Author's Note: This is the second update! Double updates today! Those who haven't read the first one, go back and read it now!
Feng Qibai pondered for a moment, then raised his face and slowly shook his head: "No. The buildings are too far apart. Not to mention what you're shouting, they probably won't even be able to recognize you. Besides, you were shouting at the entrance of Gewu Building before, so your voice carried out along the innermost part of the avenue without any obstruction. Now we're inside the building, separated by several floors, and we're sandwiched in the middle. Our windows face Gewu Building, so the Luban Building probably won't hear a single sound."
"Then let's go to the rooftop," Wu Zhou suggested. "There are no obstacles on either side, so we can shout to this side and then shout to the other side."
"Does your sports institute have any methods besides shouting?"
"whistle?"
Feng Qibai sighed: "Can't it be separated from human bodily functions?"
Zhao He interjected: "Beating drums and gongs? We need to have that too."
Feng Qibai was stunned, but Zhao He's words were like a wake-up call.
"You guys have one?!" Zhao He wasn't stupid; he understood the gist of it from Feng Qibai's expression.
Feng Qibai rolled his eyes: "What do we need gongs and drums for? To cheer each other on while we're carving?"
"And what was your expression?"
"Our department doesn't have it, but the vocal music department does."
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get started!"
The three friends got right to work, but the sculpture students on the third floor were no pushovers. A group of more than ten people, carrying carving knives, roamed the corridor like a bunch of gangsters from the Young and Dangerous movies, ready to throw knives at the slightest provocation.
What's worse is that the third-floor corridor is brightly lit by moonlight, so if they peek out, they will be seen clearly.
"What should we do?" Zhao He pressed his face against the crack in the door, closely observing the zombie patrol while quietly analyzing the situation. "Trying to break through is probably risky."
Wu Zhou crouched down and squeezed to his side, also trying to peek out through the crack in the door. Suddenly, he noticed a red device on the wall not far away, and his eyes lit up: "Fire hose!"
The zombies seemed to have noticed the voices, and one of them, who was at the very back, suddenly turned around.
Zhao He was startled and immediately closed and locked the door.
The three of them went back to the inner room to discuss—
Wu Zhou: "I think it's feasible. The water jet has a considerable impact force, and it should be able to block the zombies without any problem."
"It's certainly fine to make it sputter," Zhao He hesitated, "but the premise is whether that thing can be used? It looks like it's been in disrepair and broken for years, are you sure it's not just for show?"
"Don't worry," Feng Qibai, who had been silent until now, said calmly and confidently, "I don't know about the other buildings, but the fire hoses in Yixin Building are definitely reliable."
"You guys have used it?" Zhao He asked, puzzled. "I haven't heard of any fires at our school since I enrolled."
Feng Qibai shrugged: "It doesn't necessarily require a fire to use."
Zhao He blinked in bewilderment, feeling as if he and the other person were from different worlds: "That's a really amazing statement."
"Fire hoses are very important props for our performance art. Sometimes, if the connections are not tight or the water flow is not right, it will be reported immediately." Feng Qibai paused for a moment, feeling that Zhao He had almost digested the information, before gently asking, "Do you understand what I mean?"
Zhao He felt he understood, but it seemed like he didn't understand completely. What he was more eager to know was: "Just how frequently do you do this...?"
"It depends on whether the performance artist ends up with a perfect escape or an internal disciplinary action. Oh right, illegally opening a fire hydrant is punishable."
What's the difference between these two ways of ending a story?
"The former marks a brilliant end to this performance art at its climax, signifying success, and a successful performance art will make later performers less interested in repeating it; the latter signifies failure, but failure can stimulate people to follow in one after another, which is a respect for art and a spirit of dedication to art."
"..." Zhao He swallowed hard, then looked to Wu, a member of the audience, for help, "Can you understand me?"
Wu Zhou scratched his head: "Uh, more or less."
Zhao He: "Could you explain this to me in simple terms, using human language?"
Wu Zhou: "Those immature, rebellious kids are obsessed with courting disaster."
Zhao He: "Good brother!"
The Dragon King stirred, and waters overflowed, bringing beauty to the land.
When the violent jet of water sprayed out of the fire hose nozzle, Zhao He found the spirit of one man guarding the pass against ten thousand!
The dozen or so zombies were thrown about by the powerful impact, too disheveled to stand. Zhao He glanced at his two comrades who were still observing and urged impatiently, "Run—"
The sudden movement caused their bodies to sway slightly, and as a result, they lost control of their direction. The fire hose flew off and headed straight for their two comrades. Poor Wu Zhou and Feng Qibai, before they even got started, were left with a glistening, chilling spray.
An innocent comrade roared, "Zhao He!!!"
Embarrassment and guilt overwhelmed him, and Zhao He frantically tried to figure out what to do and what to say. What if this situation were... what if it were Song Fei? Yes, what would Song Fei do?
