Qi Xia never expected that after walking along the road for an entire day, even as the sun dipped below the horizon, he still hadn’t reached the edge of the city.
An average person could walk five kilometers per hour, but by Qi Xia’s estimate, his own pace was only about three kilometers per hour in his current condition.
Today alone, he had walked for over seven hours, covering roughly twenty kilometers.
Now, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, his legs trembling uncontrollably. The only reason he could keep moving forward was sheer momentum.
*”I just hope I die a little later…”*
After another ten minutes of walking, Qi Xia truly couldn’t go on. He found a rundown building and stepped inside. Night was falling, and staying outdoors meant risking encounters with those eerie “insects.” Though he didn’t yet know exactly how dangerous they were, he preferred to avoid unnecessary trouble.
Using Officer Li’s lighter, Qi Xia lit a small fire. Then, he unfolded the “Paradise’s Edge” map, flipping it over and dipping his finger in his own blood to sketch out the path he had taken so far.
This city was far larger than he had imagined.
He had assumed that following the road would eventually lead him to something resembling the wilderness. Instead, the buildings around him grew taller and denser, as if he were moving from the outskirts toward the city center.
*”Most cities rarely exceed fifty kilometers in diameter…”* Qi Xia mused as he traced his route in blood. *”In theory, I should reach the edge by tomorrow afternoon. Then, everything will become clear.”*
With that thought, he moved closer to the fire, settling into a somewhat comfortable position to rest. The blood on his body had dried, leaving behind a pungent metallic odor.
The night before, Lin Qin had cauterized his wounds with a torch. Though the bleeding had stopped, the burns throbbed with pain and itched unbearably, making it impossible to sleep.
At dawn, Qi Xia dragged himself up, his body on the verge of collapse.
A night of rest hadn’t restored any of his strength—he was completely exhausted.
No water. No food. No medicine.
For a moment, Qi Xia even envied Han Yimo for dying so cleanly.
He scavenged a few relatively clean scraps of paper from the room, tore them into pieces, and forced himself to swallow them.
If his stomach remained empty, he might not live long enough to see the city’s edge.
With the rising sun, Qi Xia set off again.
He was now far from the original plaza. The “bell tolls” no longer reached him here, and encounters with the “Zodiacs” had become rare.
Yet, as he ventured deeper, the city’s “residents” gradually increased in number.
It was almost like a real city—except most of the people wandering the streets were lifeless husks. Expressionless, non-aggressive, and utterly uninterested in communication, they simply drifted aimlessly.
For a fleeting moment, Qi Xia felt indistinguishable from them.
Their movements, demeanor, expressions—even their walking pace—were identical.
How ironic.
Had these people, too, once been stabbed and set out with a clear goal to reach the city’s edge?
As the sun climbed higher, Qi Xia began to feel increasingly unwell.
He touched his forehead and neck—he was burning up.
Cauterizing his wounds had been too risky. Even if it stopped the bleeding temporarily, infection and fever were inevitable.
His eyelids grew heavier with every step. At any moment, he might collapse—and this time, he doubted he’d get back up.
After another half-hour, Qi Xia slowed to a stop by the roadside.
He couldn’t take another step.
Leaning against an old, abandoned taxi, he gasped for breath.
*”What a shame…”* He gazed at the road stretching endlessly ahead. There was still so much distance to cover, yet he was about to fall here. Even in his final moments, the city’s ultimate secret would remain out of reach.
Bracing himself against the taxi, Qi Xia lowered his head in frustration. Just as he was about to sit down, he suddenly noticed someone inside the car.
Not a corpse—but a blinking woman.
*”A ‘resident’…?”*
Qi Xia glanced at the unforgiving ground, then at the soft car seat. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
If he was going to die here, at least he could choose a comfortable spot.
With that thought, as if guided by some unseen force, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
The car smelled pleasant, like a girl’s—a far cry from the stench that permeated the rest of the city.
*”I never realized car seats could feel this good…”* Qi Xia murmured. *”Now I can die in peace.”*
*”Where to?”* the woman beside him asked calmly.
*”Where…?”* Qi Xia chuckled dryly. *”Where could I possibly go now?”*
He patted his thigh and softly sang, *”Drive… drive to the edge of the city, roll down the windows, trade speed for a little relief…”*
*”The edge of the city?”* The woman seemed to consider this. *”I don’t know where that is. You’ll have to guide me.”*
With that, she pressed the taxi meter and turned the key.
Just as Qi Xia expected, the engine sputtered weakly—no ignition.
Undeterred, she tried again. And again. On the fifth forceful twist, the entire car shuddered to life.
Qi Xia blinked in disbelief, turning to study her. She didn’t look like a “resident” at all—her complexion was healthy, her figure well-proportioned. Was she a “survivor”?
A “survivor” with her own car…?
*”Please fasten your seatbelt,”* she said smoothly, shifting into first gear and releasing the clutch with practiced ease.
Qi Xia fumbled for the seatbelt, only to find a frayed elastic strap with a rusted buckle.
Before he could process this, he tried to strike up a conversation. *”You… you’re a taxi driver?”*
*”What a joke,”* the woman replied, shifting into third gear. *”If I weren’t the driver, would that make me a car thief?”*
Her fluent, coherent responses—even her ability to joke—left Qi Xia even more bewildered.
A woman this mentally sound clearly wasn’t a “resident.” That would make her a “participant.” But why would a “participant” be driving a taxi?
*”Haven’t you noticed… how strange this place is?”* Qi Xia gestured out the window, testing her awareness.
*”Hmm?”* She glanced outside. *”I suppose. It’s getting cloudy.”*
Qi Xia sighed. So she *was* a “resident”—just one who had only recently turned, her mind still somewhat intact.
*”What’s your name?”* he asked.
Silently, she pointed to the taxi license displayed in front of him.
There, beneath her photo, was a name—Xu Liunian.
A surprisingly beautiful name.
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