Doomsday Cognition Guide

The next morning, when the team gathered in the parking lot, Lao He was late.

The others had already checked their equipment. Old Ma slung his shield over his shoulder, and Little Zhou was adjusting his aim. Uncle Si stood at the front of the group, holding a map. He glanced at the empty spot, didn't ask "Where's Old He?", but simply folded the map and stuffed it into his pocket before continuing to wait.

A few minutes later, Lao He jogged over from the tent. His gold-rimmed glasses were perched crookedly on his nose, and half of his shirt hem was undone. He stopped at the end of the line, head down, breathing rapidly. His eyes were bloodshot, and his eye bags were very prominent, as if he had barely slept. His fingers were still gripping the backpack strap tightly.

"Everyone's here," Fourth Uncle said, without looking at him, unfolding the map. "Today we'll continue eastward along the route we took yesterday." Then he shouldered his knife, turned, and headed towards the county town. "Let's go."

The team advanced eastward along the streets cleared yesterday. The zombie density was slightly lower today than yesterday; a few sporadic zombies darted out from alleyways and broken windows, but Lao Ma held them off, Xiao Zhou provided burst fire, and Xiao Liu provided flanking support—the coordination was much smoother than yesterday. Lao Ma no longer held his shield too high, obstructing his view; Xiao Zhou's firing intervals had shortened to about two seconds; and Xiao Liu no longer ran too fast.

Li Xuan followed two steps behind his fourth uncle, holding a short gun in his hand, his gaze sweeping across the entire battle line.

Old He trailed at the back of the group, his steps unsteady. Uncle Si paused after giving an order—Old He had gone the wrong way when the group turned, straying several meters to the right before Old Wu pulled him back to his senses. "Keep up," Uncle Si said calmly, without reproach, but also without any warmth.

Three more people were found trapped in a residential building. A middle-aged woman with two children had been hiding in a bedroom closet, surviving by collecting rainwater. The children were emaciated, and the woman's voice trembled so much that her words were barely audible. Xiao Liu pulled a compressed biscuit from his backpack and handed it to the child. The child didn't take it, just looked at the biscuit, then at his mother. The woman nodded, and the child finally took it, took a bite, and chewed very slowly.

The survivors were escorted downstairs and handed over to the armed police who followed them. The team did not stop and continued to advance.

In the afternoon, as they advanced into a commercial street, they encountered a group of twenty or thirty zombies pouring out from a passageway between two shopping malls. Old Ma held his shield high in front, Xiao Zhou fired short bursts, and Xiao Liu flanked to intercept them. Li Xuan stood in the middle of the group, not engaging in combat. After the battle, Old Ma peeked out from behind his shield, shaking the blood off his hands. Xiao Liu was panting, but the tension on his face from yesterday was gone.

"Continue," Fourth Uncle said.

When the team packed up at dusk, the results were less than yesterday—they had cleared fewer than ten streets and rescued nine trapped people. Old Ma leaned his shield against a supply crate and sat on it, munching on compressed biscuits. Xiao Zhou was cleaning his gun, and Xiao Liu was stretching. Old He sat on the outermost edge of the group, holding a water cup but not drinking. Li Xuan leaned against a tent pole, closed his eyes, and mentally reviewed all the battle scenes from the day. There hadn't been any major dangers during the day, and he hadn't taken on many combat missions, but the zombie density on every street was slowly increasing. The closer they got to the center, the slower their advance became. He mentally marked this information.

On the morning of the third day, the team advanced to the edge of the central area of ​​the county town.

The streets here are narrower, the buildings are denser, and the number of zombies has increased significantly. The advance is very slow; every intersection needs to be repeatedly checked, and every building needs to be cleared floor by floor. Uncle Si tightened the pace of the advance—Old Ma in front, Little Zhou aiming, Little Liu providing support, Old Wu giving warnings, and no one is allowed to leave the group.

