Author Archives: sandy

The livestream chat was so shocked that, for a moment, the comments dropped by more than half.

A close-up shot captured the instant of the zombie’s death. The unblurred wound, and Fu Qing’s completely unhesitating movements, hit them with tremendous impact.

Even the other four people in the small on-screen window couldn’t help baring their teeth and wincing where the viewers couldn’t see.

The principal was simply too ruthless, too direct. Without warning, she dragged an audience that still hadn’t understood what was happening straight into the brutal atmosphere of the apocalypse, making them inexplicably think of how they themselves had been thrown into a fully realistic mock exam the moment they enrolled.

Some clueless passersby wandered in by mistake and were scared half to death, thinking they’d stumbled into some kind of illegal livestream.

[??? What is this, “how to kill people” lessons?]

[Mom, can we broadcast this in our country now? Did the internet cleanup campaign forget to tell you?]

[Weren’t we promised a college-student comedy skit account?! Why is it this hardcore every time the mysterious guest shows up?!]

[It’s summer break and my little brother and sister are playing at my place. They accidentally saw the stream and got scared into crying. Now they’re wailing in my ears on both sides. I can’t calm them down, what do I do TOT……]

But some people watching felt something was off.

[This is an outdoor stream. There are so many people and cars in the background, there’s no way this is just for effect, right? And you can’t even do special effects on a live stream.]

[I have a terrifying guess if you think about it. This can’t be real… can it?]

[I’m watching the stream on my computer and still scrolling news on my phone. The “zombies” TaoTao filmed look exactly the same as the ones in the news. You can’t screenshot the stream, so I suggest everyone search for the blogger “@YangyangLovesToEat.” She posted a video five minutes ago: someone in a barbecue shop got attacked by a crazed person and grabbed a metal skewer nearby and jammed it into the attacker’s face. A few skewers went into the eyes and that person stopped moving immediately. Maybe the brain really is the only weakness for this thing.]

[Uh, I have a question and I’m not sure I should ask, but even if it’s not some zombie, a normal person would stop moving if you stabbed their brain too… I mean, that’s the brain! Not an elbow!]

[Damn it, don’t make me laugh at a time like this. I can’t laugh anymore.]

[No, what I meant is “only” weakness… You’ll understand if you watch a few more videos. This thing is insanely terrifying. It can fall from the third floor and still bounce back up like nothing happened, chasing people down to bite them. Even if its spine breaks, it doesn’t stop it from looking at normal people with glowing green eyes. It’s the middle of summer and I’m breaking out in cold sweat watching this.]

[Is it really that scary? My classmate sent me something just now and I thought he was joking. Don’t scare me.]

[So what the mysterious guest said is true? She really wants to teach us how to kill this thing?]

[I’m going to lose it. These “things” are just humans except they’ve lost their minds. How can you bring yourself to do it? Are we even living in the same civilized society?]

[To the person above, didn’t you see people getting bitten and dying on the spot from severe injuries? It’s not that learning this means you have to go out and kill people, but at least you need to know how to protect yourself if you really run into something.]

[+1, I think that’s what the streamer means too.]

[Am I the only one curious how the mysterious guest even knows this thing’s weakness? It’s been less than half an hour since posts started popping up everywhere!]

[……]

In just half an hour, too much had happened. The overwhelming flood of reports and posts, plus the bloody scene unfolding live in front of them, set everyone’s nerves on fire.

People argued. Others spiraled, repeatedly questioning and confirming. Some were so frightened they quit the stream outright, as if not watching meant they wouldn’t have to face any of it.

Only a small fraction, through the livestream, truly realized how severe the situation outside was.

Most other content online was one- or two-minute clips. The people filming were in chaos, barely able to protect themselves, and didn’t dare record for long. That made a streamer like Sun Wei, who had kept her livestream running the entire time, especially valuable.

Like a war correspondent.

Silently grateful, they tried to enlarge Sun Wei’s stream, not daring to miss any scrap of intelligence it might reveal, replaying Fu Qing’s words over and over in their minds.

But before long, the livestream was abruptly cut off.

On the truck, Sun Wei fiddled with her phone for a long time, then looked up awkwardly at Fu Qing. “Principal, the stream got shut down.”

Fu Qing: “……”

The apocalypse had only arrived half an hour ago, and the platform’s moderators were still doing their jobs as usual.

