One

“Yin Yin, are you and Xiao Hua getting used to living over there? Although your uncle’s place is a bit small, it’s more than enough for you two sisters. The wardrobe still has your cousin’s clothes, isn’t your aunt considerate? You can use any of the furniture as you like, and if you need anything, just call me and I’ll have it sent to you.”

Ye Yin didn’t answer.

“It’s not that your aunt forced you to move, you know how it is—Xiao Hua needs to go to school, and your place is just too far from campus, so inconvenient! It’s so much trouble to keep tidy, too. Poor girls, losing their parents... Well, let’s not talk about that. That’s why last week your aunt had your uncle drive you over. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your home for you. Study hard and listen to your teachers, understood?”

Ye Yin let out a muffled laugh and quietly pressed the hang-up button.

How shameless, she thought. A classic case of stealing the nest, and yet she made it sound so sincere.

The person on the other end, cut off, parted her lips in surprise, suspicion flickering in her eyes: What’s gotten into that girl?

She never would have guessed that her meek, easily manipulated niece had already been replaced at her core.

Nowadays, crossing into other worlds is practically a trend—if you haven’t transmigrated, you’re embarrassed to greet people. But after Ye Yin realized she’d crossed over, she still couldn’t get past it, sitting hopelessly in a corner all night.

It’s embarrassing, really. She fell asleep reading on the toilet, and when she woke up, the scenery and clothes had changed... Is this all it takes to transmigrate?

And of all places, why did she have to end up in the apocalypse novel she’d just been reading? No food, no water, no handsome men. The zombies in the story were nothing compared to facing them herself!

Ye Yin had crossed into a novel called “Songbird of the Apocalypse,” which told the story of the heroine, Qiao Xinran, dazzling everyone and saving humanity. With the protagonist’s aura, Qiao Xinran thrived in the apocalypse, living better than most did in peaceful times—slaying zombies, showing off supernatural powers, building a harem... Only the first season was released so far; the author announced the second season was ready and would be serialized soon.

It would have been fine to become the heroine, but she’d ended up as the character most voted by readers as “the one you’d most like to see dead”—the infamous female cannon fodder!

This cannon fodder’s name was Ye Yin (the same name again, fate’s mischief). She appeared at about eighteen, a regular person, always flirting with men regardless of whether they had girlfriends, desperate and seductive. To make matters worse, she had an innocent, pure face and liked to feign weakness and pitifulness, skilled at sowing discord, seduction, framing others—she excelled at courting disaster. She eventually tried to drug and assault the male lead, and was stripped and thrown to a horde of zombies outside the city by the furious heroine and her friends. Readers loved that scene, calling it satisfying and cathartic.

Ye Yin knew this from reading the story and browsing reviews, but her current situation didn’t quite match up. Perhaps because the transmigration was recent, her host’s memories were slow to return, so she didn’t have much information and couldn’t tell what was off.

From any angle, she was cannon fodder among cannon fodder—living proof of how to die spectacularly. Transmigrating into her meant doom was inevitable.

She glanced at the battered phone. The date in this world was January 7, 2012, about a year before the apocalypse began.

Taking a few deep breaths, Ye Yin curled up in the chair and gnawed her nails, calmly telling herself: Since I’m here, I have to accept it and think about practical matters.

Forget chasing handsome men. In an apocalypse novel, the biggest concern is: How long can I survive?

The author of “Songbird of the Apocalypse” was absolutely a cold-hearted stepmother. By the end of the first season, the survivors in Z Nation were the most numerous, but even then, the total didn't exceed seven million—meaning Ye Yin’s odds of survival were about one in two hundred.

Ye Yin’s lips twitched.

Based on her experience reading apocalypse novels and forum posts, the first to die after the outbreak are the clueless cannon fodder who get infected. The second wave are those with weak nerves, driven to suicide by the hellish sights. Over the next month, aside from bizarre deaths, most perish from hunger, cold, disease, or being eaten by zombies while searching for food or relatives.

After surviving the initial phase, official and private bases start to form, and death rates drop a bit. But don’t celebrate yet—even if you finally reach a base, there are countless new ways to die and suffer waiting for you...

No matter what, I can't die.

Ye Yin started to wonder about the world she’d left behind. She was a loner, had few friends, and weak ties with relatives, living alone in an apartment. It might be ten days or more before anyone noticed she was gone.

