Chapter Three: The Crowbar and the Mouse

“How did the world end up like this?” Liu Chang stared out at the thick, bottomless mist of blood beyond the window, his heart heavier than ever.

“How’s San’er?” The student who had called out moments ago ran outside, clearly close to the one named San’er—they must have come to the school together to study. Otherwise, given the brief acquaintance of the past few days, who would dare charge into that blood-red mist at such a moment?

But it was too late. The deed was done—a pool of blood marked the ground, the person already gone.

“I want to go home, see how my parents are doing.” Gazing at the bloodstained earth, Liu Chang spoke to himself.

“Would you really go out there right now?” The bespectacled student still hadn’t recovered from his terror.

“Precisely because of this, I have to see for myself.” Liu Chang pulled out his phone, dialed his mother’s number again—still only a busy signal.

“Try your phone—see if it works?” After putting his own phone down, Liu Chang tried the phones of the bespectacled student and several others nearby, only to find there was no signal at all. He announced to the group, “I’m going home to check.”

“Don’t go—it’s dangerous out there,” the chubby one squeezed in, warning him.

“I won’t be at ease unless I see my family.” After a moment’s thought, Liu Chang said no more, turned, and walked out of the classroom.

Stepping outside, the mist seemed denser still. The blood-red fog pressed in, threatening to seep into his very eyes. The entire world was shrouded in a dark crimson, sunlight utterly gone, with visibility less than five meters.

He could barely see three steps ahead; even the school gates were lost to sight. Head down, Liu Chang relied on his familiarity with the stone-tiled ground, feeling his way forward inch by inch.

“Grass is growing in the cracks between the stones.” The limited visibility forced his focus downward, heightening his attention to every detail. He noticed tufts of grass sprouting from between the paving stones—he hadn’t seen them before. It was almost as if those shoots were visibly stretching taller, growing at a rate he could nearly discern with the naked eye. At this pace, in under an hour, the flagstones would vanish beneath a carpet of grass.

“What on earth has happened to this world?” Liu Chang stepped carefully over the stubborn grass and made his way to the school gate. Opening it, he was faced with a world even redder, even darker.

Above, there was no sky; below, only earth. The world itself had fallen silent.

Outside the gates, there were no blaring car horns, no shouts from passersby—only a faint rustling from the distance. The strange mist seemed to absorb all sound, smothering it so that not even echoes carried far.

In this silent, blood-drenched hell, Liu Chang used his knowledge of the flagstone paths to slowly find his way home.

After a few meters, he spotted a car abandoned in the middle of the street, blocking the way. The driver was nowhere to be seen. It made sense; in this fog, a driver could scarcely see the hood of their own car, let alone the road ahead. Perhaps a headless van would fare better, but with the roads clogged by stalled vehicles, no one could get anywhere.

Liu Chang peered into the empty cab and noticed traces of blood on the steering wheel, as well as dents and scrapes on the door—clear signs of a struggle. Remembering San’er’s fate, Liu Chang decided to find something for self-defense.

He opened the unlocked door and found a tire iron in the driver’s compartment—a solid iron bar, about half a meter long, one end flat and sharp like a small spade, the other rounded. It felt heavy and reassuring in his hand.

Clutching the rounded end, Liu Chang set off toward home.

His small northern city was compact, and since his family lived in the urban district, the walk from school was less than half an hour.

Crossing the deserted streets, it wasn’t quite the doomsday scenario of a video game, empty and lifeless. Every so often, Liu Chang saw small groups of people—on the sidewalks, by garden gates, even gathered around a corpse, pointing and discussing.

Each face was etched with confusion, unease, and fear.

Liu Chang ignored them. The world outside was cut off: the phones had no signal, television likely didn’t work, and who knew if landlines still functioned—but all wireless communication was clearly down.

Tightly gripping the tire iron, he pressed on.

Suddenly, a stray dog leapt out from the roadside, its eyes blood-red and teeth bared.

The dog stared at him, growling a low, menacing warning.

Remembering what happened to San’er, Liu Chang dared not be careless. He tightened his grip on the tire iron, eyes locked on the stray, muscles taut.

