Chapter 28: Old Contacts

Zhou Chenghai walked through the living room on his way to his wing of the house and saw that Rouxi was on the couch where he had left her.

Of course she was.

She lay sprawled across the cushions in that particular way she had. One leg was bent at the knee and the other stretched out. Her phone was held above her face at an angle that spoke of the ability to hold it there for hours without her arms tiring, and a bag of chips sat open on her stomach, rising and falling with her breathing.

In addition to her watching something on her phone, the television was on, some drama playing out with overwrought music and dramatic camera angles, but she wasn’t watching it.

She was just scrolling. Eating. Existing in that bubble of detached comfort that seemed to define her entire life.

Chenghai paused for half a second, watching her.

She didn’t notice him entering the room yet, she hadn’t even bothered to look up long enough to check her environment. Instead, she just reached into the bag without looking, pulled out a chip, and ate it while her thumb continued its steady movement across the screen.

She looked like a rich girl who’d never had a hard day in her life.

But that was exactly what she was. What she’d always been.

And yet.

There was something about her brattiness that had started to grow on him over the past few weeks.

The way she’d look at him with that flat, unimpressed expression when he tried to be stern, the way she’d respond to his warnings with complete indifference, like his concern was mildly amusing but ultimately irrelevant, the way she challenged him on

everything

.

And yet, their banter had become... enjoyable... he was now looking forward to be sent out with her in a way that he hadn’t before.

He’d never admit it out loud, but he looked forward to their exchanges. The way she’d push back without ever raising her voice. The way she treated him like an equal rather than hired help, even when she was being deliberately difficult.

She was spoiled. Sheltered. Completely unprepared for anything resembling hardship.

But she was also sharp in ways that surprised him. And stubborn in ways that reminded him of soldiers he’d served with—people who refused to bend even when bending would have been easier.

He dismissed the thought and kept walking.

She didn’t need to know what was coming, she didn’t need to be worried or upset. He and Zhenlan were worried enough for all three of them.

Let her watch her television. Let her eat her snacks. Let her exist in that comfortable bubble for as long as it lasted. And the two them would make sure that bubble lasted for the rest of her life.

Even if it killed him.

He’d just have to make sure she had more snacks.

A lot more.

His wing of the house was quiet when he reached it—a suite of rooms at the far end of the property that gave him privacy and space to work.

There wasn’t much to it. Just a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small office, but it was perfect for him. Most would have called it Spartan, but he liked it. It was functional.

He closed the door behind him and pulled out his phone.

The contacts list was short. Deliberately so.

He scrolled past names he hadn’t called in years—people from his old life, connections that had faded after his discharge. Most of them wouldn’t answer if he called. Some would hang up the moment they heard his voice.

But there were three names that mattered.

Three men who knew what had happened. Who knew he’d been right to refuse the order, even if it had cost him everything.

He selected the first name and pressed call.

It rang twice before connecting.

"Zhou Chenghai." The voice was rough, familiar. Wei Guang. Former squad leader. Now a colonel stationed somewhere in the northern provinces. "It’s been a while."

"It has."

"You calling for a reason, or just feeling nostalgic?"

Chenghai sat on the edge of his bed, his posture straight despite being alone. Old habits. "I need information."

There was a pause. Not hesitant, but like he was assessing the reason for the call.

"About what?"

"The situation. What’s actually happening in the world. We have some hints of what is happening, but nothing concrete."

Another pause, longer this time.

"You watching the news?" Wei Guang asked.

"Yes."

"Then you know what’s happening."

"I know what they’re saying is happening. I want to know what’s actually happening."

The silence stretched. Chenghai could hear background noise on the other end—voices, movement, the ambient sound of a military facility.

"It’s worse," Guang said finally. "Significantly worse than what’s being reported."

"How much worse?"

"Bad enough that we’ve been put on standby. Bad enough that supply chains are being redirected. Bad enough that people at levels above me are making decisions they’re not explaining to anyone below them."

Chenghai’s grip on the phone tightened slightly. "What are they saying internally?"

"Shelter in place. Avoid unnecessary movement. Prepare for extended isolation." Wei Guang’s voice dropped lower. "They’re not calling it a lockdown yet. But that’s what it is."

"Timeline?"

"Days. Maybe a week. No one’s giving specifics."

Chenghai processed this. Days. Not weeks. Not months.

Days.

"What about a solution?" he asked. "Government response?"

Wei Guang was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had changed—something darker underneath the professional calm.

"There are rumors."

"What kind of rumors?"

"The kind no one wants to talk about directly. The kind that get shut down when they’re brought up in briefings." A pause. "Whatever they’re planning, it’s not what people think. It’s not medical. It’s not containment."

"Then what is it?"

"I don’t know. No one at my level knows. But the people who do know..." Wei Guang trailed off as he tried to find the right words. "They’re scared, Chenghai. And these are people who don’t scare easily."