Around noon, the team rescued seven survivors from a six-story residential building. Among them was a thin man in his thirties, clutching a kitchen knife with dried, dark marks on the blade. He said he was a maintenance worker for the building's property management and had sealed off the corridor with a welding machine after the blood moon, bringing these families with him to hide there. Some of them were sick, and their fever reducers were almost gone. The survivors were escorted downstairs and handed over to the armed police. The team continued its advance without stopping.

Fourth Uncle glanced at the map—just two streets ahead was the central intersection of the county town. That was the heart of the entire county, and also the most dangerous place.

"We'll go around this way this afternoon and find out the zombie density on the main road first," Uncle Si said, pointing to the map. "The hospital is just past this intersection. If there are still people trapped inside, they're most likely there."

Around 2 PM, the group moved along a narrow alley towards the intersection. The alley was lined with old residential buildings, and the road was so narrow that only two people could walk side-by-side. Old Wu suddenly raised his hand to signal them to stop. He tilted his head, as if listening to something. After a moment, his expression changed. "There are...too many ahead," he said in a low voice, "not just a few dozen. Hundreds."

Fourth Uncle gripped the hilt of the knife tightly. "Back off."

Before the words were even finished, the zombies at the alley entrance had already surged in. They didn't actually come in from the alley entrance—they were triggered by some commotion on the main road outside the alley and forced their way in. Like a compressed spring suddenly released, the zombie horde moved faster than the ones encountered in the previous two days, pouring in from the alley entrance, crashing against the walls on both sides, and those that bounced back mixed with those surging in from behind, forming an unstoppable tide.

"Get in the building! Everyone get in the building!" Uncle Si roared. Old Ma held the rear with his shield, while Old Wu dragged Old He by the collar into the nearest residential building. Xiao Zhou fired in bursts, each shot hitting the heads of zombies less than half a meter from Old Ma's shield. Xiao Liu shielded Old Ma's side, his knife already drawn.

A zombie charged at Old Ma's shield, only to be bounced back by its thickened surface. A second and a third followed. Old Ma's foot slid half an inch backward on the asphalt. A hand pressed down on Old Ma's shoulder.

"Go in," Li Xuan said.

He stood at the entrance of the stairwell, gun in hand, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground.

Old Ma glanced back at him, as if to say something. Fourth Uncle grabbed him by the back of his bomb suit collar and dragged him into the stairwell. "Guard the windows," Fourth Uncle said, glancing at Li Xuan. Just one glance. Then he retreated deeper into the stairwell, leaving the entrance to him.

Old He was the last to squeeze into the stairwell. He tripped when Old Wu pulled him, his knee hitting the steps, causing a twitch in his mouth from the pain, but he didn't make a sound. He got up and ran deeper into the stairwell, glancing back halfway down—Li Xuan stood at the entrance, alone, holding a gun, facing the horde of corpses still surging into the alley. Old He stopped, just for a second. Then he continued running deeper into the stairwell. This time he was in the lead, faster than Old Wu, faster than Xiao Zhou, faster than everyone else. When he reached the corner of the stairs, his gold-rimmed glasses were askew on his face, and the back of his shirt was soaked with sweat. He stopped, leaning against the wall, panting heavily. The stairwell was dimly lit, but everyone saw his expression—an undisguised, pure fear.

His fourth uncle glanced at him from deep within the stairwell, but said nothing.

Outside, Li Xuan stood at the entrance of the building, with his back against a half-open iron door.

The street unfolded before him. To his left was an overturned bread cart, its front end crashed into a fruit shop. To his right was a row of cars parked at an angle, windows shattered, doors wide open. Directly ahead was a horde of corpses surging towards him.

He raised the rifle and gripped it in his hand. The shaft was slightly cool, and the weight of the alloy tubing made his shoulder blades tense slightly. This rifle was almost an arm's length shorter than a standard rifle, making it more maneuverable in confined spaces.

The first zombie rushed within five steps.

