Chapter 15: A Kind Deception

Lao Wang picked up the cigarette, took two puffs, and stared at the safe for a long while. “I remember there’s a diesel generator and a plasma cutter at the factory—don’t know if they still work. I’ll go find the plant manager. You come with me.” Xiao Qiang thought it over, then said, “I’ll grab something real quick,” and headed back downstairs. He came back lugging a 50-pound bag of rice and two 2-kilo packs of cured pork.

The two men loaded their haul into the car, found the plant manager’s house, explained their request, and immediately hit a wall of bureaucratic fluff. “It’s just a small thing,” the manager said, waving a hand. “But those machines are always breaking down—can’t say for sure if they’re even functional now.”

Xiao Qiang didn’t miss a beat. “We know that, Mr. Liu. We really appreciate your help. Here—brought a few things as a token. Not much, but please don’t think less of it. We’ll take them back and try to reinforce the orphanage’s steel fence. If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure out another way.”

He set the bags down beside the man. Liu’s eyes flicked toward them—then lit up like he’d just seen gold. In this world, food wasn’t just scarce—it was nearly mythical. These supplies could feed a family for half a month. Without hesitation, he said, “You’ve been a real help. If it weren’t for your family stepping in, that orphanage would’ve shut down ages ago. Come on—I’ll show you to the warehouse.”

He led them straight to the storage room and handed over two machines: a diesel generator and a plasma cutter.

Back in the car, Lao Wang turned to his son, baffled. *Why does your mouth run off lies like they’re free?* But Xiao Qiang acted like he hadn’t noticed. After all, lying was humanity’s birthright—from biology to social structure, deception was everywhere. People were masters at weaving beautiful stories from falsehoods. Most preferred a lie with a little sugar on it—especially when it came with the label: *well-intentioned.*

At home, they got right back to work. The factory’s plasma cutter hooked up to the diesel generator fired up instantly. But the one Xiao Qiang had hauled back from the city? Dead as a doornail. Must’ve been damaged during the chaos.

Lao Wang went to work, slicing along the edge of the safe’s side panel with practiced ease. After about thirty minutes, a chunk of steel came loose. Inside was a layer of something like cement—hard, gray, unknown. They scraped it out, revealing another steel plate beneath. Just as Lao Wang reached for the torch again, Xiao Qiang stopped him. “Dad, cut from the bottom first. Make a small hole—see what’s inside before going full-on.”

Lao Wang grumbled, “Always gotta be so complicated.” But he did as instructed, cutting a neat 20-centimeter square near the base. He shined his flashlight inside—and sucked in a sharp breath.

There, nestled in the dark, were two gun-like objects.

He looked up at his son, eyes wide.

Xiao Qiang leaned in, peered into the hole, then burst out laughing. “Got it.”

Lao Wang frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“These are the ones I stole from the city’s security depot,” Xiao Qiang said. “With everything falling apart, we need to protect ourselves. On my way back, I passed ruins where nuclear strikes had hit. Who knows if laws still matter now? We won’t pull these out unless we have no choice.”

Lao Wang wasn’t some old fool. After a moment’s silence, he nodded. “You’re right. Keep going.”

Xiao Qiang pointed. “This safe probably holds ammo. The lower section’s empty—so the rounds must be stacked above. Take it slow. Don’t accidentally fire anything. That’d be a mess.”

Lao Wang scowled, then carefully sliced upward, inch by inch. Finally, three-quarters of the side panel came free.

Xiao Qiang moved fast, pulling out two long rifles from the bottom of the safe and handing one to his father. Then he started fiddling with the other. The guns were ugly—no style, no swagger. But stamped on the side: *Type 79.*

“Looks like submachine guns,” Xiao Qiang muttered. He reached deeper, fingers probing upward. Three handguns followed. Then, at the very top, he pulled out twenty boxes of ammunition, six pistol magazines, four SMG clips, and three holsters.

He’d never held a gun before—but he’d watched enough movies to know the basics. After five minutes of dry-firing, he finally understood how the trigger worked. Loading bullets? Easy—different rounds needed different magazines.

He and Lao Wang began trading tips, testing each other’s knowledge. Before long, they were loading and firing dummy rounds like pros. Even though Lao Wang was older than dirt, he had a spark of violence in him—something raw and thrilling. And he wasn’t alone. The thrill was contagious.

They’d been locked in the room all morning, doors shut tight. Outside, the three women grew suspicious. Eventually, they started cooking.

When the two finally emerged, dinner wasn’t ready yet. Xiao Qiang climbed onto the rooftop and sat cross-legged, beginning his *Yi Jin Jing* exercises. After three rounds, the fatigue of early morning vanished like smoke.

“Qiangge! Time to eat!” Yingzi called from below.

Xiao Qiang scrambled down. He didn’t know why, but suddenly he was starving—eating more than ever before. He just wanted to fill his belly.

Breakfast was millet porridge, pickled carrots, boiled eggs, and big steamed buns stuffed with radish. Afterward, Xiao Qiang stood up straight, chest puffed out, and announced, “Everyone—down to the basement. Meeting.”

His posture was so exaggerated, so serious, the kids burst into laughter. They mimicked him, arms stiff, voices high-pitched. Watching their bright eyes and innocent grins, Xiao Qiang felt a warmth in his chest. Whatever came next—this was worth it.

They gathered around the table. Xiao Qiang pulled out the pistols one by one. The women gasped. One nearly screamed. The kids, meanwhile, jumped up, eager to touch them—until Yingzi slapped their hands down with firm swats.

“This is serious,” Xiao Qiang said. “Last night, I went into the city. It’s a ghost town. No people. The environment’s going to get worse fast. To survive, we need to defend ourselves.”

“These are weapons from the security depot. From today on, you all need to learn dry-firing and reloading. I’ll find a chance to take you out to practice shooting. Until then—guns stay here. Kids too. They need to learn.”

Li Director shot up. “These kids are too young! What good is learning to shoot?”

Xiao Qiang didn’t flinch. “This isn’t the peaceful era anymore. They can’t be delicate flowers in a greenhouse. The more they learn now, the better their chances later. We can’t protect them forever.”

Li opened her mouth to argue again—but Lao Wang cut in. “Let Xiao Qiang handle it. Who knows if we’ll even have a tomorrow? Better to learn something useful.”

No one else spoke. So Xiao Qiang said, “Dad—you’re in charge of teaching them. I’m heading out to scout.” He walked toward the door, then paused. He slipped a loaded pistol into the holster at his waist, tucked it under his jacket. From outside, you wouldn’t even know it was there.