Tang Ying was willing to accept me, which naturally made me very happy. Being just a useless otaku in the eyes of my neighbors, living off the savings my parents left behind, I could only fantasize about women from my computer screen late at night. Now, a goddess-like Tang Ying had become my woman. The first thing to do was to go for another round.
Tang Ying hadn't expected me to be so shameless. Is this how all men are? Always climbing when given a pole? But since it had already happened once, she accepted it this time. We didn't stay in the entryway but went back to her room.
Her room was fragrant and decorated with a girlish touch. Pink curtains, ivory cabinets, and even a Winnie the Pooh stuffed toy on the bedside table. I was too impatient; as soon as we entered, I pushed her onto the bed.
An hour later, Tang Ying couldn't help but ask, "Haven't you had enough?" We had done it four times already, with only brief rests in between.
I raised a finger, "One last time."
...
Lying in bed, I found that I might actually be quite capable in certain areas. Perhaps it was due to years of solo practice. Tang Ying was lying beside me, completely exhausted. She never thought I would keep going again and again.
Looking at the sleeping Tang Ying, I got out of bed and walked to the living room to grab a cigarette from my jeans. As I smoked, my attention was drawn to a photo album on the coffee table. The first page showed a family photo with three people: a middle-aged man andwoman, presumably Tang Ying's parents, and Tang Ying herself. The next pages followed her life journey from infancy to university...
Suddenly, a woman's scream came from the building across. I quickly put down the album, went to the balcony, and opened the curtains to see what was happening. A woman on the 13th floor of the opposite building, number 12, was surrounded by zombies.
"Help!"
"Save me!"
She was desperately trying to escape, but her efforts were futile. More than a dozen zombies had grabbed her limbs and body; there was no escape.
As I was about to close the curtains, I saw a man on the 14th-floor balcony of the same building waving at me. He then held up a canvaswith three words written on it - 'Help me'. The man, wearing round glasses and looking quite artistic, seemed like a typical heartthrob. He appeared to be a painter, alone at home when the zombie crisis erupted, just like Tang Ying, waiting for rescue.
But after two months, there was no sign of a rescue team, and his food supply was nearly exhausted. He noticed me riding a motorcycle into the community, carrying bags of supplies, and thought I might be someone capable of helping. If he could get my assistance, he might survive.
But my next action crushed his hopes. I closed the curtains, showing no interest in helping him or even acknowledging his plea.