I imagine myself turning into an ugly zombie after death, which is so unladylike...

Dry ice!

There's still dry ice at home!

The burning sensation intensifies, then turns into a contracting cold feeling.

Sweat the size of soybeans blurs my vision. The ultimate pain turns out to be numbness, as if death has become less terrifying.

It's not until I can no longer feel the sensation of movement and biting that I release my tattered arm.

I found a bottle of Yunnan Baiyao from a long time ago and poured it all over the wound, hoping it will stop the bleeding after warming up.

I lie on the floor, trying my best to curl up, not knowing why I'm doing this, just not wanting to move at all.

The sound of panting zombies, like "he-zi, he-zi," comes from the hallway, probably attracted by my screams.

I don't care anymore, I don't care about anything...

Whether those people downstairs are alive or dead, it doesn't matter to me. I'm in so much pain... so much pain...