Ch 81: Opening a Survival School Before the Zombie Outbreak

In addition to those asking about shelter slots, others chimed in chaotically, tentatively asking whether pets could be brought along.

[My dog has been with me since elementary school. It’s like family to me. I really can’t bear to be separated from it.]

[Same with my cat. She’s a ragdoll and honestly has zero survival ability in the wild. I’m scared she’d starve to death.]

[Mine’s different. My parents fed our orange cat into a perfectly round fatty, like a reincarnated hungry ghost that eats absolutely everything. I tried helping it lose weight for a whole year and it actually gained two more jin. Now I’m not worried about it starving. I’m worried starving humans might treat it as emergency rations (crying).]

These posts were both amusing and exasperating, yet beneath the jokes was the deep concern pet owners felt for their furry companions.

They truly could not let go of their pets.

Especially the owner of that chubby orange cat, who even posted a photo. The plump, round cat stared innocently into the camera, its face clearly that of one who had never known hardship.

[Zombies don’t actively attack animals. Leaving them outside might actually be safer.]

[When the time comes, humans will be busy trying to survive, and people who abuse cats and dogs won’t exist anymore. In cities, animals actually won’t have many natural enemies. Didn’t we see that during dungeon simulations? Three or four years into the apocalypse, there were more stray cats and dogs than humans in the cities, and every single one looked sleek and well fed, living quite comfortably.]

[+1. If you’re really worried, you can stash some cat or dog food in advance in cool, dry places like underground parking garages. In the apocalypse, ordinary people face huge risks going outside, and when they do, they go straight for obvious supply locations like shops or supermarkets. Nobody’s going to search underground garages for food. Those pet supplies won’t be easily discovered, and cats and dogs staying there will be safe.

By the time the food runs out, the early stage of the apocalypse will basically be over anyway, and they can start foraging on their own.]

Elsewhere, questions like these might have been ignored or even mocked, but on the student forum people discussed everything. As long as someone asked a question, others would usually respond with genuine advice.

Posts on the front page refreshed rapidly, yet at that moment one thread shot straight to the top almost immediately after being posted.

Title: [Transferring a shelter slot. DM if needed. First come, first served.]

Everyone who saw the post had the same first reaction: confusion, thinking they had misread it.

Shelter slots were incredibly precious. Each slot meant a life saved. In any apocalypse story they would spark frantic competition. Why would anyone willingly give one away?

Clicking in revealed further explanation from the original poster.

Original Post: [My family has been gone for a long time. Since childhood I was passed around between relatives, moving every so often and constantly changing schools. I only stopped being mocked for eating too much food after I moved out at eighteen.

Because of my family situation, I was bullied a lot growing up and never had many friends. The friends I have now are all people I met after coming to Fangzhou.

It was only after coming to this school that I learned what it felt like to go out with friends on weekends, and that campus life could actually be this happy. It sounds funny, but when school first started everyone complained about how exhausting training was, while I looked forward to each new day. At night I would hide under my blanket and quietly laugh to myself.

After learning everyone would receive shelter slots, I thought about it for a long time but couldn’t think of anyone suitable, so I decided to just share them with everyone instead. These slots don’t really mean much in my hands, but if giving them away could save someone important to one of my classmates, someone they don’t want to lose, that thought alone makes me happy.

My grades should allow me to exchange for two slots.

If you need one, please send me a private message and tell me who you want to give it to and a brief reason. I’ll choose based on the order messages are received.]

After reading the post, people’s confusion turned into quiet sympathy.

With the apocalypse approaching and no one to choose to live alongside… how lonely must a life like that be?

The first few replies surprisingly did not mention the two coveted slots at all.

1L: [Sending the OP a hug.]

2L: [Not sure if OP is a guy or girl, but with only one month left before the apocalypse, want to hang out together? Script murder games, Werewolf, escape rooms, karaoke… I’m up for anything! I even bought vouchers for several highly rated restaurants. If we don’t go soon, there won’t be time!]

3L: [I feel the same as OP. Training days were painful, but I really made a lot of good friends because of it.

Everyone at Fangzhou is talented and speaks so nicely. I really love it here.]

4L: [After reading this I don’t even know what to say. The future will definitely get better and better. (Though saying that before the apocalypse feels kind of strange.)]

7L (OP) replying to 2L: [Thank you, but I’d like to keep this post anonymous, so I can’t contact everyone privately. Sorry.]

8L: [Seeing the reply on floor eight is a relief. Looks like OP still has good security awareness. Honestly, this post scared me at first.]

10L replying to 7L: [What do you mean? I don’t get it.]

13L replying to 10L: [OP is holding two extra shelter slots. Revealing their real identity would be somewhat dangerous. Keeping everything online is much safer.

Just a reminder to OP: you can give away the slots, but never meet anyone offline!]

