Author Archives: sandy

Zhou Hao stayed home for two days. Only after the supermarket’s business license had been officially transferred to Zhou Li’s name as the new legal representative did she finally board the business car waiting to take her away.

Zhou Li came out to see her off. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you there?”

“No need,” Zhou Hao said. “But if you ever want to go on a trip with Mom, I can make time.”

Zhou Li politely declined.

She traveled through different worlds almost every week—domestic trips held little appeal now.

“Take care of yourself. If anything happens, you can ask Aunt Mu for help,” Zhou Hao reminded.

“You too, Mom,” Zhou Li said.

With that, Zhou Hao closed the car door.

The car pulled away quickly.

From the front seat, Attorney Liu Chunyi glanced at the rearview mirror. “You didn’t tell her about the logistics park?”

“Not yet,” Zhou Hao replied calmly. “It’s not the right time.”

The business car didn’t drive toward the train station but instead took a turn toward the outskirts of town—just eighteen kilometers from the Zhou family home.

The state had quietly planned a logistics park here, covering more than forty thousand square meters. No public bidding had ever been announced, yet construction had already begun before the project was even made public.

That was because this was no ordinary logistics park. It was a fusion of a military logistics base and civilian logistics complex.

Officially, it was a “State-Owned Commercial Logistics Project.”
Unofficially, it was a classified national logistics base, with security clearance on par with a military facility. Very few people knew its true purpose.

Zhou Hao took out an unfinished floor plan of the logistics park. The map only showed Zone A in detail. Zones B, C, and D each had one factory building drawn, surrounded by vast blank areas—empty and bare.

Zhou Hao began sketching in the margins of those blank sections.

If Zhou Li had seen this map, she would have noticed that the lone buildings in Zones B, C, and D were labeled respectively as:
“Orka Energy Center,” “Pharmaceutical Research Institute,” and “Fluorites Research Center.”

Time passed quietly. Eventually, the sound of rotor blades filled the air—a helicopter approached and landed on a cleared field nearby.

“Your pickup’s here,” Liu Chunyi said.

Zhou Hao folded up the blueprint and boarded the helicopter.

Inside sat an elderly man, who handed her a tablet. “These are the new warehouses under your authorization. You may handle their inventory as you see fit. For safety, we’ve prepared materials from the early to mid-20th century—fans, refrigerators, air conditioners, computers, internal-combustion engines, and the like.”

Zhou Hao swiped across the screen, memorizing the warehouse IDs, authorization codes, and coordinates.

The old man smiled. “No rush. Get some rest first. You’ll have plenty to do after midnight.”

*

Zhou Hao slept in the base.

When she woke, the entire facility was eerily silent.

The electronic clock on the wall was frozen at 00:00:00.

She washed her face, picked up the tablet the old man had given her, and walked straight to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was full of people, but everyone sat motionless—like statues frozen in time.

Zhou Hao ignored them, took a tray, served herself food, and sat down in a corner to eat.

Before long, a digital panel appeared before her.

It displayed an interface titled Auction Hall, with two tabs: “Bidding” and “Trading.”

In the “Bidding” tab appeared a string of ancient Buddhist prayer beads—carved from Phoebe zhennan wood more than three hundred years old, each bead etched with scripture.

“So, it’s an ancient-world instance again…” Zhou Hao chuckled softly and placed her bid.

After a while, the panel blinked: Transaction complete.

Then a message popped up: Please select delivery point.

Zhou Hao glanced at her now-empty warehouse on the tablet and promptly designated it as the delivery site.

After bidding, the “Trading” tab lit up with new activity—a purchase order.

She skimmed through it quickly, then entered the warehouse codes and authorization numbers one by one until the screen confirmed: Code verified. Authorization granted. Please select items and quantities.

Sweet potatoes: 20,000 jin.
Old grain: 100,000 jin.
Military canteens: 500 units.
Disaster tents: 500 units.
…

Zhou Hao calmly operated the auction panel, filling each order line by line.

For a long while, she continued the same process.

When no more requests appeared, she finished her last bite, placed the tray back at the return area, and went to her quarters.

During the time-freeze, she couldn’t sense the passage of time—whether it was twenty-four hours or five days, she had no way of knowing.

Finally, the clock began to tick again:

00:00:01
00:00:02

Five minutes later, the old man entered with a doctor in tow.

As the doctor performed a check-up, Zhou Hao handed over her marked order sheet. “Looks like that world suffered another natural disaster.”

All the requested materials were post-disaster relief supplies.

Of course, since it was an ancient-era plane, they couldn’t offer high-tech goods or magical creations—only common treasures suitable for exchange through the interplanar market.

The old man said to his assistant, “Register everything and get it listed for auction immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

The doctor soon finished the exam. “Ms. Zhou’s health is fine.”

“I told you, I didn’t need a check-up,” Zhou Hao said with a light laugh. “After crossing so many worlds, if there were any problems, they’d have shown up long ago.”

The old man’s tone turned serious. “No one knows what long-term exposure to time-stasis might cause. You need full monitoring after every cycle.”

Zhou Hao glanced at the clock and smiled. “It’s already past midnight. You should rest, sir.”

The old man said nothing more and left.

Zhou Hao opened the window. Below, the logistics base stretched across the mountainside, glowing with lights.

While most of the world slept, a small number of people were only just beginning their work.

Listening to the soft, familiar hum of machinery and wind outside, Zhou Hao slowly drifted back to sleep.

That night, she dreamed—something rare for her.

She dreamed of a night over twenty years ago, in a spring rain, when she and a dozen villagers, including A-Rong, crowded into Zhou Ping’s house to watch the national news broadcast.

Though China’s economy had taken off, few could afford a TV.

Only three households in the village owned one.

One was a shopkeeper who ran a small store by his fishpond—he built a wooden shack over the water and refused to let too many people stand inside at once, afraid it would collapse. But to draw business, he’d play cartoons to lure the children.

Another family had made money working in the special economic zones. For appearances’ sake, they bought a television. When the couple was away, they made the elders and kids lock the doors so no one could come in and steal it.

The third household was Zhou Ping’s.

His father was a well-known carpenter in the area, who’d saved quite a bit. Zhou Ping, claiming it would help him find a wife, convinced him to buy a TV.

There was a wide open space in front of their old house, so every evening villagers gathered there to watch the news.

The children would stay for a drama or two, hurrying home by nine to sleep.

Zhou Hao and A-Rong had gone to high school together, and since A-Rong was dating Zhou Ping, the two managed to squeeze inside the house to avoid watching in the rain with bamboo hats.

That night, the news reported that the Fifth National People’s Congress had revised the Penal Code—abolishing the crime of “speculative profiteering.”

Time passed.

A few years later, one summer, the town announced a plan to build a new country road that would connect over a dozen nearby villages.

The road happened to pass right in front of Zhou Hao’s newly built home.

That same year, Zhou Hao opened a small grocery store on the first floor of her house.

On the night of its grand opening, after closing up and locking the rolling gate, she was about to check inventory in the back when someone started banging on the door.

Thinking it might be some thugs, she grabbed a hatchet and opened the small side door.

The moment she did—she froze.

The newly paved country road was gone.

In its place stood a primitive tribe, and before her was a group of strangely dressed… natives.

(The End)

☢️☢️☢️

After Zhou Hao returned, Zhou Li temporarily put her interplanar trade operations on hold, and the system conveniently went into “offline” mode.

If not for the vending machine still functioning, Zhou Li might have thought that plane-hopping had all been a dream.

Even so, she couldn’t help feeling grateful that she always returned to the Earth plane after every journey. Otherwise, after staying too long in other worlds, she might start to feel estranged here—and others would surely notice the cracks in her disguise.

After lunch, Zhou Li dutifully accompanied Zhou Hao to inspect the warehouse. She also handed over the restock list to the on-duty manager, asking him to have the goods transferred so they could be delivered to the supermarket that night.

Zhou Hao glanced at the list, surprised. “No wonder the shelves in the store looked a little empty—you need to restock this much?”

Zhou Li gave a dry laugh. “Yeah… business has been a bit too good lately.”

Zhou Hao didn’t doubt her. “You can tell just by the number of same-city delivery guys going in and out.”

Ever since Zhou Li had launched the store’s mini program, customers could place orders directly online.

When delivery couriers arrived, they didn’t even need to handpick items—the vending machine system had already sorted everything. The courier simply showed the QR code and collected the prepared package.

Since the system handled it all, there had never been a single mistake. As a result, the mini program had earned overwhelmingly positive reviews.

Couriers loved picking up orders from the Good Life Supermarket—they never had to worry about wrong items leading to complaints. In fact, customers often left five-star ratings and even small tips.

Though the supermarket officially closed at night, the vending machine kept running—effectively turning the little shop into a 24-hour business.

Leaving the warehouse, the mother and daughter ran into Aunt Rong.

Aunt Rong chatted warmly with Zhou Hao and couldn’t help praising Zhou Li. “Little Pear really is capable—more than you were at her age.”

Zhou Hao laughed. “That’s how it should be—each generation surpassing the last!”

Aunt Rong invited them over for tea, but Zhou Hao waved her off. “Not this time. I’m only home for two days, and there’s still plenty to handle!”

“Only two days again?” Aunt Rong said. “Good thing you left the supermarket to Little Pear! Otherwise, if you still opened one day and closed three, you’d never make a profit!”

“That’s true,” Zhou Hao said. “So I’ve decided to officially transfer the supermarket to Little Pear.”

Zhou Li froze in shock.

Her mother’s expression stayed calm, and Aunt Rong didn’t react much either.

Once they left, Zhou Li finally blurted out, “Mom, you’re giving up the supermarket?”

“I brought the lawyer this time to take care of the transfer paperwork,” Zhou Hao said, then paused. “Why, don’t you want it?”

“I still have my civil service exam to prepare for!” Zhou Li said.

“You can deal with your assets after you pass,” her mother replied matter-of-factly.

Zhou Li stayed silent.

“What’s wrong? If you’ve got thoughts, tell Mom,” Zhou Hao said gently.

Zhou Li turned and ran back home.

Watching her retreating back, Zhou Hao suddenly saw the shadow of that stubborn teenage girl she used to be.

Behind the house, Mu Kun was washing the bamboo steamers used for buns. Seeing Zhou Li running from the village road, she called out, “What’s the rush, Lili?”

“Hi, Aunt Mu,” Zhou Li greeted politely.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Chatting with someone in the village.”

“With Aunt Rong?”

Zhou Li nodded.

She was about to head inside but hesitated, crouched beside Mu Kun under the pretense of helping, and asked, “Aunt Mu, have you known my mom for a long time?”

“For as long as our houses have been here, that’s how long,” Mu Kun said.

“Aunt Rong said my mom used to open the supermarket for one day and close it for three. What’s that about?”

“What else could it be? She’s lazy,” Mu Kun said bluntly.

Zhou Li: …

She muttered, “Then how did she make money?”

“How would I know? I always wondered that myself! I once asked her to take me along to make money—she refused. Your mom’s stingy, don’t you think?”

Zhou Li: …

So your feud goes way back, huh?

From the distance came Zhou Hao’s voice: “Why don’t you go ask the world’s richest man to take you along instead?”

Mu Kun replied without missing a beat, “I could—if I knew him!”

“You’ve got some nerve!”

“I’ve got the perfect egg-shaped face, thank you!”

Zhou Li quietly retreated from the “battlefield.”

Once home, she shut the windows to block out their bickering and asked the system, “System, tell me honestly—was my mom a sales rep before?”

The system responded in its usual mechanical tone, “Question exceeds clearance. No answer required.”

Zhou Li said, “I always thought it was strange—you chose to bind me. There are countless supermarket owners in the world, including big-chain managers who could have generated massive interplanar profits for you in no time. Why pick me—and our tiny shop? Maybe your target was our store from the start, and whoever owns it gets bound.”

System: “Error.”

“What’s wrong with that logic?”

“Question exceeds clearance. No answer required.”

Zhou Li: …

Unable to dig anything out of it, she gave up.

But thinking it over, she realized her theory had holes.

For example, whenever the supermarket engaged in cross-planar trade, time on the Earth plane froze—so there was never a need for her mom to “open one day and close three.”

Secondly, Zhou Li had lived with her mother for so many years—if their supermarket had ever traveled to another plane, there was no way she wouldn’t have known.

She was also certain that their home had never contained any kind of black technology far beyond the current era’s capabilities, let alone any unscientific items such as artifacts from the Infinite Plane or magical creations from the Magic Plane.

She still remembered when she was a child, a villager once badmouthed her mother in front of her, saying that her mother would be arrested for illegal reselling.

Back then, she didn’t even know what that meant. Looking back now, those people must have suspected that her mother was using the grocery store as a cover to trade in bulk goods.

Of course, the fact that her mother had lived well all these years—never arrested, and even saving enough to co-invest in a large supermarket project with a state-owned commercial company—proved that she had never broken the law.

But that still didn’t completely rule out the possibility that her mother had once been bound to a system.

After all, Zhou Li had attended school in the city since middle school, living in the dorms and only coming home on weekends.

