RHWHEG – Chapter 67 The People in the Subway

The little girl kept her mother’s warning firmly in mind—never look back.
She remembered sneaking out of the camp behind her mother’s back once, only to be beaten badly afterward. The pain of it lingered to this day, so she would not make that mistake again. She was bundled up so thick she looked like a round ball, and the backpack on her back resembled a turtle shell. And so she began to imagine herself as a turtle. Right now, the rabbit was sleeping; she had to seize this moment while the rabbit slept and hurry to overtake it.

Ahead came the drip-drip of water, like toy soldiers marching. The passage grew wider and wider. From time to time, a breeze swept through—wherever the wind came from, there must be an exit. She tried walking with her eyes closed, because she realized that whether her eyes were open or shut, it was just as dark; walking with her eyes closed let her imagine she was playing a game.

She heard other sounds—sometimes like candies spilling onto the ground and rolling clatteringly, sometimes like desks being dragged across the floor, producing a harsh screech. The oncoming wind also occasionally turned foul-smelling. She sensed an unusual wave of heat breathing toward her from ahead. She stopped, guessing it was a prank by the Cheshire Cat. She waited until the heat source moved away before continuing.

She forgot whether her eyes were open or closed—until she sensed a sliver of light ahead! Could it be the exit? She broke into a run, but her legs turned sore and numb, and she fell, smashing her head hard. After that, she remembered nothing.

When she woke up, her face was wet. Bracing herself against the wall, she stood and found a puddle of water nearby. She wiped her face and limped forward.

The light source was triangular, barely bigger than she was. She lay flat on the ground and peered inside—so much tasty food inside! Her favorite chips were there! Unable to wait, she thrust her hand in, and then stubbornly shoved her head in as well!

That was when she saw two legs standing on a chair.

Following the legs upward, she discovered it was a woman preparing to hang herself.

“A child?!” The woman was so startled that she fell down, nearly slipping the noose over herself. She asked in shock, “Are you human or a ghost?”

The little girl stared blankly at her, a wave of headache washing over her. She’d met someone! Was she safe now? She…

Tears brimmed in her eyes, carving two clean tracks down her bloodstained face.

“Mom…” the little girl said. She knew she had abandoned her mother, and once the tears started, they would not stop.

“I’m not your mother…”

The woman who had been preparing to hang herself was named Zhou Tiao. Before the apocalypse, she had spent all her savings buying a small convenience store. When the disasters struck, she couldn’t bear to leave—and as a result, she couldn’t leave at all. A sinkhole had occurred here; her entire foundation had collapsed downward. She was trapped alone, surviving by listening to the shelter’s radio broadcasts. Knowing that people were still alive thousands of miles away, she firmly believed she would be rescued one day. But recently, the shelter’s broadcasts had gone silent. What did that mean? Even that official shelter couldn’t withstand the disasters anymore—it was gone! She still had food and water now, but when they ran out, what would she live on? Would she be left all alone? What was the point of living like that? Better to die.

Yet in the instant before she hanged herself, this filthy little brat burst in. She’d thought it was a deathbed hallucination.

“I want to find my mom—” The girl wailed, her sobbing jolting Zhou Tiao awake. All at once, strength surged through Zhou Tiao’s body.

“What’s the use of crying? I want to find my mom too! I miss our mom so much—” Zhou Tiao squatted down, clutching her head together with the little girl and sobbing. She cried even louder than the child, so much so that the little girl ended up comforting her instead. The little girl said her name was “Tong Hua,” and that she had just started first grade this year.

“Tong Hua? That doesn’t sound like something I’d imagine—looks like you really aren’t my hallucination.” Trapped for so long, Zhou Tiao had grown a bit neurotic. Through tear-filled eyes, she said, “So someone’s alive. You’re alive—that’s great. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

Tong Hua said, “I still want to be with my mom.”

Zhou Tiao wiped the blood from Tong Hua’s face, her gaze flickering. Suddenly she stared fixedly at the light overhead for several seconds. In the underground world, the lack of sunlight was the most terrifying thing. She was on the verge of being driven mad. She had just thought about dying; now it was hard to say she had truly abandoned the idea.

Hesitating, she said dryly, “Then… let’s go look for her. Let’s go find… more people…”

In Jiangbei City, there should still be more people alive… right?

She didn’t know what gave her the courage to say that. Zhou Tiao quickly packed some snacks, and hearing it was quite cold outside, wrapped up a quilt as well. Opening the layers of bars on the convenience store, she stepped into the passageway.

Holding Tong Hua’s hand, Zhou Tiao cautiously swept the flashlight back and forth. The beam stopped on an unlit signboard, which read:
“Line 13. This Station – Xincun District. Next Station – Shajia Ancient Town.”

