"CHAPTER 1 THE OUTBREAK

Total darkness. The zombie assaults had lasted a week now. Water gone. Food gone. Electricity gone. His stomach screamed with hunger, his throat felt like fire, and his lips were cracked and dry. Can’t… can’t collapse. A middle-aged man staggered to his feet, gazing across the street at the supermarket. Stumbling to open his door, he set off towards that beacon of sustenance. Lurching figures on the street spotted him instantly. They roared like beasts and charged, pouncing on the man weakened by days of starvation and thirst. They tore at his flailing fists, ripped open his abdomen, and shoved bloody entrails into their mouths. His struggling arms gradually fell limp. The light faded from his eyes.

Shortly after the zombies shuffled away, another creature joined the ranks wandering the street – its belly gaping open, half an arm brutally bitten off. A closer look into its vacant, hollow eyes might reveal a flicker of anger and profound resentment.

Li Ye watched the few desiccated corpses shambling past his window. Even through their withered, grotesque faces, hints of their former selves remained visible. But now, they were nothing more than mindless beasts drifting through the ruins.

The virus had begun its spread a week ago, the zombie numbers multiplying exponentially – starting in North America, then South America, Asia, and finally the entire world. Now, only a few isolated island nations in remote oceans remained untouched. Every corner of the globe was infected. Every single day, in every place, the scene played out: zombies attacking people, and those attacked transforming into new, mindless zombies within mere hours, then turning to attack the remaining uninfected.

Predictably, apart from those who managed to barricade themselves inside, most hadn’t escaped. The streets were now unnervingly quiet, littered with debris – no living soul moved among the zombies. Twisted streetlights and wrecked cars littered the landscape. Beneath the setting sun, the city seemed exactly as depicted in apocalyptic visions: a place of death. Distant gunshots would occasionally punctuate the silence – a sharp bang! – or the piercing, desperate shriek of someone meeting their end. The constant whump-whump-whump of helicopters overhead only emphasized the pervasive despair, a sign that fragments of the military were still mounting a futile resistance. Was this truly the end? Had the pinnacle of hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, humanity with its nearly ten thousand years of culture, truly come to this? Just days ago, Li Ye could still hear reports on the news – police and military forces battling zombies here or there, defending major cities and key transit hubs. But such reports had dwindled to almost nothing. Earlier today, the TV broadcast grim news: under assault from within and without, the heavily fortified capital, Beijing, had finally fallen. Zombies poured into the city center. The military, suffering heavy losses, fought a desperate rear-guard action, falling back building by building with their remaining weapons, stubbornly holding off the zombies to buy precious time for civilian evacuation. The central leadership and key officials, however, had boarded a special flight to Tibet the moment the city was breached. From the Tibetan plateau, utilizing its formidable terrain, they formed a defensive line, desperately trying to stem the relentless tide of undead advancing westward. Li Ye’s own city, TA City, was long abandoned – now nothing but smoke and zombies.

Despair began to coil in Li Ye’s heart. Am I going to die like this? he wondered. The government clearly lacked the power to save survivors like him, stranded and uninfected in these eastern cities. In the face of a national catastrophe, individual lives seemed tragically insignificant, almost laughable.

Li Ye peered down from his fifth-floor window at the shambling corpses below. A bitter smile touched his lips. He could almost see his own doom descending.

week ago, before the outbreak, Li Ye, ever the procrastinator, had done a single massive grocery run – stocking up on vegetables, canned goods, and enough rice and flour for twenty days. His sole motivation: minimizing trips to the market. The very next day, after his bulk purchase, the crisis struck. His earlier decision suddenly seemed nothing short of “brilliant.”

Chaos erupted on the outbreak day. The streets teemed with panicked crowds and enraged zombies. Police stations, vastly under-equipped and outgunned, stood little chance against the assault or containing the virus. Schools shuttered. Factories stopped work. Hospitals, clinics, and police stations overflowed with the bitten and the infected. Within two hours, these very places became fresh breeding grounds for the next wave of the undead. In the pandemonium, Li Ye had managed the lucky dash from his office to his apartment. Bolting the door behind him, the thick steel security door offering a palpable wave of relief. Then, he’d filled every container in his house – buckets, the giant ceramic water vat, pots, pans, dishes, and even the bathtub – with tap water. Instinct screamed this wouldn’t be over quickly. He was right. True to form, the tap water stopped flowing after three days, swiftly followed by the power grid becoming sporadic at best.

Timid and reliant on the news, Li Ye could only piece together the crisis's cause and the government's faltering response from fragmented TV reports.

According to the initial scraps of information, the outbreak originated from a leak of a newly developed virus called “T-Virus,” created by the American company, Raynos Corp. The virus spread through open wounds. Its function was devastating: it systematically destroyed all nerve cells throughout the body and the vast majority of brain cells. A short incubation period of just two hours led to the total destruction of these crucial brain cells. Furthermore, the viral byproducts aggressively stimulated the brain's appetite control centers, creating an insatiable, agonizing hunger, regardless of how much was consumed. With their brains ravaged, victims became mindless automatons, gaining immense strength but losing all consciousness. Their sole drive: to attack uninfected humans, solely to sate this endless, burning hunger. Anyone attacked by these creatures who survived would inevitably turn into a new zombie, joining the relentless search for “food.”