If her mother had engaged in interplanar trade, she could easily have done it while Zhou Li was away.

As for why there had never been any items out of place for this era at home—well, Zhou Li had managed to erase every trace of someone else living there before her mother’s return; surely her mother could do the same.

There was, however, one thing that had always quietly bothered her—her biological father’s identity was a mystery.

Though she didn’t care anymore, there had been rumors in the village for years.

Villagers said they’d never seen her mother with any man, and that she’d never once told anyone who the child’s father was.

Thinking of the system’s stories about “love-brained reps,” Zhou Li began to wonder if her father might have been someone from another plane.

Or—perhaps not even that.

What if her mother had drunk something like the Mother-Child River water or the “Water of Life,” and that was how she became pregnant?

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

The door wasn’t locked, so Zhou Hao turned the handle and peeked in. “Little Zhou Li, still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad,” Zhou Li said.

She’d already soothed herself.

Zhou Hao walked in and said, “If you don’t want this little supermarket, then I won’t give it to you.”

Zhou Li: …

Why did this sound like she was refusing a billion-yuan inheritance?

Her mother continued, “But you have to tell me honestly—are you really not interested in running a business at all?”

Zhou Li said, “I’m really not interested in business. But… if running it means meeting all kinds of people and seeing different worlds, then maybe it’s kind of interesting.”
(What she really meant was: seeing other worlds sounds fun.)

Zhou Hao looked at her for a long moment before saying, “You still have more than ten years to decide whether to inherit the family business.”

Zhou Li: ?

“Civil service exams usually have an age limit of 35, right?”

Twenty-two-year-old Zhou Li: …

Her mother asked, “Then tell me, why were you unhappy when I said I’d transfer the supermarket to you?”

Zhou Li glanced at her. “Because… it feels like I’m being pushed forward. If my life is a ship, I want to be the one steering it.”

When she’d unexpectedly inherited the supermarket and gotten bound to the system, she’d accepted it quickly enough—but deep down, it had always made her uneasy.

Her life plans had been disrupted. She didn’t even know what consequences this change might have for the people around her.

Zhou Hao said softly, “That’s my fault—for making you uneasy. I just wanted to give you more freedom. Once the supermarket’s under your name, you can change how it runs without asking me first. No matter how it goes, I’ll always have your back. You don’t need to worry. Besides, you’ve been doing great with the store, haven’t you?”

Zhou Li thought to herself, That’s only because I have the system. If they ever unbound, she doubted she could keep it running half as well.

The system chimed in at that moment, “Sales rep, no need to worry. Even if unbinding occurs, everything that belongs to you will still belong to you. The system will not reclaim any property… unless you request it.”

Zhou Li: “…Thanks for your inspiring words and validation.”

Seeing her daughter fall silent, Zhou Hao stepped forward and hugged her, sighing. “I really shouldn’t have sent you off to live at school so early. Maybe that’s why you have such low security. This is Mom’s fault.”

Then she actually started sniffling.

Zhou Li: “…Mom, that’s a bit much.”

Her mother was never the sentimental type.

For as long as Zhou Li could remember, her mother had been someone who paid back grudges and never swallowed an insult. Take her feud with Mu Kun, for instance—when Mu Kun opened a stinky-snail-noodle shop, her mother immediately started selling durian at the door.
You stink up my air, I’ll stink up yours—mutual destruction if you’ve got the guts.

And when villagers gossiped about her, her mother would show up the next day with police officers in tow.

That was why every time Zhou Li came home from school, she found fewer familiar faces in the village. Some had “gone to work elsewhere,” others were simply too embarrassed to stay after Zhou Hao’s confrontations.

Zhou Hao suddenly pulled a small handkerchief from nowhere and dabbed at her eyes. “See? You are still mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then say you love me.”

Zhou Li: …

“Go on.”

Zhou Li gave in. “Mom, I love you. Okay?”

“There’s my good girl.” Zhou Hao broke into a broad smile and planted a kiss on her head.

Zhou Li went completely numb.

As Zhou Hao left the room, her gaze lingered for a moment on the bedside table—but quickly moved on.

After the door closed, Zhou Li glanced at the table, where a Treasure-Spitting Golden Toad figurine sat beside an orka energy crystal.

That crystal had been “spit out” just before her mother came in. It didn’t look exactly like an elemental gem, but it was still decorative enough that her mother probably hadn’t noticed anything odd.

It was too late to hide it now, so Zhou Li just tossed it into the drawer and let it be.

Then the system asked suddenly, “Are you really not considering transferring the supermarket to your name?”

Zhou Li raised a brow. “You’re being unusually forward—does putting it under my name benefit you somehow?”

“The transfer would streamline many operational procedures and unlock additional services,” said the system. “For instance, the Bureau now offers mortgage-based loans to sales reps. As a loan bonus, the All-Language Conversion Service—normally energy-gated—would become free.”

“Why would I need a mortgage loan?”

“It’s the same principle as business owners who don’t need money but still take bank loans.”

Zhou Li nodded. She understood.

But she wasn’t especially interested in any “language conversion” service.

The system added, “With that service, you could comprehend any language or script.”

The phrasing sounded like a hint. Zhou Li thought for a moment, then asked, “Even the complex magical languages of the Magic Plane?”

“Included.”

…

Just as Zhou Hao was about to go downstairs, Zhou Li suddenly threw open her door and shouted, “Mom! I’ll inherit the supermarket!”

☢️☢️☢️

Earth, primary plane

Before leaving the world of Magic and Steam, Zhou Li handed a 235 mm aperture reflecting telescope—worth sixty thousand yuan—to Kemeigao.

She didn’t tell him its true price. Kemeigao thought twenty gold coins were enough to buy such a professional astronomical instrument.

He even started thinking about dismantling it to study its structure, then buying another one to give to Leavitt.

Zhou Li saw right through him and said, “It’s a custom-made limited model. There’s only one.”

Kemeigao noticed the engraving on the telescope—Henrietta Swan Leavitt.

He smiled. “Henrietta will be thrilled.”

Zhou Li didn’t know whether he’d actually give it to her or hide it away, and frankly, it was out of her hands.

She’d done what she could. Whether it would change Leavitt’s fate was up to the world itself.

As for the “earthquake” Wendisha had stirred up within the Senate—that had nothing to do with her.

When the time came, Zhou Li sent An Fengxuan back to the Infinite Plane.

Since An Fengxuan had just finished her promotion dungeon, The Game wouldn’t pull her into another one anytime soon. Zhou Li decided to give her a few extra days off.

When Zhou Li returned to the Earth plane, it was just past midnight. She was about to take a shower and sleep when a WeChat voice message from her mother, Zhou Hao, popped up:

“Little Pear, are you asleep? Do you miss Mom? I came home earlier today…”

Zhou Li jolted upright and quickly told the system, “Use the spatial-folding storage to pack up the medical pod.”

Then she went to the guest room to stash away all of An Fengxuan’s belongings. Pillows, sheets, quilts—anything that could leave traces of another person—were stuffed into a woven sack and shoved into the closet.

She slipped An Fengxuan’s slippers into dustproof bags and placed them neatly on the hallway shoe rack—because without dust, how else could she explain their spotless state?

Thinking over other potential traces, she suddenly remembered the kitchen and bathroom.

In the kitchen, she packed away extra bowls and chopsticks, and even transferred food that didn’t match her taste from the fridge into bags, tossing them into the supermarket’s freezer under the excuse of “helping someone store it.”

In the bathroom, she removed An Fengxuan’s toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, body wash, facial cleanser—even her comb.

After over an hour of scrubbing away every sign that another person had ever lived there, Zhou Li finally breathed in relief.

Then she asked the system, “Now that my mom’s home, can we still perform dimensional travel?”

The system replied, “Let’s hope you can find a way to solve that problem.”

Zhou Li: …

Speechless, she muttered, “What do you expect me to do, kick my mom out? Besides, this supermarket is hers. Why didn’t you bind her instead of me in the first place?”

System: “Time cannot be reversed. There is no ‘in the first place.’”

Zhou Li knew it was too late for that argument.

…

The next morning, she didn’t wake until eight.

Pretending she’d just seen the message, she texted back with mock surprise: “Mom, you’re finally coming back? What time’s your train?”

Zhou Hao replied, “Just boarded. I’ll arrive around 10:30.”

“Want me to pick you up on my scooter?” Their house wasn’t far from the high-speed rail station; one round-trip wouldn’t drain much power.

“No need,” her mother said. “Just mind the store.”

Zhou Li freshened up and went downstairs.

Instead of making breakfast, she decided to drop by Mu Kun’s shop for a bowl of warm century-egg and lean-pork congee.

It wasn’t yet working hours, and the small breakfast shop was packed with workers in uniforms.

Mu Kun was busy behind the counter. When she saw Zhou Li, she called out, “Here for breakfast? Help yourself, I’m swamped.”

“I’ll serve myself,” Zhou Li said, ladling a bowl of congee from the pot.

Since no seats were free, she brought it back to the supermarket to eat.

A few of the workers followed her in.

“Got cigarettes?” one asked.

“We don’t sell those,” Zhou Li replied.

They scanned the shop, found no smokes, and ended up buying gum and a few bottles of drinks instead.

By a little past nine, Mu Kun’s breakfast shop finally quieted down.

Zhou Li returned the bowl and paid. “Aunt Mu, business is booming.”

Mu Kun grinned. “All thanks to the logistics-park project workers.”

“The project’s really happening that fast?” Zhou Li asked in surprise.

“Some of the village land acquisition isn’t finished, but the sections that are done are already preparing for demolition.”

Zhou Li nodded, listening carefully—she needed this kind of information to stay in sync with her home world.

“Oh, Lili,” Mu Kun added, “do you still have those pretty crystals? I want to buy a few more for my fish tank.”

Zhou Li: …

Using elemental gems as aquarium decor—what a waste.

But on Earth, they were nothing more than ordinary Ocean Glowstones.

“There are still some,” Zhou Li said, “but I haven’t put them on display. If you want, you can pick some upstairs later.”

“Why not display them? They’d look great, brighten the shop,” Mu Kun said.

Zhou Li gave an awkward laugh. “Too expensive. Almost got roasted online.”

Recently, social media had popularized the term “price assassins”—like ice-cream assassins, fruit assassins, and cup assassins—for overpriced goods.

Influencers would film themselves spotting these items in supermarkets, rant about the ridiculous prices, and post the videos online.

Zhou Li hadn’t cared much—until a few days ago, when someone stopped by to look at her vending machine and grumbled that her “crystal art pieces” priced at 499 yuan each were “crystal assassins.”

The person hadn’t even filmed it, but that was enough to make her wary.

Since only customers from the magical plane ever bought elemental gems—and she didn’t feel like splitting her inventory—she simply took them off the shelves.

Now, the vending machine’s gem options were visible only to customers from the Magic Plane.

“So you’re not selling them anymore?” Mu Kun asked.

“Not publicly,” Zhou Li said. “Only to select customers.”

Mu Kun chuckled. “Then I’ll introduce you to a few collectors.”

At 10:30, Zhou Li called her mother. “Mom, did you arrive?”

“Just got off the train, heading out now,” Zhou Hao said.

Zhou Li heard someone speaking nearby but couldn’t tell if it was to her mother or just a passerby, so she didn’t ask.

Twenty minutes later, a black business van stopped outside the supermarket. Zhou Li saw her long-absent mother step out—alongside a stranger who radiated professional poise.

“Mom!”

Zhou Hao smiled and said to the man, “This is my daughter, Zhou Li.” Then to her daughter: “This is Attorney Liu Chunyi.”

Zhou Li blinked in surprise. Why was her mother returning with a lawyer?

“Ah, the young boss, hello,” Liu Chunyi greeted with a polite smile.

“Hello, Mr. Liu.”

Zhou Hao turned back to him. “Let’s settle the details another day.”

“Of course. I’ll wait for your call,” he said before getting back into the van and driving off.

Zhou Li was still staring after it when her cheek was pinched. “What are you spacing out for?”

Wriggling free, Zhou Li grabbed her mother’s suitcase. “So, you’re back from fieldwork?”

“Not yet,” Zhou Hao sighed. “Starting a large supermarket chain is so much more trouble than I expected. Running a supermarket is really hard.”

Zhou Li couldn’t agree more.

She hadn’t even opened a large one yet, but already knew the exhaustion of managing one—and that’s with a system’s help. Without it, she probably would’ve gone bankrupt.

“So, you’re still going through with it?” Zhou Li asked.

“Of course! When I decide something, I don’t give up halfway!”

Zhou Li wasn’t surprised. “Do we even have that much money?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some savings—and a few investors.”

“What kind of investors?” Zhou Li asked warily. “They’re legit, right? Not some scam?”

“The provincial state-capital investment company—co-owned by the Finance Bureau and the SASAC.”

Zhou Li: …

Alright then.

She didn’t pry further into the business venture and instead asked about her mother’s stay. “How long are you here this time?”

“Two days. Think of it as giving you a little break.”

Zhou Li tried cautiously, “Mom, since we’re opening a big supermarket, are we still keeping this little one?”