“So this is a subway tunnel… Little Tong Hua, where did you come from?”

“I forgot…” Everything felt unfamiliar to Tong Hua. She had fallen—how could she remember which way she’d come from?

“I just feel like going this way is right.” Zhou Tiao held Tong Hua’s hand and headed toward Shajia Ancient Town.

The farther they went, the more Zhou Tiao felt something was off.

This route was too smooth! Those terrifying disasters almost never appeared, and even the once-ruined tunnel had become clean and tidy. She’d thought they’d need to crawl through parts of it, but now all they had to do was watch their footing.

Thinking of the bizarre abilities of those disasters, Zhou Tiao’s first instinct was to flee. But her body didn’t obey her. The more she wanted to escape, the more her body moved forward instead. She even ended up running while holding Tong Hua!

Fear flooded Zhou Tiao’s nerves. How strange—she was clearly a timid person. Why had she been willing to leave the convenience store and come into the subway? There had to be something evil at the end of this path, something even stronger than the disasters she’d seen!

As if confirming her suspicion, the subway on both sides suddenly powered up! The safety indicator lights all pointed in the direction Zhou Tiao was moving, like a cozy trap waiting for them to jump in.

Zhou Tiao hugged Tong Hua tightly, unwilling to let the child face whatever horror lay ahead.

At the next bend, the lights grew brighter and brighter—red, blue, green… What on earth was at the end of the subway?

Using all her strength, Zhou Tiao barely managed to stop at the corner, and then she saw an unbelievable sight.

At the end of the subway tunnel was a sloping ramp formed by a collapse from the surface above. Vast sheets of cold, temperatureless sunlight poured down through the opening. On the slope stood a café—its neon lights flickering, matching every pre-apocalypse cliché of what a café should look like—quietly standing there. In front of the café was a small blackboard, written in fluorescent paint:
“Today’s Recommended Menu: Coconut Cloud Coffee and Strawberry Daifuku.”
And the café’s most eye-catching sign was a game console encircled by two fishtails.

Before Zhou Tiao could even finish being shocked, an irresistible suction pushed her forward. She understood—every anomaly originated from this café! She tried to break free, but had no strength to resist. All she could do was cover Tong Hua’s eyes and push the door open.

“Cuckoo!” a cuckoo bird said in a strange voice. “Welcome!”

The overwhelming terror crushed Zhou Tiao’s nerves; she nearly screamed. But what shocked her most—so much that she even forgot how to make a sound—was this:

The interior of this bizarre café was completely normal, and at the counter sat a being that looked very much like a human.

……

Time rewound half an hour.

The Klein Bottle had found a group of sheep to be its friends, but from Yu Qunqing’s observation, the Klein Bottle was simply enjoying the pleasure of herding. It loved driving the flock to one side, then to the other. When it needed rest, it entrusted its underlings to herd the sheep for it. And so the members of the Psychic Library conscientiously began tending the flock.

At the time, Yu Qunqing was still immersed in Match-Three Server Two. He was preparing to draw his third scene, hoping for a five-star Hospital scene—the one they lacked most at present. After bathing, burning incense, and devoutly praying to gods in every direction, he clicked Draw. Considering how much money he’d spent, surely he deserved a five-star!

The game seemed to hear his sincerity; the screen suddenly burst into multicolored light! Such exaggerated rainbow-ring effects—never seen before—meant he must have drawn a high-star scene!

A massive scene silhouette appeared before Yu Qunqing. The next moment revealed its star rating: five brilliant stars popped out one by one, the animation dazzling. The next step was to unveil the scene’s name.

The system announced: “Congratulations on unlocking a new five-star scene—Zoo! Achievement System unlocked! Congratulations to the player for obtaining the first achievement: Five-Star Developer.”

Zoo…

Fate doesn’t change luck, and spending doesn’t change destiny. Yu Qunqing could only accept the result helplessly. The neighborhood already had enough animals—he had no idea what use an extra zoo would be.

The zoo had a full thirteen sub-scenes, with extremely high construction difficulty. Yu Qunqing first dismantled the free gate scene and installed it in front of the auto repair shop, then connected a smaller scene behind the gate. Out of stamina, he let the Psychic Library herd sheep on the open ground autonomously while he went to play other games.

And that was when the accident happened. The sheep were far too healthy and energetic. When the shepherds weren’t paying attention, one of them charged headfirst into a crack and got stuck. The Psychic Library members were strong in mental power but very weak physically; they couldn’t pull the sheep out and had to ask the repair shop for a crowbar. But the ruins of the Fourth Ring were a case of one move affecting everything. He thought he was prying open a small iron plate—only for the entire ground to suddenly collapse into a huge pit.

