NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER 52
Chapter 52: The Deadlock
The ribbon fluttered to the ground, severed by Lu Ming's careful but awkward snip, marking the official birth of the Guangping Street Gathering Place. The moment was brief, a symbolic gesture that quickly dissolved into the hum of everyday life. Around him, the survivors dispersed, returning to their duties with the quiet efficiency of people who knew too well the fragility of survival.
This was just the beginning. The real work stretched before them like an insurmountable wall—demarcating safe zones, assigning responsibilities, fortifying defenses, scavenging for supplies, and, perhaps most daunting of all, rescuing those still clinging to life beyond their borders. The weight of the tasks was overwhelming, yet it had to be done. There was no other choice.
Lu Ming, however, remained detached from it all. The responsibilities of governance were of little interest to him. His focus, as always, was singular: maintaining his strength. He was their protector, their strongest weapon, and his role was clear. To safeguard the gathering place, he needed to be at his peak. Everything else—the meetings, the logistics, the planning—was for others to handle. Even Wang Xiong knew better than to involve Lu Ming in such things. Lu Ming’s training came first. Always.
The recent influx of supplies from the Zhang family’s compound ensured that he wouldn't have to worry about food for the foreseeable future. His stockpile was replenished, and with it, the fuel he needed to power his relentless regimen. He estimated he wouldn’t need to leave his home for at least three months.
By afternoon, Lu Ming turned his attention to his crossbow. Training indoors was always a challenge, but the limited space didn’t deter him. He’d devised a simple workaround: a target thirty meters from his front door. He practiced his shots from the window, maintaining the necessary distance for precision. The method was crude but effective, and it translated easily to other ranged weapons.
His need for routine, for training, was more than habit—it was the only thing that kept the chaos of the outside world at bay. And yet, as the gathering place solidified itself, Lu Ming found that an unexpected calm had begun to settle over him. The streets, once haunted by the undead, now felt safer. He couldn’t fully explain it, but something about the establishment of order—the methodical way Wang Xiong and the others managed the gathering place—offered him a sense of stability. It was a rare thing, this feeling of security, a throwback to a world long gone.
Even Wang Xiong, the stalwart leader who had shouldered the burdens of the gathering place, seemed to feel the weight of it all. He was, at his core, a good man, maybe even a hero. The pride of building a safe haven, of protecting the survivors, was clear in his every action. Yet, the endless responsibilities, the constant threats, were slowly grinding him down. He had risen to the challenge, but the strain of leadership was evident in the lines deepening around his eyes.
Though Lu Ming’s name carried the authority of leadership, it was Wang Xiong who bore the actual burden. The title might have belonged to Lu Ming, but the day-to-day survival of the gathering place fell squarely on Wang Xiong’s capable shoulders.
And despite the mounting pressure, Wang Xiong never neglected the one thing he knew was essential—Lu Ming’s morning training sessions. In the afternoons, while Lu Ming honed his crossbow skills, Wang Xiong met with Zhang Lixin to discuss infrastructure, survival strategies, and the constant fight to fortify their defenses. There were trenches to dig, traps to set, and roadblocks to organize. The survivors needed to be housed, fed, and kept busy with meaningful tasks. Most importantly, the streets and homes still needed to be cleared of zombies—an ongoing responsibility for the Awakened among them.
With a rough plan laid out, Wang Xiong took to patrolling the edges of the safe zone, his eyes scanning for any sign of the undead. Something was off. There were fewer zombies than expected, and the eerie quiet set his nerves on edge.
As he neared the boundary of Good Hope Village, two figures emerged from the distance, their silhouettes blurry in the fading light. They approached with deliberate steps, stopping just shy of the gathering place’s outer defenses.
"Hello, Brother Wang," one of them called out, her voice familiar.
"Hello," Wang Xiong responded, taking a moment to recognize them. "You're from the Red Thunder Martial Arts School, aren’t you?"
The women nodded. The slightly plump one, in her thirties, spoke up. "My name is Zhao Xiaohong, and this is my cousin, Zhao Shanshan. We’ve been here for a day now, and while Guangping Street is nice, it’s not our home. We want to return to the Red Thunder Martial Arts School. Brother Wang, when can you help us?"
Wang Xiong hesitated. It was no small task. The world outside the village’s protective bubble was unforgiving, and venturing out was always a risk. But he wasn’t the kind of man to turn away those in need.
After a moment, he made his decision. "How about this: I’m scouting outside the village today. I know where the school is, and I can drop you off on my way." His tone grew more serious. "But understand this: it’s dangerous out there. I can’t guarantee your safety."
Zhao Xiaohong and Zhao Shanshan exchanged glances, then nodded in unison. "We understand."
The pull of family, it seemed, outweighed the fear of the unknown.
They set off in the military vehicle, cautiously skirting the edges of the village. At first, everything seemed normal—eerily so. They encountered only a handful of zombies, easily avoided. But as soon as they crossed the invisible boundary of Good Hope Village, everything changed.
The streets beyond were overrun, teeming with the undead. Zombies crowded the roads, their grotesque forms lumbering with renewed aggression. Among them, the hulking figures of giant zombies loomed, their mutated bodies a testament to the rapid evolution of the undead. The sight was horrifying.
The moment the military vehicle left the village’s protective bubble, the zombies reacted as if a signal had been flipped. Drawn by the scent of living flesh—especially that of the Awakened—the horde erupted into a frenzy. Their moans filled the air as they surged toward the vehicle, relentless and hungry.
Wang Xiong’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "We have to go back," he muttered, the tension thick in his voice. He turned the vehicle sharply, speeding back toward the village. The horde chased them, but the moment they crossed back into the safe zone, the zombies seemed to stop, as though an invisible line held them at bay.
Back within the relative safety of the village, Lu Ming and Zhang Chengcheng were waiting. Together, they made short work of the zombies that lingered near the edge of the safe zone, dispatching them with practiced efficiency.
When the last of the creatures fell, Wang Xiong climbed from the vehicle, his expression grim.
"We’re trapped," he said, his voice flat. "We can’t get out."
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their realization. Whatever mysterious force protected Good Hope Village also acted as a prison. The outside world was a sea of undead, and any attempt to leave was met with overwhelming danger.
"The entire village is like a besieged city," Wang Xiong continued, frustration lacing his words. "Inside, we’re safe. But outside, it’s a different story. We can’t move an inch without triggering a horde."
Lu Ming, who had been silent until now, surveyed the horizon with narrowed eyes. He understood the stakes. They were marooned, an island in a vast ocean of death.
Li Zitong spoke softly, the weight of their predicament evident in his tone. "A deadlock."
And in that moment, they all knew—escape wasn’t just dangerous. It was impossible.
End of Chapter 52