Reversal

When the standoff ended, the lights in the small square were still on.

Lu Heng's footsteps as he emerged from the shadows were light, crunching softly on the broken glass.

Zhou Cheng still held the knife in his hand, the tip pointing towards Lu Heng, trembling violently. The group of thugs behind him had long since scattered, huddled together against the wall of the main building, none daring to move. Only the Bully Dog was still panting by the doorway, its chest heaving, its mouth full of blood and foam, its eyes fixed on the Bone Demon, a low growl rumbling in its throat.

Lu Heng didn't look at Zhou Cheng, nor at the group of thugs. He stood in the middle of the square, his gaze sweeping over the diesel engine, the pile of liquor crates, and the constantly swaying camping lamp, before finally settling back on Zhou Cheng's face.

"Special abilities?" he asked, his voice as flat as if asking for directions. "The one that allows me to control strange beasts."

Zhou Cheng was stunned. He held the knife, his face twitching as if he hadn't understood.

"What... what ability?"

Lu Heng patiently explained, "The testimonies coming from your base say your boss has something powerful—he can control strange beasts, and the dogs obey him. I'm here tonight to retrieve that."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Where is it?"

Zhou Cheng slowly lowered his knife. He stared at Lu Heng for a full five or six seconds, then suddenly laughed, a laugh that was more like a grimace.

"That's it?" He threw the knife on the ground, the back of the blade hitting the concrete with a loud thud. "You made such a commotion in the middle of the night, just for this?"

He raised his hand, unable to resist pointing at the dog by the doorway, then at the Bone Demon, his fingers trembling. "What abilities? What special skills? It's just a dog! My dog, raised since it was a puppy! It was with me before the apocalypse, and even after it mutated, it still recognized me, it's that simple!"

He spoke faster and faster, as if someone had finally asked a question he had been holding back for a long time, "It protects our home, protects me, and listens to me, not because of any ability—it's because I feed it! It's that simple!"

The wind blew across the square, swirling up the bottles on the ground and sending them rolling twice.

Lu Heng stood still, without moving.

He waited three seconds, until Zhou Cheng finished speaking, until the last syllable of "It's fucking that simple" dissipated in the wind. Then he reached out and touched the tattoo on his wrist; it was ice-cold.

No.

There was nothing there.

There were no props, no special opportunities, no "new rules" that he had spent an entire day staking out, an entire night planning, and deliberately waiting until dark to make his move. Nothing at all. Just a thug, a dog, and twenty-odd drunken good-for-nothings.

He suddenly felt it was a bit absurd.

Is that outrageous? Absolutely outrageous.

But it didn't work on him.

Lu Heng lowered his eyes, looking at a crack in the cement beside his feet, with a half-smoked cigarette butt stuck in it, someone's leftover. His mind went blank for a moment—the original plan was to find the item, figure out the ability, kill the leader, and acquire new combat power trump cards, four steps, not missing a single one. Now the first step was gone, and the remaining three steps were hanging in mid-air, unable to go up or down.

To kill or not to kill? There's no need to kill on purpose.

To keep or not to keep? There's no need to make a special effort to keep it.

He stood there, the night wind making his clothes flutter. Suddenly, he didn't know what all this trouble had amounted to. A wasted trip. The word swirled in his mind, heavy, like a stone pressing on his tongue, impossible to spit out or swallow.

He remained silent, for quite some time.

So long that Zhou Cheng thought he was about to make a move, so long that the group of thugs by the wall started moving towards the doorway, so long that the Bone Demon's claws unconsciously drew a white mark on the ground—

Zhou Cheng suddenly knelt down.

The sound of his knee hitting the concrete was dull, like a sandbag hitting the ground. This man, who had just been brandishing a knife and shouting "Cut me and you'll be richly rewarded!", suddenly knelt down three steps in front of Lu Heng, his back ramrod straight, but his head bowed.

"I confess to all my sins," his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal. "Do with me as you please. Slice me alive, feed me to the Zombie, I won't utter a single word."

He paused, then looked up and stared intently at Lu Heng, his eyes bloodshot.

"I only ask one thing of you."

"Let this dog go."

The wind stopped. There wasn't even the chirping of insects in the square; only the fan of the camping lamp was still spinning, humming softly.

"Its mother saved my life." Zhou Cheng spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as if he were chewing them up before spitting them out. "When I was little, the family dog would come to the table to eat. I asked why, and my family said it was to save the whole family's lives. From then on, they were family. They ate at the table, slept at my feet, and were more loyal than people."

He twitched the corner of his mouth, wanting to laugh, but didn't.

"Later, its mother got old and died. I buried it myself. Before she died, she had this whole litter, and this was the only one that survived. I held it in my arms; it was a spitting image of its mother, even its eyes were like hers."

His voice began to tremble, but he gritted his teeth to keep it from trembling.

"Its mother watched me grow from a petty thug into a gang leader, watched me kill and commit arson, watched me survive as a human being in this apocalypse. Its mother is dead, only it remains. My death doesn't matter, it can't die. If it can't die, its mother will still live."

He lowered his head again, the bones in the back of his neck protruding, as if waiting to be stabbed.

"I'm fine with dying. Give it a way out."

He finished speaking, closed his eyes, and waited.

