principles, and morality. Strip away any one of these, and are we still human, or merely beasts?

Am I human? Yang Fan pondered. He hadn’t wantonly trampled others; those he killed were threats. Yet sometimes, he could have spared them, merely taught them a lesson—like when he met Bai Su and the others.

Those people could have been spared, but he killed them anyway. Did he still possess humanity? Perhaps, in front of Bai Chen and Fang Na, he was only marginally better than a beast.

Like Xiao Chen, like Liu Xue, he hadn’t forcibly coerced them, but his temperament was not much different. Had the apocalypse infected him? Yang Fan questioned himself.

He stood silently, and no one dared speak or even breathe loudly. The girl, seeing Yang Fan unmoved, wiped her eyes and sat back down, hugging her brother, silent and convulsing with helpless sobs.

Several hours later, Yang Fan awoke from his reverie, cold sweat pouring down his back. If he hadn’t met this little girl, he might have changed—become brutal, mad, like Qin Ziwen.

Everything he’d done was under the guise of the apocalypse, deceiving himself, deceiving his heart.

He realized that his suffering began with betrayal by a classmate, witnessing countless cruelties, and his consciousness changed, believing this was the apocalypse, that it should be this way.

He began to deceive himself, to vent, to act in ways that betrayed his moral beliefs.

“Perhaps… I’m not wrong. The environment is different; actions should be different. But I’ll try my best to keep my principles, to protect every friend I have. I’m not a savior. I just need to protect my friends, my companions, all that’s mine. The rest—I lack the power to interfere, nor do I wish to. That’s who I am.”

Suddenly, Yang Fan spoke these words, his heart growing resolute. He had found his purpose.

Protect his friends; protect what belonged to him.

Let others judge as they will.

He was selfish—an ordinary human, full of emotion and desire, not some ridiculous false saint.