“Of course,” Zhou Hao said. “This is home. We’re not moving just because we open something bigger.”

Before Zhou Li could say more, her mother walked straight into the shop.

Seeing the upgraded interior, she nodded approvingly. “Not bad! Small but complete—our little supermarket already has the makings of a big one.”

She patted Zhou Li’s shoulder. “The future hypermarket will be your responsibility, too.”

Zhou Li’s mouth twitched. “And you?”

“I’ll handle counting the money.”

Zhou Li muttered, “If I get into the Finance Bureau, that’s basically the same thing as managing a supermarket.”

Zhou Hao: …

Just then, Mu Kun appeared, voice booming. “Well, if it isn’t the village beauty back in town!”

Zhou Hao shot back, “I heard your shop closed. Congratulations!”

Mu Kun grinned. “You should congratulate me—thanks to Lili’s advice, my business has never been better!”

Zhou Li looked between them. Please don’t start fighting…

Luckily, both women were prideful but civilized; no hair-pulling today.

Before Zhou Hao could chase her off, Mu Kun mentioned the Ocean Glowstones she wanted to buy.

Zhou Li sighed. “Come upstairs for a bit, Aunt Mu. I’ll grab them from my room.”

“What’s this about?” Zhou Hao asked.

“Crystal ornaments I got from a friend,” Zhou Li said casually.

Her mother didn’t press further.

Upstairs, Zhou Hao unpacked her suitcase and changed into loungewear.

Mu Kun sprawled on the sofa. “No tea for me?”

Zhou Hao pulled a bottle of iced red tea from a box in the guest room and poured half a cup. “Drink it while it’s hot.”

Mu Kun: “…Hot? Really?”

“The cap was just opened—still warm, isn’t it?” Zhou Hao replied, then pulled out more bottles. “Or do you want green tea? Jasmine?”

As the tension between the two rose again, Zhou Li quietly went upstairs, retrieved a dozen colorful fluorites, and brought them down for Mu Kun to choose.

Mu Kun picked a few bright ones, transferred the money, and left—taking the red-tea bottle with her.

“These things are that expensive?” Zhou Hao said in disbelief, more focused on the cost of the “crystal ornaments” than the missing drink.

“They’re rare—ocean-born fluorite,” Zhou Li said quickly, changing the subject. “Anyway, Mom, are you hungry? Should I start lunch?”

“What’re we having?” Zhou Hao asked, already heading into the kitchen.

She opened the fridge, examining everything, asking about the meat’s purchase date and how long each item had been stored.

“All within the last couple of days—nothing spoiled,” Zhou Li said, relieved that she’d memorized all the food items and their timestamps when erasing An Fengxuan’s traces.

“Then let’s braise some beef brisket for lunch,” Zhou Hao decided.

☢️☢️☢️

Just as Wendisha was preparing to deal with the corrupt elements festering within the Senate, an unexpected visitor came to see her.

“You’re representing the Thorn Independent Consortium… and proposing cooperation with the Senate?” Ariel’s expression was one of utter shock—no less than when she’d first heard the claim that “the supermarket is a divine realm.” She stared fixedly at Luna, searching her face for the slightest hint of deceit.

But Luna didn’t look at Ariel; she kept her eyes on Wendisha instead. After all, Wendisha was the one with real authority.

Wendisha said coldly, “I don’t believe we have any grounds for cooperation.”

Just the fact that the Thorn Independent Consortium had joined forces with the Radiant Consortium to build the telephone network was enough to place them on the opposite side of the Senate.

Allowing Luna into the camp to speak with her at all was already Wendisha’s limit.

Luna herself knew how hopeless this proposal sounded—she was all too familiar with the greedy, two-faced nobles of the Senate.

But this plan had been suggested by the Chairwoman, and the Board had approved it. Luna had no choice but to carry it out.

She forced herself to continue. “Your Grace, are you aware that the ‘God of Commerce’—our ‘Boss,’ as we call her—and her divine realm disappear for more than twenty days every five?”

Wendisha turned toward Ariel, who nodded.

“That’s true,” she said. “But what of it?”

Luna said, “Ordinarily, the divine realm’s schedule wouldn’t affect us much. But since it has now imposed a purchase limit on elemental gems… who do you think will suffer most from this restriction?”

Wendisha’s expression darkened.

Before Ariel could speak, Luna pressed on. “I did some calculations. Before, as long as one had enough membership points, one could buy as many gems as one wished. Now, with the three-per-day limit—if you brought two hundred people here, and the divine realm stays for five days—that’s only three thousand gems in total.”

Ariel didn’t need Luna to finish.

Last time, they’d managed to buy over twenty thousand. This time, they’d be limited to three thousand—six or seven times less.

To purchase more, they’d need to send more people.

But the Emerald Wasteland wasn’t like other places. The more people who entered, the higher the risk of casualties.

Ariel said, “Perhaps the gem supply is simply running low. That’s why she’s limiting purchases.”

Luna gave a small, amused laugh. “If you’re truly that confident, then I’ve nothing more to say. Farewell.”

She turned as if to leave, and only then did Wendisha speak up to stop her. “Tell me about your cooperation plan.”

Luna exhaled in relief.

Facing Wendisha was no small strain. Not only was she a duchess of the Illyas Kingdom, chief elder of the Senate, and head of the Knowledge Sect, she was also one of Mayelia’s few remaining high priestesses. Any one of those titles could shift the entire balance of the Emerald Wasteland.

And that was precisely why the Chairwoman had suggested cooperation with the Senate—in truth, with Wendisha herself.

“We propose joint development of the Emerald Wasteland,” Luna said. “The Thorn Independent Consortium will build the railways; the Senate will establish airship routes—so that more small and mid-sized merchants can reach this region…”

Only when trade routes flourished could the Senate send more buyers for elemental gems, spreading the benefits of Mayelia’s faith and economy alike.

Seeing that Ariel was about to object, Luna cut her off. “If the Senate refuses to join, we’ll partner with the Radiant Consortium instead. In that case, we can’t guarantee that merchants from Atmos won’t buy up the gems for jewelry—or worse, that anti-Mayelian extremists won’t deliberately purchase them all just to prevent your people from obtaining any.”

Ariel fell silent.

Because that was a very real possibility.

That was how the market worked—if you didn’t take part, others would carve up the profits while you stood aside.

Wendisha studied Luna. “Do you have any idea how much it will cost to develop the Emerald Wasteland?”

They weren’t even in the heart of the wasteland yet—and that area’s danger level was far beyond what they faced here.

The Consortium’s ambition to claim the entire Emerald Wasteland for itself was dangerously naïve.

Luna said, “For now, we don’t intend to advance into the inner region. Even so, early-stage development is beyond our means alone. That’s why we’re sincerely inviting the Senate to join us…”

The Thorn Independent Consortium’s demand for elemental gems was nowhere near as high as the Senate’s. By cooperating, the Senate wouldn’t have to worry about hostile factions buying out the supply—and they could jointly control gem distribution.

Wendisha didn’t give her answer immediately.

After Luna left, she turned to Ariel. “Your opinion?”

Ariel said, “The Thorn Consortium wants to use our magic to ensure smooth installation of their telephone network. They’ll be the main beneficiaries.”

“So,” Wendisha asked, “you don’t support cooperation?”

Ariel hesitated.

Logically, she favored the idea—but her position didn’t allow her to admit it openly.

“Not unless we can devise a better strategy.”

Wendisha said nothing.

When she convened the Senate assembly, she first dealt with the count whose actions had disgraced them. Only then did she bring up the Thorn Consortium’s proposal.

Predictably, waves of opposition followed.

“Then tell me,” Wendisha asked, “how do you propose to keep the gems from falling into Atmos hands?”

One noble suggested, “The reason the God of Commerce descended here must be because Mayelia had previously failed to recognize Her. We could build Her a temple—invite Her and Her divine realm to settle within our borders.”

Such a temple would differ from the ones within a divine realm.

Temples in the mortal world served as sacred sites—and as anchors when deities manifested among mortals.

According to ancient scripture, thousands of years ago, each god acknowledged only one temple.

Back then, those temples were the holiest of places, where prayers most easily reached divine ears.

But seven or eight centuries ago, wars, cataclysms, dwindling faith, and financial collapse had led to their decline.

Various sects began building their own “halls” instead.

These halls were much smaller, more like chapels. Even factions that worshiped the same god—such as the Alchemy Guild and the Knowledge Sect, both devoted to the Goddess of Wisdom—each constructed their own “Temple of Wisdom” in their respective territories.

Thus, this noble believed that if Mayelia allowed the God of Commerce to establish a temple within their domain, She would surely be pleased to be “welcomed” by the old gods.

Several others immediately voiced agreement. “A splendid idea!”

Ariel rolled her eyes.

Did they really think they were offering charity to the God of Commerce? Did they think She would gratefully accept their so-called olive branch?

Even if She weren’t divine, a mortal of Her power would have no need to grovel before them.

Wendisha didn’t bother crushing their misplaced confidence. Some lessons were best learned by experience.

…

The next day, the third elder, Chirog, arrived at the supermarket and declared, “After discussion, the Senate has decided to grant you a plot of land for the construction of a temple—to welcome your descent.”

Zhou Li: “?”

Had she misheard?

Why on earth were they suddenly trying to build her a temple?

An Fengxuan whispered, “Boss, I think they’ve mistaken you for some sort of deity… right, haven’t people been calling you the ‘God of Commerce’ lately? Maybe in their eyes, that’s who you are.”

Zhou Li: …

She wanted to deny it, but after noticing how more and more people had started using “My God of Commerce” as a verbal tic these days, she reluctantly admitted that An Fengxuan might actually be right.

Zhou Li turned to Chirog and said calmly, “I’m doing just fine here.”

What a joke—if she went to Mayelia, how would she continue doing business with Atmos? The Mayelian people only ever bought elemental gems; she wasn’t here to make her living off gems.

Apparently not expecting such a flat rejection, Chirog asked, “Why? You call yourself the God of Commerce—shouldn’t a larger population help you gain more followers?”

An Fengxuan gave a short laugh. “Since when have you ever seen a god bend over backward to please humans?”

Chirog snorted, glaring at the shelves full of technology. “So after all that talk, you’re just biased toward Atmos.”

“And what’s it to you?” An Fengxuan shot back.

Chirog flushed with anger. “We even— we even got memberships here!”

“If you’re that unhappy, you can cancel your card. Once canceled, you won’t be able to reapply,” An Fengxuan replied smoothly, already so familiar with the supermarket’s rules that she didn’t even need Zhou Li to speak.

Under the amused stares of those inside and outside the store, Chirog straightened his back and declared with false dignity, “Fine! I don’t care to be one of your members anyway!”

Zhou Li said nothing. She simply took back his card and neatly converted the remaining points into this world’s currency, refunding the gold coins to him.

Chirog, now thinking himself fearless since he was no longer a member, snapped, “Then return the magic scroll I exchanged for those points!”

“You can have it back once you return the elemental gems you bought here. Don’t try to replace them with fakes—every item we sell has a code, and we can tell a counterfeit at a glance.”

Chirog’s face went red.

The gems he’d bought here had been of exceptional quality, and he’d already used them. Where was he supposed to find identical ones now?

Suddenly struck by an idea, he ran off and came back with a few gems borrowed from a baron.

Zhou Li gave him a look that said are you serious? “Sorry, those gems belong to Feltost. If he wants to exchange them for membership points, he can come here himself.”

Chirog’s heart gave a jolt—how could she possibly know who those gems came from?

“They were all bought from you, so why can’t I return them?” he demanded.

“I told you already,” Zhou Li said evenly. “If you want your magic scroll back, bring back the exact same gems I sold you. Otherwise, all you get are the coins I refunded.”

“You—this is robbery logic!” Chirog shouted, losing his composure.

Zhou Li’s eyes chilled. “Anyone making a scene—throw them out.”

At that moment, Wendisha walked in and silenced Chirog with a muting spell.

“How disgraceful, Chirog,” she said coldly. “How long do you intend to keep embarrassing the Senate?”

Chirog glared, furious and humiliated, but under the weight of so many silent, judging eyes from his peers, he knew there was nothing more he could do.

He didn’t even take the refunded coins—just stormed off in rage.

A second later, the supermarket’s system ejected both the gold coins and the gems, which landed right at his feet.

Chirog: Unbearable humiliation!

Zhou Li, however, didn’t give the incident a second thought. She turned to Wendisha. “Anyone else planning to cancel their card? I’ll be leaving temporarily tomorrow. If you want to quit, do it now.”

Wendisha sighed. “We meant no disrespect.”

Zhou Li waved a hand dismissively. She had no interest in meaningless pleasantries.

After a moment’s silence, Wendisha walked over to the ice-cream freezer, took out a cone, paid for it, and began eating as she exited the store.

Everyone—including members of the Senate, the Thorn Consortium, and the Radiant Consortium—was stunned by the sight.

They couldn’t possibly be seeing this right, could they?

The Chief Elder of the Senate, a duchess, and high priestess of the Knowledge Sect—eating ice cream in public?

“Your Grace?” Ariel hurried to her side.