This was one of the advantages of an anonymous forum.

The exchange method announced by Fu Qing was very simple. First, students would use points to redeem [blank slots]. After the apocalypse arrived, they would have one month to decide who would actually enter the shelter.

Within that month, they could input the other person’s identity information through their student wristbands at any time. Only after the binding was completed would that person be allowed to enter Fangzhou.

In other words, once the binding was completed, even people from outside the school could enter Fangzhou on their own without needing to be escorted by the student who provided the slot. At that time, Fu Qing would organize patrol and security teams within the campus, while the system monitored everyone entering the grounds. If any incident occurred, the security team would arrive at the scene immediately.

That meant students could simply send the name of the person they wanted to bring in to the original poster through private messages. The poster would then complete the exchange using their wristband. The entire process required no in person meeting, minimizing the risks faced by the poster as much as possible.

After the reminder from user 13L, those who had not understood at first suddenly realized.

They trusted their classmates, of course, but one still had to remain cautious. The poster was already doing a good deed and should not have to take unnecessary risks because of it.

User 2L, who had been posting under a fixed alias, appeared again and apologized: [I didn’t think things through earlier. I didn’t mean anything else. Sorry TAT.]

The poster quickly replied: [No need to apologize. I really appreciate it. How about sending me that list of recommended restaurants instead? I can go eat there with my roommates.]

Original 2L: [Okay okay! I’ve already sent it by private message!]

…

20L: [Just curious, why doesn’t OP give the slots to their roommates?]

27L (OP) replying to 20L: [I asked them a long time ago. None of them wanted it. The idea of putting the slots on the forum was actually theirs.]

Everyone immediately understood.

There was no way the roommates truly did not want such precious slots.

The poster was simply an unusual case. For most Fangzhou students, shelter slots were never something one had too many of, only something one never had enough of.

If the slots were actually distributed, of course everyone would want one. Who would not?

But aside from the poster, there were three other roommates and only two slots. No matter how they were divided, it would be unfair. Whoever failed to receive one would inevitably feel resentment, while the others might feel guilty.

According to the poster, the roommates were very close. Most likely they had discussed it together and decided that rather than dividing the slots in a way that might damage their relationship, it was better to give them away.

For example, someone with lower grades or who performed poorly on exams might only earn the minimum single slot, yet could hardly choose between two parents. Translated on hololo novels. An extra slot would clearly be far more valuable to someone in that situation.

Fangzhou students were all hardworking and outstanding, but in a school of more than two thousand people, someone always had to rank at the bottom.

After realizing this, someone could not help but comment: [OP’s roommates are good people too.]

[This is kind of touching. OP must be very important to them.]

52L (OP): [Yeah, I’m really lucky to have met such a great group of friends (grinning foolishly.jpg).]

It was the first time the poster used an emoji in their text. Mentioning their friends suddenly gave warmth to the previously plain words.

Even those who opened the thread could not help but smile.

Though their feelings might not run as deep as the poster’s, the friends they met at Fangzhou were likewise incredibly precious to them.

The thread remained pinned near the top of the front page. Although the poster did not reply again, several others gradually appeared in the thread offering up their own slots.

[I only want to bring my mom with me. I can give away one slot too. Please DM me.]

[Offering one slot the same way as OP. I believe someone else needs it more than I do.]

There were not many such people, yet seeing them appear within the same thread was still deeply moving.

*

The noon air was heavy and stifling. Harsh sunlight burned against exposed skin. Shen Qingqing wore a large straw hat, holding a handful of long beans as she walked home along a narrow path between the fields.

She wore old clothes from middle school. The repeatedly washed T shirt hung loose and shapeless, long since worn out. Because of the heat, she had rolled the sleeves up to her shoulders, revealing arms tanned the color of wheat, their muscle lines visible even without effort.

Shen Qingqing was slightly distracted, thinking about the condition of her family’s vegetable plot.

Her mother, Zang Lijun, and her grandmother had taken excellent care of the fields. From a distance one could already see stretches of lush greenery. Since returning home these past days, Shen Qingqing had eaten fresh vegetables from her own garden every day.

But the vegetable plot lay some distance from their courtyard and was not within its enclosed area.

They could not guard it twenty four hours a day, which meant it left opportunities for people in the village.

In fact, there was no need to wait for the apocalypse. Just yesterday evening, when Shen Qingqing went to pick vegetables for dinner, she caught some mischievous child from the village secretly twisting tomatoes off her plants. The moment the child saw her approaching, they ran off at full speed.

Most families in the village originally had their own vegetable plots. But after news spread about relocation housing, many households gradually stopped tending their land, simply waiting to move.

Yet the move never came, and life still had to go on. Sometimes people would start cooking only to realize they lacked ingredients, and with no other option, they would borrow from neighbors.

