Chapter 17: Asking for It

A few people looked at one another, faces tight with hesitation. Xiao Qiang spoke again. “I know you might not be able to bring yourselves to do it. The world out there’s a mess now—so many dead. Right now, everyone’s got food, so things might stay calm. But as supplies dwindle, someone’s gonna snap. And this orphanage? To most folks, we’re a jackpot—kids, lots of mouths to feed. If those people break in, two outcomes: first, they steal all the food. We starve. The kids go first. Second, some are already on the edge—crazy, desperate. Old people and kids mean nothing to them. Either left on the street to die or killed outright. As for Yingzi… well, I don’t need to spell it out. If they take her slow, she could last ten, fifteen days. More people? Might not even make it that long.”

Everyone was an adult. They all knew exactly what he meant. The kids, though, just stared wide-eyed at Yingzi, confused. Why was she so popular?

That set Yingzi off. She lunged forward and started scratching him like a wildcat. “You shut your mouth!” Xiao Qiang bolted, running off into the distance, his voice drifting back: “Think about it.”

Old Wang puffed twice on his cigarette. “Strong kid’s got a point. If you can’t live with it in your heart, fire a warning shot into the sky. If they still come rushing in, then you’ll have to decide.”

With that, he shuffled off into the basement to sleep.

Three women stared at each other, lost in silence.

It was 1 a.m. Most of the town had gone to bed.

Father and son loaded the plasma cutter, diesel engine, and toolbox onto the truck and headed toward Da’an City. Same route as before—but Old Wang froze when he saw the sheer number of bodies lining the road. His hands trembled uncontrollably. But Xiao Qiang was beside him, steady, and slowly, the shaking eased. Soon, they found another security depot. Same method. Same lock-picking routine.

They didn’t know it, but 400 meters behind them, a minivan had been following them—slow, cautious, lights off. The driver, curious, finally pulled over and stepped out. What he saw nearly stopped his heart.

Cars lined up in rows, motionless. Some empty. Some with only the driver inside. Others with entire families—three or four people—slumped lifelessly. The closer they got to Da’an’s city center, the calmer the deaths looked. Peaceful, almost. Creepy. The driver shook violently, scrambled back into his car, and peeled away—only to lose sight of Xiao Qiang’s taillights. Panicked, he turned around too fast, fishtailed off the road, slammed into a tree, and the engine died.

Dazed, he stumbled out. The car wouldn’t start. Walking back was impossible—too far, too dark. Every shadow felt like it could spring forward at any second. He collapsed back into the driver’s seat, curled up, muttering under his breath, eyes wide with fear.

Back on the road, father and son hit two more security depots. Same locks. Same routine. Five handguns, three submachine guns, and a pile of ammo. Then—luck!—a ballistic shield, a bulletproof helmet, and a full-body vest. Life-saving gear.

Time was still early. Xiao Qiang decided to try one more.

Da’an City was pitch-black, littered with corpses. Silent. So silent it made your skin crawl. But the two men were hardened by survival. Fear had no room to breathe.

After five kilometers, Xiao Qiang slowed down, pulled over to the side. Old Wang glanced around. No depot in sight. He turned to his son, puzzled.

Xiao Qiang pointed silently toward a distant building. Old Wang followed his finger.

A sleek sign glowed under the dim light: **"Shengshi Gold."**

“Damn,” Old Wang breathed. He turned sharply to his son. This brat wasn’t thinking of robbing a jewelry store, was he?

Xiao Qiang slipped on work gloves, pulled on a mask, then handed one to Old Wang. Gun tucked into his waistband, hammer in hand—he looked like a real-life robber straight out of a movie.

The roll-up door of the gold shop was down. No problem. Prying bar, hammer—crack, smash, bang. Within minutes, the door gave way.

Xiao Qiang switched on his phone flashlight. The store was big—over 200 square meters. Counters filled with golden jewelry shimmered under the beam, glowing like treasure from a dream. Both men’s eyes lit up with greed. They locked eyes, nodded once, raised their hammers high, and screamed as they charged the glass cases.

*Crash! Shatter! Crash! Shatter! Shatter!*
Glass exploded. Golden trinkets poured into backpacks—box after box, heap after heap.

They’d seen plenty of heists in movies. But nothing compared to this. The rush, the adrenaline—it flooded through every pore. Skin tingling, hearts pounding.

When Xiao Qiang finished stuffing his pack, he turned—and saw Old Wang still smashing away at the glass, wild-eyed, relentless.

A chill ran down his spine. *Did I open the wrong door? Did I let something out?*

Forty minutes later, they were done. Satisfied. Heavy packs on their backs. One massive safe slung between them like a trophy. They climbed into the truck.

Ahead, another gold shop loomed—but smaller. Xiao Qiang checked his phone. 4:50 a.m. “Nah,” he muttered. “Save it for next time.” He waved at Old Wang, who was already halfway out the door. “Wait,” he said, pointing at the screen. Old Wang grumbled, reluctantly slid back into the seat, shooting Xiao Qiang a look full of quiet resentment.

Xiao Qiang didn’t care. He turned the wheel and drove back toward Xingfu Town.

Meanwhile, the driver in the minivan heard the distant rumble of an engine. He thought he’d seen a ghost. He sprinted out, waving frantically in the middle of the road.

Xiao Qiang was still mulling over which depot to hit tomorrow—when suddenly, a man burst out of nowhere. He slammed on the brakes. Old Wang’s head nearly cracked against the windshield.

“Are you trying to kill us?” Xiao Qiang yelled, rolling down the window.

Then he squinted. It was the mechanic from the repair shop.

The kid looked pale, trembling, like he’d seen a ghost. He rushed up, gasping: “Brother, my car crashed into a tree. Can you give me a ride home?”

Xiao Qiang glanced at the wrecked minivan, then at the kid. “You’ve been following us?”

The kid nodded. Then shook his head. Stammered. Couldn’t say a word.

“Get in,” Xiao Qiang said. “We’ll talk later.”

The kid scrambled into the back seat. His hand brushed against a large duffel bag. Felt something hard. Looked down. The shape… it looked like a gun.

His face went whiter than snow.

From the rearview mirror, Xiao Qiang watched Zhou Dafu fidget. “You’re out at midnight, not sleeping at home, tailing me?”

Zhou Dafu sat up straight. “Well… yesterday, I saw your truck leave town. Came back with stuff. Today, I saw your car at the garage. I figured you must’ve scored something good. I just wanted to follow along—grab whatever you left behind. My family’s counting on me. Two mouths to feed.”