There was nothing to be done. What had just been shown couldn’t even be described as “skirting the line.” It was dancing in a minefield.

Su Huaijin had already drafted a brief announcement explaining the situation and stating that the livestream would end here.

The comment section quickly turned into a boiling mess, but she didn’t reply anymore, focusing instead with the rest of the publicity team on preparing to escape.

Over on Song Rushuang’s side, while Fu Qing and Sun Wei were livestreaming, she and Zhang Han had already cleared all the zombies near the roadside around the truck.

By the old classifications, these were mostly low-level zombies. The most agile one had already been dragged away by Fu Qing to use as a teaching aid. Translated on Hololo novels. So with one holding a knife and the other wielding a fire axe, they were moving almost one kill per strike, smooth as chopping melons and slicing vegetables.

When the first zombie went down, Song Jianguo’s brain buzzed. His head was full of thoughts like what if his daughter had killed someone, were there cameras nearby, could he take the blame for her… until he saw a zombie tackle a child, about to bite into the carotid artery. Then he couldn’t think about any of that anymore.

That was too vicious. If it would even go for a child with lethal intent, it wasn’t human anymore.

Thankfully Song Rushuang reacted fast enough. As the zombie opened its mouth, she had already jumped behind it, grabbed it, and flung it aside. Zhang Han stepped in and finished it with an axe blow. The two turned their heads, saw the child was unharmed, and only then let out their breath.

After that, the entire scene was effectively taken over by Song Rushuang and Zhang Han. Zhang Feng and Song Jianguo stood to the side like wooden statues, completely stunned by how fierce the girls were.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to help. They were killing too fast.

Song Rushuang drove her blade again and again into the temple and the eye socket. At her fastest, she could take down a zombie in a few seconds. Song Jianguo, standing there with a blunt weapon like a fire extinguisher, couldn’t really contribute anything.

A few times he swung too hard and knocked a zombie away, which actually threw off Song Rushuang’s precision.

Catching Song Rushuang’s hesitant expressions more than once, Song Jianguo felt his old face burning hot with embarrassment.

Before leaving home, he had patted his chest and promised his wife he’d protect their daughter. Yet once they were out, he’d become his daughter’s accessory. Truly…

He also found it strange how skilled Song Rushuang was when she struck, but in a crisis, those questions clearly weren’t easy to ask.

When they finished clearing the last zombie within sight, Sun Wei also came running down from the truck with her parents.

On the way, she had taken out two more zombies stuck in cars, so she was a step slower.

After killing so many zombies, it had already become muscle memory. For the people of Fangzhou now, killing a few low-level zombies was simply a matter of convenience.

But the parents were terrified.

Even after the three girls urged them into the cars, they were still dazed and unsteady, as if they hadn’t fully come back to themselves.

Before the vehicles started up, it was Song Jianguo who thought of Fu Qing and mentioned it. “Where’s your principal? She’s not coming with us?”

“The principal will come later. She told us to go first,” Sun Wei said. “It’s fine, don’t worry about her.”

Song Jianguo was a little worried. But then he remembered the glimpse he’d caught of Fu Qing casually swaying her way into the line of cars, and somehow felt there wasn’t much to worry about after all.

She could outrun an off-road vehicle on foot and subdue a vicious criminal with her bare hands. Could he do that?

He’d only be the one dragging everyone down.

The ride back was quiet. Song Rushuang tore off a scrap of paper, meaning to wipe the blood from her hands, but after a second thought she gave up, stuffed it into her pocket, and returned to the school just like that, smeared in blood from head to toe.

In the cafeteria, Xu Mingyu and Liu Zhen had been so anxious they couldn’t sit still, constantly lifting their heads to look toward the entrance.

In the short ten or so minutes the group had been gone, the internet had erupted with even more videos. Every time they scrolled past a new one, their hearts sank another notch, and their minds filled uncontrollably with grim possibilities.

Liu Zhen’s eyes were red. She kept staring at Zhang Han’s contact on her phone, over and over, but didn’t dare call. She was afraid that if something really had happened, a phone call would only distract them. “If I’d known, I never would’ve let her go out…”

She slapped her thigh in regret, not holding back her strength. Xu Mingyu hurried over to stop her. “It’s fine. It hasn’t been long. They might be back any second.”

Xu Mingyu knew Song Rushuang’s fitness. Forget everything else, her morning training intensity had practically become a neighborhood spectacle. If something happened, she could at least run. That was why Xu Mingyu wasn’t as worried as Liu Zhen.