Snap!
Zhao He felt the lightbulb in his head go off.
"Yes, yes, I know you two love me. Come on, let's go upstairs first, and we'll talk later, okay?"
"..."
His comrade didn't say anything more, but just by listening to his footsteps, one could sense the frustration and resentment in them.
Seeing his comrades go upstairs one by one, Zhao He breathed a sigh of relief. Choosing Song Fei was definitely the right decision. That guy was the most cunning; no matter who was right or wrong, who was in the right or in the wrong, he could always turn the tables and avert disaster. He was practically a breath of fresh air in the world of bad guys!
Seeing that the time was right, Zhao He decisively dropped the fire hose and sprinted up to the fourth floor. At that moment, Wu Zhou was already entangled with the zombies on the fourth floor, while Feng Qibai, with even more skillful movements, quickly connected the fire hose and opened the valve!
Sizzle—
The three of them continued their assault, breaking through five or six levels of the painting department after the sculpture department. Compared to the sculpture department, the painting department students' combat power had dropped sharply, and they no longer had any weapons. Most of them were empty-handed, with a few still holding watercolor palettes or paintbrushes, making Zhao He feel a little sorry for them when he was attacking.
But they ended up getting stuck on the seventh floor.
Firstly, the fire hoses on the seventh floor were indeed not properly tightened, leaking more water than it was spewing out, drastically reducing their lethality. Secondly, the seventh floor not only housed infected teachers, but also some vocal music students from the eighth and ninth floors, causing the zombie horde to inexplicably grow.
However, the team couldn't very well accuse Feng Qibai of false advertising, because the fire hoses on this floor were definitely not within the scope of performance art. No student was going to do anything reckless to have them inspected regularly! You see, this floor was entirely teachers' offices. If someone caused trouble, all the teachers would just take down the perpetrator without even needing to use the process of elimination. There would be absolutely no chance of escape.
Therefore, the battle on this floor was extremely difficult. Before they could finish fighting, and with dawn approaching, the three of them had no choice but to hide in the women's restroom.
So for the next day, the three of them were enveloped by a subtle sense of shame. Some took naps, while others forced themselves to close their eyes even when they weren't sleepy. The whole team was silent and serene, like angels.
Night fell once more.
Zhao He was the first to open his eyes and said in a deep voice, "Are you ready?"
Wu Zhou replied almost seamlessly: "Can't wait!"
Feng Qibai didn't speak, but he stood up and gripped the carving knife tightly.
Zhao He gripped the doorknob and asked one last time, "Are you sure you don't want to smear some zombie blood on your bodies to cover up the smell?"
Two comrades: "Absolutely not needed!"
Zhao He sighed and went out the door.
Those who achieve great things don't concern themselves with trifles; indeed, not everyone possesses his heroic spirit. But it doesn't matter; the Oath of the Peach Garden only had one lord, so him being the leader of the group is...
Huh? Where are my second and third brothers?
Coming to his senses, Zhao Huangshu looked around. Apart from the zombies in the distance with their backs to him, there was no sign of his comrades!
"Shh-"
A short, sharp notification came through the air.
Zhao He looked in the direction of the sound and finally spotted Wu Zhou's head peeking out from the corner of the stairs at the other end.
Choosing to operate at night was to avoid fighting as much as possible. Otherwise, Wu Zhou would definitely be cursing right now—you can get both directions wrong!
Feng Qibai had already mentally turned this guy into a pumpkin lantern, so he felt a bit more at ease and wasn't as excited as Wu Zhou.
Zhao He awkwardly shuffled along the wall, finally getting back on track.
Fighting on the eighth and ninth floors isn't difficult; the challenge lies in finding the gongs and drums. According to Feng Qibai, the vocal music department definitely has these things, because he can hear them practicing every day. Although the department claims the classrooms are soundproofed, it's still quite noisy, often causing sculpture students to lose their footing with their knives and have to redo their work. But he can't pinpoint exactly which room it is, since he's not in the vocal music department and rarely goes above the seventh floor.
So the three friends had no choice but to search each classroom one by one. Not finding the gong and drum was secondary; what was truly dangerous was encountering zombies five out of ten times.
The three of them could only play until they were tired and then rest, and then play again. They used the most rudimentary method to conduct a thorough search. By the time they finally found the red Chinese-style drum in the lecture hall next to the music room on the north side of the twelfth floor, it was almost dawn.
All three knew they couldn't delay, but the scene in the lecture hall still left them unsettled for a long time.
The classroom door was open, but as they locked it and prepared to fight, they discovered there were no zombies inside, only corpses. Some were leaning against the wall, some were lying on the ground, some were alone, some were embracing. The corpses' faces had begun to show signs of age, but the loneliness and despair before death still overwhelmed them.
