A young couple crouched by the roadside, their faces full of terror as they used bottled water they had just bought from a nearby supermarket to wash the blood from their faces.
The blood was not theirs, but Yang Jian's—the Yang Jian who had died.
When Yang Jian had first been attacked, most of his neck had snapped apart and blood had sprayed everywhere. This couple had been unlucky enough to be passing by and got splattered with it. Recalling the horrifying sight of that man's head splitting open, they still could not help shuddering all over.
"Talk about rotten luck. What was wrong with that guy just now? His neck suddenly split open." The boyfriend was still shaken. Looking at the bloodstained tissues scattered all over the ground, he asked, "Is there still blood on me?"
"It's mostly wiped off. There's just some on your clothes that won't wash out." His girlfriend was still frightened out of her wits. She had nearly been scared to death.
"Forget it if it won't wash out. I'll just change when we get back. But what's going on with this street? Why is everything glowing red? Is something wrong with my eyes?" The young man shook the water from his hands and looked around.
There were many people on the street, and nothing particularly unusual seemed to be happening, so he did not feel afraid at all.
At that moment, his girlfriend suddenly tugged on his arm, her eyes revealing terror and unease.
"What is it?" the young man asked curiously.
His girlfriend raised a trembling hand and pointed across the road not far away, where they had been splashed with blood.
"That man... he stood up. But he doesn't have a head."
The young man looked in that direction as well, and