But she couldn’t really say that out loud, so she could only keep comforting her.

Then, the very next second, the curtain at the cafeteria entrance was pulled aside. Translated on Hololo novels. The two women snapped their heads up. When they saw their daughter and husbands, they nearly burst into tears of relief.

But before their smiles could fully form, they saw the bloodstains on Song Rushuang and Zhang Han.

Other parents in the cafeteria noticed too and cried out. Liu Zhen’s legs went weak, her vision swimming dark. She almost couldn’t stay standing.

She staggered forward to Zhang Han. “You’re hurt? Where? Let me see…”

As she spoke, a sob squeezed out of her throat, tears threatening to spill in her panic.

Among the parents there were doctors. Someone rushed over, only to see Zhang Han and Song Rushuang bounce in place twice and spread their arms. “We’re fine. Both of us.”

“This isn’t our blood.”

The way they moved didn’t look like they were injured.

Liu Zhen and Xu Mingyu looked doubtfully toward Zhang Feng and Song Jianguo. When both men nodded, only then did the souls that had flown out of their bodies seem to return.

Liu Zhen pressed a hand to her chest and collapsed onto a nearby bench. Zhang Han hurried to support her.

“What happened?” she asked, panting. “Where did all this blood come from?”

The parents who’d run over to help heard that these people had just come back from outside. They didn’t leave, instead staying to listen, studying them as they did.

The blood on the three girls was far too glaring. And seeing the adults looking half out of their minds, even before hearing anything, everyone understood that the situation outside was probably truly dire.

They’d assumed the short videos online were just isolated cases, and that they only seemed numerous because they were being posted. But now, had even the area around the school fallen?

A few people who had been loudly insisting a moment ago that they go find the principal to get permission slips to leave campus stopped making noise.

If something really happened, they couldn’t leave their children alone at school.

The students standing with them were visibly delighted, and when they looked at Song Rushuang and the others, their eyes held even more gratitude.

Song Rushuang had brought Song Jianguo and the others back to campus for exactly this reason.

What Song Jianguo and Zhang Feng, adults of the same generation as the other parents, said would carry far more weight than anything the students said.

Add Sun Wei’s parents, and with four adult witnesses, persuading the rest would become much easier.

She stepped aside. “Dad, you tell them what happened outside.”

Song Jianguo was pushed forward without warning. Quite a few people had already gathered in front of them. Everyone in the cafeteria, hearing the commotion, drifted closer, waiting for information.

A sense of responsibility rose in Song Jianguo. His expression turned more solemn as he described, in full detail, what he had seen.

When he got to the part about someone being bitten and dying on the spot from injuries that were too severe, the crowd sucked in a cold breath.

“To protect themselves, people have already started fighting back against those attackers,” Song Jianguo said, glancing at Song Rushuang as he spoke carefully. “That’s where the blood on us came from.”

“There was no choice. If you don’t fight back, you can’t get out. They’re too vicious.”

In truth, the first “person fighting back” he’d seen was that principal. And after that, it was Song Rushuang.

And the principal, after killing one zombie, went to the truck to find his daughter’s roommate, and didn’t do much more. All told, Song Rushuang had killed the most.

At the thought, Song Jianguo: “……”

He’d known Xiaoshuang was fierce, but he hadn’t imagined she was this fierce.

But fierce was good. Fierce meant you could survive, and even save people.

Thinking of the child who had only been saved because Song Rushuang reacted fast enough, Song Jianguo let out a quiet sigh.

He didn’t dare share those details. Luckily, Zhang Feng, who had been there too, immediately understood what he meant. Remembering that Zhang Han had killed plenty as well, the two men covered for the girls, one sentence at a time.

“Yeah. If you don’t act, it’ll kill you. The way they throw their lives away is terrifying.”

“Better to stay at school for a few days. Don’t go out these next few days. Wait for the police and the military to handle it.”

“Right. On that trip alone, I saw at least a dozen people dead by the roadside.”

Even as he spoke, he still felt shaken.

If Song Rushuang and Zhang Han hadn’t acted decisively, it really wasn’t certain they would’ve all come back in one piece.

Everyone had grown up in peaceful times. Who had ever seen something like this? Just hearing the description, the parents’ minds painted a river of blood, and the cafeteria erupted in alarmed chatter.