Wendisha lifted the ice cream slightly and said, “This… this is the power of technology. To create cold without winter, to preserve something that would melt under sunlight or rot in the heat—without a single spell of ice magic.”

Her words made the nobles of the Senate pale in alarm.

Was Wendisha… turning her back on the magic faction?

☢️☢️☢️

The attack on the supermarket had been carried out by a group of rangers—and a single mage.

They had used wind-element magic to accelerate their arrows, greatly increasing their lethality, and even carved multiple enhancement runes into their bows.

If their target had been an ordinary house, it would have been reduced to rubble in a single volley. And there hadn’t been just one arrow—there had been six, all fired simultaneously.

But they had gravely underestimated the supermarket.

They thought that even if they failed, they could simply drink acceleration potions and escape at once.

What they didn’t expect was that, the very second they launched their attack, a counterstrike from the supermarket—hundreds of meters away—hit them first.

They never even figured out what had happened before they lost consciousness.

When the Senate knights brought the bodies back to camp, none of the nobles stepped forward to help.

Only one baron, after receiving a subtle signal from a count, asked, “Are they dead?”

The knight captain replied, “Not yet, but their condition is strange. We can’t wake them. It’s as if they’ve lost all perception of the outside world.”

“Doesn’t this look like… their souls were pulled out?”

A collective gasp rippled through the nobles. That kind of sorcery was typical of the fanatical followers of the Goddess of the Nether Moon.

Had they been mistaken all along? Was the “supermarket” not the realm of a new god, but the domain of a shadow archmage?

The baron began sowing fear, claiming the supermarket was dangerous and urging the nobles to unite against it.

Ariel walked up, took out a mirror, and cast a linking ritual.

Moments later, Wendisha and Zhou Li appeared in the mirror, their conversation projected for all to hear.

Wendisha asked, “My lady, I heard there was an attack here recently?”

Zhou Li thought for a moment and said uncertainly, “Probably.”

“Probably?”

Zhou Li smiled. “This place has a ‘protective formation’ that reflects all attacks. To avoid alarming customers, I made it soundproof. If you hadn’t said it was a human attack, I’d have thought some mindless beast was scratching at the door.”

Wendisha: …

The nobles: …

Was she mocking the rangers—saying their attack was nothing more than a tickle?

Wendisha, keeping her composure, said, “I see. Would you be willing to lift the spell from one of the attackers so we can interrogate him? Once we identify who ordered it, we’ll hand them over to you for punishment.”

Zhou Li said nothing.

There hadn’t even been any spell—it was a purely physical counterstrike.

Mistaking her silence for displeasure, Wendisha quickly added, “My lady, the Senate had no part in this. Since magic was used, the culprits must have ties to Mayelia. I must investigate, lest false accusations tarnish the Senate’s name.”

She herself was furious. Who could be so foolish? Even knowing this “supermarket” might be a divine realm, they still dared attack it.

If a god’s realm could be breached by a handful of minor rangers and mages, it wouldn’t be much of a god’s realm at all.

They couldn’t even defeat a high archmage—what made them think they could challenge a being akin to a deity?

Zhou Li said, “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in who sent them, nor will I take it out on anyone else. The moment they attacked and I retaliated, the cause and effect between us ended.”

In other words: You want to investigate? Fine. Do it however you wish—but leave the supermarket out of it.

That cold, detached indifference—unconcerned with life or truth—fit perfectly with Wendisha’s idea of what a god should be.

The nobles, upon hearing her response, all fell silent.

Because they finally understood—no matter how much they resented this “god” for standing apart from them, she could annihilate them in an instant.

And she didn’t care about their opinions at all. It was as if she were saying outright: Stop overacting. I’m not here for your petty dramas.

She cared only for… trade.

Ariel ended the connection and said, “Chief Wendisha stated that even if the Lady doesn’t pursue it, she will continue the investigation.”

The baron muttered, “If even She doesn’t care, what’s the point?”

Ariel snapped, “She may not care, but we’re not the only ones here. The Radiant Consortium and the Thorn Consortium will seize this chance to spread rumors that the Senate was behind the attack. For the Senate’s reputation, we must get to the bottom of this!”

…

In the Radiant Consortium’s villas, Kemeigao was sending a telegraph.

After transmitting it, his subordinates reported the latest developments.

Kemeigao grinned. “Knowing Arka Corporation, they’ll never swallow their pride. The fact that they’ve stayed quiet means Ebus knows exactly how terrifying that supermarket is. By hiding the incident, he’s waiting for others to make the same mistake.”

He already had intel that Ebus’s thieves’ guild at Boulder Town had been nearly wiped out trying the same thing.

That was why Kemeigao had rushed here so quickly—and why he’d kept his greed under control.

Of course, he had no intention of sharing that intelligence.

Ever since meeting Ariel, he had been waiting for this very day.

And sure enough, the arrogant nobles of the Senate had taken the bait.

As for the possibility that the Thorn Consortium had attacked? Impossible.

First, they didn’t have the power. Second, they were eager to throw themselves at the feet of the “God of Commerce.” They wouldn’t dare offend the supermarket.

Some of his men voiced concerns that the Thorn Consortium’s growing favor with the “neutral faction” could turn it into a force capable of rivaling both Atmos and Mayelia.

Zhou Li’s speech about “the coexistence of magic and steam” had been heard by both the Senate and the Radiant Consortium.

And they realized that if such an idea spread, the boundary between the two factions would blur.

The hatred between them had lasted over two centuries—and the Radiant Consortium had thrived on it. Their atheism justified factory pollution and deforestation without interference from the followers of the Nature Goddess.

If the Radiant Consortium accepted Mayelia’s existence, those same followers could infiltrate their industries and sabotage them from within.

That would cripple their growth—and their profits.

Such a future was unacceptable.

Kemeigao said, “Mayelia’s so-called ‘Waning Era’ proves that the decline of magical elements is irreversible. In another century or two, magic will vanish entirely. The less they adapt, the greater our technological advantage.”

“But what about the supermarket’s appearance…” someone asked.

Kemeigao wasn’t worried. “That will only delay the Waning Era by a few decades. Magic used to flow freely in the air; now it relies solely on elemental gems. Unless the supermarket can restore the world’s ambient magic, its fall is inevitable.”

Still, the arrival of a “divine realm” was bad news for Atmos’s rapid industrialization. All they could do was suppress the news among civilians.

That was also why Kemeigao wanted to join the Thorn Consortium’s telephone network project. Whoever controlled communication would control information.

*

Zhou Li was unaware of the growing storm beneath the surface.

At closing time, An Fengxuan came to her with a question.

“Boss,” she said, “if the magic from this plane somehow crossed into the zombie world, would that mean people there could learn magic too?”

The question was essentially the same as another she’d asked before—whether the zombie world’s undead had any link to the magic world. Zhou Li still had no definite answer.

“You wanted to learn magic, right?” Zhou Li said. “Maybe you can test that yourself someday.”

An Fengxuan thought for a moment. “Actually, we could try seeing if alchemy potions work on zombies. Senator Su and her daughter are setting up a zombie virus research center. If we gave them some potions, maybe—”

Zhou Li cut her off. “Maybe you should study more alchemy with Ramanda first, and then ask Natisha whether there are spells or plagues that could create zombies—or shadow creatures similar to them. Once you understand the theory, you’ll know what to do.”

She didn’t reject the idea outright—but releasing unknown alchemical agents into another world without proper knowledge was far too dangerous.

According to the system, zombies weren’t truly living, but neither were they dead. Only when Qi Jiayu’s group completely cleared them from the shelter had the system recognized Newborn Island as “unclaimed territory.”

That meant the effects of alchemy potions on zombies were unknown.

If they somehow triggered evolution instead of destruction, it would spell disaster for the fragile balance humanity had built in the zombie world.

An Fengxuan asked, “Boss, don’t you want to study this kind of knowledge yourself?”

“Everyone has their specialty.”

It wasn’t that Zhou Li lacked curiosity—she simply knew her strengths and weaknesses.

She could handle theory, but real combat? That was suicide.

Her greatest weapon in every world was the system. Without it, she’d have died long ago.

So, no—wandering out to study magic hands-on was not an option.

Besides, the system had bound itself to her for interplanetary trade. If she abandoned her post to go on a magical adventure, the system would definitely disapprove.

If it unbound itself, and she couldn’t find her way back to Earth—she’d die in a foreign world.

Thus, Zhou Li’s plan had always been to focus on her duty: collecting items that could strengthen her home plane.

Only when Earth grew powerful would humanity not have to possibly one day live under the rules of things like “The Game,” bound to play by someone else’s whims.

An Fengxuan looked at her thoughtfully, then said with genuine admiration, “As expected of you, Boss!”

Zhou Li: ?

☢️☢️☢️

Thousands of years of ingrained belief could hardly be overturned by a few of Zhou Li’s remarks.

Wendisha had initially wanted to engage her in a discussion about theology, but quickly realized Zhou Li had zero interest—her expression practically said, “If it’s not business, don’t talk to me.”

Determined to “know her opponent to find her weaknesses,” Wendisha began to browse around the supermarket.

As she looked through the aisles, she discovered something unsettling—despite her vast erudition, she couldn’t read most of the writing on the products!

Some labels were in the Atmos tongue, but the majority were written in an unfamiliar script.

Could this be the language of the divine realm?

She hurried out of the store and summoned Ariel, demanding to know why this hadn’t been reported.

Ariel was just as baffled. Her entire attention before had been on the elemental gems; she hadn’t even thought about other merchandise, much less the text printed on them.

The nobles of the Senate soon gathered again, whispering amongst themselves about the mysterious writing.

But in the end, all eyes turned to Wendisha.

After all, as the head of the Knowledge Church, if she didn’t recognize the script, how could any of them hope to?

“Could it be an ancient language long lost to history—preserved only in the divine realm?”

“Impossible. Even if that’s a deity’s realm, this is a newly risen wild god. There’s no way it would contain the remnants of an ancient script.”

“Even a ‘new’ god is ancient by our reckoning—born ages ago, perhaps only gaining divinity and forming a realm in the last few centuries.”

“I’ve heard the Temple of Oaths still preserves some ancient characters…”

At that moment, someone came running in and whispered urgently into Ariel’s ear.

Her face darkened. She glanced around at everyone before quietly reporting to Wendisha.

Wendisha stood abruptly, exclaiming, “Fools!”

Without another word, she strode out.

The rest exchanged confused looks, curiosity prickling.

Ariel finally explained, “The supermarket has just been attacked—by an unknown source using magic.”

The crowd fell silent, wide-eyed.

Since there was no sign of who was responsible, Ariel didn’t linger either and followed after Wendisha.

Seeing this, the nobles trailed after them, eager for a spectacle.

Their camp wasn’t far from the supermarket—just a few hundred meters—so they were puzzled. “If there was an attack, why didn’t we hear anything?”

When they arrived, they expected destruction—burned ground, shattered walls—but the scene was perfectly calm. Not a scratch on the building.

A small group stood before the supermarket, gazing at it in stunned reverence.

Ariel wondered if the report had been false—until her knight insisted, “There truly was an attack. Wind-element magic, without question. But for some reason, once it reached the shop, it simply… stopped working.”

They hadn’t seen who cast the spell, nor from where, so all they could conclude was that the assailant wasn’t nearby.

Wendisha activated a detection spell. After a pause, she pointed north. “There. Take a few men and drag whoever you find back.”

The knights hesitated—drag? Not arrest or detain?

Still, they obeyed, hurrying off in that direction.

Wendisha said nothing more, her gaze fixed on the quiet, unshaken supermarket.

Then Ramanda arrived, as calm as ever, and said, “People always pay the price for their arrogance and ignorance.”

Wendisha asked, “What brings you here, Lady Ramanda?”

She already knew Ramanda lived a few kilometers away. When she had visited earlier to ask about the supermarket and the supposed divine realm, Ramanda—ever the devoted alchemist—had revealed nothing useful.

But the fact that Ramanda chose to live here, at risk of shadow creature attacks, told Wendisha all she needed to know about how seriously to regard the place.

Unfortunately, the world was never short of greedy fools—those too arrogant to respect the unknown.

Wendisha was certain the attack had been ordered by some noble within the Senate.

Perhaps they wanted to test the supermarket’s defenses—or perhaps they were enraged by the “unknown god’s” remarks that seemed to favor Atmos, and were acting out of fanatic vengeance for what they saw as blasphemy.

Wendisha herself hesitated to enter; she wasn’t sure whether she might be implicated.

Ramanda, however, swung her strange alchemist’s pack onto her shoulder and said casually, “Came to trade for a few things.” Then, tilting her head, she asked, “Why aren’t you going in?”

Wendisha: …

Sooner or later, she’d have to. So she composed herself and stepped through the doors.

Inside, Zhou Li was calmly watching instructional videos.

Of course she already knew about the attack—but after confirming that the supermarket’s defensive system could even neutralize magic assaults, she hadn’t bothered to worry about it any further.

When Wendisha saw how calm Zhou Li remained, she sighed inwardly. “Truly a god—her strength is unfathomable.”

“Welcome,” Zhou Li said lightly. “Looking to buy something?”

