Chapter Twenty-Four: Laili

The fear humans feel toward the unknown is an instinct. Whether it was Hu Bi, whose formidable build made him resemble a walking bear, or Hong Xiangcai, proud and commanding, exuding a heroic presence—their nerves would not flicker during a hail of bullets, nor would they hesitate to kill and plunder with casual ease, as though it were nothing more than an everyday meal. Yet when faced with the fathomless, all-devouring black mist, any human being would feel a tremor in their very bones.

Laili lacked Hu Bi’s physique, which allowed him to serve as the team’s human shield, and her temperament was nothing like Hong Xiangcai’s bold, razor-sharp manner. She was, by comparison, the intellectual sort—steady, in Zheng Nanfang’s eyes. That was why, when she witnessed two people swallowed by the black mist yet chose to press on at the head of her team, Zheng Nanfang found it difficult to understand her. Alongside his confusion, he could not help but admire her courage, for even he, with all his knowledge of the Hive, would not have dared venture inside at that moment.

But as for Laili—was she afraid, in the instant she stepped into the black mist?

Later, having survived by luck, Laili described her sensations to Zheng Nanfang and the others: “I once heard an old story that suits my experience perfectly. In the old days, when students were about to finish an exam and the bell was seconds from ringing, many would be so tense that their bodies would spasm. In those moments, certain sensitive places might, inexplicably, feel a flash of pleasure. That was exactly what I felt as I walked into the black mist. I had no idea what awaited me—monsters, a sea of fire, it didn’t matter—nothing could fill the void of fear inside. My mind went blank, my muscles grew taut, my heart leapt to my throat. Then, suddenly, a current shot through my lower body—unbearable, yet unexpectedly sweet. My first thought was that I’d lost control and wet myself. Only later, when I recalled the sensation, did I realize I’d come undone—I’d climaxed, I was wet.”

Let us return to those predawn hours, as the black mist still shrouded the suspension bridge, and Laili and her group first stepped into it.

As leader, Laili took her place at the very front—not out of pride, but to set an example for those wavering behind her. The night was cold as water, the wind threading through the bridge. Clad in her daring, short hot pants, Laili lifted her long, toned leg and stepped gently into the ethereal mist. The moment the skin of her calf touched the darkness, goosebumps swept across her body, and a shudder ran through her, so brief it escaped notice. Cloaked in the dim night, her face turned pale before flushing crimson. She clenched her fists so tightly her nails nearly broke the skin.

As the mist engulfed her completely, that electric sensation crashed over her—her abdomen burned, her muscles locked for several seconds. In that time, she could not suppress a low, stifled moan, before a sudden relaxation overtook her. Sweat beaded her body; the cold wind chilled her, sending shivers down her spine. The rest of the team filed in, wary of their surroundings, oblivious to their chief’s embarrassment, confusion, and lingering pleasure. After a moment to collect herself, Laili pressed on. The dampness in her shorts almost made her forget her fear, and the moisture traced its way down her inner thigh, drying in the wind.

There was no immediate danger as she had imagined; the mist was all-encompassing, visibility reduced to vague outlines if she held her hand before her eyes. “Everyone, keep a hand on the shoulder beside you,” Laili called, reining in the aftershocks of her experience. She reached for someone, but her hand met empty air.

A jolt of alarm shot through her. Holding her breath, she listened, and her heart plummeted. Only a minute before, she’d heard her teammates entering behind her. Now, in the briefest lapse, everything had gone silent—save for the moaning wind, there was nothing. “Impossible,” she muttered, struggling to remain calm as she drew her pistol. Useless, perhaps, but it was the only comfort she had.

“Is anyone there?” Her hoarse voice echoed in the blackness. No answer came. She waited, then raised her gun and fired into the air.

Bang.

The shot reverberated for a long time.

Regret gnawed at her for not heeding Zheng Nanfang’s advice, but it was too late. Clinging to a desperate hope, she turned—behind her, only the endless mist. After several turns, she could no longer tell where she had started.

“So that’s it… Once you enter, you’re lost—there’s no way back?” The mist was strange, but since no immediate danger presented itself, she gradually calmed. “Am I still on the bridge?” She stamped her foot experimentally. The swaying beneath her filled her with relief. “Yes, I’m still here. I wonder if Zheng Nanfang and the others outside can see the bridge move?”

She recalled the anxious wait for the two men, Doghead and Braid; they, too, must have tried to signal the outside world. Yet just as she had seen no sign of movement during their wait, Zheng Nanfang and those outside the mist likely saw nothing now.