The ground beneath Yu Qunqing’s feet caved into a slope; he took several steps before stabilizing himself. This was the second unlucky thing that happened today, following the unwanted five-star draw.

The third unlucky thing happened when he was about to open 060’s shared game, Running the Wonderful Café. His hand slipped, and the entire shared game installed directly onto the slope. At the end of the slope was an underground passage. Yu Qunqing had always stuck to the surface and avoided going underground—this was his first time learning there was a subway tunnel hidden here. Deep underground, the subway tunnel was less affected by outside temperatures; compared to the freezing cold above, the pitch-black tunnel mouth actually exuded a hint of warmth.

“Beginning installation of the game Running the Wonderful Café. Please wait—”

Blue streams of data surged around Yu Qunqing, transforming into the café scene. The café’s door formed first, an elegant European-style wrought-iron gate, with two hanging baskets by the entrance and a small blackboard on the ground listing today’s menu.

Yu Qunqing thought, since he was already here, he might as well properly enjoy this management mini-game. He hadn’t expected the final unlucky thing of the day to occur.

In the past, he usually had strong autonomy when obtaining shared games. But 060’s mental power was growing too quickly, making the game overly realistic—even his outfit changed.

Yu Qunqing stared in shock as the blue data streams wrapped around him, transforming—like a magical girl transformation—into a green, lotus-edged apron. The hem was embroidered with exquisite patterns; a silver-mounted sapphire clasp adorned the chest pocket, along with a complex neck frill. He was still wearing pants, but the entire outfit resembled a medieval formal costume—far too refined, and very uncomfortable for Yu Qunqing.

He tugged at the apron and realized he’d be standing behind the bar anyway, so what he wore didn’t matter. He urged the system to start the game quickly, preferably skipping the tutorial if possible.

The system insisted on not skipping the tutorial, laying out various condiments for Yu Qunqing to identify. “Adjust to this mark and it’s coffee; add milk past this mark and it’s a latte… These are different kinds of coffee beans; these are different kinds of fruit juices…”

Yu Qunqing said, “Aren’t all management games like this? See what the customer wants, then use the menu to pick different ingredients and combine a drink. The customer drinks it, pays, I collect the money. If they wait too long or the drink is wrong, they pay less. Once the amount reaches a certain number, you move to the next stage or unlock new drinks. I get it.”

The system set the tutorial to double speed—its final concession.

Two minutes later, it prompted: “You have passed the tutorial. Now begin serving customers! First-stage target amount: 100 yuan.”

Yu Qunqing picked up a shaker and began shaking. “So where are the customers?”

System: “Please don’t worry about the customers. All management mini-games share a hidden logic, which is—

The game will forcibly bring customers to your door. Zero-customer situations are strictly forbidden.”

Yu Qunqing thought that made sense. Whether it was running a park, a water park, a university, or a hotel, the ‘customer’ resource always arrived for free. Some complex management games added options like ‘advertise to attract more customers,’ but there were never no customers. Customers came from the void, and they would definitely spend money—no freeloaders—leaving all kinds of reviews afterward. Seen this way, management mini-games were truly masters of forced transactions.

So Yu Qunqing chose to trust the system and waited for the first customer to arrive.

The wind chime by the door rang. A person carrying a child walked in, locking eyes with Yu Qunqing, who was still shaking the cup. The newcomers said nothing; Yu Qunqing thought he’d scared them. He set down the shaker and adopted a server’s posture. It was a game, after all—you had to get into character. But the one adult and one child remained silent.

After a long pause, Yu Qunqing finally broke the silence:

“Hello, would you like to order?”

Zhou Tiao revealed a look of sheer terror, her mouth opening wide enough to swallow a pear.

……

Jiangbei City’s subway system was extremely developed, spreading throughout the city. The deepest-buried line was Line 13, built with the latest technology and boasting exceptional pressure resistance. Because it was deep underground, its temperature stayed around 10°C, very stable.

Once, torrential rain had turned this place into hell. But after the water dried up, it became a temporary shelter for some people in the post-apocalyptic world. Some knew that others were also living in the subway tunnels, but constrained by terrain and disasters, they were trapped in isolated pockets.

Now, many people were inexplicably seized by a powerful urge to “go out and take a look.” They didn’t know why, but all of them packed up their belongings and walked through the tunnels—some dragging their families along, others alone. The once-dangerous disasters had suddenly vanished; the subway passages became flat and smooth. The farther they went, the easier it felt, as if fate itself were guiding them.

At the end of Line 13 lay the outskirts of Jiangbei City, downstream of Crocodile River. At what used to be its surface station, thousands of snow-white people now stood. Some who had been frozen stiff suddenly shuddered violently in the cold wind.

Ice fragments rustled as they fell.