Chapter 1 Finding a Post-Apocalyptic Girl

Mid-September, 10:00 AM.

Most people are at work or school right now, but I've taken leave from my school and stayed in this rented room off-campus. Today, I have something far more important than going to class.

I am fully aware that what I am doing is something I cannot tell anyone.

Feeling guilty, I didn't open the windows for ventilation this morning. When I got to the window, I only dared to pull the curtains open a crack. The dazzling sunlight shone on my face, and the morning scenery of the neighborhood came into view.

The outside world is peaceful, and no one knows that two people who are not tolerated by society are lurking in this house.

I picked up the cold metal object on my right and held it up to my eyes.

This is a pistol.

I don't know the specific type or model. In my entire life, I've never handled real firearms or ammunition, and I know absolutely nothing about them. The only thing I can tell is that this is definitely not a toy gun I played with as a child, but a genuine real gun that, if you pull the trigger, can blow someone's head off and send you to jail for life.

Verifying its authenticity was simple. I awkwardly removed the magazine, which contained three cold, gleaming metal bullets, with another already cocked, its edge raised in deadly intent. Without a doubt, these were live ammunition.

The legal provisions I found online automatically popped into my mind:

Anyone who illegally possesses or conceals firearms or ammunition shall be sentenced to fixed-term imprisonment of not more than three years, criminal detention, or public surveillance; if the circumstances are serious, he/she shall be sentenced to fixed-term imprisonment of not less than three years but not more than seven years.

After examining the weapon in my hand for a long time, I turned to look at the beautiful girl who was sitting restlessly on the bed.

“Let me repeat what you just said. You said that the future world has fallen into an unprecedented catastrophe, with bizarre phenomena appearing one after another, monsters roaming around committing massacres, and human civilization being shattered under the impact of countless supernatural forces…” I sorted out the information I had just heard, as well as my own emotions, “and you are a survivor of the apocalypse, who has traveled from the distant future to this point in time?”

She nodded.

"And then, what is your goal now?" I continued to ask. "Do you want to prevent the end of the world from happening in this era?"

“That’s right…” she looked at the gun in my hand, “So can you give me back my gun now?”

-

My first encounter with this strange and dangerous girl was last night when I was investigating a ghost story at a nearby abandoned construction site.

My hobby is investigating ghost stories. Specifically, it involves conducting on-site investigations to verify whether the ghost stories and urban legends circulating in the public are true.

This act of seeking verification isn't inherently unconventional; curiosity is universal. In some schools where ghost stories circulate, students might spontaneously verify the truth of the rumors. What I did wasn't fundamentally different.

If there's anything special about me that sets me apart from others, it's that I've taken this small step and built it into a large one.

From a young age, I was fascinated by the magical stories depicted in books, and I loved to imagine experiencing those thrilling adventures firsthand, fighting against powerful enemies capable of destroying the world. I was also passionate about bizarre and unbelievable tales in real life, such as the unsolved mystery of the Bermuda Triangle, the Shennongjia Wild Man, or the popular Slender Man and Slit-Mouthed Woman on the internet. Those unrealistic existences that were so far removed from my real life fascinated me.

Similarly, I am also very fond of concepts with a strong sense of mystery and unrealism, such as feng shui, qimen dunjia, and black magic, and I am willing to try them out myself to verify their authenticity.

Needless to say, almost all of my personal experiences ended in disproving or simply fizzling out, and my exploration of ghost stories and legends has earned me some unpleasant reputation.

Whenever I hear that someone in the area has witnessed a paranormal phenomenon that cannot be explained by science, I try to visit them to verify its authenticity. Some of the people I ask for verification are people who have made a mistake, some are superstitious people who lack even basic scientific knowledge, some are vague or talk about other things, and occasionally I get angry and embarrassed by their questions.

Some people, frustrated by my advice, would indignantly tell those around them, "Zhuang Cheng is just a hypocrite; if he encountered the real thing, he would definitely be scared out of his wits!" Some listeners also wholeheartedly agreed.

Within the university, I was considered an eccentric oddball by most people. While I didn't cause much trouble, it was rare to find classmates who interacted with me normally. My only friend in university was also puzzled by my seemingly aimless pursuit of the abstract, and once tried to pry into my situation and offer me advice.

"Since you've never seen any real supernatural power, why have you been investigating ghost stories and legends?" That's probably what my friend asked at the time. "No matter how enthusiastic you are at the beginning, you should lose interest after failing a few times, right? But I heard that you've been doing this since you were in junior high school. Isn't that strange?"

"I don't see you're doing any ghost-hunting livestreams, which don't generate any revenue or yield any results. You need some positive feedback... some relevant evidence or clues to keep going, don't you think?"

I understood his underlying meaning, so I got straight to the point: "Don't beat around the bush. Just tell me what you want to say."

