Chapter 59: Us Vs Them

The scream cut through the house like a blade.

Wei Lingyun’s eyes snapped open and his body was moving before his mind even caught up with the fact that he was awake. He rolled off the couch, his feet hitting the floor, and his hands bracing against the armrest.

The scream was loud, sharp, continuous.

Defiantly male.

But there was a pain in every note. The kind he never heard unless he was the one causing the pain.

Around him there was even more movement.

Zhenlan was already standing, his hand on the back of the couch, his head turned toward the stairs. Chenghai pushed himself up from where he’d been lying on the floor near the window, his breathing sharp and immediate. Yuche was on his feet, his body tense, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

And still the screams didn’t stop.

He could hear the sound of doors opened throughout the house. The sound of wood hitting walls, handles turning, hinges creaking. Footsteps pounded on the floor above them—fast, uncoordinated, multiple people moving at once.

Voices called out. Confused. Urgent.

"What the hell—"

"Who’s—"

"Where—"

But Lingyun was already moving toward the stairs, his hand gripping the banister as he took the steps two at a time. Behind him, Zhenlan’s footsteps followed close. Chenghai’s breathing was audible, ragged but controlled. Yuche’s lighter steps came last.

The scream continued. Unrelenting and raw, and Lingyun was wishing someone would just permanently shut him up.

He briefly noticed survivors emerged from the bedrooms—the ones that used to belong to him, to Zhenlan, to the others. They stumbled into the hallway in various states of dress, their faces confused, their eyes wide.

A woman in a tank top and shorts stopped in the doorway of where Lingyun had been sleep up until two days ago, her hand on the frame.

"What’s going on?"

"Is someone hurt?"

"Who’s screaming?"

The hallway stretched before him, dim and narrow. The scream was louder now, closer. It came from the last door on the left.

Rouxi’s room.

The worst part was that the door was open.

Light spilled out into the hallway—not bright, just enough to see by. The scream echoed from inside, bouncing off the walls, filling the confined space with sound.

Lingyun moved toward it. His feet hit the floor in quick, controlled steps. His breathing was steady despite the adrenaline spiking through his chest. His hands were loose at his sides, ready.

Zhenlan was beside him now, matching his pace. Chenghai came up on his other side, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the open door. Yuche hung back slightly, his position defensive, his gaze sweeping the hallway.

More survivors were moving now. Coming out of rooms. Converging on the sound. Their footsteps filled the hallway—heavy, fast, uncoordinated.

Lingyun reached the doorway first.

He stopped.

Inside, the scene was immediate and visceral.

Rouxi sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, her legs pulled up slightly. Blood covered her from head to toe.

It streaked across her face—dark lines running from her forehead down her cheek, across her nose, dripping from her chin. It soaked into her shirt, spreading across the fabric in uneven patterns. Her arms were coated from wrist to elbow, the skin slick and dark. Her hand gripped a knife, the blade red and wet.

He panicked when he saw that she wasn’t moving.

Her eyes were open, calm, watching the doorway, but other than that, it was like she was a statue.

Looking down, Lingyun saw that Qiao Ren was on the floor.

He’d fallen or crawled there—his body half-collapsed against the side of the bed, his legs sprawled out, one hand clutching his shoulder. Blood poured between his fingers, running down his arm in thick rivulets, pooling on the floor beneath him. His other hand braced against the ground, his fingers splayed wide, trembling.

He was still screaming.

The sound filled the room, echoing off the walls, spilling out into the hallway. His face was twisted, his mouth open wide, his eyes squeezed shut. Sweat mixed with blood on his skin, running down his neck, soaking into his collar.

The bed was a mess. Blood soaked into the sheets, spreading outward from where Rouxi sat. It splattered across the pillow, across the headboard, across the wall behind her. Dark droplets covered the floor near Qiao Ren, pooling and spreading.

A knife lay on the floor near his knee, but it wasn’t Rouxi’s.

It had to be his.

Lingyun’s eyes moved across the scene in seconds. The blood. The knife. Qiao Ren’s position.

Rouxi’s calm.

Behind him, survivors were arriving.

They crowded into the doorway, their bodies pressing forward, their voices rising.