Li Xuan didn't retreat. He took half a step forward with his right foot, the tip of his spear thrusting diagonally upwards, piercing through the zombie's jaw and exiting from the back of its neck. Pulling out the spear, the tip, trailing a dark line of blood, swung to the right, plunging into the eye socket of the second zombie. The shaft swept horizontally, the butt striking the temple of the third zombie, causing it to fall sideways, tripping over two others that were pushing forward behind it.

Three shots. Four zombies lay on the ground.

He didn't look at the corpses on the ground. His gaze went past them, fixed on the horde of corpses still surging forward behind him.

There are too many. But this street has one advantage—it's lined with buildings on both sides, and the front is only a dozen meters wide. As long as we guard this entrance, the zombies can only come from the front.

He moved to the left and went around to the overturned bread truck.

This position is better. The van blocks all angles on the left, so he only needs to guard the front and right. The gap between the cars on the right is narrow; if a zombie tries to squeeze through, only two can get through at most. This isn't about holding the line; it's about controlling the battlefield.

Zombies swarmed in. One after another, they squeezed through the gaps between the cars and flipped over the roof of the van. Li Xuan began to move around the van. With each step, the tip of his gun would thrust out. Most of the time, he didn't aim accurately—the gun tip, carrying all his strength, pierced through the zombie's skull with a dull cracking sound, splattering bone fragments and dark blood together. His strength had reached the peak of Ming Jin, and with the focused power of the gun tip, the zombie's skull was no harder than a watermelon against the alloy gunhead.

But they were moving, and so was he. Several shots missed his face, the tips grazing the skull at an off-angle, only tearing off a piece of scalp. Using the force of the gun's rebound, he spun around, the butt of the gun slamming into the temple of the same zombie. The force was enough; the dull sound of bones breaking echoed, and the zombie stumbled, tripping over two other zombies that were pushing forward beside it.

There were also times when he needed precision. A zombie squeezed through the gap between the cars at such a tricky angle that a direct thrust of the gun tip would get it stuck between the two vehicles. He didn't thrust directly; instead, he subtly adjusted his wrist, turning the gun tip at a tiny angle, piercing the zombie's skull diagonally below its cheekbone. He pulled the gun out, the tip trailing a dark line of blood as he flicked it to the right, piercing the eye socket of another zombie that was flipping off the roof of a van—this shot was precise because the zombie's landing spot perfectly blocked his next path of movement.

He used force to clear space and precision to patch up the gaps. The two worked in tandem, and neither could hold up the defense line on its own.

His clothes were soaked with sweat, clinging to his back. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine, but his hands remained steady. His body was automatically dissipating heat, like an engine running at high speed. This was what whole-body strength training was all about—not the amount of force exerted, but the precision of that force. He was using this street to test all his past training.

Xiao Liu crouched at the stairwell entrance, peering through the crack in the door. What he saw was a battle between one man and hundreds of zombies. The man didn't roar, didn't charge, but simply moved silently between the van and the car. He watched as Li Xuan pierced the skull of one zombie with a single shot, and the moment he pulled the gun out, the tip had already shattered the skull of another, almost without pause, as if the gun were an extension of his arm. Sometimes the tip would deviate, but in that man's hands, the gun seemed alive—the deviated tip would instantly become the butt of the gun, striking back with enough force, achieving the same effect. For the first time, Xiao Liu understood something: true speed isn't about quick hands, it's about not needing to choose. With enough power, you can kill anywhere.

"How did he do that..." Xiao Liu's voice wasn't an exclamation, but a murmur to himself.

Uncle Si stood deep in the stairwell, not looking outside. He was observing Xiao Liu's expression. Fear was gone from his face; only bewilderment remained. The bewilderment that appears on the face of an ordinary person when they see something beyond their comprehension.