The weight of that settled in Chenghai’s chest.

"Any advice?" he asked after a moment.

"Get somewhere safe. Stock up. Lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in." Wei Guang’s voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it. "And if you have the means to defend yourself, make sure you’re ready to use them."

Chenghai nodded, even though Guang couldn’t see it. "Understood."

"You still working for that businessman? Xu Zhenlan?"

"Yes."

"Good property?"

"Very good."

"Then stay there. Don’t leave unless you absolutely have to." A pause. "And Chenghai? Whatever you think you need to prepare for? Double it."

The call ended.

Chenghai sat in the silence of his room, staring at the phone in his hand.

He made two more calls. Both conversations were similar—different details, sure, but the same underlying message. The situation was deteriorating faster than anyone was admitting publicly. The government had something planned, but no one knew what it was. And the people who did know weren’t talking.

By the third call, Chenghai had made his decision.

"I need weapons," he said.

The man on the other end—Chen Lao, former weapons specialist, now stationed at a depot in the eastern provinces—went quiet.

"You know what you’re asking," Lao said finally.

"I do."

"Weapons are illegal in Zhongyuan State. Possession alone is—"

"I know the law."

Another pause. Longer this time.

Chenghai had never asked these men for favors. Not once in the ten years since his had been dishonorably discharge. He’d kept his distance, maintained professional boundaries, never leveraged the relationships they’d built during their service together.

But desperate times and all that.

"How many?" Chen Lao asked. "And what type?"

"Enough to secure a property. Rifles. Handguns. Ammunition."

"That’s not a small request."

"I know."

"If this gets traced back—"

"It won’t."

Chen Lao was quiet for a long moment. Zhou Chenghai could hear him breathing, could almost see him weighing the risks, calculating the consequences.

"Twenty-four hours," Lao said finally. "I’ll have a shipment ready. Unmarked. Untraceable. You’ll need to arrange pickup."

"I will."

"Chenghai?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever’s coming... it’s bad enough that I’m not going to ask why you need this. Just... be careful."

"I will."

The call ended and Chenghai set the phone down before coming to his feet.

The room felt smaller suddenly as the walls around him seemed to close in.

He walked to the window and looked out at the property—the manicured lawns, the high walls, the controlled access points. He’d lived here for ten years. Had assessed the security when he first took the job, made improvements, established protocols.

But there was a difference between keeping out door-to-door salesmen and preparing for people who actually wanted to break in.

A fundamental difference.

He’d spent a decade thinking about security in abstract terms. Potential threats. Theoretical scenarios. The kind of planning that assumed civilization would continue functioning, that laws would be enforced, that people would remain generally reasonable.

That assumption was no longer valid.

Now he needed to think like someone preparing for siege conditions and not abstract threats. Someone like concrete enemies, people who would come with intent, with desperation, with nothing to lose.

And that was a whole different kettle of fish.

The property had good bones. High walls. Reinforced gates. Limited access points. Natural barriers.

But good bones weren’t enough.

He needed to turn this place into something that could withstand sustained pressure. Something that could keep people out even when they were determined to get in.

His mind shifted into tactical mode—the same mode he’d operated in during his military service, before the discharge, before everything had fallen apart.

Entry points. Sight lines. Defensive positions. Supply storage. Fallback positions.

The property had three main access points: the front gate, the service entrance, and a small pedestrian gate on the eastern wall. All three would need to be reinforced. Barricaded if necessary.

The walls were high but not insurmountable. He’d need to establish observation posts. Make sure they could see anyone approaching from any direction.

The house itself was solid—brick construction, reinforced doors, windows that could be secured. But he’d need to identify defensible positions inside. Places they could fall back to if the perimeter was breached.

And weapons. Once the shipment arrived, he’d need to position them strategically. Make sure they were accessible but secure. Make sure everyone who needed to know how to use them could do so effectively.

Xu Zhenlan wouldn’t need to know the details. That was the agreement. Chenghai would handle security, and Zhenlan would trust him to do it properly.

But Rouxi...

He thought about her on the couch, eating chips, scrolling through her phone like nothing in the world had changed.

She’d need to be protected. Kept safe. Kept away from whatever was coming.

That was the priority. Above everything else.

Zhenlan had said it explicitly, but Chenghai had known it long before that conversation. Rouxi’s safety was the singular focus around which everything else orbited.

And now, for the first time since taking this job, he was fully committing to making sure nothing touched her.

Not the infection. Not the panic. Not the people who would come when civilization started to crack.

Nothing.

He turned from the window and began making notes—lists of supplies, defensive positions, contingency plans. His handwriting was precise, methodical, the product of years of military training.

The house was about to become something different.

Not just a home. Not just a secure property.

But a fortress.