When Dafu started barking, Shen Du knew: time to run again.
Earthquakes, toxic rain, extreme cold, volcanic ash.
For eleven years, the disasters had just kept coming.
Dafu always knew first.
Shen Du wasn’t much good at anything.
The first aid she learned during her years as a nurse was enough.
The stray dog she’d found in the ruins was enough.
All that was left was to run.
If she couldn’t outrun it, she hid.
If she couldn’t hide, she endured.
If she couldn’t endure... she’d deal with it then.
People asked her, “Is this really how you live?”
She said, “What else can I do?”
Disasters don’t reason with you, and Shen Du doesn’t reason with disasters.
She believes in just one thing:
When Dafu isn’t barking, she can rest for a little while.
When Dafu barks, run. Right away.
Eleven years.
Some people died, some went mad, and some became worse than the disasters themselves.
Shen Du was still alive.
Dafu was still alive.
That was enough.
