Beating a wolf with a hemp stalk—one end afraid of the other.

The affairs of this world have always been a cycle of highs and lows, a turning of the tides. Where there is joy for some, there is inevitably misfortune for others; it is a rule without exception. The Zero-Eight Squad stationed on the peninsula had successfully dismantled the offensive plan that Boss Tian had spent so much effort, labor, and tactical advantage to orchestrate. With their morale soaring and their arsenal bolstered by the weapons Fang Qiang brought back, their strength had grown significantly. Conversely, for Boss Tian’s faction, the atmosphere was heavy and ominous, thick with the scent of an impending storm.

At this moment, Boss Tian sat in a massive office chair, his eyes narrowed as he listened to his subordinate report on what had transpired in the riverside woods. He seemed entirely unfazed by the cold, murderous glares cast his way by the band of hardened convicts surrounding him.

Physically, Boss Tian possessed a somewhat Buddha-like appearance: a square face, thick brows, narrow eyes, large ears, and thin lips. His exceptionally long earlobes were particularly striking. As he sat motionless, he exuded a certain solemnity. Judging by his face, one would never guess he was a man who rose to power through underworld dealings and forced demolitions that led to deaths, ultimately commanding dozens of career criminals. Calling him a "tyrant" would be an overstatement—after all, his group never numbered more than a hundred—but to call him a "figure of note" was no exaggeration.

"...That is how it was, Boss."

"You saw that young man retreat into the woods last?"

"Yes."

"With so many zombies, how long did it take for them to pass through the woods?"

"The fog was too thick to see clearly, but judging by the sounds coming from around the woods, it took at least three or four minutes. At the start, the gunfire wasn't dense; it seems the number of zombies passing through the woods wasn't that high."

"When did the light machine gun fire start?"

"About five minutes later—no, maybe ten. At first, I was busy lighting a cigarette. When the machine gun opened up, I was so focused on listening that the cigarette burned my fingers."

"So, this young man and the six or seven others who retreated into the woods held off the zombie horde for at least the time it takes to smoke a cigarette? No, it should have been fewer than six or seven—there were gunmen covering them from outside the woods... Even so, these shooters are quite formidable."

"Boss..."

"What? You have more to say?"

"It seems the young man might have stayed behind in the woods to take care of the zombie horde all by himself."

"By himself? Ridiculous! Do you know how many zombies were on those three barges? Over three hundred! At the very least!"

"Yes... but..."

"State your reasons."

"Those other gunmen were terrible. At first, some were so scared they wet their pants and just sprayed fire blindly; it was only later that they switched to single shots. And that young man was the last to arrive. Around the time he retreated into the woods, there were only a few blasts from a hand cannon—the same sound as the one he fired on the riverbank. The other shots, the heavy ones, were all coming from the dirt mound behind the forest... So, it must have been the young man who stayed behind alone to clear out the horde."

As his subordinate finished, Boss Tian’s narrow eyes flew open, a flicker of shock crossing his face. This man was a third-generation "black-listed" citizen; he claimed his ancestors were bandits from the Taihang Mountains—the real, horse-riding kind. After the Liberation, they lived under assumed names, and his father, also undocumented, could only marry a simple-minded woman. He had no legal registration and had been sentenced to hard labor for repeated poaching. Despite his slang-filled speech, he was more experienced than most in identifying the origin of sounds. If he said it was so, it likely was.

Could it be that the description Tian Pianzi gave over the walkie-talkie wasn't an exaggeration? Was the central government’s special task force really that capable? A twenty-something young man, with only a few bullets and an axe, could take down over three hundred zombies in the woods? This wasn't chopping firewood! Even if it were, chopping a hundred logs would leave a man half-dead!

Had he taken drugs? Boss Tian’s mind was in turmoil. Various thoughts collided, and he pushed aside the ideas he deemed ridiculous—though they were actually quite close to the truth. He waved his hand to dismiss the subordinate and stood up, looking at the hardened criminals standing in the room. A cold, mocking sneer played on his lips. Those with any brains had either split off on their own or been killed by him. Only "Green Tiger" had been able to challenge him, but now he was dead, too. The lot before him were all blunt instruments, good only for posturing. If you asked for petty schemes, they’d spout dozens, but for a real plan? Not a single one.

"The first time, I pushed for us to strike while the Zero-Eight Squad was still unstable. Back then, Green Tiger was still alive, spouting nonsense about not needing a sledgehammer to kill a chicken, wasting manpower by sending a few sick prisoners as a suicide squad. It should have been a walk in the park to break through their walls, but instead, we were effortlessly wiped out. The second time, I said we shouldn't tangle with them anymore; they had become a force to be reckoned with. We couldn't win a head-on collision. The country is vast; we could have just moved on while the roads were still relatively clear! But Green Tiger insisted his plan was foolproof, that we should stay in the Kaoshan plains where we could eat and drink well. And what was the result? We wasted so much manpower and resources, lost over a dozen civilians we’d captured, and for what? A ridiculous plan that, as you all heard, was broken by a single young man. A single one! I should have called him 'Green-Ass' instead of 'Green Tiger'! And what was all that about a 'feigned attack'? Feign my ass! He got his head blown off by a single shot! So much for the feint! Well, he's dead and gone, leaving me to clean up this mess! I'll state this clearly now: if anyone objects to my decisions again, they won't have the chance to leave, because dead men don't need chances!"

After delivering his ultimatum, Boss Tian sat back down. The convicts looked at each other, and someone started the chorus: "Boss is right!"

"Boss, we’ll listen to you from now on! Anyone who dissents, we'll take him out first!"

"Boss, just tell us what to do!"

They heaped loyalty upon him, though Boss Tian knew he could trust no more than thirty percent of their words. Still, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. From now on, as long as it wasn't a suicide mission, no one would dare drag their feet. He raised a hand to silence the murmurs. Once they quieted, he cleared his throat and said firmly, "There are too many zombies on the roads now; we can't leave. If we stay, the Zero-Eight Squad will eventually come for us. So, I have decided: as soon as the water freezes, we move north. Second Brother, how much longer until the temperature hits zero?"

"I asked the local civilians; about two weeks." Boss Tian’s second-in-command was a gaunt, tall man who looked seven or eight parts like his brother, though his face was pale and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. It was clear that his indulgences had hollowed him out. Considering they had left the prison at most two weeks ago and had only been enslaving civilians for about a week, his current state suggested that "nightly revelry" was an understatement—he had likely been "busy" around the clock.