Lu Heng looked at him but didn't say anything.

At the foot of the wall, the group of thugs started moving.

First there was a rustling sound, like mice crawling. Then some people stood up straight, some took two steps forward, and some gripped the steel pipes in their hands tightly until their knuckles turned white.

They stared at Zhou Cheng's retreating figure, their eyes changing. Just moments ago, they were afraid, panicked, the kind of fear that makes you cower against a wall waiting to die. Now, that fear has cracked, revealing something cold and hard beneath, like ice shards on a river in winter.

You're the boss, always leading us in robbing others.

Now you're leading us to our deaths, to die for a dog; you're our enemy.

No one spoke, but their eyes met. After that, someone moved.

He was a tall, thin guy, the one who usually followed Zhou Cheng around serving tea and water; everyone called him Little Liu. He clutched a dagger in his hand, the blade flashing under the camping lamp, making people dizzy. He went around behind Zhou Cheng, two steps, one step, and squatted down—

There was no sound when the dagger went in.

The blade entered Zhou Cheng's lower back and exited through his chest, leaving a trail of blood droplets that splattered onto the metal frame of the camping lamp, extinguishing half the lamp with a hiss.

Zhou Cheng froze.

He slowly turned his head, his eyes wide open, staring at Little Liu, at that face he knew all too well. He wanted to say something, but blood welled up from the corner of his mouth and blocked it.

Little Liu's hand was trembling, but he didn't loosen his grip on the knife. Instead, he pushed it forward half an inch, gritting his teeth as he squeezed out the words: "Boss, I'm sorry. If you don't want to live, don't drag us down with you."

Zhou Cheng stared at him for a long time.

Then he laughed. He laughed so hard that blood spurted from his mouth, splattering half of Little Liu's face. He had spent his whole life on the edge, killing people and stealing supplies. He had roamed the post-apocalyptic world for over a year, but in the end, he didn't die in the mouth of monsters or under the blade of powerful enemies; instead, he died at the hands of the brother he had raised for several years.

As he fell forward, his eyes were still open, looking at the sky.

It was pitch black; not a single star could be seen.

"Awooo!"

The dog has gone mad.

When the roar exploded from the doorway, Lu Heng took a half step back—not out of fear, but because the sound wave hit his face like a solid wall. His half-ton body was lifted into the air, and the Bronze Tier Bully Dog smashed through the brick edge of the doorway with its four paws. The whole dog, like a cannonball, crashed straight into the crowd.

It didn't bite Zhou Cheng, it didn't bite Lu Heng, and it didn't bite the Bone Demon.

It bit those who murdered their master.

The first bite landed on Little Liu's wrist, the one holding the knife, and with a crack, the bone shattered, and the dagger fell to the ground. The second bite sent the man holding the steel pipe flying two meters away, crashing into the edge of a flower bed and falling silent. The dog's fur stood on end, its back arched like a fully drawn bow, blood and foam splattering from the corner of its mouth, and its growls grew louder and louder, shaking even the camping lights.

It doesn't care whether its master is good or bad, whether the world is right or wrong, or who just knelt down to beg for mercy or who stabbed it.

It only recognizes one person.

The person is now lying in a pool of blood, their eyes still open.

The remaining people ran towards the main building like madmen, crying and screaming. Someone fell and was slapped on the back by a dog's paw; the sound of breaking a spine was as crisp as snapping a piece of dry firewood. The dog didn't chase after them. It retreated to Zhou Cheng's side, squatted down, and nudged his hand and face with its nose. The growl in its throat turned into a whimper, low and muffled, like a child crying.

Lu Heng stood there, watching this scene unfold.

The wind picked up again, carrying the smells of alcohol, blood, and the stench of dogs, which wafted towards his face. He touched the tattoo on his wrist; it was still cold.

The disappointment of having made a wasted trip still lingered, weighing heavily on my tongue. But the momentary daze, the confusion about "what exactly did this trip amount to?", was washed away by the scene unfolding before me.

There were no props, no opportunities, and no new rules.

But he saw it.

Even the wicked retain a shred of humanity—a blood-stained scoundrel, in his final moments, doesn't seek to live, but only to save a dog.

At the bottom, only selfish, beastly instincts remain—a group of brothers who have followed their boss for years, robbing, eating, and living for years, yet when it comes to stabbing, their hands don't even tremble.

That's pretty fair. It's the apocalypse, after all; there are plenty of times when humans look more like Zombie than Zombie themselves.

He turned his gaze away and looked towards the main building entrance.

The group that had run inside came out again, dawdling and shrinking by the doorway. When they saw Lu Heng's gaze, they all shrank back even further. Then they ran to Lu Heng and knelt down with a thud, blood dripping from between their fingers.

"My lord..." He forced a smile that was more like a grimace. "Zhou Cheng is dead! He's dead! We... we'll follow you from now on! We'll do anything you ask!"

The men behind him also knelt down, kneeling in a loud, clattering sound, like wheat being harvested.

Lu Heng looked at them with a cold gaze, as if he were looking at the bricks on the ground.

The night wind, carrying the stench of blood, brushed past the hem of his clothes. The Bone Demon silently took half a step behind him, its claws leaving a second white mark on the ground.