Zhang Yang lay on his back atop the vehicle. In his ears were the roars of the demonized zombies, the whistling of bullets, the thunder of car engines, the dull booms of impacts, and shouts.
All the sounds merged into one, yet his mind had never been clearer.
It was not the clarity that came from transcending a realm, but an open and straightforward calm. The faint anxiety he had once felt had long since vanished without a trace. He was no longer even worried about whether his fortress would be breached.
It was like that terrible chicken soup quote he had once seen: as long as you had tried your best, the outcome was nothing but drifting clouds—damn it, that really was terrible chicken soup.
Zhang Yang even laughed. Who would work hard for anything other than the outcome? Only an idiot would.
He closed his eyes and strained to extend his hearing, trying to find what he wanted among the countless complicated sources of sound.
This was not training his hearing, but tempering his mental will—or, more precisely, tempering the strength of his soul.
He was currently borrowing someone else's body, with only one-thousandth of his true strength. But that did not mean he could not find ways to break through his limits. For example, if he broke through by an additional 0.1 percent every day, the accumulated gains would become considerable over time.
"Li Dong and Lu Long are real veterans behind the wheel."
A dozen seconds later, Zhang Yang successfully located the sounds of the two loaders. Those were the easiest to identify, because the two men had truly driven the two high-powered loaders like a pair of dragons.
The convoy's speed had stabilized at forty kilometers per hour. At that speed, ordinary demonized zombies posed