She remembered Wendisha well. Not because of her noble title, but because the last time she’d come, she had barely looked around the supermarket before leaving—if the system hadn’t confirmed no theft, Zhou Li might have thought the woman had run off with stolen goods.

Now Wendisha was back again, right after the supermarket had been attacked—highly suspicious behavior.

Still, even if Wendisha had been behind the attack, as long as she hadn’t personally attacked anyone, the store’s blacklist system wouldn’t trigger. Zhou Li had to treat her as any other customer.

Wendisha hesitated, then let her gaze fall on the iPad resting casually on the checkout counter.

“May I ask,” she said, “what language is this?”

As a devout follower of the Goddess of Wisdom, her curiosity about knowledge outweighed even her interest in the high-tech device itself.

Zhou Li replied, “That’s Chinese—Mandarin, written in Chinese characters.”

“Han…?” Wendisha repeated.

A century ago, a discipline called linguistics had emerged in their world. Linguists divided all known tongues into four great language families, each named after one of the continents.

Each family was further divided into over twenty language groups—based on the oldest known races—and beneath those were branches, divided by early kingdoms, empires, or divine cults. The modern languages were offshoots formed within the last few centuries.

But according to everything Wendisha knew, there was no record of a language called Han.

Still, perhaps it was one of those lost ancient tongues—like the ones swallowed by the long river of history.

Zhou Li didn’t elaborate. Instead, she greeted Ramanda, who had just entered.

Ramanda thanked her first—for selling the elemental gems that had allowed her to repair her cauldron and alchemy stone—then took out freshly brewed potions to exchange for store points, and purchased more gems.

This time, Zhou Li had brought back a greater quantity of sea fluorites.

When she had visited the zombie world, she’d delivered the research equipment Senator Su and Su Bochun had requested, then returned with two shiploads of fluorites.

But unlike before, these weren’t gifts. She had paid market price for them.

Ever since Senator Su’s earlier “gift” of fluorites had been misinterpreted as a sign of its immense value, every newcomer to Newborn Island had brought a pouch of the stuff as tribute.

Zhou Li had accumulated a massive stockpile—but she didn’t plan to release it all at once.

This time, she only put out a third for sale, keeping the rest reserved. She didn’t want the noble class hoarding everything again.

Especially now that she saw how many aristocrats had shown up, she decided on a purchase limit.

“Three elemental gems per person per day,” Zhou Li told Ramanda.

Ramanda blinked in surprise but accepted the rule easily.

In her mind, elemental gems were naturally rare—just getting one was already lucky. It was only after seeing piles of them here that she’d nearly forgotten how precious they truly were.

But the nobles—those who had been spoiled by the previous twenty-thousand-gem windfall—were not as gracious.

They had come all this way precisely for the gems. If the supermarket hadn’t displayed any this time, they might have forgotten their purpose entirely. Now that they finally remembered, they were told they could only buy three.

“Three? That’s stingy!”

“Don’t tell me they’re running out!”

They whispered among themselves.

Wendisha also asked, “Why impose restrictions now, when there weren’t any before?”

Zhou Li replied, “Because there weren’t this many people before. And last time, the Senate bought up everything. This time, I figured I’d let others have at least a taste of the soup.”

“That attitude,” Wendisha said, “doesn’t sound much like the Atmos side.”

Atmos entrepreneurs were masters of monopolies—if there was money to be made, fairness was never a concern.

Zhou Li smiled. “Let me ask you something: the Senate bought more than twenty thousand elemental gems. If a soldier, a ranger, or a mage apprentice desperately needed just one, would your Senate sell it to them?”

Wendisha fell silent.

“That’s why I’m limiting purchases,” Zhou Li said.

Monopolies weren’t exclusive to capitalists.

Throughout history, magical knowledge and resources had always been controlled by the nobility. Only a few commoners—those blessed with divine favor or rare magical talent—were ever allowed to study magic.

Take the Elemental Storm Canyon, for instance—the largest known gem deposit, once and still sealed off from the public. Only select groups were allowed to mine there.

Before anyone could respond, the knights who had gone north to retrieve the attackers returned—carrying several corpses.

Among the nobles, one count’s face turned ashen.

☢️☢️☢️

Under countless stunned gazes, Zhou Li finished handing over the first batch of equipment to the Thorn Consortium.

When she returned to the supermarket, customers finally began to arrive to register for memberships.

Zhou Li said to the system, “People in this world are quite polite—they even waited until I finished my business before coming in.”

The system: …

They were only afraid that trespassing into a “divine realm” might get them smitten on the spot.

All the customers were new faces, yet they seemed perfectly familiar with the supermarket’s rules. Each brought a different treasure to exchange for store points—testing the waters, as if probing divine boundaries.

After more than a dozen clearly magic-faction customers successfully became members of Good Life Supermarket, the steam faction followed suit.

Because technological goods weren’t valued as highly, Kemeigao had deliberately prepared ten tons of refined mithril ore and ten thousand gold coins.

Zhou Li asked, “You already paid for the refrigerators you ordered last time. What are you planning to buy now?”

Kemeigao’s eyes gleamed. “A protective barrier! One that keeps shadow creatures away!”

Zhou Li: ?

She looked around at the mages nearby. “Shouldn’t you be asking them for that?”

Kemeigao said, “No, their magic can’t compare to your divine barrier.”

Zhou Li said, “Then you’ll be disappointed—I don’t sell barriers.”

The magic faction nodded in agreement. Of course! A divine realm couldn’t possibly rely on something as mundane as a “barrier”!

Kemeigao, unfazed by the setback, soon spotted the self-checkout kiosk. “What’s this? Is it for sale?”

Zhou Li replied, “Even if I sold it, you wouldn’t be able to use it with your current level of technology.”

To operate it, they’d need to connect to the system and have QR-code infrastructure in place.

Kemeigao pressed on, “Then can’t you sell us the technology too?”

Zhou Li wasn’t sure whether the auction house even sold such things, but probably not.

The telephone network devices she’d purchased earlier were early models—patents that had long since expired—so those could be legally traded.

Suddenly, Zhou Li remembered something that might really interest him.

“Are you familiar with internal combustion engines?”

Kemeigao blinked. “Internal… combustion?”

“Yes. Steam engines heat water to produce steam and move pistons. Internal combustion engines burn coal or gasoline directly to generate heat and drive pistons.”

Kemeigao’s eyes widened. “You mean a gas engine!?”

That was exactly the project he’d just begun theorizing—one he hadn’t told anyone about.

How did she know?

Could she truly be a divine being of technology—omniscient and omnipotent?

Thrilled, Kemeigao exclaimed, “Then my hypothesis might be correct!”

Zhou Li: …

And what exactly is your hypothesis?

He enthusiastically explained his concept of the gas engine, inspired by replacing wood with coal in steam power and refining the design further.

Zhou Li said, “…Your idea’s impressive. Keep it up.”

She decided it was better not to interfere with his research.

Then Kemeigao made an unexpected request.

“Would you happen to sell an astronomical telescope, my lady?”

He sounded hesitant. After all, astronomy was far removed from their current level of technology.

Zhou Li looked surprised. “You’re interested in astronomy?”

Kemeigao waved his hands. “No, you misunderstand. I’m an engineer—mechanics and power systems only. The telescope is for a friend of mine, a councilor. His daughter, Henrietta Swan Leavitt, loves to observe the stars. She’ll be turning ten in two months, and I wanted to gift her something special. For a girl who loves the stars, what could be better than a telescope?”

Zhou Li nodded, then froze mid-motion. “Wait—did you say Henrietta Swan Leavitt?”

Kemeigao blinked. “You know her?”

Zhou Li didn’t answer directly. She only smiled. “A telescope, then? No problem.”

Ordinarily, she might not have agreed to such a request—but if the telescope was for Leavitt, she’d make it happen.

Because Henrietta Swan Leavitt—the discoverer of the Leavitt Law—was known on Earth as the Mother of Modern Cosmology.

Of course, that was the Earth version of Leavitt.

Zhou Li didn’t know if the Leavitt of this world would grow into the same kind of visionary, but she was determined to support her.

In the Earth timeline, Leavitt suffered lifelong gender discrimination—never receiving equal pay or a PhD, even on her deathbed.

She was once considered for the Nobel Prize in Physics, but by the time she was nominated by Gösta Mittag-Leffler, the Swedish mathematician learned from the Harvard Observatory director that she had already been dead for three years.

That director even claimed he deserved the honor, since his later work built on her discovery—measuring the scale of the Milky Way and proposing that the solar system lay near its edge.

Zhou Li, living a full century after Leavitt, always felt a pang of regret when reading her story.

Now, having met another Leavitt in another world, Zhou Li wanted to help this one reach even farther.

She immediately submitted a purchase order to the auction house for a high-resolution, professional-grade astronomical telescope.

Such models started at several tens of thousands. Only then did Zhou Li realize she had forgotten to ask about Kemeigao’s budget.

“What price range are you thinking?”

“Ten… no, twenty gold coins,” Kemeigao said confidently.

Zhou Li did a quick conversion—about eight thousand yuan. That would buy nothing more than a child’s toy telescope.

Still, she thought, his heart was in the right place. Spending that much for a child’s gift showed genuine care.

Outside the supermarket, mages from the magic faction who overheard their conversation were fuming red.

Astronomy? Heresy! A blasphemous pseudo-science!

They had just started warming up to Zhou Li, and now all goodwill was gone.

Someone accused her angrily, “You’ve betrayed your divine office and your followers!”

Zhou Li: ?

Where did that come from?

Before she could even ask, the man was dragged away by his companions.

Then a well-dressed noblewoman addressed her. “Some people claim our world is a sphere—not created by the Earth Mother—and that the sun and moon are not divine, but celestial bodies. They say beyond our world lies an entire cosmos. What does your divinity think?”

Zhou Li recognized her—it was Wendisha, the Duchess and Chief Elder.

Ah, Zhou Li thought, so we’re doing the ‘heliocentrism vs divine cosmology’ debate now.

On Earth, that argument was historical—but here, in a world with real magic and confirmed divine beings, the logic might not hold.

Still, Zhou Li had a theory: what if the “gods” of this plane were once mortals who reached transcendent levels through magical cultivation, slowly deified over time?

Just like immortal cultivators—those who reached heights where mortals called them gods. And if gods could continue ascending, they could become the very “heavenly laws” of a plane.

So, recognizing a scientific cosmology didn’t necessarily deny the existence of gods.

But Zhou Li wasn’t here to debate theology. “I don’t think much of it,” she said lightly. “What I do wonder is—why do your two factions have to be enemies? Magic and technology aren’t mutually exclusive. The Waning Era didn’t come because of technology. Technology developed because of the Waning Era. Advancing technology doesn’t erase magic—pretending it does is just self-deception.”

Both the Senate and Kemeigao’s camp had already concluded that this so-called “wild god” or “shopkeeper” was a neutral entity.

Luna was ecstatic. The Thorn Consortium finally wasn’t alone anymore.

Wendisha said, “As a new god presiding over commerce and trade, perhaps you cannot understand the plight of the old gods. When technology rises—when people can fly without magic, sail across oceans without blessings, and heal with medicine instead of miracles—the old gods are abandoned.”

Zhou Li ignored the “new god” remark and focused on the rest.

“I think your worries are unnecessary,” she said. “Light, Life, Wisdom, Nature, Oath, War, Death—no matter the world, these will always exist. Gods don’t fall because of human progress.”

She paused, then added dryly, “Honestly, your gods are just too sensitive. Why must the God of Light only rule the sun? Light bulbs produce light too, don’t they? Just because it’s electric doesn’t mean it’s not light. If it’s light, it’s under the God of Light’s domain. And if people displease Him by using lamps, He can just burn out their filaments. No more light for the disrespectful.”

Everyone: …

That was… heretical!

And yet—oddly persuasive.

“And the Goddess of Wisdom!” Zhou Li continued. “Doesn’t technology require knowledge? Engineers and scientists are clearly under her divine portfolio. They’re her followers whether they know it or not.

“And the Goddess of Nature—sure, nature’s being harmed, but she’s also the goddess of harvest, right? Even the steam faction has to eat. Farming and food production still depend on her blessings.

“As for the new gods—why do their followers thrive? Because they fight for their faith! You sit still and call yourselves devout? That’s just laziness dressed up as piety.”

Someone, dazed by her logic, murmured, “Then what about the Goddess of Oaths? Her domain’s been divided with the Goddess of Order.”

Zhou Li replied, “People swear oaths every day. You really think she’s unemployed? If some oathbreakers go unpunished, it’s probably because there are too many of them for her to keep up.”

“You—!” The nobles of the magic faction were nearly faint with fury.

Even Wendisha couldn’t help but laugh, though she found Zhou Li’s reasoning oddly intriguing.

*

Author’s Note

Boss Zhou: I, the God of Commerce, will now teach you how to be gods. [Noob emoji]

The gods: ???

Note: (1) From Journal of Dialectics of Nature — “Henrietta Leavitt, Discoverer of the Cepheid Period–Luminosity Relation.”

