The Human Heart Was More Terrifying Than the Eldritch

From the very beginning, Yang Feng had considered that blade as good as his.

To get his hands on it sooner, he had even cut the convoy's daily rest from six hours to four, forcing his men to travel day and night.

Yet after all these days of pursuit, the Blood Eagle Convoy still hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of the RV.

His men had started grumbling among themselves, and his authority over the group was slipping away little by little.

But every time he gritted his teeth and decided to give up, convinced he couldn't sacrifice the entire convoy for a single blade, Cheng Shun always managed to rediscover those damned tire tracks on the road.

Again and again.

The repeated cycle of hope and disappointment had left him numb, anxious, angry, bitter, and full of regret.

All those festering negative emotions had kept him from eating or sleeping properly lately.

Now, suddenly, he no longer wanted to play this game of cat and mouse.

Chopping off this bastard's head, taking the survivors north, and cutting his losses seemed like the most rational choice.

At the end of the day, he just wanted to use Cheng Shun as a punching bag, or a tool to reassert his authority.

He drew a deep breath, as though he had made some difficult decision.

Just as he was about to draw his blade, an excited voice reached his ears.

"Mr. Yang! Mr. Yang!"

A tall, thin man wearing black-rimmed glasses, with the same ring of hair around a bald crown, came jogging over.

He shouted excitedly, "I found something! I found something! Something big!"

Yang Feng frowned. Keeping his hand on the hilt, he turned to look at the newcomer.

The man in glasses was Zhou Xinghai, formerly the technical director at one of his companies.

Before the apocalypse, he had worked in mechanical engineering and knew his way around all kinds of machinery.

Normally a man of few words who rarely spoke to anyone, he had almost never looked so excited that he nearly lost his composure.

"Talk." Yang Feng raised an eyebrow at him and uttered that single word.

Zhou Xinghai ran up, panting. He pushed his crooked glasses back up his nose and pointed toward the fuel dispensers.

"When I was filling up the car just now, I checked these dispensers while I was at it."

"And guess what? The pump motors are still warm."

"Also, the solenoid valves at the outlets only reset recently, and someone rewired the circuit boards for the digital displays..."

Yang Feng cut him off impatiently. "In plain English."

"Someone used these machines not long ago. I'd say they left no more than five hours ago."

Yang Feng's expression changed abruptly.

His bloodshot eyes narrowed, and something deep in his pupils flared back to life.

Just then, another shout came from the far end of the convoy.

"Mr. Yang! Mr. Yang! Over here!"

One of his fiercely loyal men stood on the asphalt at the gas station exit, pulling up his pants.

Once the others approached, he excitedly pointed beside the spot where he had just urinated. "Those tire tracks are here too! Exactly like Cheng Shun described! Wide and deep, and the tread spacing matches!"

Another subordinate pushed up his glasses and offered his analysis. "Judging by the direction of the tracks, they headed toward Wu City."

The two reports reached Cheng Shun's ears one after the other, almost simultaneously.

He jerked his head up.

His face was covered in blood, tears and snot smeared together. He couldn't have looked more wretched.

Yet his eyes shone with a startling brightness, as though he had seized his last lifeline.

"Captain Yang, look! Look! I told you! I told you my information was absolutely right!"

"That young man who drove off in Zhao Biao's RV must be just up ahead! He definitely hasn't gone far! Didn't Director Zhou say they left less than five hours ago?"

"They couldn't have gone far in that little time! We can still catch them if we go now! There's still time, Captain Yang!"

Yang Feng stood where he was, hesitation in his eyes.

He looked down at Cheng Shun's blood-smeared face.

Then he slowly raised his head and looked down the road stretching into the distance.

His gaze passed over the gray horizon and settled on a distant ridge, blurred and warped by the shimmering heat.

The flame that had already died out now danced in his eyes again.

It wasn't the flame of anger.

It was greed.

The fire of greed that had nearly burned out in his heart had been rekindled by those two pieces of good news.

"Fine."

He slowly took his hand off the hilt. His gaze settled on Cheng Shun's face, and his lips curled into a smile without a trace of warmth.

"I'll trust you one last time."

Then he bent down, reached out, and patted Cheng Shun's blood-smeared cheek.

The pats weren't hard, but each one made Cheng Shun shudder.

"If we still can't find him this time..."

His voice suddenly turned cold, and a vicious glint flashed through his eyes.

"I'll make you regret ever being born."

With that, he spared Cheng Shun no further glance. He straightened, turned, and waved toward the convoy.

"Everyone, listen up! Break's over! Get in and move out at full speed!"

"Follow those tire tracks and chase the bastard down!"

"Catch him, and everyone gets a reward!"

Soon, engines roared to life throughout the gas station.

Vehicle after vehicle started up, their tires rolling over the patches of hard, blackened earth as they set off together toward Wu City.

The formation of more than forty vehicles stretched into a long, winding snake along the highway.

This time, Yang Feng didn't sit in the back with Chen Na. He took the front passenger seat instead, so he could spot the RV the moment it appeared.

He adjusted his seat upright and leaned forward, bracing one hand on the dashboard as he stared fixedly at the road ahead.

He had already sacrificed half his convoy and the lives of a whole group of his men.

That blade would be his.

Inside the RV.

Shen Ye rolled over and buried his face deep in his pillow.

Not long after Song Shiya got out, he had gone back to bed.

His earlier dead sleep hadn't dispelled all his exhaustion.

The temperature inside the vehicle crept upward, little by little, without him noticing.

After an unknown stretch of time, Shen Ye abruptly opened his eyes.

The vague outline of the ceiling reflected in his pupils. His heartbeat was steady, with none of the panic of being startled awake.

The heat alone had woken him.

He sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

His palm was soaking wet, as though he had just pulled it out of water. His tank top clung to his back, the sweat-drenched fabric sticking stubbornly to his skin.

He glanced at the sky outside the window.

The sky that had been blanketed in dark clouds that morning now held only a sun radiating relentless heat.

The whole world was bleached white by the glare.

Shen Ye glanced at the thermometer hanging beside the window.

Forty-two degrees Celsius.

"What the hell is this weather?"

Muttering a curse, he grabbed a bottle of water from the storage box, unscrewed the cap, and took several gulps.

The water was warm. Rather than cooling him down, it only made his throat feel drier.

He looked out the window.

Vehicles were parked beneath the roadside trees, and no one dared linger outside under such a merciless sun.

Just as he was about to turn away and take a cold shower, the window began to vibrate faintly, and the roar of engines reached his ears from afar.

He turned to look, but all he could make out was the silhouette of a convoy at the far end of the highway.

The sight brought Shen Ye no joy at encountering other people. Instead, his brow furrowed.

In the apocalypse, the human heart could sometimes be more terrifying than the Eldritch.