Wu Zhou turned his face away and covered his eyes with his hand.
Zhao He felt a pang of sorrow.
Logically, only the bass drum should be considered the common property of the vocal music department. Due to its inconvenience to carry, it is usually stored in the classroom. All other musical instruments should be the private property of the students. However, these flutes, xiao, erhu, morin khuur, and other instruments are now scattered haphazardly on the floor.
This must be a folk music ensemble rehearsing.
How many days have they been trapped here? Did the accident happen during rehearsals? Why are there far more musical instruments than corpses? Did some of them escape or turn into zombies? Under what circumstances would some turn into zombies while others starve to death?
Zhao He clenched his fist, his palms were sweaty and hot.
There's only one possibility: some people starved to death first, and then the rest couldn't hold on any longer and opened the door...
Thump.
The drumsticks fell to the ground.
Zhao He and Wu Zhou looked up together; Feng Qibai was struggling to carry the large drum.
His eyes were hidden behind his bangs, so theoretically he shouldn't be able to see clearly, but Zhao He somehow sensed the determination in the other person's gaze.
Feng Qibai didn't say anything, but his actions made his comrades understand that the dead are gone, but the living must go on.
Taking a deep breath, Zhao He and Wu Zhou stepped forward to help.
Getting the big drum onto the rooftop was no easy task, but luckily they had ropes and Zhao He.
The latter got onto the roof first, then Wu Zhou and Feng Qibai tied the large drum up and swung the other end of the rope upwards. Zhao He caught it steadily and pulled the drum up with force.
Between the two martial arts classes, only Zhao He could accomplish this task. His stature and strength are so great that, if not the best in the entire university town, he is certainly the envy of the entire school.
If Feng Qibai and Wu Zhou hadn't accidentally pushed that zombie off the building, he might not have chosen Yixinlou; if he hadn't chosen Yixinlou, even if the two of them had found the big drum, they might not have been able to get it onto the rooftop; but without Feng Qibai, it would have been a stroke of luck for him and Wu Zhou to break through the Halloween-like zombie army, let alone find the big drum.
Therefore, Zhao He thought that the fact that the three of them had avoided so many "what ifs" and finally gathered at Yixinlou was a destiny, a preordained event, that the martial arts troupe was able to turn the tide.
The only thing they're praying for now is that Qi Yan and the others haven't left Gewu Building yet. After all, another night has passed, and dawn is approaching. Who knows, they might have already gotten their hands on the radio.
Thump thump thump thump—
Without any guidance, Wu Zhou immediately transformed into the King of Drums in Northwest China the moment he picked up the drumsticks, all that was missing was a white towel tied around his head.
Amidst the deafening drumbeats, Zhao He belatedly realized that his three-person team was unusually quiet. The entire night consisted mostly of fighting, arguing, and stabbing. Unless absolutely necessary, no one nagged. The peace and quiet was almost unbearable.
He really does prefer the minimalist class style of "Unyielding Survival 2".
Wu Zhou continued to pound for several minutes until his arms ached, then stopped at Feng Qibai's signal.
A large patch of the sky had already brightened, but the rooftops only echoed with the sound of the wind; there was nothing else, no response whatsoever.
Feng Qibai calmly revealed his xiao (vertical bamboo flute).
The two athletes from the Department of Physical Education didn't notice when Feng Qibai had brought up a xiao (vertical bamboo flute). To be precise, they couldn't really distinguish between different types of flutes like transverse flutes, vertical flutes, sheng (a type of Chinese mouth organ), and xiao. They just saw that Feng Qibai was about to play it.
"Can this sound be louder than a drum?" Wu Zhou was a little unsure. "Maybe I should tap it a couple more times."
Feng Qibai shook his head: "It doesn't need to be bigger than the drum. As long as it can reach their ears, it's fine. The drum we just heard was the exam bell, and this is the listening comprehension test."
Wu Zhou wiped his sweat: "Couldn't you use a different analogy? I'm traumatized by English exams now..."
Zhao He had no objection to playing the flute, but Feng Qibai surprised him by saying, "Aren't you a sculpture major? You can play musical instruments too?"
Feng Qibai didn't take it to heart and explained casually, "When I was a child, I studied a wide variety of things: painting, musical instruments, sculpture, dance, anything related to art. Except for singing, which I had no talent for, I practiced everything else. When it came time for the college entrance exam, I found that I was most confident in sculpture, so I chose that major."
"Impressive," Zhao He rarely praised people, but Song Fei's shamelessness and Feng Qibai's omnipotence made him admire them from the bottom of his heart. "Others can only learn one or two things at most, but you've mastered them all. Is your love for art that great?"
Feng Qibai lowered his eyes: "There's a kind of learning called 'Your mom thinks you should learn it.'"
In the morning breeze, the sound of a flute gradually rises, low and melancholic.