☢️☢️☢️

Having spent only a single morning at Fangzhou, Special Operations Team captain Bai Xianglei grabbed lunch and immediately drove away from the school without pause, heading for the temporary command center established by the Special Operations Group.

The command center had been set up in another factory building near the chemical plant that housed Fangzhou’s escape tunnel exit. The team had renovated the site directly from the existing industrial complex. With the original perimeter walls and barbed wire already in place, it was easier to defend, and its location conveniently allowed them to help guard Fangzhou’s escape route as well.

Of course, the two factory buildings were not directly adjacent. A stretch of distance remained between them, ensuring that zombie activity drawn by human presence would not gather near the chemical plant.

The day before, Tian Xuejun had already promised Fu Qing that daily patrols would include a sweep around the chemical plant to clear nearby zombies, meaning Fangzhou would no longer need to send people there weekly.

When Bai Xianglei returned, he saw the abandoned factory gates standing wide open. Several trucks moved constantly in and out. The moment supplies were unloaded, soldiers stepped forward to transport them to different buildings.

Armed guards had already been stationed at the entrance to the compound.

The team had arrived late the previous night and stayed here overnight, but Bai Xianglei immediately noticed that in just one morning, the place had changed again.

He entered a central building in the compound. It had not yet been fully cleaned. Broken bricks and shattered glass still covered the floor. Although one room had been cleared to serve as an office, even the desks and chairs were leftovers from the former factory director’s office, hastily wiped down and extremely crude.

Tian Xuejun was discussing something with several others around a map when a knock interrupted them. Seeing Bai Xianglei, she paused in surprise.

“You’re back already?”

She had told him to report promptly if anything came up, but this report had arrived far sooner than expected.

Bai Xianglei could only smile wryly. Plans simply could not keep up with reality.

He delivered a full report of his extraordinary morning at Fangzhou and concluded tactfully, “Her strength is… far beyond what we imagined.”

Tian Xuejun fell silent, recalling the Yongxin Road pedestrian street incident she had just heard about that morning during a meeting with S City officials.

Combined with Bai Xianglei’s account, she finally grasped how formidable the “human who survived until the very end of the apocalypse” truly was.

She understood why he had rushed back to report immediately. Translated on Hololo novels. When issuing orders the previous day, she had assigned the special operations team three tasks: close protection, intelligence gathering, and surveillance.

That final task existed to guard against the one-in-a-thousand possibility that Fu Qing might harbor hidden motives or intentions harmful to humanity or to the country.

But if Fu Qing’s strength truly matched Bai Xianglei’s description, then the team stationed beside her might not be capable of stopping her at all.

Tian Xuejun gestured for the others in the room to leave before asking, “Do you think Fu Qing is trustworthy?”

Bai Xianglei stiffened. After only a brief moment of thought, he straightened and answered firmly, “This is only my personal judgment, but based on what you previously told us about Fangzhou, combined with what I witnessed and experienced this morning, I believe Principal Fu Qing is unquestionably on humanity’s side.”

As captain of a special operations unit, Bai Xianglei was far from a simple brute. In Tian Xuejun’s view, he was often exceptionally perceptive.

She trusted his judgment, not merely because she felt the same, but because she knew his words were never driven by blind passion.

Sure enough, after stating his intuition, he continued with concrete supporting evidence.

“Yesterday we investigated the identities of Principal Fu Qing, teacher Zhao Yunxiao who accompanied her, and student Xue Ran. Aside from Xue Ran, we found nothing.”

“They’re like people who appeared out of nowhere.”

In China, living without an identity was nearly impossible. Bai Xianglei did not believe the two had spent more than twenty years hidden in remote wilderness.

In his view, the only explanation was the existence of the system.

He then emphasized another point.

“In contrast, Xue Ran’s records are completely clear and intact, without the slightest sign of fabrication. She’s also the child of a martyr, a protected status under long-term local government attention. Altering her records would be virtually impossible.”

He even suspected Fu Qing had intentionally brought Xue Ran along so investigators would verify her background and thereby indirectly confirm the truth of her claims.

“Besides Xue Ran, we also obtained a student roster from Fangzhou. After verification, every student’s identity is genuine. All two thousand-plus of them were ordinary students before entering Fangzhou, each with established social connections and clean histories. Calling them upright and reliable wouldn’t be an exaggeration. I believe they are trustworthy.”

Bai Xianglei recalled how, during the morning tour, every student they passed greeted their principal.

The sincerity and warmth in their eyes could not be faked.

“From my observation, these students genuinely trust Fu Qing. They chose to follow her of their own accord.”

That morning had genuinely been enjoyable for him.

Students like Song Rushuang showed none of the scheming or calculation common in society. Instead, they carried a kind of youthful straightforwardness, clear in their sense of right and wrong, honest and unguarded. Perhaps people like that judged character most accurately.

And in just a few short hours, Bai Xianglei had already felt Fangzhou’s strong unity.

A group with such a positive atmosphere could only exist under an outstanding and inspiring leader.

Worried his evidence might still be insufficient, Bai Xianglei finished speaking and looked at Tian Xuejun with some tension.

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Your strength already ranks among the best in the military. With eleven additional team members, if even that lineup cannot reliably monitor Fu Qing, sending more personnel would serve no purpose.”

After all, she added silently to herself, escaping encirclement was probably what Fu Qing did best.

Unlike Bai Xianglei, Tian Xuejun knew Fu Qing had returned from the apocalypse. The simulation scenario he described therefore struck her even more deeply.

“Besides, we already made a promise that only twelve personnel would enter Fangzhou. That was a commitment made in the name of the state. We absolutely cannot be the first to break it,” Tian Xuejun said. “So I understand the situation you described. You may head back now. I’ll handle the rest.”

Bai Xianglei paused in surprise, then relaxed as understanding dawned.

With Tian Xuejun’s words, the team’s future “surveillance” assignment would, in practice, shift into one of cooperation and coordination.

Yet even after receiving her assurance, he did not leave immediately and remained standing in front of the desk.

Tian Xuejun raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

“Uh… Principal Fu Qing asked me, before I left, to pass along a question. She wanted to know whether you’d have time this afternoon for an operational meeting.”

Tian Xuejun: “……”

“She knew you were coming to see me?” Her mouth twitched slightly.

Bai Xianglei looked equally helpless. “I only learned after arriving at Fangzhou that any phone calls or radio communications made within the campus can be detected by the system.”

They could not contact anyone directly from inside the school. But the moment he left campus, Fu Qing would naturally guess what he had gone out to do.

Even if he wanted to conceal it, there was no way to hide it.

Tian Xuejun pressed a hand to her forehead. In other words, Fu Qing was also observing and testing their attitude.

They did not dare fully trust her, and likewise, how could she entrust them with complete faith at the very beginning of cooperation?

The difference was that her probing was far more open and straightforward.

She had knowingly asked Bai Xianglei, who was going to discuss matters concerning her, to deliver a message before leaving. Translated on Hololo novels. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

Amused yet thoughtful, Tian Xuejun suddenly realized that both she and the higher command had made a mistake.

The mistake was treating someone who had survived alone through years of chaos and brutality in the apocalypse as though she were a docile, well-socialized civilian.

If cooperation was to proceed smoothly, they would have to offer absolute equality and respect without reservation. Otherwise, unnecessary and meaningless testing might only push her away.

The realization sharpened her expression.

She looked at Bai Xianglei. “When is the meeting scheduled?”

He checked his watch. “Two o’clock this afternoon. Fifteen minutes from now. They’ll come over themselves.”

Tian Xuejun nodded. “Notify everyone. Prepare for the meeting.”

With that, she stood and strode quickly toward the compound entrance to personally receive them.

*

At precisely two o’clock, Fu Qing arrived at the command center compound, driving herself and bringing six students along.

All six were former members of the elite class, among the earliest students to return to campus. The rest were still on their way back.

Although Fu Qing had later selected five of them to form an elite squad after graduation, that did not mean the remaining elite-class students had reverted to ordinary status. Compared to others, they maintained closer ties with the principal and often still acted alongside her.

Following Fu Qing into the heavily guarded compound, the students could not help glancing curiously at the armed soldiers stationed everywhere.

But once they were led into the meeting room and seated, their expressions immediately turned serious.

Watching them, Tian Xuejun could not help feeling impressed.

She herself had never married, but many of her friends had children around this age. Fangzhou’s students were completely different from those she had known. The latter were flowers raised in greenhouses, carefully protected. These students, however, seemed already weathered by storms in the wild, hardened and strong beyond their years.

After taking her seat, she turned toward Fu Qing.

Fu Qing did not waste time with pleasantries and spoke directly.

“I’m here to discuss the Believers.”

When explaining the system earlier, she had already mentioned the Zombie King and the Believers organization, so everyone present knew of their existence.

But she had not yet had time to explain the details.

She proceeded to outline the Believers’ infection methods and explained how eliminating Believers could correspondingly weaken the Zombie King’s abilities.

It was another flood of information. After struggling to digest it, Tian Xuejun summarized carefully:

“So all zombie evolution is closely tied to the Zombie King’s own abilities. And the Believers, also called intelligent infected, retain human intelligence while possessing zombie powers. Each one is personally infected by the Zombie King, and every infection consumes some of its energy. In exchange, they become tens of thousands of times more troublesome than ordinary zombies.”

“The Zombie King relies on Believers to expand its influence and accelerate the spread of the virus. For example, causing shelters to fall, or disguising themselves as allies to infiltrate human strongholds and betray them at critical moments…” She paused before continuing. “But if we eliminate enough Believers, we can significantly weaken the Zombie King.”

“Once weakened to a certain degree, killing it becomes much easier. And once the Zombie King is dead, zombies will stop evolving.”

She added an example:

“Suppose there are tens of millions of zombies in the world right now. Most are basic zombies, one in a thousand are intermediate, and one in ten thousand are special variants. Over time, basic zombies could continue evolving. Eventually, intermediate zombies might even make up more than half the population.”

“But if the Zombie King is killed, all basic zombies will remain at their current stage. Only people bitten by intermediate or special zombies would have a chance of becoming higher-level zombies, and those limited numbers would be fully manageable with human capabilities.”

“Humanity will then see the dawn of victory over the apocalypse.”

She looked toward Fu Qing, a trace of hope in her eyes. “That’s correct, isn’t it?”

Tian Xuejun realized that once again, Fu Qing had brought hope to humanity.

“Basically correct, but there’s one point that needs clarification,” Fu Qing said. “Not all Believers have the opportunity to meet the Zombie King or be personally infected by it. Many of them are ordinary people who, driven by various selfish motives, joined the organization voluntarily and chose to help spread the virus.”

One officer’s eyes widened. “How is that any different from betraying humanity?”

“There is no difference. That is precisely their goal,” Fu Qing replied, shaking her head. “Which is why hunting the Believers must be placed on the agenda immediately.”

“My original plan was to divide the entire student body into two groups. One would remain to defend the campus, while the other would form multiple squads to search for Believers outside and eliminate them one by one. But considering the students’ real-world circumstances, I allowed a one-month return period.”

“During this month, Fangzhou is short on personnel, but eliminating Believers cannot be delayed. That’s why I’m here to request your assistance.”

Tian Xuejun answered without hesitation. “As long as there’s anything we can help with, we will do everything in our power. Just say what you need.”

In truth, this responsibility had never belonged solely to Fu Qing or Fangzhou. They had simply taken it upon themselves first.

“Currently, 721 people have returned to Fangzhou. After evaluation, I believe 151 of them are better suited to remain on campus,” Fu Qing said, listing precise figures.

These were students who had excelled in infrastructure and agriculture courses. Naturally, their combat ability was comparatively weaker.

“Of the remaining 570, I will divide them into teams of five, forming 114 squads that will rotate deployments outside. What I hope you can provide is manpower to assist the students in hunting Believers,” Fu Qing continued. “Infected Believers, the intelligent-type zombies, are far more dangerous than ordinary zombies. The students have experience. Their five-person teams will be the operational core. Your role will be to support them: seal roads, evacuate civilians, and remove external risks while they fight.”

The people in the meeting room exchanged uncertain looks.

Soldiers… cooperating under students’ command?

And during combat, they would merely stand by?

One officer could not help speaking up. “Our troops won’t participate in the fighting? But…”

“I don’t need soldiers,” Fu Qing said calmly. “Regular police officers, auxiliary officers, even volunteers will do. It may be difficult for them to face evolved zombies alone, but alongside the students they can focus entirely on logistics. That way, you can preserve elite forces for places that need them more, such as shelters and hospitals.”

With the virus spreading, manpower was needed everywhere, and elite combat personnel were especially scarce.

Not every soldier qualified as elite. Most people, even with training, could not reliably hit fast-moving runner-type zombies with firearms. Those creatures resembled legendary battlefield champions of ancient warfare, capable, exaggeration aside, of fighting an army alone.

One mistake could cost dozens of lives, sometimes even casualties caused by friendly fire.

Since the previous night, Tian Xuejun and the senior leadership had been overwhelmed by manpower shortages. Fu Qing’s proposal struck directly at their greatest concern.

