Jiang Nuan was just about to ask what was going on when Qi Sui had already pushed open the car door and stepped out.
The outside air rushed in, carrying a dry, dusty scent mixed with something burned.
The sky over Sector C was always that filthy, ashen gray.
Jiang Nuan jumped out of the car, her feet landing on the gravel ground with a crunching sound.
In front of her lay the familiar streets.
“Let’s go,” she said to Lu Shiyan. “Head east, cross that main street, and we’ll be there.”
She took the lead, with the three men following behind.
The streets of Sector C were even more dilapidated than she remembered. Most of the buildings had been eroded by the restricted zone—walls covered in pits and craters, some sections completely collapsed, revealing twisted steel skeletons.
Scattered debris littered the pavement: a crushed plush toy, a half-charred baby stroller, clothes weathered beyond recognition of their original colors.
A few intact buildings here and there had become gathering spots for survivors.
Entering the settlement area, Jiang Nuan saw people—more than she had expected.
Survivors huddled in twos and threes along the roadside, gathered around smoking fires, or wrapped in filthy blankets, slumped against walls, their faces sallow, their eyes vacant.
The arrival of several people in black combat uniforms stirred a commotion. Curious, fawning, and wary gazes converged on them.
In the midst of the stir, Jiang Nuan spotted a middle-aged man arranging a few withered offerings on the open ground. When his eyes caught the Zero Squad insignia on Lu Shiyan’s chest, the man’s hand trembled, and a complex emotion flickered through his numb gaze.
It was the relief of having narrowly escaped death, but more than that, it was the reverence felt in the presence of an arbiter of life and death.
No one came forward to thank them for eliminating the restricted zone. These people had exhausted all their strength just to stay alive.
Jiang Nuan was dressed in the same combat uniform as them. Luckily, the uniform had a high collar; otherwise, if that collar of hers were exposed, she would rather die right here and now.
“Isn’t that Jiang Nuan?”
A hoarse voice came from the roadside.
The speaker was a middle-aged woman with hair tangled in a messy gray. She crouched by the curb, nibbling on a hard, dry biscuit.
The man beside her looked up too, squinting to get a better look.
“Yeah, that’s her. Didn’t she used to live alone over by the warehouse? How’d she end up mixed up with the investigation team?”
“Who knows. That girl was always gloomy before, never talked to anyone.”
“Can’t really blame her... a young woman all by herself, in a place like this—it makes sense she wouldn’t socialize.”
“Looks like she’s climbed the social ladder now.”
The man’s voice was very low, but in the quiet atmosphere of Sector C, sound carried much farther than they realized.
Jiang Nuan heard it crystal clear. The phrase “climbed the social ladder” pissed her off.
Did she climb? Did she? She was kidnapped, okay?! She never even got a chance to keep a low profile!
Qi Sui had clearly heard it too. He turned his head to glance at Jiang Nuan, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“You didn’t have the best reputation around here, did you?”
“I just don’t really like dealing with people,” Jiang Nuan murmured.
“Why?”
“No reason. It’s just easier to be alone.”
That, at least, was true.
From the original owner’s memory, she had been practically invisible in Sector C—never joining any group activities at the settlement, never participating in any mutual aid groups, even timing her supply exchanges for when fewer people were around.
In today’s terms: socially anxious, a loner, with a touch of misanthropy.
But precisely because of that, no one really knew the original owner.
For Jiang Nuan, that was actually a good thing. At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing the differences between her and the original personality.
Lu Shiyan pulled out a scanner, methodically checking the buildings on both sides of the street, his expression focused and calm.
Ye Que walked on the outermost side, his gaze periodically sweeping across rooftops and dark corners of alleyways.
Qi Sui, on the other hand, strolled along observing the survivors by the road, looking so gentle that he seemed utterly out of place amid the ruins.
The group walked all the way to Jiang Nuan’s old warehouse.
The abandoned warehouse stood on the eastern side of the settlement—a two-story steel-frame structure, its exterior rusted and pitted, one corner of the roof collapsed, but the main framework still intact. Now, quite a few people had taken shelter inside.
As soon as they stepped in, a wave of mixed smells hit them: mildew, sweat, cheap disinfectant.
The floor had been divided into small sections, separated by cardboard boxes and fabric curtains.
Someone was eating in a corner; another was mending clothes.
A child stared at the gun holstered at Lu Shiyan’s waist, eyes glittering.
Before Lu Shiyan could even turn his head, the child’s mother, terrified, clamped her hand over the child’s mouth and scrambled backward into the shadows.
These people had only survived because Zero Squad had eliminated the restricted zone.
In theory, Zero Squad was their savior.
But in the eyes of these refugees, Zero Squad could be seen as either saviors or as higher beings far more unpredictable than monsters.
They could effortlessly destroy an SS-level restricted zone, and they could just as easily wipe out every living soul in this warehouse.
And she herself—was no different from these refugees.
The only difference was that she had been snatched up in the jaws of this beast, and for now... just not yet swallowed.
“Oh, if it isn’t Xiao Jiang.”
The voice came from the left. A woman in her forties, with short hair.
She remembered the original owner.
Jiang Nuan searched her memory. The name was fuzzy... something like Sister Zhou.
“Sister Zhou,” she tested the name cautiously.
“Still remember me, huh?” Sister Zhou looked her up and down, her gaze trailing over the three men behind her, and raised an eyebrow.