By the seventh day, Li Ye still had a substantial reserve: one large water vat remained (roughly eighty pounds), and his refrigerator held half its original stock of vegetables and meat. Most of this perishable bounty had been rubbed with copious amounts of salt for preservation – Li Ye was planning for a long siege. He also had rice and flour reserves sufficient for fifteen days. If he rationed carefully, he figured he could survive for at least three more weeks. But then what? Would the government, barely able to protect itself now, find the resources to rescue people like him who were clinging to survival in the cracks?

Before bed, Li Ye habitually sat cross-legged and began his deep breathing exercises. Soon, warm currents flowed within his body, leaving him feeling comfortably, warmly relaxed.

This method was a family secret, taught to him by his then-still-living father when Li Ye was very young. His father claimed it could ward off all ailments. Young and naive, Li Ye hadn’t understood much, just muddled his way through learning it. As a child, he didn’t grasp its benefits either; he merely practiced for an hour daily as instructed, persisting for two years. Gradually, he noticed effects: his mind felt clearer, his body felt stronger than peers his age, and things taught in school seemed easier to remember almost immediately. He also began sensing a distinct flow of warmth within his body. Recognizing it as the fruit of his practice, Li Ye felt a silent gratitude towards his father, long since passed.

Growing older and learning more, Li Ye encountered the term ""Inner Kung Fu."" He became almost certain this warm flow belonged to that realm. But while Li Ye was sturdier than most, he didn't possess the exaggerated, acrobatic abilities of kung fu masters from novels. Besides, those accounts described inner cultivation requiring deep meditation and forbade any interruption. Li Ye, however, could cultivate just by sitting cross-legged for a short while. He could even interrupt the session if disturbed, without any ill effects like the feared ""deviation"" (走火入魔 - zǒuhuǒ rùmó).

Why? He racked his brains but found no answer. Yet, the undeniable benefits accumulated over the years kept him diligently practicing, never doubting its efficacy.

Li Ye was unaware that this breathing technique was a long-lost, unique form of Internal Kung Fu. Unlike others, it wasn't difficult to learn, didn't necessitate deep trance states, and carried none of the typical risks of deviation. Similar to Taoist longevity exercises, it could be practiced anywhere, anytime. Though lacking offensive capabilities, it was actually a foundational cultivation art—more advanced than mere martial arts. Perhaps some ancestor had encountered a cultivator who favored them with this wondrous technique, though its true purpose remained obscured by time.

After an hour, Li Ye felt his weary spirit completely restored. His vision sharpened; even in the faintest light, he could see objects clearly up to five meters away. This change thrilled him. Maybe it’s not just about strengthening the body as Father said. Maybe there are other wonders I haven’t discovered yet?

But just as he prepared to conclude his session, the warmth inside his body suddenly rebelled. It surged wildly, uncontrolled, coalescing into a swirling vortex centered on his lower dantian energy center. The vortex spun faster and faster, bringing with it waves of agony that felt like his body was being ripped apart.

Unbeknownst to Li Ye, his accumulated internal energy had reached a critical bottleneck. Had the ancient cultivator who initially bestowed this technique upon his ancestor witnessed this, they would have been stunned. He had unknowingly surpassed the decades-long effort most ordinary people required to reach the ""Illumination Stage"" (开光期 - kāiguāng qī) and had transitioned directly to the ""Inedia Stage"" (辟谷期 - bìgǔ qī). The sheer depth of his internal energy already vastly exceeded that of typical martial arts masters. If he could weather this crisis, all his meridians would be forcefully cleared, transforming his energy from acquired (""Postnatal Qi"" - 后天之气 - hòutiān zhī qì) to innate (""Prenatal Qi"" - 先天之气 - xiāntiān zhī qì), catapulting him to the pinnacle level of martial prowess. Yet, in the eyes of a true cultivator, this would merely be glimpsing the proverbial ""mountain gate""—not even counting as stepping into the courtyard itself.

Oblivious to the profound change occurring within him, Li Ye understood only one stark reality: failure to pass this ordeal meant death.

Decades of disciplined practice had forged an iron will and a fierce instinct for survival. Clinging desperately to a sliver of clarity amidst the searing pain, Li Ye slowly, agonizingly, guided the blazing energy vortex away from his dantian. He forced it along the familiar pathways his subtler energies usually traversed. The previously gentle flow was a mere trickle compared to this roaring river. The meridians widened violently under the overwhelming pressure. The passage of energy felt like being stung by a thousand bees simultaneously. Just as the pain threatened to shatter his resolve, he sensed a slight diminishment in the rampaging vortex. He realized that if he could keep forcing it along this route, it might eventually dissipate entirely. That, at least, could save his life.

As for losing his cultivated power? Firstly, Li Ye didn't truly grasp its significance. Secondly, it was the only choice he had left.

Hope fueled him. He endured agony worse than torture, a hundred times over, to propel the energy vortex along the meridian paths. Every time it crashed through a stubborn blockage, an excruciating jolt shot through him. He lost count of how many barriers he smashed – dozens, maybe – until the very last one finally gave way. Suddenly unimpeded, the powerful energy stream, traversing meridians now as broad as highways compared to their former goat-tracks, raced with incredible speed through his system.

The pain began to subside. Li Ye's consciousness slowly returned. As awareness solidified, the rampaging current within him simply... stopped. It coalesced, calm and potent, back into his dantian.

As the last shreds of agony vanished, utterly spent, Li Ye collapsed onto his bed and sank into a deep, unconscious sleep."