But that would mean…

She blurted out, “Then wouldn’t the task of killing evolved zombies fall entirely on those five students?”

The infection efficiency of evolved zombies was terrifying. They had to be eliminated, yet the cost of doing so was equally enormous.

Before this, Tian Xuejun and the others had already prepared themselves to pay for it with human lives if necessary.

Now, with only a few words, Fu Qing had taken that burden onto herself.

Along with it, she had taken responsibility for the lives of thousands of soldiers.

If things proceeded as Fu Qing proposed, Tian Xuejun would no longer need to worry about heavy casualties among her forces. But Fangzhou’s students would also have no backup.

She found herself unable to agree.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Xue Ran spoke before Fu Qing could respond. “We will make thorough preparations. Please trust us.”

Her tone was serious.

Then she added quietly, “Besides, we’ve already worked together for a long time. Bringing in people without coordination would only slow us down.”

She looked up, her expression clearly saying: You understand what I mean, right?

Tian Xuejun choked slightly on the blunt honesty. Fu Qing’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“Fangzhou lacks manpower, and you lack elites capable of confronting evolved zombies alone,” Fu Qing said. “Our cooperation complements each other perfectly, doesn’t it?”

After several rounds of internal debate, Tian Xuejun finally relented. “I understand. We can try this arrangement for a period of time.”

Fu Qing nodded, making no attempt to argue over how long that trial period would last, and continued:

“Additionally, once personnel are assembled, whether online or gathered offline, everyone must undergo unified training before formal operations begin.”

“The training will be fully overseen by Xue Ran.”

Xue Ran straightened her back as the room’s attention turned toward her.

Before coming, the principal had already told her that beyond early training, all squads participating in Believer-hunting operations would also operate under the command of Xue Ran and several other elite-class students.

Identifying Believers, confirming infection types, assigning appropriately matched teams, and supervising operational planning would all rely on their experience.

No one else was capable of taking on that responsibility.

Under the table, Xue Ran quietly clenched her fist, feeling a sense of relief wash over her.

The principal had not lied. Even without joining the elite squad, she could still shine in her own way.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Next

With a thunderous bang, Bai Xianglei was kicked square in the chest by Fu Qing. His hundred-plus kilograms of weight seemed as light as a drifting leaf as he was sent flying backward. He smashed through the partition of a cubicle behind him without stopping, his back slamming heavily into a desk hard enough to crack its surface.

He swallowed the metallic sweetness rising in his throat and planted his right hand on the desk to push himself up. The moment he exerted force, however, a tearing pain exploded across his back, freezing him in place. Bai Xianglei clicked his tongue involuntarily.

Just how much strength had she used?

Fu Qing gave him no time to recover. Another flash of blade cut toward his face. Bai Xianglei snatched up a mug from the desk and hurled it. Midair, the cup was split cleanly in two by the knife’s edge, fragments scattering into the walls on either side and shattering into countless pieces.

Fu Qing’s movement paused for the briefest instant. Seizing the chance despite his temporarily restricted upper body, Bai Xianglei leaned sharply backward, bracing on his elbow against the desk for leverage, and swept the hard sole of his military boot toward Fu Qing’s temple.

She had no choice but to withdraw, barely blocking the strike with her arm at the last moment. She slid back half a meter, while Bai Xianglei used the momentum to flip upright again.

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his fighting spirit now fully ignited.

Across from him, Fu Qing lowered the arm that had guarded her face. Her expression, however, was the complete opposite of his. Translated on Hololo novels. Her dark eyes resembled a bottomless, silent pool, reflecting Bai Xianglei’s figure while giving him the unmistakable sensation of being locked onto by a master predator.

Once the battle began, Bai Xianglei seemed to boil with energy, utterly different from his usual self.

Fu Qing, on the other hand, showed almost no visible emotional stimulation. Even in the midst of life-and-death combat, she remained extraordinarily calm, as though fighting were simply the most ordinary state of existence for her.

Only occasionally, when her blade swept close, would a sharp glint flash in her eyes, reminding Bai Xianglei that she was taking this seriously.

He keenly sensed that such composure could only be forged by years spent walking the edge between life and death.

It might sacrifice a certain explosive battle state, but it allowed her to remain clear-headed at all times, capable of making the most precise judgment in any moment.

It was as if combat itself was never her true goal. To her, fighting was merely a necessary step on the path toward an end.

…

Their mastery of both hand-to-hand combat and blade technique was extraordinary. For both groups watching, this should have been the perfect learning opportunity.

Yet no one could devote their full attention to the duel.

Unconsciously, they counted down in their minds.

Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…

Fu Qing’s earlier prediction of fifty seconds, whether intentional or not, intensified the psychological pressure once more, like a deadline hanging overhead.

Perhaps it was imagination, but when half the countdown had passed, Zhou Lingxi felt the floor beneath her begin to tremble faintly.

She had been the first to approach the window and still stood closest to it. Unable to resist, she tore her gaze from the fight and glanced outside.

That single look nearly made her cry out.

In less than thirty seconds, the number of zombies below had multiplied several times over.

The fastest climbers had already reached nearly the twentieth floor. Beneath them, the lower levels of the building were completely submerged beneath countless zombies. They piled atop one another into a grotesque “mountain of corpses.” Those behind climbed over the bodies in front, only to be crushed by those following after, growling as they became stepping stones for the mass ascending upward.

If anyone had been hiding on the lower floors, every gap beyond the windows would have been filled with dense, writhing figures, blocking out even a trace of sunlight.

Zhou Lingxi could not count how many zombies there were. More continued to pour in endlessly. At this rate, before long the sheer height of the corpse mountain might rival the building itself.

These zombies, perhaps long dead, no longer resembled the typical television image of the undead. They looked more like mummies, or the desiccated corpses of ancient legends drained of life essence.

Their flesh had long since rotted away, leaving only loose, shriveled skin draped over skeletal frames like sun-dried husks.

Because of this, despite their numbers, the wind carried no smell of blood or rot, only a musty scent like an abandoned warehouse gone moldy.

Zhou Lingxi’s face paled as she once again felt the terrifying realism of the simulation pod.

The battle behind her still raged with no sign of ending soon. She glanced back once, then drew her knife from her lower back.

A duel this spectacular deserved a proper conclusion. She resolved to buy them more time, even if only a second.

Besides, opportunities like this were rare. She could take the chance to further train her ability to face zombies head-on.

The other team members noticed her actions. After a brief hesitation, they abandoned watching the match and gathered beside her one by one.

The first zombie lunged up, gripping the window frame as it tried to leap inside. Zhou Lingxi kicked it straight back down, sending it silently plunging into the horde below.

The ever-growing corpse mountain churned like a living creature, swallowing the falling zombie whole.

But more and more zombies soon appeared at the windows. The highest point of the corpse pile had already reached the twentieth floor, and each time one fell, the time it took to climb back grew shorter and shorter.

Before long, Zhou Lingxi and her companions began to feel the strain.

Just as she finished off one zombie, another climbed up. Her teammates were still entangled with others nearby. Translated on Hololo novels. Her expression tightened. Gritting her teeth, she sped up her movements. As the newly arrived zombie lunged forward with jaws wide open, she prepared to roll aside.

Suddenly, a blade shot in from the side, plunging straight into the zombie’s eye socket.

With a flick of the wrist, the heavy body toppled aside and lay still.

Zhou Lingxi froze for a moment, then turned to see Song Rushuang beside her.

“To be honest, I’ve already been bitten to death by these things countless times in this instance. I wasn’t planning to waste energy,” Song Rushuang muttered. “But just standing there watching you all fight felt kind of weird…”

After thinking for a moment, she decided not to waste the opportunity and simply began teaching Zhou Lingxi about the characteristics of different zombies and her own combat experience.

The other students joined in as well, following her example. Each picked a partner, forming small groups here and there, and the battle abruptly turned into an impromptu teaching session.

From the corner of her eye, Fu Qing noticed and could not help laughing helplessly. “These kids…”

Even with two groups working to hold them back, more and more zombies continued pouring in.

The first to fall was Liang Yi. Unlucky enough to be surrounded by three zombies at once, he had no time to react before being bitten several times and collapsing with a grimace. A special forces member went down next, followed soon after by Su Huaijin…

The number of people left in the room dwindled rapidly. Inevitably, the zombies’ attention shifted toward the two still locked in combat. Almost at the same moment, seven or eight zombies let out low growls, leaping over cubicle partitions as high as a person’s chest and lunging straight toward them.

Looking past Fu Qing’s shoulder, Bai Xianglei saw the scene and felt his mind explode into alarm.

Before he could think of a response, the person in front of him actually smiled.

As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Fu Qing swung her blade backward without turning around, striking at the zombie rushing toward her back. The blow forced the creature to twist direction midair.

Watching the zombie’s agile movement, Bai Xianglei suddenly recalled Chu Hai’s earlier fight with the runner-type zombie.

That zombie had also dodged a blade midair.

But Chu Hai had faced it head-on and been stunned when it evaded him. Fu Qing, however, had her back turned. Her seemingly casual strike looked completely avoided, yet…

“Holy—!” Bai Xianglei blurted despite himself as the zombie smoothly redirected and lunged at him instead, jaws wide open.

He raised his arm in panic. With a clang, his military knife jammed between the zombie’s teeth at the last possible instant. The bite force was so immense that the blade became stuck, impossible to pull free.

Bai Xianglei froze in disbelief. He had never imagined his weapon would one day be wedged between someone’s teeth.

That split-second shock stiffened his movements, and the culprit had already withdrawn her blade and rolled sideways, slipping perfectly through a gap in the encirclement.

Not daring to waste time, Bai Xianglei kicked the zombie in the chest while gripping the knife’s handle, narrowly avoiding shattered teeth snapping toward his face. He yanked the blade free and tried to retreat, but that single moment’s delay was enough for several agile zombies to pounce.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fu Qing land, immediately push off the ground, and reenter the encirclement herself, joining the swarm.

Bai Xianglei, who had been fighting a one-on-one duel that somehow gained several extra opponents on the other side: “???”

At last, he understood what Fu Qing meant when she said the incoming horde would place him at a greater disadvantage.

The evenly matched duel collapsed instantly once the zombies entered the fight. Amid the chaos, Bai Xianglei did not even know which one bit him. With lingering frustration, he was eliminated from the instance.

As darkness swallowed his vision, a single thought flashed through his mind:

Damn it. Those students’ ridiculous tactics really did come from their principal…

Su Huaijin had only just reached the stage of recognizing runner-type zombie traits and dodging in advance.

Fu Qing, however, had already learned how to exploit their agility in real combat.

And judging by her proficiency, this was clearly not her first time doing so.

For a brief moment, watching her move among the horde, cooperating seamlessly with the zombies as they attacked him together, it almost looked as if they were on the same side.

Bai Xianglei: …Shameless!

When his figure respawned in the multiplayer lobby, both the special forces team and the students were already waiting.

They had charged forward earlier and thus died before Bai Xianglei and Fu Qing.

Seeing Bai Xianglei appear first, the team immediately understood the outcome.

The soldiers paused, exchanging complicated looks, while the students wore expressions that suggested they had expected this all along.

If pure combat skill alone left the two evenly matched, then once the zombie horde arrived, the result had never been in doubt.

No human could defeat their principal in that kind of environment.

Two seconds later, Fu Qing also returned to the lobby. According to the system display, however, she had not died but logged out voluntarily.

The moment she appeared, her gaze met Bai Xianglei’s.

The normally stoic, iron-willed captain revealed a rare trace of undisguised grievance.

Fu Qing: “…”

It had been a long time since her rebirth that she had enjoyed such a satisfying fight, and she still felt she had not quite had enough. So she kindly suggested, “How about we switch to a setting without interference and have another round?”

Between the psychological pressure of the apocalyptic environment and the introduction of the zombie horde, she did not consider her victory improper, but strictly speaking, it had not been a fair duel.

“No,” Bai Xianglei said unexpectedly, shaking his head. “Even if we fought again somewhere else, I’d probably still have a hard time beating you.”

He could clearly feel the difference between their fighting styles.

He had practiced martial arts since childhood, trained formally in the military, and followed a disciplined, orthodox path. Fu Qing’s style, by contrast, resembled that of someone self-taught through harsh experience. Her movements bore little trace of formal training, each strike focused solely on killing efficiency.

Whenever she could deliver a fatal blow, she never stepped back to merely disable an opponent.

It was not a fighting style forged in peaceful circumstances.

Even as a special forces soldier who frequently faced death, Bai Xianglei still trained with comrades. For him, martial arts were not always about killing. But the cold decisiveness behind Fu Qing’s attacks made him suspect that her usual opponents had never been living people.

That alone explained why every strike she made carried lethal intent without hesitation.

Yet his admission was not only about stylistic differences. Even setting those aside, Fu Qing’s technique, strength, agility, and tactical thinking were all extraordinary, surprising him again and again during the fight.

He was thirty-six years old and had trained for over thirty years, honing his skill and physical strength through relentless daily effort.

But Fu Qing?

How old was she? Twenty-five at most?

No matter how gifted someone might be, reaching such a level required enduring countless battles beyond ordinary imagination.

