Chapter 35: White Silk
Taking advantage of Chi Xiaoxian being asleep, Fang Yue could take a proper look at the fine thread that had proactively flirted with him.
He pinched it gently, like catching a mischievous child red-handed. He applied force carefully, yet the thread did not break easily, proving far more resilient than it appeared.
The tip of the thread seemed to possess a tiny tentacle-like structure, touching his palm with a ticklish sensation. Raising his hand into the bright radiance of the morning sun, Fang Yue examined the thread clearly—semi-transparent, shimmering with a luster reminiscent of fine silk, radiant and remarkably beautiful.
Tracing the thread downward, he discovered with surprise that it extended all the way to Chi Xiaoxian’s right wrist, its tail end submerged into his skin, as if it had grown directly out from inside his body.
The spot where the light silk emerged was a relatively recent wound. Clearly having healed not long ago, a thin layer of brownish scab covered the wound, the scab yet to slough off, presenting a semi-circular shape.
Fang Yue remembered now. Two days ago on the truck, Chi Xiaoxian had bitten his own wrist open to smear his blood onto his shirt so Fang Yue could be coated in his scent.
He seemed to vaguely guess what had transpired at the riverbed. At that time, to evade two zombies lying in ambush underwater, he had hidden inside a pile of ruins formed by the collapsed bridge, ultimately losing consciousness due to oxygen deprivation…
*Had Chi Xiaoxian passed air to him?*
*And what was its relationship with the “cocoon” that had wrapped around his head earlier?*
Suddenly, his shoulder was patted. Turning his head to look, Kevin handed over a piece of bread—slightly charred from roasting, yet emanating a delicious aroma—skewered on a thin, withered branch.
The scent stirred Fang Yue’s hunger. Expressing his thanks to Kevin in a low voice, he took the branch.
This was Kevin’s first time roasting bread in the wild. Though slightly charred, the bread maintained a crispy outer crust and a soft interior, radiating a sweet, warm fragrance. Taking a bite, it felt somewhat scalding. Yet that exact touch of heat instantly ignited his palate, which had grown accustomed to dry bread and biscuits for days, feeling as dull as decaying wood.
Just as a single small piece remained, Fang Yue felt the hem of his shirt pulled gently.
Looking down, Chi Xiaoxian had woken up.
His brain battling against exhaustion, his heavy eyelids managed to force open a crack with great difficulty. In a voice as thin as a thread, he said, “…Save a bite for me.”
He had been forcibly awakened by the aroma.
Fang Yue and Kevin: “…”
Wrapping the bedsheet tight, Chi Xiaoxian shivered from the cold while tottering up to a sitting position. He then collapsed limply against Fang Yue like he had no bones, resting his silver-haired head against Fang Yue’s shoulder.
His hands remained hidden inside the bedsheet with zero intention of pulling them out, merely opening his mouth to let out an “Ah.”
Fang Yue pinched off a small piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
“There’s more! If you like it, I’ll roast another piece for you,” Kevin said cheerfully.
Chi Xiaoxian shook his head, saying only, “Thirsty.”
Fang Yue held the mineral water bottle for him. Holding his breath, he drank more than half the bottle, coming to a stop only after getting so full he let out a hiccup.
The water was icy cold, making him shiver once more.
While roasting a new piece of bread for him, Kevin couldn’t resist saying, “Now you can tell me, can’t you? What on earth is going on?”
Unexpectedly, Chi Xiaoxian shook his head: “I can’t remember clearly.”
His memories and dreams had already blended to a certain degree, like looking outward through a fogged pair of swim goggles—blurry, hazy, unable to see anything clearly.
He had wanted to save Fang Yue at the time, but he couldn’t remember how he had saved him.
Memory had turned into a frog once more, jumping from the blackout at the riverbed straight to waking up hungry from the smell of bread just now.
—
Exchanging all their information among the three of them, Chi Xiaoxian’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
“This thread can turn into a cocoon-like thing?”
“You’re saying it wrapped around your head?”