Outside, Li Xuan circled around to the other side of the bread cart. His marksmanship changed—each thrust was no longer retracted, but instead used the elasticity of the shaft to propel it directly towards the next target. The spear tip pierced a zombie's throat, the shaft bent half an inch, then bounced back, the spear tip already smashing into another zombie's face. This continuous thrusting relied not on brute force of the arm, but on the structural vibration of the shaft itself. He could feel the vibration frequency of the shaft, guiding his hand along this frequency, rather than controlling it.

Uncle Si heard it too. The sounds outside had changed. Before, it was a mixture of the muffled thud of a gun tip piercing flesh and the crisp sound of skulls shattering; now there was a new sound—the fine, sharp hum of the gun barrel cutting through the air. It was the resonance sound produced by the gun vibrating.

The pile of zombies outside was already waist-high. The remaining zombies were still surging forward, but they were tripped up by the corpses and trapped by the cars, and usually only one or two could reach Li Xuan. He no longer needed to move quickly; he could simply stand behind the low wall and thrust his guns out one by one.

That feeling returned—the world around him grew quiet. He didn't need to consciously observe; he could sense the location of every single zombie. While an ordinary person could only notice a few targets within their line of sight, he felt as if he had everything under control. The gun in his hand seemed to become an extension of his body; he could feel every slight vibration of the barrel, every difference in resistance as it entered flesh—slippery through soft tissue, blunt against bone. If the tip struck the center of the skull, there would be a momentary resistance before it pierced through; if it grazed the curve of the skull, the tip would deflect, and he needed to decide in that instant whether to adjust the angle or simply crush it with force.

A zombie, taller than the others, flipped off the car roof and landed almost without pausing, lunging directly at him. Li Xuan didn't retreat. He took a step forward to meet the zombie, the tip of his gun piercing its jaw from bottom to top, passing through its tongue and palate, all the way to the base of its skull. The skull was pierced from the inside, the entire head seeming to explode from the inside out by a brutal force. One shot. The zombie, a head taller than the others, was pierced through by a single shot, collapsing to the ground without even a struggle.

He stopped.

The street fell silent. He stood behind the low wall, leaning on his rifle, his breathing heavy, his shoulders heaving with each breath. Sweat dripped from his chin onto the barrel of his rifle, mingling with the bloodstains. The collar, armpits, and back of his camouflage uniform were completely soaked, clinging to his skin. His fingers, gripping the rifle, trembled slightly—a sign of intense physical exertion, not just from combat, but also from the energy drain required in that state.

He glanced back. The hallway was silent. Xiao Zhou, holding his gun, muzzle down, was trembling. Not from fear, but from holding his breath for too long. Xiao Liu crouched by the door, mouth agape, his face contorted as if he'd been punched.

"How is this possible..." Xiao Liu's voice trembled.

Uncle Si stood deep in the stairwell, glancing at the wall of corpses half a person's height outside. He wasn't surprised. He'd seen Li Xuan pierce a 5-centimeter-thick hardwood plank with a single spear—the alloy spearhead went straight through the plank, wood chips still clinging to the tip. That scene overlapped with today's; he only glanced at it before turning his gaze back to Li Xuan's still-trembling fingers and soaked collar. He raised his hand and placed it on Li Xuan's shoulder.

"Take a break," he said.

Then he turned around, his voice drowning out the ringing in my ears that was still echoing in the hallway.

"Stay alert, check your equipment. Evacuate in ten minutes, using the safe exit."

Xiao Zhou was the first to react, pulling back the bolt and turning to face the window on the other side of the corridor. Old Ma picked up his shield from the ground, hoisted it back onto his shoulder, and moved more nimbly than before. Xiao Liu stood up, stretched his numb legs, walked to Old Wu's side, took the glass of cold water, and gulped it down. Old He was still leaning against the wall, but his fingers were no longer trembling. He didn't look at anyone, his gaze lowered, fixed on the broken glass on the ground.

Fourth Uncle sat down next to Li Xuan. Neither of them spoke.