Chapter 21: Murphy's Law

Wang Xiaoqiang quickly jumped on the bandwagon: "Oh, thank you so much, really!"

"Just小事," Liu the factory manager said, yawning widely.

Xiaoqiang immediately pulled his dad to his feet. "We won’t bother Uncle Liu anymore. We’ll head out now."

"Right, right," Liu mumbled, half asleep.

Outside the factory director’s house, Old Wang turned to his son and asked, “So we’re not going to that jewelry store ourselves?”

Xiaoqiang shook his head helplessly. “Those two machines are too important for us. If we don’t bring enough leverage, we might lose them for good.”

Old Wang fell silent after hearing that.

The father and son climbed into their car, ready to leave town—only to hit a wall the moment they passed the town gate. Holy cow—thick crowds lined both sides of the road, packed with every kind of vehicle imaginable: tricycles, weird hybrid farm rigs, old tractors, even a few rickety delivery vans. It looked like the whole town was heading to market.

As soon as Xiaoqiang’s car rolled out, people swarmed around it. The middle-aged man from yesterday stepped forward. “Everyone in town says you know which parts of the city are safe. Neighbors all want you to lead us—we’re running low on food. Can you help?”

Xiaoqiang thought, *Can I say no? One wrong word and I’d be drowned in spit.*

He quickly said, “What kind of talk is that? We’re all neighbors. If I can help, I’ll do it without hesitation. So follow me—but let’s get one thing straight: if you ignore my warnings and end up getting irradiated, don’t come knocking on my door later.”

They all nodded eagerly.

And so the crowd surged forward toward Dadian City, a massive human caravan. Behind them, a sleek sedan trailed quietly—it was Liu’s private car.

This time, Xiaoqiang didn’t take shortcuts. A kilometer from the city limits, he stopped, grabbed a megaphone, and shouted, “From now on, we’ll be coming in more often. This road needs to be cleared. Otherwise, nobody gets through. Anyone brave enough—get out of your cars, pull the bodies out, pile them up and burn them. Push the vehicles to the side.”

The township office sent a team too. Soon, people in full hazmat suits showed up, starting to haul corpses. Within minutes, stomachs turned. People started vomiting—noisy, messy, chaotic. As the saying goes, *You get used to it after a while.*

Moving the cars wasn’t hard—most were wrecked, but with a few strong arms pushing, they slid off the road easily. It took about two hours, but finally, the path into the city was clear.

Xiaoqiang led everyone to a massive supermarket first. “This place is safe. Go grab what you need. We’ll head back by 5 p.m.”

Then he turned and drove off without another word.

The moment he left, chaos erupted. People flooded inside like a stampede—everyone scrambling, afraid of missing out.

Practice makes perfect. In less than two hours, the duo had picked up three handguns, three submachine guns, two shields, three bulletproof vests, and two helmets.

Most people who came into the city had hidden agendas. Before entering, maybe they weren’t thinking much. But once they saw the mountains of supplies just lying there—free for the taking—greed sparked instantly. Some started acting up, plotting their own plans.

That night, when they returned to town, several people began vomiting violently, their faces pale as chalk—just like those who’d fled Dadian City days earlier.

It wasn’t hard to understand. Even a neutron bomb isn’t perfectly clean. There’s still radiation at the moment of detonation, and residual fallout lingers—especially near ground zero. In peacetime, cleanup would’ve been possible. But now? No tools, no time, no plan. So some people got sick.

The town was small. Rumors spread fast—ten told ten, a hundred told a thousand. Soon, whispers claimed Xiaoqiang had doomed them all. But most people knew better. Xiaoqiang had warned them clearly from the start. The problem wasn’t him—it was greed.

The next morning, Xiaoqiang did his qigong routine three times, then headed back into the city. This time, the group was far more obedient—terrified of radiation, desperate to stay safe. He led them into a building materials market, where people piled up lumber, drywall, tiles, paint—stuff they’d never dreamed of having.

By noon, the return convoy stretched endlessly down the road. Everyone was grinning. At last, they could finally fix up their homes.

This scene played out across other entry points into Dadian City. Smart people were everywhere—just hadn’t had the chance to shine yet. Xiaoqiang’s reputation kept growing, especially among families. Following him brought peace of mind, eased anxiety. In the afternoon, Xiaoqiang found another huge supermarket. Once again, the mob descended—wild, frantic, unstoppable.

The stench of rotting corpses grew heavier by the day. But for survivors, it was already normal—like breathing air. Nobody cared anymore.

Only Xiaoqiang felt something was off. Not quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it—but the rate of decay seemed… too slow. After this many days, shouldn’t the streets be crawling with maggots?

This time, his focus was survival gear. He emptied two major outdoor survival stores. His beat-up trailer behind the bike dragged three hand carts in a line—creepy, surreal. He realized then: vehicles weren’t enough.

On the way back, he spotted a 6.8-meter box truck parked by the roadside. He signaled the townspeople to help drag it home. Thanks to Xiaoqiang, everyone had been doing well lately—this was a golden opportunity. Plenty of hands volunteered.

You don’t reap autumn rain unless you’ve planted spring wind.

Back in town, Xiaoqiang went straight to the repair shop. After two days of nonstop work, the truck conversion was nearly complete. He gave a satisfied nod.

Then he turned to Zhou Dafu. “Take a look at this truck. Can you fix it? If not, tell me quick—I’ll figure out another way.”

Zhou didn’t hesitate. He started inspecting the vehicle. Thirty minutes later: “Should be fixable. Should we改装 it too?”

Xiaoqiang paused, then said, “No need to overcomplicate it. Just add a steel frame, divide it into levels—easy to find stuff when we load it.”

After giving instructions, Xiaoqiang returned home. He gathered everyone together and said, “I’m feeling uneasy. I can’t explain why—just… something’s off.”

“Mom, Dad, Li Mama—sort everything into categories. Store long-lasting essentials separately. Stop using them from now on. Stockpile at least two months’ worth. If things change, we might have to run for our lives.”

Human intuition is strange. Some believe it. Some don’t. But Murphy’s Law holds true: the worst case always happens. Whether you believe it or not doesn’t matter. What matters is how you act.

They stared at each other, confused. These sudden words left them unsettled.

“Xiaoqiang,” Dr. Li spoke up first. “Did you see something?”

“No real danger,” Xiaoqiang replied. “I don’t even fully understand most of it. But… it just feels wrong. Off. Like something’s not matching.”