Looking at the scar on the inner side of his wrist, then touching that unfamiliar tactile thread, he couldn’t help falling into deep thought.
Before long, he recalled the image of his right arm wrapped in white threads that he had seen earlier during a fleeting hallucination. Several other times when he had fallen into unconsciousness, he had also sensed the existence of the white threads.
The fine silk emerged from his skin, yet was not under his control, as if possessing a mind of its own.
As Chi Xiaoxian pondered, it had already coiled up his finger like a vine, touching his fingertip with considerable fondness. Everything felt natural, as though it had grown there originally.
If this thing could be assigned a personality, it would definitely be an extroverted, naturally familiar “E-type.”
Three people stared at a single thread, falling silent in unison, until Chi Xiaoxian finally spoke up to remind them: “Um… the bread seems to be burning.”
Only then did Kevin hurry to flip the bread over.
The fine silk thread seemed to develop a bit of interest in the bread. Although the wind was somewhat strong, it continuously stretched itself out in midair, trembling, and finally extended a tentacle to touch the bread cautiously—*snap!* The tentacle retracted at lightning speed.
It had clearly been scalded, startled by the fire.
An unusual scent drifted through the air.
That was definitely not the smell of bread; it resembled roasted mushrooms—bearing a subtle, fresh savory aroma.
Staring at the touch-thread wrapped around his wrist, which was looking a bit wilted and curled up, a peculiar thought surfaced in Chi Xiaoxian’s mind:
*If this thing were roasted, might it actually taste pretty good?*
The thread seemed to sense his thought, retracting rapidly into the scar on his wrist in a flash. The final section of its little tail whipped against Chi Xiaoxian’s wrist in dissatisfaction as it pulled in.
Chi Xiaoxian: “.”
*This thing had gained a spirit.*
Kevin couldn’t resist patting Chi Xiaoxian’s shoulder, his expression thoroughly complex as he said, “Young man, were you bitten by a spider before?”
“…What kind of pop culture joke is this?”
Kevin asked in shock, “Have you never watched *Spider-Man*?”
“I think I’ve heard of it.”
“Damn, a generation gap, a generation gap! Kids nowadays don’t even watch Spider-Man anymore!”
Kevin couldn’t help feeling perplexed: “Then what did you guys watch when you were little?”
Chi Xiaoxian took a bite of bread, saying unclearly, “*Highland Cosmic Heroes: The 108 Outlaws*, *The New Generation’s Happy Life in the Highlands*, *The Highland Road*, *Love in the Highlands*, *Appointment in 2050*…”
“Truly hopeless—” Kevin was left speechless, turning his head to ask Fang Yue, “What about you?”
“*Newly Revised Highland Language*, *Highland Mathematics*, *Highland Geography*, *Highland Physics*…”
Kevin raised a hand to cut him off quickly, complaining: “What a truly boring generation.”
—
The educational system and model in the Highlands differed drastically from that of the Old World.
Prior to entering primary and secondary schools, students underwent intelligence tests and a series of brain physiological evaluations. Based on the test results, schools were divided into different tiers. The scope and volume of curriculum required across different tiers varied; the higher the tier, the greater the required knowledge reserve.
Concurrently, examination mechanisms underwent major changes as well. Daily exams were abolished, and students merely needed to complete a graduation assessment prior to graduating. Assessment results were divided into three tiers: Excellent scores directly advanced students to a higher-tier high school, Good scores entered the same tier, while failing scores demoted students to a lower tier. Assessments were split into two components: one for knowledge testing, and the other for brain physiological and cognitive reasoning tests. Universities followed a similar structure.
Ninety-five percent of students at Highland First University had graduated from top-tier high schools, representing a cohort at the absolute forefront of both intelligence and diligence. The remaining students consisted of children from senior government officials or wealthy merchant families.
Chi Xiaoxian was a special case, however.
Due to illness, he had missed his entire middle school education, able only to attend a lowest-tier school for high school. Yet he had been quite happy about it, as the entire three-year curriculum required studying only five textbooks. Thus, he slept away most of his time slouched over his desk, spending the remaining time surreptitiously using his phone to binge the massive drama series *Highland Cosmic Heroes: The 108 Outlaws*, living an extraordinarily breezy life.