At that moment, two people walked in from outside the cafeteria. A sharp-eyed student recognized them at once and called out happily, “Teacher Lu, Teacher Xu!”

Lu Yan and Xu Mingyue had been called over by Fu Qing.

She was afraid that if she didn’t find two people to help answer questions, the parents would soon be knocking on the principal’s office door.

Granny Liu was too old. Hao Zhenye looked too fierce. Bai Tang and Zhao Yunxiao looked too much like students. Bringing any of them out would only make the parents more anxious. After weighing it all, the task finally landed on Lu Yan and Xu Mingyue.

After introducing themselves, the two continued, “Please rest assured. The school is currently safe. There are cameras near the walls and the main gate, monitoring at all times for anyone trying to break in.”

“We’ve also arranged a campus patrol team. Once everyone is settled, any parents who are willing to help can also go to the administration building to sign up with me as volunteers.” Xu Mingyue gave the address of her office.

“The cafeteria’s food reserves can last a long time. The school also has a clinic, with enough medical supplies to handle the vast majority of emergencies.” As he spoke, Lu Yan mentioned that he was the school doctor. After a brief pause, he added, “Also, if any parents here are doctors or nurses, please come register with me as well.”

As soon as he finished, several people raised their hands.

Lu Yan called them to the side, recorded their names and their children’s names, along with each person’s area of expertise, and said he would contact them if needed later.

The appearance of the two teachers calmed the anxious parents somewhat.

When they thought it through, the school had walls, places to sleep, and necessities like food and medicine. With so many people gathered together, what hardship couldn’t they get through?

In any case, this chaos couldn’t possibly last that long. If they held out a few days and waited for things to settle, they would be able to leave.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Next

Sun Wei jumped onto the roof of the car, partly so the two people rushing over could see her clearly.

Through the car window, Song Rushuang and Zhang Han immediately locked onto the person standing at the highest point. Zhang Han quickly pulled the car to a stop as close to the truck as possible.

The three exchanged a glance. Song Rushuang waved, signaling Sun Wei to get down quickly.

Standing there was far too conspicuous. Not only had she drawn their attention, the zombies were being attracted as well.

Yet many living people were still trapped in the flow of traffic, unaware of what was happening. Over a hundred meters away, where the zombies had broken in, corpses already lay everywhere. The drivers stuck in cars ahead were still shouting angrily, blaming the vehicles in front for not moving after so long, unaware that their raised voices were only gathering more zombies around them.

Sun Wei hesitated for two seconds, glancing left and right. The small truck was practically the highest point in the entire traffic jam.

From her vantage point, she could see quite a few blocked drivers stepping out of their cars, craning their necks to look back in complete ignorance.

She cast one last glance at Song Rushuang and Zhang Han’s car, made up her mind, cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone, lowered her voice slightly, and shouted, “Someone’s killing people behind us! If you can run, run now! If you can’t, get back in your cars and lock the doors! Stop watching the show!!”

“Murder! Run!!”

The onlooking drivers were startled. Turning their heads, they saw a young woman standing high above, shouting herself hoarse.

Not far away, zombies were already scrambling onto car roofs on all fours, their eyes fixed directly on Sun Wei.

Song Rushuang could clearly tell that these zombies were far more agile than the “low-level zombies that appeared at the beginning of the last apocalypse” shown in the simulation pods.

Remembering what the principal had said earlier, that intermediate zombies might appear from the very start this time, her mood suddenly grew heavy, and she worried even more about Sun Wei’s safety.

Some drivers were cautious by nature, or had families with them, and didn’t dare gamble with their lives. They obediently abandoned their cars and fled.

Others relied on the safety of numbers, convinced nothing would happen. Drivers from several adjacent cars gathered together instead, clustering to watch the excitement.

Unaware that zombies loved crowds the most.

Several phones were raised high. Translated on Hololo novels. When people couldn’t capture anything interesting, they turned their cameras toward Sun Wei instead.

Thinking about how Sun Wei was risking her life to warn everyone, Zhang Han grew furious. “Are these people sick? Someone’s killing people and they’re enjoying watching it?”

Song Rushuang shook her head, already unfastening her seatbelt. “There are still people ahead who don’t know what’s happening. They probably think it’s just normal traffic. Someone really does need to warn them.”

She could see clearly that two people were still seated in the back of the truck, nervously observing the surroundings through the windows. They were likely Sun Wei’s parents.