Bai Xianglei found it difficult to imagine what she must have gone through.

Thinking again of the orders given by his superiors, he pressed a hand to his brow.

He felt he needed to speak with the commander.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Upon entering the lobby, Bai Xianglei quickly spotted both his squad and the Fangzhou group.

The students were clearly already familiar with everything here, while the special operations soldiers looked around with curiosity, stretching their limbs and testing how the data-simulated bodies differed from their real ones.

The conclusion came naturally. If they had not been told beforehand, they would never have realized they were now nothing more than streams of data. They would have believed everything to be real.

This was practically the fully immersive holographic gaming pod people had always dreamed about.

Everyone was astonished.

Fu Qing stood nearby watching them warm up. After about a minute, once she confirmed they were ready, she activated her permissions and pulled everyone into the same instance.

She disabled the system mission, using only the background map as the battlefield.

This had been common practice during the later stages of elite class training. By then, the students had already cleared the simulation instances countless times. Repeating identical missions no longer had much value, so Fu Qing repurposed the environments themselves, discarding system objectives and designing daily training scenarios on her own.

This particular setting was a hell-difficulty instance set five years after the virus outbreak, a place Song Rushuang and the others had visited many times before.

Yet every time they entered, it still felt suffocating and painful.

Especially now, when the virus had only just erupted and everyone’s nerves were stretched tight.

As the surroundings shifted, Song Rushuang instinctively took a deep breath, her expression turning solemn.

For Bai Xianglei, Zhou Lingxi, and the others, this was their first time inside. They had not expected the map to load so quickly. In the blink of an eye, the world around them changed completely.

They now stood atop an abandoned high-rise.

It had once been an office building. Cubicles stretched out in neat rows. With a quick glance, Zhou Lingxi could tell many young people had once worked here. Some desks were crowded with figurines. Felt boards on the walls were covered in instant photos. Others held potted plants long since withered, their dry pots cracked, soil scattered across the desks.

One office chair sat pulled out at an angle, a cartoon blanket draped casually over the back, as if its owner had only gone home for the weekend and would soon return.

The bright decorations had faded and yellowed with time, like an abandoned amusement park, surreal and disjointed.

The dusty smell filling their lungs reminded them that everything here had been frozen at the exact moment the apocalypse arrived.

Zhou Lingxi slowly surveyed the room before turning toward the floor-to-ceiling window covering the entire western wall.

One pane had shattered long ago, likely during a storm years earlier. Carefully stepping over the scattered glass, she approached the edge and looked outside.

Several teammates followed, equally curious.

From more than thirty stories up, the entire landscape lay exposed beneath them.

What they saw stole their breath.

It was nothing like the apocalypse they had imagined.

Before them was simply a forgotten city.

As time stretched onward, all chaos and bloodshed had faded away. Just as a human body decays after death, this city resembled a skeleton stripped clean of flesh.

One day, it too would weather into dust like the countless human remains scattered across the land, vanishing without a trace in the wind.

Zhou Lingxi glanced at the sun’s position and realized it was still afternoon, normally the busiest time of day.

Yet without human activity, the city was so quiet it felt as though one could hear plants growing.

Warm sunlight fell gently across her face. Birds fluttered through the sky. Vines crept over roadside signs. Countless zombies wandered aimlessly through the streets. With no targets to attack, even their expressions seemed strangely peaceful.

Zhou Lingxi instinctively stepped back.

When she thought of the apocalypse, she had imagined corpses piled high and rivers of blood.

She had never imagined this.

A city that had endured the apocalypse was not wholly dead. On the contrary, it was vibrantly alive.

Only humanity was gone.

Even the air drifting through the window smelled clean, free of rot or decay.

Human beings had vanished, and soon even the traces they left behind would disappear.

Perhaps this was the instinctive terror of extinction buried deep within every species’ soul, more despairing than any scene of blood or death.

They were soldiers sworn to defend their homeland. Care for their country and its people was etched into their bones, dissolved into their blood.

The storefront signs, the familiar street layout, made it obvious. This was Huaxia.

Zhou Lingxi began to tremble uncontrollably.

She clenched her teeth and tried to steady herself with slow breaths, but her emotions felt like stagnant water, incapable of stirring even a trace of hope.

She was not alone. Every team member visiting this instance for the first time felt the same.

One soldier, unable to resist, stepped closer to the window for a better look. As he did, his hand rested instinctively against the frame. The moment his fingertips touched it, the remaining pane suddenly detached and plunged downward.

Falling more than thirty stories, it smashed into the ground below with a thunderous crash, shattering into countless fragments.

The soldier froze. “H… how did that happen?”

He looked utterly lost, like someone who had made a terrible mistake. Su Huaijin immediately reassured him.

“It’s fine. That wasn’t your fault.”

Just by looking at the already shattered pane nearby, it was obvious the window had long been unstable. Nearly every time they came here, it broke one way or another. Sometimes from a light touch, sometimes from a stray gust of wind.

Eventually they had grown used to it, treating it like a mandatory trigger in a video game boss fight, something inevitable that simply could not be avoided.

After finishing her explanation, Su Huaijin hesitated slightly. “But…”

She fell silent, and the words she left unsaid were spoken instead by the sounds that followed.

The deafening crash of the falling glass spread outward in waves. Everywhere the sound passed, inside buildings and through alleyways, furious roars erupted almost instantly, rising and falling like a tidal surge.

It was the scream of a city that no longer belonged to humanity, a shriek unleashed at intruders.

*

In nearly an instant, countless zombies poured out from hollow windows, plant-choked underground passages, streets, and hidden corners both imaginable and unimaginable.

Some were slow-moving ordinary zombies. Translated on Hololo novels. Others ran on all fours, racing toward the source of the noise with terrifying speed.

Regardless of how fast they moved, their numbers quickly formed a tightening encirclement. Looking out, there was no visible end to them.

Even if a fully armed military unit were present, without helicopters their chances of breaking through would be almost nonexistent. And they were only a dozen people armed with cold weapons.

Zhou Lingxi could not yet identify which city they were in, but judging by the scale of the buildings, it must once have been prosperous.

A city like this could easily have held millions of residents. In an apocalypse where half the population died and the other half turned into zombies…

How many zombies were they facing?

Even if only a fraction had arrived so far, the disturbance was massive. Before long, the entire city’s undead would converge here.

A chill crept through Zhou Lingxi.

She remembered Song Rushuang mentioning earlier that this instance was set to “hell difficulty.”

It truly was hell difficulty.

Being surrounded by millions of zombies, even hell itself might not be this terrifying.

The zombies’ poor eyesight prevented them from spotting the group standing more than thirty floors up, but the soldiers’ keen vision allowed them to see everything clearly.

The longer they watched, the colder their hearts grew.

More than thirty stories high. Glass walls with almost no footholds. Taking the stairs would mean running directly into the first wave of approaching zombies.

How could they escape?

How could they possibly escape?

Faced with extreme danger, they did not panic like ordinary people. But that did not mean despair failed to creep in when no solution presented itself.

“Captain! We—”

Chu Hai instinctively turned to seek orders, only to stop halfway, his urgent words catching in his throat.

He opened his mouth, realizing a beat too late what was happening.

Bai Xianglei was looking at Fu Qing. She simply spread her hands calmly.

“I warned you,” she said, “stay here long enough, and it becomes easy to confuse this with reality.”

The more urgent the situation and the less time there was to think, the faster immersion took hold.

Just moments ago they had known this was only a simulation, casually observing their surroundings. But when faced with genuine life-and-death tension, human instinct still demanded escape.

Like standing inside a tilted funhouse, even knowing the illusion’s mechanism could not stop dizziness or the body’s involuntary attempts to rebalance.

The senses deceived the brain, and the brain deceived the body in return. These physiological reactions could not simply be resisted.

Unless one adapted to the sensation of being surrounded and hunted by a zombie horde, calmness was nearly impossible, even when one knew the environment was virtual.

Bai Xianglei remained silent for a moment before asking, “This is part of your regular training too?”

When they first agreed to the competition, Fu Qing had said every challenge reflected the students’ daily training.

That was precisely why he had accepted.

Winning or losing meant nothing to him. What truly mattered was understanding Fangzhou’s training methods.

He had fully accepted that each match favored the students and had never considered it unfair.

But now his voice carried unmistakable astonishment.

Because he could not believe that a situation like this could be considered a “favorable condition,” or that it could be routine training at all.

An ordinary person might require psychological counseling after experiencing this instance even once.

Were Fangzhou’s students really training in environments like this?

“No,” Fu Qing shook her head. “Only thirteen elite-class students were selected to endure long-term training in this instance. For ordinary students, training here is far less effective than in other scenarios.”

“And even for the elite class, they rarely come here.”

This instance was uniquely extreme. The entire city contained no humans at all. The moment a single human appeared, made a sound, or was detected by even one zombie with an unusually sharp sense of smell, the entire city would immediately converge in a full-scale siege.

This kind of environment was simply too extreme. When a scenario’s difficulty became excessively high, the training effect was actually worse than that of slightly easier advanced or even intermediate instances.

Because the students died too quickly.

What this instance emphasized was not combat ability, but psychological oppression and fear.

So Fu Qing only brought the elite-class students here occasionally, allowing them to stay for short periods so they could adapt gradually. Both the frequency and duration were carefully controlled to avoid leaving lasting trauma.

Psychological training was different from physical training. Growth was difficult to quantify, yet damage could occur in an instant.

Fu Qing had seen countless people who survived the apocalypse long enough to reach safe places like shelters, only to suddenly take their own lives.

She had also seen survivors who endured battle after battle, living for months or even years, suddenly lose their sanity one day and become no different from walking corpses.

Even the strongest warriors could not resist invisible emotional strain. Cases of soldiers developing PTSD after retirement were far from rare.

So no matter how harsh the training became, she was always careful to prevent her students from carrying lasting wounds. In matters like this, Fu Qing exercised particular caution.

Hearing this, Bai Xianglei let out a breath of relief.

If the students truly trained in environments like this every day, that would have been terrifyingly extreme.

“So…”

So the reason she brought them here was merely to witness this scene?

Then what about the match that followed…

He was interrupted by Fu Qing.

“Captain Bai, we don’t have much time.”

She drew a military knife, flicked it lightly in her hand, and calmly assumed a fighting stance.

“If we’re going to fight, it’s best to start soon. The first zombie should reach this floor in about fifty seconds.”

Her expression remained unchanged, her tone almost playful.

“Otherwise, once the horde arrives, the conditions you face will become much more unfavorable.”

More unfavorable?

Bai Xianglei paused.

The way she said it sounded as though he was already at a disadvantage, yet before the zombies arrived, their conditions seemed identical.

Unable to make sense of it, he stopped thinking about it. Translated on Hololo novels. In the distance, the approaching horde’s footsteps merged into a continuous rustling sound that set one’s nerves on edge.

He forced himself to ignore it, pushing aside any attempt to decipher the hidden meaning in her words, focusing entirely on the battle before him.

When the first sharp clash of blades rang out, Zhou Lingxi heard something else crack.

The military knives were specially made. The sound clearly had not come from them.

While everyone else watched the duel without blinking, Zhou Lingxi reacted first, rushing to the window and looking down.

At the base of the building, the first zombie leapt high into the air. Just as it seemed about to slide down the smooth glass exterior, it suddenly thrust out a hand. Its claws, sharp as blades, pierced deeply into the glass beneath it, which instantly fractured.

Crack.

She found the source of the sound.

Witnessing yet another evolutionary direction of the zombies, Zhou Lingxi’s eyelid twitched. She could easily imagine how effortlessly those claws would slice through a human throat.

Each leap carried the zombie two or three meters upward, its claws leaving holes in the glass like bullet impacts.

Step by step, it climbed toward them.

Using the stairs, it would never have arrived this fast. Zhou Lingxi finally understood what Fu Qing meant by “the first zombie will arrive in fifty seconds.”

She calculated the climbing speed and couldn’t help admiring the precision of Fu Qing’s estimate.

Only fifty seconds of combat.

The ringing clash of blades continued nonstop, so fast that multiple arcs of shining steel seemed to carve through the air at once.

Blocking another strike, Bai Xianglei gritted his teeth and held firm, inwardly shaken.

Not only because of Fu Qing’s astonishing strength, which made direct confrontation difficult even for him, but because he realized something else.

His hand was trembling.

The tremor was extremely slight, almost imperceptible.

But against an opponent this powerful, when victory could not be secured quickly, even such a tiny weakness became fatal.

First he had witnessed the ruins of a world where humanity was nearly extinct. Then he found himself surrounded by an endless zombie tide, constantly facing the threat of being torn apart at any moment.

The immense psychological pressure had manifested physically before he even noticed it himself, and Fu Qing had immediately sensed it.

Only now did Bai Xianglei understand what she meant by unfavorable conditions.

But…

He clenched his teeth, staring into Fu Qing’s eyes at close range in disbelief.

Focused. Calm. And carrying a faint excitement at facing a rare and worthy opponent.

There was not the slightest trace of pressure weighing on her.

Why did she look completely unaffected?

₊˚.🎧📓✩