Inside the house lived a family of three. The man, who had just stepped outside, now clamped his hand over his own mouth with desperate force, while his wife mirrored his action beside him. Their ten-year-old son, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, opened his mouth as if to speak—but before he could utter a word, the man swiftly slapped his palm across the boy's lips.
"If anyone makes a sound, we're all dead!" The terror gripping the man's heart was suffocating. In his panic, he failed to notice that his large hand completely sealed off his son's nose and mouth, pressing down so hard that the child began thrashing. Yet, the man only stared wide-eyed at the door, where the relentless knocking reverberated like the tolling of a funeral bell.
Knock, knock, knock…
With an explosive bang, the reinforced metal door was violently kicked open by Tang Ze.
Surveying the trio huddled by the sofa, Tang Ze remarked casually, "You know, I really can't stand people who don't answer their doors when I'm delivering food. Don't you realize how busy I am?"
He paused for a moment, then burst into mocking laughter. "Damn, buddy, you've got guts—suffocating your own kid? That takes some serious balls." He gave a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Even I wouldn't dare pull something like that."
The man glanced down and realized, to his horror, that his son had stopped breathing.
"Ahhhh!" The woman screamed, her voice piercing the air.
The man stood frozen, like a lifeless puppet.
Tang Ze advanced slowly, dragging the blade of his machete along the floor, its metallic scrape sending shivers through the room.
Sinking onto a small stool, Tang Ze exhaled deeply. "This world operates on one simple rule: it's either you rob me, or I rob you. Either you kill me, or I kill you. Unfortunately for you…" His gaze hardened. "You were weaker."
With that, he swung the blade down with brutal precision, splitting the man's skull in two. Blood sprayed everywhere.
The woman's screams echoed throughout the entire residential complex, striking fear into every woman within earshot. Without exception, their faces turned ghostly pale.
As Tang Ze exited the apartment, he approached another door.
"Unit 102, your delivery is here," he called out, his voice dripping with menace, like the harbinger of doom.
The sky grew darker, yet the cries of anguish from the complex showed no sign of stopping. Mo Han crouched on the floor, wrapped tightly in a thick blanket, trying desperately to bolster his fragile sense of safety. His eyes darted nervously to the group chat notifications lighting up his phone screen.
"He's knocking on my door! What do I do?! HELP ME!"
"Why is it always the damn delivery guy?! Why can't any of you kill him?!"
"Someone save me! I don't want to die! He's banging on my door right now, waaah…"
"I warned you not to raid the neighborhood earlier—we'd be targeted for revenge. But did anyone listen? Nooo…"
"AAAAH! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!"
From somewhere outside came a dull thud—a man had chosen to leap from his window, unable to endure the psychological torment any longer.
And those who had sent frantic messages never managed to send another.
Mo Han's eyes brimmed with despair as his phone slipped from his trembling fingers, landing with a soft clatter on the wooden floor. His wife stared at her husband—their once fearless leader—now reduced to a quivering shell of himself.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Your delivery is here," came the chilling voice from behind the door. Mo Han hesitated, his gaze falling upon the half-full bottle of water beside him. Slowly, determination replaced the fear in his eyes, as if the mere presence of the bottle had given him newfound courage.
Turning to his wife and daughter, Mo Han gripped the bottle tightly and whispered, "I'll take him down with me. You two… you have to survive."
"Husband…"
"Dad…"
In that moment, Mo Han seemed to fully embrace his roles as both husband and father. With steady hands, he unscrewed the cap of the bottle.
Yes, this was the rainwater he had risked everything to collect. A single drop could prove fatal. Who else would dare attempt such a reckless act?
Despite being the self-proclaimed leader of the group, Mo Han had lived in constant dread, sleeping fitfully each night, fearing exactly this kind of scenario. Now, it was time to put his plan into action.
Standing near the door, listening intently to Tang Ze's voice on the other side, Mo Han steeled himself for what lay ahead. With a swift motion, he shoved aside the furniture barricading the entrance, flung the door open, and hurled the contents of the bottle toward Tang Ze, who stood barely half a meter away. Some of the liquid spilled onto Mo Han's hand, soaking it instantly.
But Mo Han felt no fear. Instead, he erupted into manic laughter, watching as the devilish figure before him was drenched in the deadly rainwater.
"HAHAHA! You filthy delivery bastard—I finally got you!"
Tang Ze froze, his expression stiffening with disbelief. Did this lunatic seriously think splashing water would kill him?
Was he insane?
A searing pain shot through Mo Han's chest. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and he collapsed against the wall, sliding helplessly to the floor. Yet, the figure standing before him remained completely unscathed.
Fear clawed its way back onto Mo Han's face. "Why?! Why aren't you affected?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
"You… threw rainwater on me?" Tang Ze blinked in shock, instinctively wiping his face. Then, realization dawned, followed swiftly by sheer terror. "Shit!"
Raising his machete, Tang Ze unleashed a frenzied barrage of slashes, reducing the tiles beneath Mo Han's body to shards. The stench of decay filled the air as Mo Han's mutilated remains lay scattered across the floor.
Tang Ze panted heavily, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had been careless—far too careless! Never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated someone using rainwater as a weapon. He had accounted for nearly every possibility… except this.
Wait—if Mo Han succumbed to the poison, why hadn't he?
Could it still be a matter of time?
A full minute passed, but Tang Ze felt nothing. According to his experience, exposure to the rain should trigger convulsions within five seconds and death within ten.
Unless… unless his enhanced body had developed immunity to the virus?
Walking to the window, Tang Ze pushed it open and cautiously extended his hand outward. Cold droplets of rain landed on his palm, forming tiny beads. Despite his earlier brush with the substance, unease gnawed at him.
Yet, nothing happened.
Time crept forward, and the smirk on Tang Ze's face widened. It was true, then—his body was immune to the virus.
A low chuckle escaped his lips, growing louder and more unhinged. To others, however, it sounded like the sinister cackle of a predator reveling in his dominance.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, three women sat silently on a plush carpet, lost in their own thoughts.
Sun Ting gazed out at the rain, her fingers tightening around the gun in her lap.
"Do you think he'll come back?" An Bai asked softly, clutching her knees close to her chest.
"Do you want him to come back?" Sun Ting countered sharply.
An Bai hesitated, unsure how to respond. If he didn't return, the supplies they hoarded would last them months. The entire complex was deserted—it was safer than ever. And yet… part of her yearned for his return, craving the fleeting sense of security he brought.
"Yeah," she murmured finally.
Sun Ting turned to Ye Qingyi next. "What about you?"
Ye Qingyi nodded quickly, knowing full well that a negative response might earn her a bullet between the eyes.
And she wasn't wrong. Any hesitation, any wrong answer, and Sun Ting wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Fewer mouths to feed meant more resources for everyone else—even if Tang Ze returned, there would be evidence to justify her actions.
Truthfully, Sun Ting herself didn't know what she wanted. Part of her hoped he'd come back; another part prayed he wouldn't.
Perhaps all three women shared the same conflicted feelings.
Suddenly, a phone rang, startling them. The voice call notification jolted the trio—it was the only sound breaking the eerie silence enveloping the otherwise empty complex.
It was Ye Qingyi's phone. There was no question who it was.
"Zi Hui," she whispered, clutching the device tightly, her knuckles white with tension.