It wasn’t until two months before the college entrance exam that he discovered that aside from First University offering tuition exemption, fees for all other schools were astronomically high. He was forced to scour second-hand markets for study materials from other high schools, pulling off a last-minute cram session. Fortunately, his brain’s physiological metrics held up well, and the study materials proved reliable; in the end, he was admitted to Highland First University with a score at the very bottom of the passing list.
Those two months of diligent studying brought him immense psychological trauma, however, leading him to adopt a vengeful slacker mindset upon entering university. His academic counselor had called him in for chats several times regarding this, but he only attended once, subsequently faking illnesses to stand the counselor up directly.
Looking at the transcript filled with numbers consistently in the 60s, the counselor advised him with painstaking care that employment entities would inspect transcripts, suggesting he plan early for graduation—after all, First University was filled with diligent students whose course grade averages reached 80+, making Chi Xiaoxian’s transcript an extraordinarily pure outlier.
Chi Xiaoxian reasoned with him instead: “Since sixty points is passing, I am a passing graduate. There’s no need to tryhard for higher scores.”
“Career positions that favor high scores are bound to be intensely competitive, which completely conflicts with my astrological fate. I might as well find an obscure, low-tier position—it slacks off, I slack off, the two of us are a match made in heaven, staying together till our hair turns white, neither looking down on the other.”
The counselor, having worked for ten years, heard such “grandiose ambitions” for the very first time, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor.
—
After eating an entire piece of toasted bread, Chi Xiaoxian still felt a bit hungry. That hunger was not a physical hunger in his stomach, but an emptiness carved into his soul, as if a piece of his mind and body were missing.
“Your appetite seems to have improved,” Fang Yue, who had been observing all along, noted.
Chi Xiaoxian nodded. His trip beneath the water and back up to the bank had completely depleted his already meager energy reserves.
Remembering something out of nowhere, he immediately grabbed Fang Yue’s wrist.
That spot was where he had bitten open to draw blood for Fang Yue earlier. A thin layer of scab had formed over it now, softened somewhat by the river water—though fortunately the scab remained intact.
Chi Xiaoxian eased his mind, taking a few more bites of bread, yet still feeling a hunger that reached the absolute extreme of emptiness. The bread was like a tiny pebble tossed into a bottomless pit, dropping inside without making a single sound.
Looking at Fang Yue, he asked, “Are you full?”
Fang Yue nodded.
Chi Xiaoxian hesitated to speak. He saw that Fang Yue’s complexion looked somewhat pale, with faint dark circles beneath his eyes, wearing a weary, exhausted appearance, as if he hadn’t rested well.
“What is it?” Fang Yue asked, seeing him staring continuously at him.
Chi Xiaoxian bit his lip, ultimately shaking his head, “Nothing.”
—
After resting for a bit longer, Fang Yue proposed continuing their journey.
Studying the fine thread here wouldn’t yield any results right now. Only by returning to the laboratory in his home in District Six would he have the opportunity to conduct further research on this thread.
Kevin and Chi Xiaoxian were two individuals who completely lacked a sense of direction. Asking Fang Yue how far this place was from District Six, Fang Yue calculated their walking speed, estimating it would take three days.
Chi Xiaoxian flopped instantly.
Fang Yue turned to say to Kevin, “We don’t have a vehicle anymore. Following us won’t be of much use to you.”
Kevin pondered the feasibility of parting ways, then shook his head.
“Catching a ride was partly to rest in a vehicle, and partly to find someone to chat with. If nobody talks to me, I’ll be bored to death. Even in the psychiatric hospital, I had to find patients with slightly lower levels of abnormality to chat with every day. I’d better keep pairing up with you guys; otherwise, I’ll be forced to hug lampposts and chat with them on the road.”
He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over that fine thread: “Although you two look a bit abnormal as well… who knows? After staying in the hospital for so many years, I’ve forgotten what normal people are like anyway.”