Some less considerate families would even send their children to secretly pick vegetables directly from others’ fields.

Shen Qingqing’s plot was large, and with only two women managing it, her family had effectively become the easiest target.

Zang Lijun did not mind much, thinking they were all neighbors. A tomato or two, a handful of beans, it did not matter.

But what worried Shen Qingqing was what would happen after the apocalypse arrived.

Right now adults felt embarrassed to come themselves and only sent children, but once food became scarce, who would still care about dignity?

During winter break she had already persuaded her parents to rebuild the courtyard wall. The vegetable plot was carefully maintained as well. After putting in so much effort, she had no intention of becoming easy prey.

Unfortunately, she could not simply extend the courtyard walls all the way to the fields.

With no good solution yet, Shen Qingqing could only focus on other preparations first.

Ever since seeing other families’ abandoned plots after returning home, she had opened up a large area inside her own courtyard, dividing it into sections to plant bok choy, green beans, and many other crops. She also rented a vehicle and made several trips to nearby county towns, gradually storing grain, seeds, and supplies in the cellar.

The once tidy courtyard had been dug into uneven pits everywhere. One careless step could send someone stumbling, and the air reeked of fertilizer. Grandma Shen was furious, standing at the doorway every day with hands on her hips, scolding nonstop, though this tactic no longer worked on her granddaughter.

As for Old Man Shen, ever since he had been splashed with manure water, he had become completely dispirited. Making such an embarrassing scene in his later years, with the story spreading throughout the entire village, he barely went outside anymore. He simply stayed home smoking gloomily, occasionally making sarcastic remarks that others ignored entirely.

Even Zang Lijun had learned to carefully pretend not to notice him.

In short, no one in the Shen household could stop Shen Qingqing anymore.

The family could not understand how this once quiet granddaughter, who had lived eighteen years in near silence, suddenly seemed to have awakened a second personality. One moment she was fighting wild boars, the next climbing onto rooftops and tearing up tiles, and now she was heading into the fields to transplant rice seedlings, bursting with energy every day, constantly on the move whenever she came home, never resting for a moment.

Carrying the long beans home, Shen Qingqing walked straight toward the small vegetable garden she had planted in a corner of the courtyard.

The bok choy she had planted first upon returning home had, after nearly a month of careful tending, grown ready for harvest. She picked a few heads, planning to make soup.

Zang Lijun stood beneath the eaves stir frying vegetables, watching her daughter’s back from the corner of her eye.

Since coming home, Shen Qingqing had done many things. To outsiders, repairing the walls, building a garden, and stocking up at supermarkets all looked like signs of someone caring deeply about the family. Shen Mingjiang would even occasionally whisper to her late at night after the lights were out, his voice filled with relief, saying their daughter had become more devoted to the family after going to university.

But Zang Lijun did not feel that was the case.

When Shen Qingqing worked on these things, she rarely spoke with the family. Sometimes, in the middle of her tasks, Zang Lijun would see her suddenly lift her head and stare toward some distant direction. Her silent profile looked as though it carried countless unspoken thoughts, as though she were longing for or missing something. The sight filled Zang Lijun with both tenderness and unease.

Only in the past two days had she finally realized where that unease came from.

She felt as though she was about to lose her daughter.

Ever since Shen Qingqing returned home, everything she did felt less like caring for the family and more like saying a final farewell to it.

Each time she gazed absently into the distance and then returned to her work, her expression would grow more resolute.

This realization left Zang Lijun restless and anxious.

After lunch, Shen Qingqing stood up to help clear the dishes. Suddenly, Zang Lijun grabbed her hand.

“Qingqing.”

Startled, Shen Qingqing looked up. Meeting her daughter’s eyes, Zang Lijun suddenly realized that the child who had grown up at her side had, at some unknown point, matured somewhere beyond her reach into someone unfamiliar.

She wanted to ask where her daughter planned to go, and whether she could go with her.

But when the words left her mouth, they became something else.

“Are you happy with your life at school?”

Though surprised, Shen Qingqing thought seriously for a moment. A smile spread through her eyes.

“Yes. I’m very happy.”

“That’s good…” Zang Lijun forced a smile. “After graduation, maybe you should just stay in S City. Big cities have better opportunities and living standards. Don’t listen to your grandparents about coming back to the village…”

Noticing Shen Qingqing staring steadily at her, Zang Lijun’s heart skipped. She hurriedly added, “Of course, there’s no need to decide now. I’m not pressuring you. You can think about work later, in your third or fourth year…”

Her words were cut off as Shen Qingqing turned her hand over and gently held hers.

She glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was August first.

Looking back at her mother, Shen Qingqing asked softly, “Mom, when school starts, would you like to come visit my university with me?”

₊˚.🎧📓✩