Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Squad

The dazed crowds wandering along the street, at first glance, resembled zombies. Yet their faces, bearing expressions of childlike innocence, were far more varied than the mindless flesh-eaters. Ingram Street was not particularly large; before long, Zhong Shenxiu could see from afar the rough outline of the factory built entirely from white chocolate. From a distance, nothing seemed amiss—the factory gates were tightly locked. But one should never trust their eyes too easily; Zhong Shenxiu decided to approach closer, intending to use a magic wave on it. Only then would the information he obtained be reliable.

Just as Zhong Shenxiu was about to move forward, he suddenly heard the roar of an engine behind him. Without hesitation, he quickly mimicked the vacant, childlike demeanor of those around him, becoming one of the “ababa” simpletons under the control of Tuqi. His gait slowed, occasionally glancing left and right, as if admiring flowers. His impromptu acting was so exquisite that he suddenly felt it a pity not to win an Oscar.

The engine’s roar grew louder, and soon Zhong Shenxiu caught sight of its source—a pitch-black van, clearly modified. Both ends had additional crash bars; the darkened windows were covered with high-strength, anti-break wire mesh. Beneath the windows, round gun ports were visible, though tightly shut at the moment. Seeing all this, Zhong Shenxiu had every reason to believe that this seemingly ordinary van was equipped with a considerable arsenal.

As the van approached Zhong Shenxiu, it slowed to a crawl. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Zhong Shenxiu steeled himself, ready to cast a spell at any sign of trouble from the van’s occupants. But fortunately, it only slowed for a handful of seconds before speeding up again toward the factory. Nearing the factory, however, it abruptly turned, heading straight for a small courtyard—much like the one Zhong Shenxiu called home.

These van-driving men were surely up to something, for nearly everyone else around had become childlike simpletons, many even less coherent than children. Yet this group drove a car—likely unaffected by Tuqi’s control. Perhaps they were even Tuqi’s accomplices.

When Zhong Shenxiu saw them heading straight for the factory, he thought his suspicions were confirmed: Tuqi’s secret base must be beneath the factory. But then the van turned away...

The unexpected turn left Zhong Shenxiu bewildered. After brief consideration, he resolved to follow them. After all, aside from Wanda, this was his first encounter with people who seemed to have independent consciousness; even if they weren’t Tuqi’s allies, they were certainly special.

The courtyard was almost identical to Zhong Shenxiu’s own, even the degree of weathering on the mottled walls matched. Clearly, these courtyards had been built at the same time. The black van was parked at the gate, where a middle-aged white man stood guard, fully armed and cradling a rifle—presumably the lookout. Perhaps knowing there were few sane people left in the area, the guard was lax, merely going through the motions.

From his vantage point in shadow, Zhong Shenxiu saw no one else. But if the naked eye failed, he had other means.

“Magic wave.”

He channeled ten points of mana, and a circular wave spread out like the tide, easily enveloping the nearby courtyard. One... two... there were six people inside. Zhong Shenxiu found no secret entrance beneath the courtyard—just an ordinary yard, not the secret base he had imagined.

So what were these men doing here?

Pondering, Zhong Shenxiu used shadows and obstacles, combined with his “Rogue Mastery,” to slip past the lookout’s gaze and reach the rear of the courtyard. Just as he expected, it was laid out like his own: a back door and a modest window of light-catching glass.

Peering inside, he saw two armed men in the living room, stuffing sturdy black duffel bags with food from the refrigerator. Three others sat on the sofa—two elderly people and one child, all vacant-faced, playing childish games. These must be the residents, all under Tuqi’s control. Even as the armed men openly raided their fridge, they remained oblivious.

The two men chatted as they worked, their voices just audible to Zhong Shenxiu.

“These people are all idiots now. We’re just grabbing some food—isn’t this a bit overkill?”

“Shut up. Once we finish this last house, we head back to base.”

“Boss, what do you think this is? Did they all go crazy from those leaves scattered in the air?”

“No idea. Don’t ask. Our orders are to collect supplies and return to base. That’s all.”

“Boss, do you—”

With a glare, the younger man fell silent.

From this exchange, Zhong Shenxiu could deduce: these men belonged to some organization, tasked with gathering supplies from house to house. It was a ruthless tactic—most people had become mindless simpletons, and now even their food was being taken. Within days, most would surely starve.

Though the world now seemed made of biscuit walls, chocolate earth, and cotton candy roads, Zhong Shenxiu knew it was all illusion, a fabricated sight. Walls were just walls, earth merely earth, not edible in the least. Without food, these “ababa” simpletons would simply starve.

Moreover, the armed team’s alertness and casual conversation convinced Zhong Shenxiu they were not under Tuqi’s control—likely Tuqi’s collaborators.

After a brief analysis, Zhong Shenxiu concluded: the “base” they spoke of hid some secret. Could it be where Wanda was imprisoned, and the orders to gather food came from Tuqi himself?

He felt this was highly probable.

But then, as Zhong Shenxiu watched, he suddenly realized: his magic wave had detected six people inside, yet the living room held only five. Where was the sixth?