Delivering a large block of words, he spread his hands.
“Hey, wait,” Chi Xiaoxian suddenly thought of something, “We can go back and look for a car!”
“Didn’t the cars all fall into the river?” Kevin asked in confusion.
“I mean those military off-road vehicles! Didn’t those officers stop to fight the zombies?” Chi Xiaoxian paused briefly. “If they failed to defeat that wave of zombies, the vehicles should still be left on the spot.”
Kevin nodded in agreement; that was indeed a possibility. Fang Yue offered a different perspective, however: “Going back would be quite far in terms of distance. Yesterday we walked for most of the night to reach this spot, and there’s no guarantee any vehicles were left behind.”
And so Chi Xiaoxian flopped once more—as long as he was required to perform high-intensity exertion, he would flop.
He recalled their fall into the river again—the bridge had collapsed, meaning their path back was severed as well.
Indeed, they couldn’t go back to look for a car.
Fang Yue added a turn, however, saying: “We can walk forward. Remember that wave of zombies we encountered earlier? They wore military uniforms, indicating there should be another military unit further up this road. They might have left vehicles behind, after all—”
After all, they had all turned into zombies. After all, they had all failed.
Fang Yue didn’t spell it out, but everyone understood.
Chi Xiaoxian agreed with this strategy, but at the thought of having to walk, he felt somewhat reluctant again. His limbs hadn’t recovered smoothly, his stamina was lacking, and walking proved wobbly and laborious.
Under previous circumstances, he definitely would have coaxed Fang Yue into piggybacking him. Fang Yue likely lacked stamina right now as well, having seemingly taken care of him through the entire night yesterday.
Chi Xiaoxian couldn’t bear to do it. Bringing the words to the tip of his tongue, he swallowed the request back down.
—
They walked for a stretch through the wilderness. Kevin beside him had been staring at him and observing for a long time, finally unable to resist saying, “Young man, how are your legs and feet so uncoordinated, like an eighty-year-old grandpa? You’ve only taken a few steps and turned into this—you must severely lack exercise under normal circumstances.”
Enduring discomfort to walk for so long, getting mocked like this inevitably stirred up a tiny bit of temper in Chi Xiaoxian.
He let out a grunt, saying in a bratty tone, “I’m a zombie! I just love walking like this, is that a crime?!”
“You’re really putting on the zombie act?” Kevin tutted and shook his head. “Where do you find a zombie that walks this slow?”
Chi Xiaoxian stopped in his tracks out of nowhere, brushing his silver hair aside to reveal a scar on his scalp.
“I really am a zombie,” he said earnestly to Kevin. “This was scratched open by a zombie. My hair isn’t dyed, and my eyes aren’t wearing contact lenses—these colors all changed after infection.”
At this moment, Fang Yue halted his steps as well, watching the two in silence.
Kevin had assumed he was joking at first, but noticed the atmosphere felt somewhat heavy and off.
His voice began to tremble slightly, “You’re joking, right?”
Chi Xiaoxian raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
“What he says is true. You guessed right from the start,” Fang Yue said flatly.
“What?!”
“I was just bluffing you guys for fun!” Kevin turned deathly pale in shock. “I was just bored and teasing young kids! Don’t scare me like this?!”
“We aren’t bluffing you,” Fang Yue maintained a calm tone. “Nor are we as bored as you.”
Even a blind person could tell that Fang Yue was not the type to joke around.
As if springs were installed beneath his feet, Kevin bounced away from Chi Xiaoxian’s side in a flash.
Chi Xiaoxian flashed a wicked, devilish grin, his silver hair swaying wildly in the wind, his translucent eyes bright as moonlight, wearing a thoroughly reckless and arrogant demeanor.
Turning his head, he threatened Kevin, “If you dare mock the way I walk again, I’ll eat you—”
Before his sentence landed, his foot stepped into a hollow depression. Failing to hold his footing, he tumbled flat on his face with a heavy *thud*.
This directly reduced the threat level of his words from earlier straight into negative values.
