In a classroom at New York University, the philosophy professor spoke with a calm and engaging tone:

  "Both Eastern and Western philosophy pose the same question: How does an individual seek order and balance in a chaotic world?"

  Sitting by the window, Jiang Ye tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, his gaze wandering toward the sky outside. Sunlight streamed through the glass, highlighting his composed yet thoughtful expression. On his notebook, he had sketched out the movements of a Tai Chi sword technique. Since childhood, Jiang Ye had trained in martial arts under his master, honing not only his swordsmanship but also his inner strength. Even amid his busy academic life, he never stopped practicing.

  "Bro, what are you drawing again?" Tim Wang, his roommate, pushed open the door, balancing a cup of hot coffee as he plopped into the seat beside Jiang Ye. "Aren't you busy enough already?"

  Jiang Ye gave a faint smile. "Precision is key to sword techniques. Practicing even in thought keeps the moves sharp." He closed the notebook as he spoke.

  "You’ve got the patience of a monk," Tim muttered, pulling out his phone. "Have you heard about this? There's been some weird flu going around in New York. Hospitals are packed."

  Jiang Ye glanced at the screen Tim held up. The headline read: "New York Flu Outbreak: Emergency Rooms Overwhelmed." The accompanying photo showed crowded hospital hallways, with exhausted doctors and nurses tending to distressed patients.

  "It’s just the flu. No need to panic," Jiang Ye replied, though a faint unease stirred within him. Years of martial arts training had sharpened his instincts, and his heightened awareness told him something about this flu felt…off.

  As the lecture neared its end, a sudden, piercing scream erupted outside. The students froze, pens and notebooks forgotten as they turned to the windows.

  On the university's central lawn, a student lay convulsing on the ground, black fluid dripping from his mouth. Several concerned classmates approached him hesitantly, but in an instant, he sprang up, eyes bloodshot, and tackled the nearest person to the ground. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into their shoulder. Blood sprayed across the grass as the victim's agonized cries echoed.

  "My God! He's attacking them!" a girl in the class shrieked, breaking the silence.

  The room burst into chaos. Students shouted and scrambled for the exits, while the professor attempted to restore order. "Stay calm! It's probably a medical emergency—"

  His voice was drowned out by the sound of shattering glass and more screams from the hallway. Jiang Ye’s eyes narrowed as he stood abruptly, his body tensing. "Tim, we need to go. Now."

  "Go where?" Tim stammered, his face pale.

  "Back to the dorm. I need my equipment," Jiang Ye replied curtly, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The hallway was a maelstrom of fear and confusion. Students were running in all directions, their faces masks of terror. Near the stairwell, Jiang Ye saw the source of the commotion: several infected individuals, covered in blood, were attacking anyone they could reach. Their movements were jerky yet unnervingly fast, and their strength seemed unnatural.

  "Don't go that way!" Jiang Ye barked, pulling Tim away from the crowd. They darted toward a quieter corridor, avoiding the mob as best they could.

  Just as they turned a corner, a bloodied figure lunged at them from an adjacent classroom. "Watch out!" Tim yelled, stumbling back.

  Jiang Ye reacted instantly. His feet shifted, grounding him with perfect balance, and he sidestepped the attacker with fluid precision. Pivoting on his heel, he delivered a sidekick that sent the infected stumbling backward. The kick was controlled yet forceful, a testament to his martial arts training.

  "That wasn’t human strength," Jiang Ye muttered under his breath. The infected regained its footing and charged again, its bloodshot eyes locked onto him.

  Grabbing a metal rod from a nearby maintenance cart, Jiang Ye struck with practiced precision. The first blow landed on the infected’s shoulder, but it hardly flinched. The second strike hit its temple with a sickening crunch. The infected paused, then collapsed to the ground, motionless.

  Tim stared in disbelief. "Dude, that…that was amazing. Have you been secretly training for the apocalypse?"

  Jiang Ye didn’t respond. His grip on the rod tightened as he focused on calming his inner energy, steadying his breathing. These things weren’t human anymore, but killing them still left an unpleasant weight in his chest.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, Jiang Ye pushed open the fire escape door. The chill wind hit them as they stepped out onto the metal staircase. Below, the campus lawn was teeming with infected, their grotesque forms wandering aimlessly—or so it seemed.

  “Move quietly,” Jiang Ye whispered, his steps deliberate and light. His mastery of balance and control made him nearly soundless on the metal grating.

  Halfway down, an infected near the base of the stairs raised its head, its senses detecting their presence. It let out a guttural screech, and the other infected immediately converged on their location.

  “They see us!” Tim’s voice cracked with panic.

  “Stay behind me,” Jiang Ye ordered. With a swift leap, he landed silently at the bottom of the staircase. Using his inner strength to enhance his movements, he struck down the first infected with a powerful kick, sending it flying into the crowd.

  Tim stumbled down behind him, fumbling with his phone. “You’re like a martial arts superhero or something,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath.

  Jiang Ye didn’t reply. His attention was on the growing horde, calculating their next move.

  At the dormitory, Jiang Ye quickly pushed the door open and shoved Tim inside. He slammed it shut and braced against it as the infected pounded on it with inhuman strength.

  “Take the box under my bed,” Jiang Ye commanded.

  Tim scrambled to pull out a long wooden case. As he opened it, his eyes widened in astonishment. Inside lay a brilliantly gleaming sword of exquisite craftsmanship—Lingfeng, the treasured heirloom of Jiang Ye’s family.

  “You actually brought this to college?” Tim asked in disbelief.

  “It’s never let me down,” Jiang Ye replied, unsheathing the blade. The faint light reflected off the sword, casting a cold glow across the room. Turning to face the door, his expression became resolute.

  The door burst open, and the infected swarmed in. Jiang Ye moved with the fluidity of flowing water, each strike of Lingfeng precise and powerful. Inner strength coursed through his body, guiding his every motion. Within minutes, the room was littered with the unmoving bodies of the infected.

  Jiang Ye exhaled deeply, wiping the blood from the blade. His hands trembled slightly—not from exhaustion but from the weight of what had just transpired.

  “What now?” Tim asked, his voice shaky but steady enough.

  “We’re going to the supermarket,” Jiang Ye said, sheathing Lingfeng. “If we want to survive, we need supplies.”

  He glanced at the bodies around him, clenching his jaw. Though his body felt calm, his mind wrestled with the harsh reality of the situation.