"Are you living with Dora now?"
Alex White detected a subtle double meaning in Aunt Jones's question.
"No, I cleared out a room. It's right next to hers... To be precise, we're neighbors now," Alex White answered.
This was the first time in days that he'd seen Aunt Jones outside. She rarely ventured out, preferring to stay quietly in her rundown courtyard. She was like a witch from a fairy tale, living in seclusion, hidden away in an old, mysterious castle.
Aunt Jones's expression shifted. "Neighbors?"
Alex White could tell she was trying to figure out his relationship with Dora. Did Dora bring back a man, or just a fellow survivor?
"Young people should look out for each other. It's good to have company," Aunt Jones remarked before turning to leave, without saying anything more.
Alex White wandered along the riverbank with his basket, and after a while, he caught two plump frogs in the grass near a calmer stretch of the river.
When he used to sleep beneath Dora's shed, he often heard frogs croaking at night. It wasn't the usual ribbit-ribbit, but more like a sharp, sudden bark, similar to a dog's. Then silence would follow, only for another brief croak to break the stillness. The sound was so abrupt, it really did resemble a dog's bark.
Two frogs wouldn't fill him up. He also spotted some wild chickens, but they flew off too quickly to catch. As soon as he saw them, they flapped away in a burst of feathers.
There were fish in the river—he could see their shadows flitting beneath the surface—but the fish traps had long since rotted away.
After wandering for a long time, he made his way back to the village. On the way, he spotted a large tree in the courtyard of an abandoned house. Its branches were thick with leaves, and round fruits hung from them. Upon closer inspection, Alex White realized they were apricots, likely planted by the people who had lived there before the disaster.
The apricots were still green, hanging among the leaves. He picked one and took a bite—it was so sour that his face contorted. He picked two more, planning to take them back for Dora to try.
When Alex White saw the apricot tree, he started to pay closer attention to the other rundown houses in the village, wondering if any other fruit trees had been planted. In rural areas, it wasn't uncommon to find persimmon, jujube, or even Sichuan pepper trees. On his way back, he noticed a courtyard with a persimmon tree. Although it hadn't been tended to, it had grown strong and healthy, but it wasn't the right season, so there were no fruits yet.
Dora Lin had likely eaten persimmons before, Alex White thought. Carrying the two frogs, he washed the apricots and handed them to her, eager to see her reaction to their sourness.
To his surprise, Dora didn't take them.
"Why did you pick them if they're not ripe yet?" Dora looked at the green apricots, then at the hopeful expression on Alex White 's face. "They're really sour."
"Uh..."
Alex White couldn't come up with a good reason, so he simply set them down.
"But sometimes, sour things are a treat. When your mouth feels too bland, a little tartness can be refreshing."
As she spoke, Dora picked one up and popped it into her mouth. Her face immediately contorted with the sourness.
"Oh, I forgot—you lost your sense of taste after the infection. You probably can't tell the difference, can you?" Dora remembered.
"It was only right after I got infected. I'm recovering now—getting better every day," Alex White replied.
"So you..."
Dora glanced at the apricots, then at Alex White , finally realizing what he was up to.
"You really are something."
Alex White set down the basket, thinking about the calmer spot in the river he had seen earlier. He mentioned it to Dora, wondering if they could weave a special kind of fish trap.
He had once seen someone use a bamboo basket like this to catch fish, similar to a fish trap.
Dora could survive on a vegetarian diet, but Alex White , still recovering from the infection, felt that a purely vegetarian diet wouldn't sustain him. He was concerned that, like the other zombies, his body would burn out, and he'd start aging prematurely in just a few years.
Looking at the shape Alex White had drawn on the ground, Dora said, "It might work, but will it actually help?"
"Let's give it a try."
A few days ago, Alex White had gotten into the habit of cleaning the courtyard, as if it had become an obsession. When he noticed the weeds in Dora's yard, he casually pulled them out, then glanced around the small courtyard. "How about I tidy this place up for you?"
"Hmm?"
"It'll look cleaner."
Alex White grabbed a shovel and turned over the small, abandoned vegetable patch on the west side of Dora Lin's courtyard. He also uprooted the weeds that had sprung up along the wall.
Afterward, the courtyard looked much tidier, though there were still piles of random things scattered around.
Recovering from the infection and adapting to this new life felt strange to him. The only time he felt truly at ease was when he was working.
When he finished, he returned to his room.
Surveying the neat courtyard and the old but clean wooden house, Alex White felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. Having a place to shield him from the wind and rain felt good—almost like having a home.
Yet strangely, he found himself missing the shed, though he couldn't quite explain why.
When he was in the shed, he knew that Dora was inside the house, quietly asleep. She was there—alive.
It wasn't the same as this all-encompassing silence.
Alex White thought that perhaps he just hadn't adjusted to this new life yet.
Two nights later, after returning to his room, he sat on his bed, staring out into the dark night beyond the window, feeling a suffocating emptiness closing in around him.
He stepped outside. The moonlight was faint, and everything next door was still.
Listening closely, he couldn't tell where Uncle Jones and Eddie had wandered off to. The world outside was eerily silent.
Sitting in the courtyard, Alex White gazed up at the star-filled sky, feeling a deep loneliness rise within him.
The next day, Dora noticed that the zombie king seemed a bit down, though she didn't know why.
He left with a basket on his back and later returned with it, singing a song with a broken guitar as dusk settled in.
Late that night, Dora pushed open her window and heard Alex White still awake in the courtyard next door.
"Can't sleep?" she asked.
"No."
Alex White couldn't quite explain what was wrong. He felt an unshakable anxiety, finding things to do in the dead of night.
Rationally, he knew that until the future Dora's father had predicted came to pass, nothing was certain. Life had to go on. But there was an inexplicable restlessness inside him, especially in the stillness of the night. He even found himself wishing for Uncle Jones and Eddie to come scratching at the door—anything would be better than this deathly silence.
So he sat in the courtyard, listening to the chirping of insects and the occasional croak of a distant frog, trying to find a sense of calm.
Alex White soon emerged over the wall, standing on the other side of the courtyard. In the pitch-black night, only a vague outline of him was discernible.
Dora Lin stood by the window, momentarily stunned as she gazed at the shadowy figure.
"Are you still not accustomed to the silence?"
After a long pause, she asked.
Alex White seemed momentarily lost, as if a realization was beginning to dawn on him.
"Were you... the same way before?"
"Eventually, you get used to it," Dora responded calmly.
Adjusting to solitude and even finding solace in it is a trial everyone endures after the disaster. Aunt Jones had adapted, and so had she.
Had Alex White not appeared by chance, it might have remained this way for many years to come.