Zombies were steadily closing in on the truck. The priority now was to get her parents out first.

She slung on her weapon bag and was about to get out when a hand suddenly shot out from the back seat and grabbed her tightly.

Song Jianguo, frantic with worry, said, “What are you doing?”

From their position on the outskirts, their view wasn’t blocked like the drivers trapped inside the traffic. At a glance, they could see people both within the traffic and along the roadside rolling on the ground in agony, their faces and bodies covered in torn wounds.

Several others staggered forward, chasing people and biting them, their deranged appearance identical to the man they had seen earlier on Fangzhou’s street.

Recalling short videos they had watched before, where people attacked in the same way, the same word surfaced in both their minds at once, zombies.

You’ve got to be kidding…

If they were still at home scrolling social media, they probably wouldn’t have believed it. But now both victims and attackers were right before their eyes, and seeing their daughter about to get involved, they had no choice but to believe, and no courage not to.

“We have to get my friend and her parents out,” Song Rushuang said directly, knowing she couldn’t persuade her father otherwise. “Come with me, Dad. Protect me. I’m scared.”

Song Jianguo could no longer refuse.

He glanced at Sun Wei, heart tightening, then steeled himself. Sweeping his eyes across the car, he grabbed a fire extinguisher to bolster both his courage and his daughter’s. “Let’s go!”

He was about to open the door when someone beside him jumped out of the car even earlier.

Fu Qing adjusted the pouch at her waist and walked toward the small truck. Song Jianguo couldn’t help calling out, “Why don’t you wait in the car? We’ll be back soon.”

Fu Qing glanced back at him, her gaze lingering for two seconds on the dry powder extinguisher in his hand. “No need. We can go together.”

After all, Song Rushuang could protect the two of them.

But Song Jianguo misunderstood her meaning entirely.

Thinking back to the time Fu Qing had saved Song Rushuang on the pedestrian street, he was deeply moved.

The two fathers, believing themselves fully prepared, carefully stepped out of the car with their daughters. The moment they turned around, they saw a blood-covered man rolling his eyes as he staggered toward them.

Song Rushuang immediately recognized him as an infected person. Her hand slipped into her waist pouch, weapon only halfway drawn, when a pfft sounded beside her. The infected was engulfed in a cloud of fine white powder.

Everyone froze.

Song Jianguo stood there gripping the nozzle warily. “Don’t come any closer! Come closer and I’ll spray you again!”

After speaking, he sprayed twice more, pfft pfft, as a warning.

Song Rushuang: “…” Her dad was actually warning a zombie.

She turned to look at the principal and saw that she had already reached the edge of the traffic, flipped lightly onto the roof of the first car, and instantly all her worry for Sun Wei vanished.

Fu Qing’s movements weren’t fast. Though the scene was chaotic, it wasn’t yet urgent enough to rush. To outsiders, she appeared to be strolling leisurely across the car roofs, as if taking a walk through the traffic.

Until she passed one car, when a zombie that had been hidden somewhere suddenly burst out, scrambling onto the hood in a few leaps and opening its bloody maw toward Fu Qing.

“Roar—”

The sound caught in its throat as Fu Qing reached out and clamped a hand around its neck. Anyone standing close might have clearly heard the gradual crushing and deformation of bone, until, at a certain moment, a sharp crack signaled it shattering completely.

On the truck, Sun Wei’s voice had already gone hoarse, yet several people still stood by the roadside watching, unwilling to believe.

Her desperate warnings seemed to them like a dramatic performance. Sun Wei’s heart went cold.

Footsteps suddenly sounded beside her, firm and clear against the metal roof, accompanied by an unfamiliar scraping noise. Confused, Sun Wei turned her head. The moment she saw the scene before her, her pupils shrank sharply.

Fu Qing strode over with long steps, dragging a dead zombie with one hand. She stopped beside Sun Wei, swept a cold glance over the onlookers, and released her grip.

The corpse hit the roof with a heavy thud.

Its head lolled weakly to one side, a bright red tongue slipping from its half-open mouth. The lower half of its face was smeared with blood. Whether by coincidence or intention, its unfocused eyes faced directly toward the crowd of spectators.

Silence fell over the entire scene.

After more than ten seconds of deathly quiet, someone suddenly screamed:

“Murder—!!!”

“Help!!”

“Call the police, call the police!”