With no way back, Laili steeled herself and decided to move forward. If her eyes were useless, she would close them and walk by feel. As long as she moved slowly and didn’t stumble off the bridge, she’d be fine. The thought made her wonder—had Doghead and Braid, in their panic, run headlong off the bridge? It was possible; after all, the abyss below could swallow even light—falling in would be like tossing a grain of sand into a desert.

Her mind wandered, but her feet didn’t stop. She had no idea how long she’d walked; the slow pace kept her from tiring, though prolonged tension wore her down. And though the mist had no texture, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brushing over her body again and again.

Afraid she might succumb to this numbing monotony, Laili forced herself to focus on the dampness in her shorts. Each stride, the cool, wet sensation between her thighs marked time—two seconds per step, five minutes at a stretch.

Five minutes passed.

Another five.

And another.

Eventually, the dampness faded.

She was nearly ready to give up when, suddenly, she sensed light through her eyelids. Turning her head from the glare, she slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the brightness. The mist ahead was thinner, and not far away, a strong light shone.

Laili quickened her pace and, with a burst of energy, rushed forward.

Outside the mist, the sun blazed in a cloudless sky, the breeze driving puffs of white across the blue. Turning, Laili watched the thinning mist slowly dissipate until it vanished entirely. She was stunned to find herself on the empty suspension bridge, with only the deserted far end—the very place she’d begun.

Had she been walking all night, only to end up still on the bridge? Had Zheng Nanfang and the others simply left? Refusing to believe it, she gritted her teeth and ran back.

The bridge creaked beneath her; the wind caressed her face. The campsite where they’d spent the night was deserted, without a trace of human presence—not even a cigarette butt.

“Zheng Nanfang?”

“Hu Bi?”

“Tang Suan?”

Her lonely voice echoed across the valley, fading into the distance. With no other choice, Laili crossed the bridge again and emerged on the long-awaited far side. Alone, she followed a narrow mountain path downward.

Before long, the terrain opened up, revealing the famed Domed Fishery—rippling waters, cool winds stirring the surface, the air crisp and refreshing. The reservoir was embraced by steep cliffs, untouched by human hands.

Laili looked around in confusion—what she saw was nothing like the visions she’d once sensed. It was, simply, a reservoir.

“An illusion?” She pinched her arm. The pain was real, a red mark blooming on her pale skin.

Realizing she’d fallen into a trap, Laili assessed her surroundings. The reservoir was vast and deep, but there was nothing remarkable about the landscape—no reason to linger. So she left, retracing her steps up the mountain path to the bridge and out the way she’d come.

The farther she went, the deeper her confusion and fear grew. She might not know the fishery well, but she would not mistake the path she’d taken. Just yesterday, the group had arrived with the air of tourists, examining every detail—especially the massive circular granite slab crowning the entrance. They’d marveled at nature’s artistry and the fishery’s extravagance.

The traces of human construction had been obvious—impossible to forget. But now, though she’d walked out of the Domed Fishery, the signature granite marker was nowhere to be seen.

Worse still, where the vehicles had been parked outside the day before, there was nothing but endless yellow earth. The manmade fence, stone steps, columns; the stalls, trash, vehicles left behind by the market—everything was gone, as if it had never existed.

“Where is everyone?” Laili murmured to herself.

Suddenly, a gale rose, and dust filled the sky. Rubbing her eyes, she thought she glimpsed a figure approaching through the swirling sand—but the storm was so fierce, even with her goggles, she couldn’t see clearly.

“If there’s someone, I’ll figure it out,” she thought, crouching low and slipping back to the transformed entrance of the fishery. Using the mountain as cover, she raised her gun and peered at the figure, wondering who it might be.

The person’s steps were awkward, like a dying soul lost in the desert—staggering, stumbling, limbs twisted, as if about to collapse but driven on by sheer will to survive.

Laili frowned. As the figure drew closer, a wild thought flashed through her mind.

“A walker?”

The gait, the posture—it was just like the land-walking corpses that had once ruled the earth.

“How could that be… How could there be a walker here?”

Since the Hive’s appearance and the climate’s upheaval, walkers had become as rare as endangered animals. In the Lower District, where the living gathered, they’d vanished entirely. How could one appear out of thin air?

Laili nearly laughed. She could hardly remember what a walker looked like—it took her a moment to recall the fleshless, ashen-skinned, withered face.

In earlier years, walkers had been plump with flesh—a single stab would spill their brains. In later years, they were little more than rotting wood, brittle enough to crumble in one’s hand.

A pebble, carried by the wind, struck her goggles.

Laili instinctively ducked, and when she looked up, a shriveled, flesh-rotted face, tinged with a corpse’s gray-green, was pressed nose-to-nose with her own.