Man and beast stood in a tense standoff. Then, as if suddenly recalling its old fear of humans, the dog shook its head, tucked its tail, and fled.

“Whew…” As the stray vanished, Liu Chang let out a breath, then continued forward, eyes on the ground and ears alert for any sound.

This stretch of the journey passed uneventfully, though the grass beneath him had already grown several centimeters high. It hadn’t yet swallowed the road, and he found his way home without trouble.

His family lived in a courtyard house in the old city district—usually clean and tidy. But now, as he stood at the door, Liu Chang saw that the familiar home had been transformed. Moss and climbing vines blanketed the exterior, with some kind of ivy wrapping parts of the house. Though he couldn’t see the whole structure, the plants’ strange vitality had clearly overtaken it.

Entering the courtyard, he tore away a vine from the door handle and unlocked the house.

“Mom, are you home?” The mist inside the house was much thinner than outside, and the sudden shift made Liu Chang’s eyes sting after so long in the blood-colored gloom.

He called out, but received no answer.

“Dad, are you there?” Again, only silence.

Twice he called, but no one replied. A sense of foreboding crept over him.

He walked further into the house and soon spotted a pool of blood on the floor—and a severed finger.

He recognized it at once as his father’s. After so many years together, they knew each other as well as their own hands—literally. That bent finger, lying in a puddle of blood, was unmistakable.

“Dad!” Liu Chang’s heart clenched painfully as he shouted, dashing into the inner rooms.

But after searching every corner, he found nothing—no sign of his parents, only bloodstains on the furniture. Not until he looked under the bed did he find something: a giant rat, the size of a cat, gnawing on a human finger.

“Damn it!” Liu Chang’s anger blazed as he saw the monstrous rat and its grisly meal. He kicked the bed frame in fury, startling the creature, which shot out from beneath.

Rats are fast, far faster than any human, and this enormous one was no exception. Its bulk didn’t slow it down; if anything, it gave it a longer stride.

It darted out, its beady red eyes locked on Liu Chang, utterly unafraid of their size difference.

Facing the beast, Liu Chang’s composure shattered—not with fear, but with an overwhelming rage and hatred.

He lunged forward and swung the tire iron.

Clang!

The sharp end struck the floor tiles with a piercing screech, chipping out a dent and sending a jolt up Liu Chang’s arms that nearly made him drop his weapon.

But the agile rat had already dodged aside the instant he struck.

Instead of fleeing, the rat crouched nearby, chittering at him in shrill defiance.

Liu Chang steadied himself, gripping the tire iron in both hands, ready for another round.

Whoosh!

This time, the rat attacked first, slicing through the air to his ankle with a flash of sharp fangs aimed at his Achilles tendon.

Liu Chang dodged instinctively, but the rat was too fast. He managed to avoid a fatal bite, but not quickly enough to keep it from tearing a chunk of flesh from his leg.

It didn’t retreat after drawing blood, but lunged again for the same spot.

“Agh!” Liu Chang staggered in pain, swinging the tire iron down hard at the rat’s skull.

Sensing danger, the rat abandoned its second attack and bounded away.

But Liu Chang wasn’t about to let it escape. As the rat tried to dart between his legs, he stomped its long tail, spun, and drove the tire iron down with all his strength, pinning the rat through its spine to the ground.

Screee!

The rat shrieked, limbs flailing with surprising force, but no matter how strong it was, its size was still no match for a human. Liu Chang gripped the tire iron tightly, pressing down, and kicked at the rat’s head again and again, each blow punctuated by a furious curse.

After dozens of kicks and curses, the rat finally went limp and lay still.

Exhausted, Liu Chang collapsed to the floor.

With a clatter, the tire iron dropped to the ground.

He sat there, panting, then slowly got back to his feet—only to feel a searing pain at his ankle.

In moments of adrenaline and rage, people often don’t feel pain, but as calm returned, agony swept over him.

A chunk of flesh and skin, as long as half a finger, was missing from his leg, blood streaming freely—the worst wound Liu Chang had ever suffered.

When he’d fought as a child, or brawled as a student, it was mostly to vent anger—no one ever tried to kill. But facing that rat, both he and it had fought for their lives. The wound was deep.

The world was changing, and nothing would ever be the same.