They turned and fled over one another in panic, scrambling away. In no time, the area cleared completely.

Sun Wei: “……”

She looked at the principal with deep admiration.

After shouting herself hoarse for so long, it still hadn’t been as effective as the principal’s single silent action.

Sun Wei greeted the principal and quietly added a thank-you.

Fu Qing glanced at her. “Call your parents over and follow Song Rushuang’s car back.”

“But this truck is still loaded,” Sun Wei hesitated. “I brought a lot of meat to share with my classmates.”

Fu Qing looked slightly surprised and turned to glance back. If the cargo compartment was really filled, the quantity was considerable.

After a moment’s thought, she said, “You go first. I’ll drive the truck back.”

With that reassurance, Sun Wei immediately relaxed. She didn’t worry that Fu Qing would keep the meat for herself after all her effort bringing it here, and happily replied, “Thank you, Principal!”

Just as she was about to jump down to find Liao Yahui and the others, Fu Qing suddenly reminded her, “Your livestream is still on.”

As she spoke, she tapped her right ear.

Only then did Sun Wei notice the inconspicuous earpiece in Fu Qing’s right ear. She pulled out her phone and saw the scrolling comments on the screen: “It really is.”

Ever since Sun Wei had shouted “Murder!” earlier, the livestream chat had exploded. Now that her face reappeared on camera, viewers flooded the screen with messages of concern, warming her heart.

Sun Wei glanced at the time in the upper-right corner, 2:58 PM. The stream had started at one o’clock and was scheduled for two hours, leaving only two minutes remaining.

Su Huaijin had already heard Sun Wei greeting Fu Qing. Seeing her return, she suddenly had an idea. “Welcome back, Yuyu! Can you switch the camera to the rear view?”

Rear camera… which meant…

Sun Wei instantly understood Su Huaijin’s intention and decisively turned the lens toward Fu Qing.

Noticing the movement, Fu Qing glanced over. Her familiar facial features immediately sent the chat into a frenzy.

The mysterious sixth person, the mysterious guest TaoTao had mentioned, really was her!

The latter half of the stream had been chaotic. Viewers had been distracted by the news, then worried about Sun Wei’s safety. Everyone assumed the livestream would simply end like this. Yet in the final two minutes, the mysterious guest appeared in such an unexpected way.

People couldn’t help but wonder if everything had been prearranged.

Was the so-called “unexpected incident” on Greenhead Fish’s side actually staged?

Those thoughts quickly faded. After all, trending topics were genuinely filled with sudden murder and assault cases erupting across the world. There was no way all of that was acting.

Then what exactly was Fu Qing’s purpose as the mysterious guest?

At this point, fewer than half the viewers remained. Many had gone offline due to real-life emergencies. Those still watching didn’t fully understand what was happening outside yet and warmly welcomed Fu Qing’s appearance.

[She’s not wearing a mask this time, what a surprise!]

[Finally seeing her face, just as handsome as I imagined~]

[Wait, are Yuyu (t/n: Yu = fish) and the guest standing on a car roof? Am I seeing things?]

[Why is it so chaotic over there? I see people running in the background. What happened?]

Seeing the comments, Sun Wei didn’t know how to explain, so she simply stayed silent and continued acting as the principal’s camerawoman.

This livestream had been planned in advance after Fu Qing discussed it with the five others. The time, format, and content were all decided together, including the gimmick of the “mysterious sixth person” appearing during the stream.

But what the principal would actually do after appearing was unknown to the five of them. Even Fu Qing herself had only said during the meeting, “We’ll see when the time comes.”

So although Sun Wei was filming her, she herself was completely confused.

System: 【Host, because apocalyptic scenes have appeared in the livestream, your world influence value is increasing slightly.】

Since the stream began, Fu Qing’s influence value had been steadily rising. Now she was only one step away from the next reward threshold.

Receiving the system’s reminder, she curled her lips faintly. Her gaze swept across the area and landed on the infected person stuck against a car door.

The front passenger door of the sedan trapping his lower body hung half open, and a figure crawled out from inside.

Sun Wei noticed it too and thought, no wonder the man had tried to escape through the window. The other escape route must have been blocked.

The zombie had been drawn by their voices. As soon as it left the car, it climbed straight toward the truck with a clear objective. Passing the trapped infected, it stepped directly on its companion’s face without hesitation, using it as leverage to clumsily climb upward. Step by step, it drew closer to Fu Qing and Sun Wei. Upon catching the scent of living humans, its breathing grew heavier.

