52
Strictly speaking, tomorrow was Zenith Franklin's birthday.
Everyone was enthusiastically discussing the details of the party.
"We should have some performances too," someone suggested, "Ethan, you should definitely take the lead."
"No way," Ethan Jackson looked around for help, "Emily, no performances, please."
Emily seemed lost in thought.
"Emily?" Ethan waved his hand in front of her face.
"Hmm?" She came back to reality and smiled, "Majority rules, of course."
"Do your best," someone nudged Ethan's shoulder, "Emily is watching you."
After the lively conversation, the group dispersed.
The night grew deeper.
In late April, the weather had warmed up considerably. The air had a faint scent of summer.
Many people moved out of the warehouse and lay in small groups on the platform.
I slid into my sleeping bag, and with just one look, I could see the starry sky.
"It's so beautiful," I couldn't help but sigh.
"Yeah," Chris responded.
"I was really surprised," I whispered, "that you were willing to live at the base."
Although this part of the plan was eventually scrapped, Chris's willingness at the time still surprised me.
"Really?"
He put his hands behind his head and stared at the sky, "It wasn't a difficult decision for me."
I nodded.
The world doesn't lack unique individuals.
Everyone has their preferred lifestyle. Instead of imposing his rules and principles, he respected our choices as he respected his own.
Chris must have faced many struggles and compromises as someone used to living freely.
But he didn't see these compromises as a given.
Instead, because he had received much goodwill, he could make some sacrifices.
I realized what he meant by "stereotypes." Maybe I didn't understand him as well as I thought.
Seeing my silence, he changed the topic, "Is Anne still not out?"
"Yeah, maybe they're not done talking."
The task of negotiating the move fell to Anne.
She had been in there for a while, likely discussing other things too.
"She's not usually like this," Chris shook his head, "This is special treatment."
I couldn't help but laugh.
Without comparison, there's no harm.
Having Zenith Franklin as a reference made it clear they didn't get along.
Anne was outspoken and irritable. She had no patience for Chris's intricate thoughts. Moreover, Chris's joining had threatened her top spot in action efficiency, sparking a strange sense of competition.
During the big cleanup of Building 51, every time Anne killed a zombie, she'd look back at me with a "see how good I am" expression.
Of course, these frictions finally dissipated over a few beers at the Lunar New Year's dinner.
I still remember her slurred complaints about Chris's laziness,
his disinterest in cooking, his fishing obsession, and how he stole KK's affection.
But Chris could be childish too.
He often encouraged me to make tea from Anne's precious tea leaves,
knowing she loved her camping shovel but couldn't have it, he'd hang it in the most visible spot at home.
After meeting Zenith Franklin, he teased no less than I did.
But none of this hindered their friendship and trust.
They were willing to put their lives in each other's hands.
I glanced at him.
The evening breeze blew gently, and Chris had already closed his eyes, falling asleep.
If there's anyone in this world worth protecting with one's life, besides my parents, it's these two.
Maybe it was the new environment, but I slept lightly.
Half asleep, I felt someone moving beside me.
I opened my eyes to see Uncle Grant up and standing guard.
"Uncle, what time is it?" I rubbed my eyes as I sat up.
Dawn was just breaking.
The whole base was still asleep, with light snores filling the air.
"Almost five," he turned to me, "Did I wake you?"
"No, no," I shook my head quickly, remembering the knee pads still in my bag.
I almost forgot about them in all the gossip yesterday.
"By the way," I sat up and reached for my bag, "I brought you a gift."
"A gift? For me?" Uncle Grant was surprised.
"Yes!"
I found the knitted knee pads and ran over, "I estimated the size, so if they don't fit, I can adjust them."
"They'll fit, they'll fit," he wiped his hands on his pants and repeated, "They'll definitely fit."
"Just so you know, this is my first serious sewing project, so don't—"
The words got stuck in my throat because he suddenly collapsed toward me.
I saw a mist of blood behind him.
"Uncle!"
Instinctively, I reached out to catch him.
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