1 Picking Up a Girl from the Apocalypse 1

Mid-September, ten o’clock in the morning.

While most people were either at work or school, I had requested leave from my university and stayed behind in this rented apartment off campus. Today, I had something far more important than attending class.

I understood perfectly well that what I was doing could not be spoken aloud.

Haunted by a guilty conscience, I hadn’t opened the window for ventilation this morning. When I approached the window, I only dared to pull the curtain aside a sliver. The dazzling sunlight struck my face, and the early morning scenery of the neighborhood unfolded before my eyes.

The outside world was peaceful, oblivious to the fact that within this room lurked two people rejected by society.

I picked up the cold metal object to my right and held it before my eyes.

It was a handgun.

I didn’t know its exact type or model. In all my previous life, I had never handled real firearms or ammunition, nor did I know anything about them. The only thing I could discern was that this was certainly not the toy model gun I played with as a child, but the real deal—a weapon that could blow someone’s brains out and land its owner in prison for life with a single pull of the trigger.

Verifying its authenticity was simple. Awkwardly, I unloaded the magazine, finding three cold, golden bullets within, while another was already loaded, murderous intent lurking in the chamber. There was no doubt—these were live rounds.

Legal statutes I had looked up online flashed through my mind:

Illegal possession or concealment of firearms or ammunition is punishable by up to three years in prison, detention, or control; in severe cases, three to seven years in prison.

After regarding the deadly weapon in my hand for a long while, I turned to look at the beautiful girl sitting restlessly on the bed.

“I’ll repeat what you just said. You claim the future world has fallen into an unprecedented catastrophe, with bizarre phenomena appearing endlessly, monsters roaming and slaughtering, and human civilization shattered by countless supernatural forces…” I organized the information I’d just heard, along with my own feelings. “And you, you’re a survivor of that apocalyptic world, who crossed time from far in the future to arrive at this moment?”

She nodded.

“So then, what is your purpose now?” I pressed on. “Do you intend to prevent the coming of the apocalypse in this era?”

“That’s right…” She glanced at the gun in my hand. “So, could you give my gun back to me?”

-

My first encounter with this strange and dangerous girl was last night, when I went to a nearby abandoned construction site to investigate a local urban legend.

Investigating urban legends was my hobby. Specifically, I would visit sites associated with rumors and tales to see if they lived up to their reputations.

This pursuit was hardly unique—curiosity is universal. Some schools circulate ghost stories, and students often try to verify them for themselves. What I did was no different in essence.

The only thing that set me apart from others was that I had taken this from a childhood pastime to a serious pursuit.

Since I was young, I’d been obsessed with fantastical tales in books, imagining myself living through those tumultuous adventures and clashing with world-destroying foes. I was equally fascinated by real-life mysteries and strange stories—the Bermuda Triangle, the wild men of Shennongjia, or popular internet legends like the Slender Man and the split-mouthed woman—those unreal entities, so far removed from daily life, made my heart race.

Likewise, I was drawn to feng shui, occult arts, black magic—concepts steeped in mystery and unreality—and I actively experimented with them, seeking to prove their truth.

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Naturally, my hands-on experiments almost always ended in debunking or inconclusive results, and my pursuit of urban legends earned me a less-than-flattering reputation.

Whenever I heard local reports of unexplained supernatural phenomena, I would seek out the witnesses to verify their claims. Some turned out to be misunderstandings, others were superstitious folks lacking even basic scientific knowledge, and some were evasive or defensive, occasionally growing angry at my questioning.

Those who’d been stumped by me would grumble to others: “That Zhuang Cheng is just another Lord Ye who loves dragons—if he ever met the real thing, he’d be scared out of his mind!” Many listeners agreed.

Within the university, I was regarded as an eccentric by most. I didn’t cause much trouble, but few classmates interacted with me normally. My only friend was perplexed by my dogged pursuit of the unreal, and once tried to probe my motives and persuade me.

“If you’ve never encountered real supernatural forces, why do you keep investigating urban legends?” My friend asked, “No matter how eager you are at first, after a few failures you should lose interest, but people say you’ve been at this since middle school. Isn’t that strange?

“You’re not doing this for streaming or any rewards, and you’ve never had any real results. There should be some positive feedback—some evidence or clues to keep you going, right?”

I caught the implication and went straight to the point: “Enough beating around the bush—just tell me what you want to say.”