Comments:

[Are these the same zombie guys from earlier?]

[No, they look different. Not the same one.]

[They look exactly like the crazed people in the news. Did Yuyu actually run into them…?]

[So scary, streamer stop filming and run!]

[This first-person view is way too immersive. Feels like it’s about to bite me.]

At that moment, the trapped zombie shook its head irritably and let out a snarl. The climbing zombie slipped and was about to fall back down.

The next second, someone grabbed its collar. With a single pull, Fu Qing lifted the entire zombie one-handed as if pulling up a scallion from dry ground.

Not only Sun Wei and the livestream audience, even the zombie itself seemed stunned for two seconds.

It looked utterly confused to be helped by its prey.

In truth, Fu Qing had watched it struggle upward for so long that when it was about to fall back to the starting point, she grew impatient and simply gave it a hand.

Held by the collar, the zombie was slammed heavily onto the car roof. Only then did it remember to struggle angrily, tilting its head to bite Fu Qing. But her grip was perfectly placed. No matter how it twisted, it couldn’t reach the prey right in front of it, howling in frustration.

Fu Qing somehow produced a dagger, lifting the zombie’s chin with the tip as she said, “When a person turns into a zombie, the skin begins to take on a bluish tint, facial and neck veins protrude, pupils constrict, the whites of the eyes become cloudy, and language ability is lost. These are the primary identification signs.”

“The zombie’s weakness is the brain. The temples, eyes, and ear canal are all vulnerable points. However, stabbing through the ear canal is more difficult, so the eye socket is usually more convenient.”

“For slow-moving zombies like this, killing them is simple. As long as you find a suitable weapon, anyone can try it—”

Her wording sounded exactly like one of those short videos titled “Three-minute household tips anyone can master.”

Her extremely calm tone contrasted sharply with the howling zombie beneath her.

Behind the camera, Sun Wei swallowed hard.

Whether simulated zombies, intelligent infected like Skull, or real zombies like this one, once they fell into the principal’s hands, they seemed destined only to become teaching materials…

Too brutal.

While her thoughts wandered, Fu Qing’s dagger pierced the zombie’s eye, pulling out a mixture of red and white matter.

The zombie twitched for two seconds, then went still.

“—Did you learn it?”

The lesson finished, the principal asked.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

“This… this…” Song Jianguo took two looks and immediately turned his gaze away, not daring to look any longer.

Then he thought of something and glanced toward his daughter in the front seat. Song Rushuang was staring intently at the map on her phone, discussing routes with Zhang Han as if completely unaware of what had just happened on the roadside. He let out a quiet breath of relief.

The vehicle drove out through the school gates and turned a corner, heading in the opposite direction from the man on the road.

Left behind, the two men twisted around to look through the rear window. They saw the man drop onto all fours, crouched low, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth with exaggerated, unnatural movements. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked toward the school gate nearby, sending a sudden chill through their hearts.

Xu Mingyu and the others were still inside the campus. And the school was filled with students. What if this person broke in…

No, could that thing they had just seen even still be called a “person”?

Their thoughts raced in terror, but mindful of Zhang Han and Song Rushuang in the front seats, they forced themselves not to cry out. Even now, they were afraid of leaving psychological scars on their daughters.

Zhang Feng looked toward Fu Qing, trying to hide the urgency in his voice. “That person…”

Fu Qing understood immediately. “It’s fine. Our campus security will handle it.”

Her calmness was almost frightening.

Song Jianguo and Zhang Feng could not make sense of it no matter how hard they tried.

Was this really how a normal person reacted after seeing something so bloody?

…And what kind of security guards could possibly handle something like that?

Only after their SUV turned the corner did a small side door near the east gate open. Two students poked their heads out, checked that no one was around, then cautiously approached the man lying on the ground.

With practiced efficiency, they killed the zombie, sealed it inside a body bag prepared in advance, and carried it back into the school. Avoiding crowded routes along the way, they entered an underground area.

This place lay in a remote section, far from the underground shelter wards and storage rooms. Though Fangzhou’s underground structures were all connected by corridors, few people came here under normal circumstances.

Only students and teachers with the campus map loaded into their wristbands knew that this area housed both an incinerator and a morgue. The former was specifically used for burning corpses and was separate from the garbage incinerator near the farmland, allowing for controlled staged combustion to prevent corpse explosions.

