As the lock began to give way, Xiaoyu shouted at Xiaoshu to stop. So Xiaoshu immediately shut off the high-pressure valve again. This back-and-forth maneuvering was done entirely by hand, and by the time the job was finished, Xiaoshu was drenched in sweat from the strain. Xiaoyu, oblivious, stopped the water flow and immediately began hammering the door lock with the metal head of the water cannon, striking it with such force that the ground seemed to shake and the cannon itself began to deform. Only then did the lock finally clatter off the door, and with a powerful kick, Xiaoyu burst the door open, freezing instantly at the sight within.

A woman in a pink nurse’s uniform sat atop a high mound of corpses, weeping softly while covering her face with both hands. Seeing the door kicked open, the woman lowered her hands, and her gaze locked directly with Xiaoyu’s.

That look was one Xiaoyu would likely never forget; the lovely figure, her eyes blurred with tears, was none other than Wenshu, the woman he had longed for incessantly. The same eyes, the same mouth, even the slight redness of her nose from sobbing was identical to his memory.

“Xiaoyu…” Wenshu cried out, tears streaming down her face, and she scrambled down from the pile of bodies, intending to rush into his arms. But just then, Xiaoshu sprang out from behind and delivered a swift kick, sending Wenshu flying back.

Wenshu crashed against a male corpse, her tightly tied ponytail unraveling down her neck, creating a peculiar, almost striking tableau. However, she made no move to stand up, instead leaning against the dead man, watching the two men with eyes full of grievance.

“What is wrong with you?” Xiaoyu asked Xiaoshu, feeling a sharp pang of awkwardness; the person he sought was right there, yet Xiaoshu had just kicked her. Torn between his beloved and his good brother, he felt utterly stuck, caught in an uncomfortable bind.

Xiaoshu remained resolute, stating coldly, “Have you ever seen a woman dare to sit on a pile of dead bodies? And lean against a male corpse at that—unless she has some kind of perverse inclination. Is this how you remember the woman you cherish?” Xiaoyu was stunned into silence by the question. Suddenly, he recalled the last time he spoke to Wenshu on the phone; back then, she was just like any ordinary woman, fond of gossip, eager to learn the unknown, certainly not possessing this kind of ‘distinction’—the elegance to sit amidst corpses while shedding heart-wrenching tears.

“Who are you?” Xiaoyu finally realized the truth, separating the woman before him, who so closely resembled Wenshu, from the lover etched in his memory.

“I am Wenshu,” the woman insisted, her eyes filling with tears as she glared at Xiaoshu, as if she were deeply wronged by him. Xiaoyu turned to look at Xiaoshu, his expression pleading on Wenshu’s behalf.

“Sigh,” Xiaoshu let out a breath, “Then you tell us what happened here.”

Wenshu glanced at Xiaoyu, pouted her lips, and wept, “How would I know what happened? Everyone—doctors and nurses included—was killed overnight without a sound. There was just a flash of light, and anyone it touched was either decapitated or sliced in half at the waist. I couldn't bear the sight of the blood, so I fainted before I could be killed. When I woke up, I was lying on this pile of corpses, and the door was locked, so I could only sit here and cry.”

Xiaoyu looked at Xiaoshu again; seeing his deeply furrowed brow, his suspicion only deepened. He suggested, “Let’s take her out of here first. We can figure out the whole story once we reach a safe place.”

Xiaoshu paid no mind to Xiaoyu’s words. He stood motionless for a moment, then suddenly asked, “What kind of shoes was Xiaoyu wearing the first time we met?”

Wenshu knitted her brows and thought for a long time before stammering out, “He… seemed to be… wearing cloth shoes.”

At that, Xiaoshu hesitated no longer. He seized the high-pressure water cannon and brought it down hard towards her head.