Enough. Better to focus on how to survive here.

Using the faint light from the window, Ye Yin took in her surroundings. The original owner hadn’t bothered to clean; junk was piled everywhere, greasy, filthy clothes formed mountains, and no one picked up those fallen to the floor. Most furniture was thick with dust, cobwebs clung to the corners, and it hardly looked lived in.

The messy table was scattered with colored paper and glue—materials for making paper flowers, apparently earning a yuan for every ten made. Beside her right hand was a half-eaten bowl of instant noodles, the bloated noodles and congealed red chili oil blending into a scene of bleakness.

Ye Yin took a few deep breaths, shuffled to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, staring blankly into the cracked mirror.

Her face looked so much like her original one—if she hadn’t transmigrated, who would have?

As she grumbled inwardly, the sound of “ding ding ding!” came from the next room.

Another call. Not the previous woman. Ye Yin answered.

“Miss Ye? We notified you yesterday to pick up little Ye Hua as soon as possible. Why haven’t you come?”

“...Ah, sorry.” Ye Hua, the name rang a bell.

“If you’re really sorry, come to the hospital quickly, will you? You think you can stall a day at a time? Without payment, we won’t provide medicine or injections. Even last night’s dinner was given because someone pitied her. Poor girl, stuck with a useless, crying older sister. The younger one’s more mature than you...”

Ye Yin remembered—Ye Hua was her only younger sister, sent to the hospital with a sudden high fever days ago.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right there.”

After confirming the address and room number, Ye Yin dug a relatively clean jacket from the mountain of clothes, tied her hair messily, pulled on a baseball cap and headed out. The outfit was odd, but in the cold, warmth was all that mattered.

She didn’t have enough money for a taxi, so after studying the bus routes, she waited nearly twenty minutes in the biting wind before catching one to the hospital.

Sitting on the bus, Ye Yin examined the carefully stored family photo in her wallet for the first time. The picture was a bit crumpled, but the four faces still smiled with gentle happiness.

Memories surfaced like bubbles from the deep. Long ago, Ye Yin and her sister had lived in a beautiful villa, like princesses, until a car accident shattered it all.

Logically, even without parents, there should have been a substantial inheritance. Why had these girls fallen so far they couldn’t even pay hospital bills?

Ye Yin recalled her aunt’s recent call and remembered something else, unable to keep from chuckling coldly.

Up ahead, something happened and the bus braked sharply. Ye Yin’s head crashed into the handrail’s built-in ad board, scraping a long gash across her forehead on a plastic barb.

A middle-aged woman across the aisle gasped, quickly handing her napkins to wipe the blood. Ye Yin thanked her through the pain, dabbing at the wound, the white paper turning as red as a period, drawing stares.

As she wiped, Ye Yin felt a warm spot on her chest, as if something was pressing against her. She reached into her collar and was surprised—her little jade had crossed over with her, and she’d only just noticed!

A few months ago, her class was putting on a play and the class president asked her to buy a “He Shi Jade Disk” prop. She bought one for fifty yuan on Jade Street, and the old lady selling it, finding Ye Yin pleasant, gave her a miniature “He Shi Jade Disk” as a gift, strung on silk and looking like a small jade coin, very classical. From then on, Ye Yin wore it daily, never taking it off except for bathing.

Distracted by the jade, her forehead didn’t hurt as much. After getting off and entering the hospital, Ye Yin didn’t go straight to the ward but sought out a restroom to clean her wound, so as not to frighten her little sister with a face covered in blood.

But when she looked in the mirror, Ye Yin was stunned.

Where was the wound?

Author’s note: Everyone, Ah Ba has started a new novel!~

The name of this story was inspired by Li Shangyin’s poem “Songbird.” When Ah Ba read it while outlining this novel, it naturally conjured up the image of the heroine’s lonely, somewhat ridiculous (Ye Yin: …) struggle in the apocalypse, so I made it the title~

This story isn’t tragic, won’t be abandoned, and won’t be interrupted except in rare circumstances. Rest assured and jump in! To avoid misunderstandings, all countries, provinces, cities, and towns in the novel are given pseudonyms—any resemblance is purely coincidental~

Most importantly, Ah Ba, with reliable pit-digging skills, begs for collections and comments!! Your support is my greatest motivation! If you think Ah Ba’s writing isn’t too bad, please bookmark the author’s page!~