"What happened?"

"Is that Qiao Ren?"

"Who did this?"

"She—"

"Look at all that blood—"

"Is he—"

Their voices overlapped, confused and urgent. Some stopped at the threshold, their eyes wide, their hands gripping the doorframe. Others pushed forward slightly, trying to see better, their bodies tense.

Han Wei stepped into the room, his eyes locked on Qiao Ren. "What the hell did you do?" He wasn’t looking at Rouxi, but it was clear that he was addressing his question to her.

She didn’t respond. She just sat there, her hand still holding the knife, her eyes moving from him to the others gathering behind him.

Another survivor pushed forward—a woman with short hair, her face flushed. "Someone get something to stop the bleeding—"

"He needs—"

"Move, let me—"

More bodies pressed into the doorway. The hallway was filling now, survivors emerging from every room, drawn by the scream, by the commotion. Their voices grew louder, overlapping, creating a wall of sound that competed with Qiao Ren’s continued screaming.

Lingyun moved.

He stepped into the room, his body angling between Rouxi and the survivors pushing forward. His feet planted firmly on the floor, his weight balanced, his shoulders squared. He didn’t raise his hands. Didn’t reach for anything. Just positioned himself in the space between them.

Blocking any new threat to the woman behind him.

Han Wei stopped, his eyes shifting from Rouxi to Lingyun. "Get out of the way."

But Lingyun didn’t move.

Zhenlan stepped in beside him. His body filled the space to Lingyun’s left, his presence solid and immediate. His arms hung at his sides, his breathing controlled, his eyes fixed on the survivors in the doorway.

Chenghai moved to Lingyun’s right. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid despite the bruising still visible on his ribs. His hands were loose but ready.

Yuche came last, positioning himself slightly behind and between them, his body angled to cover the gap. His eyes moved constantly, tracking the survivors, counting them, assessing.

Together they formed a barrier between Rouxi and the survivors.

Han Wei’s face darkened. "I said move." he snarled. "She hurt one of my men and she will pay for it."

Lingyun’s voice was low. "Back off."

The woman with short hair pushed forward, her hand reaching toward Qiao Ren. "He’s bleeding out—"

Zhenlan shifted slightly, his body blocking her path. "Don’t."

She stopped, her eyes flashing. "You’re protecting her? She just—"

"Back. Off." Lingyun’s voice was firmer now, not loud but absolute.

More survivors pressed into the doorway. Their bodies filled the frame, shoulders touching, hands gripping the walls for balance. Their voices rose, angry now, the confusion shifting into something sharper.

"She attacked him—"

"Look at what she did—"

"We need to—"

"Move or we’ll—"

Qiao Ren’s scream cut through the voices, louder now, more desperate. His hand slipped on the floor, his body tilting, more blood pouring from the wound. His eyes opened briefly, unfocused, his mouth still wide.

The survivors pushed forward.

Not coordinated. Not organized. Just movement—bodies pressing into the room, hands reaching, voices demanding.

Lingyun held his ground. His feet didn’t shift. His body stayed planted between them and Rouxi.

Zhenlan’s shoulder pressed against his. Solid. Unmovable.

Chenghai’s breathing was audible beside him, controlled but tense.

Yuche’s presence filled the gap behind them, his body ready.

Han Wei took another step forward. His hand came up, pointing at Rouxi. "She needs to—"

"No." Lingyun’s voice cut him off.

The woman with short hair moved to the side, trying to angle around them. Zhenlan shifted with her, his body blocking her path again.

More survivors pushed into the room now. Five, six, seven bodies crowding the space near the door. Their voices grew louder, overlapping, creating a wall of sound.

"Get out of the way—"

"He’s dying—"

"She can’t just—"

"Move—"

Lingyun’s hands stayed at his sides. His breathing stayed controlled. His eyes moved across the faces in front of him, tracking movement, watching for escalation.

Behind him, Rouxi sat on the bed. Still calm. Still holding the knife. Still watching.

Qiao Ren’s scream filled the room again, echoing off the walls, mixing with the voices, with the footsteps, with the sound of bodies pressing forward.

The survivors pushed closer.

The men held their ground.