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Chapter 5: Simple Rules
Li Xingyuan and Old Liu stayed only one day at the Snake Coiling Mountain Ember Base before preparing to return to Jiangcheng.
The night sky was a deep purple, the boundary between day and night now blurred. Compared to the suffocating darkness of the eclipses, the nights were almost comforting. The faint glow of violet light illuminated the heavens, and the stars shone with unnatural clarity, clinging to the viscous expanse like scallions floating atop a simmering pot of rich, purple broth.
After learning their situation, the leader of the Ember Base met with them briefly, shook hands, and arranged for supplies they’d need on their journey back to Jiangcheng—mainly food, water, and diesel fuel.
Manpower was scarce at the base. Deaths from cancer were inevitable, but an alarming number of soldiers had also been bitten by venomous snakes. While the former couldn’t be prevented, efforts to exterminate the surrounding snakes continued despite the dire circumstances. Snake Coiling Mountain, located in the southwestern highlands, had always been home to countless serpents—a fact as natural as the terrain itself—but now their behavior defied all precedent. Emerging from dark caverns, they attacked everything in sight with frenzied abandon, as if celebrating the end times.
Compared to the unrelenting collapse of physics, the snakes posed little threat. For the soldiers, hunting them became a rare form of respite. Wearing combat boots and wielding nets, they followed local guides to snake dens, efficiently eliminating the creatures en masse.
For now, humanity remained the dominant species on Earth, wielding life-and-death authority over other creatures. As for ecological consequences—no one cared anymore.
The round-faced guard watched his comrades’ operations with a hint of envy. Li Xingyuan glanced at him. “If you’re reluctant to leave, you can stay.”
“No,” the young guard replied, shaking his head and tightening his rifle strap. “I’d rather go home.”
He was the only soldier the Snake Coiling Mountain Ember Base could spare to accompany Li Xingyuan and Old Liu back to Jiangcheng—an assignment he’d volunteered for. In these times, the chance to pass through his hometown was a small blessing worth seizing.
“A soldier should remain at his post,” Old Liu said coldly.
“If foreign invaders came,” the round-faced guard countered, shaking his head, “or if there were zombies or something around…”
He gripped his rifle stock firmly, his expression resolute. “You don’t need to tell me, veteran—I’d fight to my last breath.”
“But what purpose does it serve to stand here now?” the guard asked, looking directly at Old Liu. “If I’m going to die somewhere, I want it to be at home.”
Old Liu frowned, about to retort, but Li Xingyuan waved him off.
“Enough, enough,” he said, turning to the young guard. “Lin Song, since your superiors approved your request to join us, there’s no issue. But the world isn’t what you imagine anymore. Beyond radiation sickness, countless other dangers await. You must prepare yourself.”
“Our journey is long, and anything could happen. What I can offer you are just some basic guidelines, distilled from our experiences—not guaranteed accurate, possibly even wrong. But they’ve cost us dearly in lives.”
Seeing Li Xingyuan’s serious expression, Lin Song mirrored it. “Go ahead.”
Li Xingyuan hesitated, struggling to condense their abstract encounters into clear advice. “First, while in the vehicle, don’t trust your eyes—or your ears.”
Lin Song blinked. “What do you mean? Hallucinations?”
“Not exactly hallucinations,” Li Xingyuan replied, shaking his head. He recalled strange sights along the way and furrowed his brow again. “More than that—you’ll see odd things, hear, smell, or even touch them. It’s not always terrifying; often, it’s just… nonsensical. But whatever it is, don’t believe it.”
“For example?”
“I once saw schools of fish,” Old Liu interjected. “I was driving when suddenly everything went pitch-black. It wasn’t nighttime, nor was there an eclipse. I felt the tires sinking into muddy seabed, spinning uselessly. When I realized everyone else seemed unaffected, I knew it was me experiencing something unusual—and immediately thought to stop the car.”
Old Liu’s face darkened. Even for a seasoned veteran, recalling the incident wasn’t easy.
Lin Song stared at him as though questioning his sanity.
“I turned on the high beams first,” Old Liu continued. “The light seemed to penetrate water, yet the dense darkness swallowed even the military jeep’s powerful lamps. All I could see was swirling dust, and I smelled the briny stench of seawater. Then I saw the fish—creatures I’d never seen before. They looked like… humans with fins and gills but no scales.”
Lin Song chuckled nervously. “Like mermaids?”
Old Liu shot him a glare—the kind a sleeping sentry might receive upon waking to find himself draped in a general’s coat, flanked by stern-faced officers. Lin Song’s smile vanished instantly.
“If anyone ever tells such tales to children, they deserve damnation,” Old Liu growled. “They swam slowly through that pitch-black sea. Some came close enough to scrape against the vehicle. After about half an hour, the vision faded.”
Lin Song glanced furtively at Li Xingyuan, silently asking whether Old Liu’s mental state was intact. But Li Xingyuan patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry—it won’t necessarily happen to you. At most, I experience simpler illusions, like driving through tunnels or between massive gates.”
Before Lin Song could process this, Li Xingyuan pressed on: “Regardless, completely absurd visions are usually harmless—they rarely cause real damage. But the second rule applies when what you see isn’t a hallucination, when it actually exists. Whatever it is, don’t act rashly.”
“For instance?” Lin Song couldn’t help but ask.
“For instance,” Li Xingyuan said, “a whale carcass blocking the road that wasn’t there yesterday—or a burning power tower in the wilderness, emitting a wailing scream.”
“How do I tell the difference?” Lin Song asked bitterly. “How will I know what’s real and what’s not?”
“Generally speaking, if only you can see it, it’s likely a hallucination. If everyone sees it, it’s real,” Li Xingyuan shrugged. “Hallucinations tend to be wild and nonsensical, while reality—at least slightly—follows certain patterns.”
“Third and final point,” Li Xingyuan concluded gravely.
“Trust no one.”
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