Upon hearing this, he stopped beating around the bush and frankly stated his thoughts: "I think it would be better if you didn't continue to risk investigating ghost stories in the future."

"Why? Do you think I'd be scared out of my wits like those other people when I encounter the real thing?"

"I'm not worried about that, I'm just afraid you'll break the law," he complained. "Sometimes you exude a lawless aura that terrifies me. You wouldn't go and rob ancient tombs or engage in cult rituals just for thrills, would you?"

"..."

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" His voice changed.

Regardless of whether I planned to do such a thing, perhaps he wasn't really afraid I would break the law, but rather used exaggerated language to avoid conflict because of my sharp retorts. You know, I've always been a law-abiding citizen.

In short, he ultimately failed to convince me.

Recently, I turned my attention to abandoned construction sites near the university.

It is said that the place is haunted, and the vengeful ghosts of those who died in construction accidents in the past will appear at night covered in blood and kidnap female students passing by.

The very night I heard about it, I grabbed a large flashlight and walked there alone.

The incident occurred at an abandoned construction site, where the building was unfinished and lacked doors and windows due to the interruption of construction. After passing through the dark doorway, all I could see were unsightly gray concrete walls, covered in dust and construction debris.

Even homeless people avoided this place, and mosquitoes seemed reluctant to enter this barren land. The lights and noise of the outside world were shut out by the gloom, leaving only deathly silence and darkness in the air. The only companions were the lonely beating of his heart and his own breath.

The beam of the flashlight only illuminates what's in front of you; the darkness behind you feels like a solid, damp weight pressing down on your back, making you want to turn around. But once you turn around, you start to worry about what might be in front of you, constantly on edge, looking around anxiously.

This surreal atmosphere made me feel both terrified and strangely familiar.

My friend's words make sense; one cannot always be enthusiastic about a direction where there is no hope.

I don't know when it started, but I inexplicably grasped a truth: the real world isn't as fantastical as a fantasy story; the truth behind many mysteries is often mundane and monotonous. Those who claim to use magic are merely skilled in magic tricks; those who claim to be good at divination are simply adept at psychological techniques; and Taoist priests who can guarantee peace are just eloquent debaters, whose followers are adept at self-deception. For a time, I did indeed sink into a quagmire of depression.

But eventually, everyone dies.

I would much rather die in a bizarre and fantastical adventure, like a story, than die in a mundane life.

I want to take my life out of my control, fantasizing about monsters suddenly bursting into the classroom and killing the teacher and students in front of everyone. If such an absurd situation actually happened, how would I react? Maybe I would unleash courage I never expected, or maybe I would be incredibly cowardly—I want to know, I want the world I live in to be out of control.

What truly captivated me was not the narrow-minded superstitions and demons, but the unpredictable and incredible adventures that completely transcended my experience and life.

While I don't expect to encounter anything truly bizarre this time, I still try my best to hone my vigilance repeatedly. Truly bizarre experiences inevitably bring unimaginable dangers. Even I cannot guarantee a safe escape.

As I cautiously ventured deeper into the ruins, I intently scanned every detail of the environment with the beam of my flashlight, imagining deadly dangers lurking in those unnoticed corners. They were like ferocious beasts, holding their breath and lying in wait, ready to pounce and bite my throat the moment I relaxed and blinked.

Monster, if you truly exist, then reveal yourself before me.

I will prove that I am not just a hypocrite.

Suddenly, a loud crashing sound came from nearby.

The space was so quiet that one could clearly feel their own heartbeat, so when the noise started, it was like a thunderclap out of nowhere, striking my heart hard.

I was immediately jolted awake, quickly pinpointed the direction of the sound, and rushed towards it.

It was only a corridor away, and I quickly arrived at my target location, and with the help of the lighting, I was able to see the source of the sound.

That was a scaffold that had fallen to the ground. Ah, I see. Heavy objects falling like that do make a loud noise. But scaffolding doesn't fall over for no reason; someone must have knocked it down.

I quickly noticed it out of the corner of my eye: at the edge of my field of vision, in a dark corner, there was a blurry black figure sitting on the ground with its back against a concrete wall.

The blood flowed smoothly across the ground, like several small, winding snakes, slowly, slowly swimming from the darkness into the light illuminated by the flashlight.

It is said that what appeared at this abandoned construction site were the vengeful ghosts of those who died in construction accidents in the past, covered in blood.

A suffocating feeling gripped my throat; I had unconsciously held my breath, and my helpless situation left my hands and feet stiff and cold like a corpse.

With trembling and eager anticipation, I slowly moved the beam of my flashlight, illuminating the blurry, dark figure.

What appeared before me was indeed a person covered in blood.

But it wasn't the terrifying ghost I had imagined.

Instead, she was a young girl with slender hands and feet and a beautiful face, wearing a blue and white striped hospital gown.

(End of this chapter)