He stopped hedging and spoke candidly: “I think you’d better not keep risking your safety investigating urban legends.”

“Why? Are you like the others, thinking I’d wet myself if I ever saw the real thing?”

“That’s not it—I’m worried you’ll break the law.” He retorted, “Sometimes you give off this reckless vibe that’s downright scary. You’re not going to dig up ancient graves for excitement, or participate in cult rituals, are you?”

“……”

“You wouldn’t, right?” His tone shifted.

Never mind whether I had any such plans—perhaps he wasn’t truly worried about criminal behavior, but just using exaggerated language to avoid conflict after my sharp reply. After all, I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen.

In the end, he failed to persuade me.

Recently, I’d turned my attention to the abandoned construction site near the university.

Rumor had it the place was haunted; the vengeful ghost of a worker killed in an accident was said to roam at night, bloody and kidnapping female students who passed by.

The night I heard this, I grabbed a large flashlight and went there alone.

The site was a half-finished building, abandoned mid-construction, with bare walls lacking doors or windows. Passing through the dark doorway, I was surrounded by bleak concrete walls, dust, and construction debris.

Even vagrants avoided the place, and not even insects seemed willing to enter this wasteland. The outside lights and noise were gloomily shut out; only silence and darkness remained, accompanied by my lonely heartbeat and breath.

The flashlight beam could only illuminate what lay ahead; behind me, the darkness felt almost tangible, damply pressing against my back, tempting me to look back. But if I did, I’d worry about what might suddenly appear in front again, leaving me perpetually on edge, scanning in every direction.

This unreality, though chilling, felt oddly familiar.

My friend had a point—people can’t endlessly pursue hope in directions where none exists.

Somewhere along the way, I intuitively grasped a vital truth: the real world isn’t as fantastical as stories, and most mysteries end in mundane, monotonous answers. Those who claim to use spells are merely skilled magicians; fortune-tellers are just adept at psychological tricks; Daoist priests who promise safety are just persuasive speakers, aided by followers’ ability to self-deceive. For a time, I truly wallowed in despair.

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But in the end, everyone dies.

Rather than perishing in a placid life, I’d prefer to die in an adventure as wild as those stories.

I wanted my life to slip beyond my control, to fantasize about monsters bursting into classrooms and killing teachers and students in broad daylight. If such absurdity really happened, how would I react? Perhaps I’d discover unexpected courage—or astonishing cowardice—I wanted to know. I wished for my world to spiral out of control.

What truly obsessed me wasn’t mere ghosts and demons, but experiences utterly beyond my world and imagination—unpredictable, incomprehensible adventures.

Though I didn’t expect this investigation would necessarily grant me a truly bizarre encounter, I kept honing my vigilance. Genuine strangeness always brings unimaginable danger. Even I couldn’t guarantee a safe escape.

Step by step, I entered the ruins, scanning every detail with the flashlight beam, picturing deadly threats lurking in barely perceptible corners—predators holding their breath, waiting to pounce the moment I blink and tear out my throat.

Monster, if you truly exist, show yourself before me.

I would prove I am not Lord Ye who only loves the idea of dragons.

Suddenly, a loud crash of heavy metal sounded nearby.

In a space so quiet my heartbeat was palpable, the noise struck like thunder, hammering my chest.

I snapped to alertness, pinpointed the source, and rushed toward it.

It was just a corridor’s length away; I quickly arrived and, aided by my flashlight, saw what had caused the sound.

A fallen scaffold lay on the ground. So that was it—a heavy object falling could indeed make such a racket. But scaffolds don’t topple for no reason; someone must have knocked it over.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed—at the edge of my vision, in a dark corner—a faint shadow sitting against the concrete wall.

Blood was flowing across the floor, winding like serpents, slowly, slowly, slithering from darkness into the light of my flashlight.

The rumor said that the ghost haunting this site was a worker killed in an accident, appearing at night, soaked in blood.

A suffocating grip clamped my throat. I realized I was unconsciously holding my breath, and the helplessness made my limbs stiff and cold as a corpse.

Trembling and eager, I slowly moved the flashlight’s beam to illuminate the vague shadow.

What appeared before me was indeed a blood-soaked person.

But not the terrifying ghost I’d imagined.

Instead, it was a slender, delicate-featured girl in a blue-and-white hospital gown.

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