“You used to hole up in that corner on the second floor and never came out for anyone. Now look at you—surrounded by bodyguards.”
Jiang Nuan gave a dry, brittle laugh. “Just... circumstances changed.”
Sister Zhou’s eyes rested on her face for a beat, as if she wanted to say something. Her lips moved, but in the end, she just nodded.
“Alright. As long as you’re alive.”
She turned and walked away, then after a couple of steps, looked back once more. But that look was quickly swallowed by the noisy crowd.
Lu Shiyan made a circuit inside the warehouse, as if assessing the state of this temporary shelter, and aimed his scanner at various corners.
Qi Sui set down his medical kit, crouching beside an elderly refugee lying on the ground, exchanging some words with him.
Ye Que, also holding a scanner, checked a few spots, then retreated to the warehouse entrance, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze sweeping every corner of the first floor.
Taking advantage of the moment no one was paying attention, Jiang Nuan quietly slipped up to the second floor.
The second floor was much emptier than the first. One corner of the roof had caved in, and wind poured in through the gap, making a worn-out strip of cloth hanging on a line sway back and forth.
She found that corner.
Against the wall, a thin, grimy mat still lay on the floor. Next to it was an overturned tin box.
This was where the original owner had lived.
It was also where Jiang Nuan herself had stayed for a few days after crossing over.
Jiang Nuan crouched down, her fingers brushing the edge of the mat. It was cold and damp, with a dark stain that washing couldn’t remove.
She flipped open the tin box. It was almost empty inside—a ragged jacket, an empty canteen.
There wouldn’t be much left anyway. Even if there had been, other refugees would have taken it by now.
“So this is where you used to live?”
Jiang Nuan was startled.
It was Ye Que.
She didn’t know when he had come up, but he stood silently at the top of the stairs on the second floor.
“Why did you come up here?” Jiang Nuan asked, pressing a hand to her pounding chest.
“The captain sent me.”
Fair enough—they were still afraid she might run, even with that damned collar still around her neck.
Ye Que didn’t approach. He just stood at the top of the stairs, his back against the rust-streaked iron railing.
Jiang Nuan looked away and continued flipping through things aimlessly, hoping to find something worth taking from the original owner’s hidden “legacy.”
Her fingertips brushed against the rusty inner wall of the iron box. She was about to give up when, at an inconspicuous seam near the bottom, she felt a strange bump.
She froze.
Her heart raced twice. Maintaining her crouched position, she casually glanced back over her shoulder. Ye Que was still standing at the top of the stairs, his gaze seeming to rest on the floor below, not paying attention to her.
Jiang Nuan quickly turned back. Using her fingernail, she pried open the hidden compartment that had nearly merged with the rust.
Inside was a piece of paper folded into a small square.
She shielded it with her body, held her breath, and unfolded it as slowly as possible.
The paper was yellowed, the edges worn and frayed, as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.
There were only two lines of writing.
The handwriting was messy and forceful, the strokes pressing deep into the paper.
【Don’t trust anyone.】
【Jiang Nuan】
The signature at the end was her own name.
She stared at the note, and her hands began to tremble. It felt as if all the blood in her body had frozen solid in an instant.
This handwriting… it was hers.
Or rather, it was the original owner’s handwriting.
From the fragmented memories that remained, she had seen this writing style—the horizontal strokes dipping low at the corners, the sweeping strokes stretching long. It was very similar to her own handwriting.
But she didn’t remember writing this note at all.
In the five days since she had transmigrated here, the first two had been lost in shock, the next two spent digesting the original owner’s blurry memories, and the fifth day had been spent entering the forbidden zone.
She had neither the time nor the reason to leave such a desperate and wary note.
So, there was only one possibility:
It was left by the original owner.
When had she left it? And who was she warning?
Was it intended for herself—the one who would come across and replace her? How could she have known someone was coming?
Or, maybe it was simply a warning to herself.
Perhaps she knew that her memories were about to be lost, so she reminded herself.
Don’t trust anyone.
That “anyone” was too vague—too vast to the point of despair.
What exactly had the original owner gone through, to write such a message—without direction, without explanation, leaving only total distrust?
Wen Xu'an, Lu Shiyan, Qi Sui, Qinian, Jiang Ce, Shen Wu, and Ye Que behind her.
And Sister Zhou downstairs, and the other refugees whose faces were faintly imprinted in the original owner’s memories…
Every face surfaced in her mind.
And on every face, she found no certain answer.
What secrets were hidden in those erased memories?
And who had erased them?
Jiang Nuan slipped the note into her slightly sweating palm and clenched it tight.
She stood up slowly, forcing her expression back to normal—or rather, she compelled herself to appear composed.
She pretended to be casual as she glanced back toward the top of the stairs.
She had assumed that Ye Que, as before, would have his back to her, watching the noisy refugees downstairs.
But the moment she turned, she froze.
Ye Que wasn’t looking downstairs at all.
He was leaning against the rusty iron railing, completely still, facing her direction.
A cold wind swept through the broken ceiling of the second floor, making a torn strip of cloth sway wildly between them.
Jiang Nuan had no idea how long he had been watching, or how much he had seen.
The note in her palm now burned like fire.
【Don’t trust anyone.】
Including the man who had just brought her out of the forbidden zone.