In the future, there would only be more and more bodies near Fangzhou, whether dead humans or slain zombies. Left outdoors, they would quickly rot. To prevent disease and protect the surrounding environment, the school had formed volunteer teams that regularly cleared zombies and corpses from nearby areas and brought them back for incineration.

Besides that, there were student patrol teams, exploration teams responsible for gathering supplies outside the campus, rotating guard squads stationed at the walls and gate checkpoints, teams caring for crops and livestock, and more.

Every student had assigned duties. Using wristband functions, teams scheduled rotations themselves, maintaining strict order.

Those assigned to heavy labor such as corpse transport could apply for reassignment to lighter internal patrol duties after a period of time.

Once parents eventually adapted to life in the apocalypse, they too could help shoulder part of the workload, easing the students’ responsibilities.

The two members of the corpse transport team handed the zombie remains over to fully equipped students waiting inside the cremation facility. These students performed basic processing before incineration. Temperatures exceeding nine hundred degrees Celsius completely neutralized the virus. The resulting ashes could even be used to improve soil or serve as construction material.

It sounded grim, but in an apocalypse it was an efficient use of resources. Mixed with kitchen waste and sealed to ferment, the ashes could become fertilizer after two months.

Students assigned to the morgue were carefully selected for strong psychological resilience, yet the role still rotated daily, and no one would be assigned the same position again within a month.

After completing the handoff, the transport team left without drawing any attention.

*

Meanwhile, trapped on the road, Sun Wei quietly pulled a spring knife from the storage compartment beside the driver’s seat and slipped it into her sleeve.

She felt deeply relieved now. When the chain collision happened earlier, her truck had been stopped at a red light within traffic, so despite being rear-ended, the three people inside were not injured.

Still, Liao Yahui and Sun Miao had been badly shaken.

All day, the two had sat in the back seat watching Sun Wei livestream while driving. Though they felt it wasn’t entirely safe, she mostly listened to chat and only occasionally spoke, keeping her attention on the road, so they let her continue. In fact, seeing their daughter “at work” for the first time felt strangely novel.

The dense scrolling comments represented countless viewers expressing their fondness for her.

Halfway through, Sun Miao secretly searched up the @Dormitory Escape account on his own phone, awkwardly reading audience comments and showing them to Liao Yahui.

For the first time, they understood what their daughter actually did online.

She wasn’t simply locking herself in her room doing something “pointless,” as they had once assumed.

She and her friends brought joy to many people and shared genuine ideas and values.

They still didn’t quite understand why people enjoyed watching such content, but Sun Wei had clearly reached an unimaginable number of listeners.

Tens of millions of followers. Millions of views per video. Passionate comments overflowing with support. All of it shook their traditional way of thinking.

Then the accident happened, jolting them back to reality.

Once they recovered, both immediately wanted to get out and check the situation, but Sun Wei stopped them. “It sounds pretty chaotic back there. Better not go over and get involved.”

In the past, Liao Yahui’s strong personality would never have listened to such advice. But this time, her movement toward the door slowed strangely.

Holding their breath, they heard angry shouting erupt from the tail end of the traffic jam, growing louder and more intense.

It sounded like a fight had broken out.

“We should at least see what’s going on. We don’t even know who’s responsible yet,” Liao Yahui said after hesitating, unexpectedly offering an explanation.

Sun Wei found that surprising. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Then you stay in the car and call the police. I’ll go take a look. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, she opened the door and stepped out.

Sun Miao held his phone to his ear. After a long moment, he lowered it with a deep frown. “The emergency number won’t go through.”

Before he even finished speaking, another deafening crash rang out. The entire truck lurched forward half a meter. The two people inside slammed their heads hard against the backs of the front seats. Sun Miao felt dizzy from the impact, while Liao Yahui was thrown forward, nearly sliding off her seat.

Screams erupted all around them. A sedan on the right had been forced so close that it pressed tightly against the truck without the slightest gap. Through the window, Liao Yahui saw, in horror, the driver of the sedan forcing his thick body through the narrow space between the two vehicles.

He looked as though he were desperately trying to escape something. Veins bulged along one arm as he struggled upward, finally managing to grab onto their window. His fingernails tore back from the force, yet he seemed not to feel pain. With blood-covered hands, he clawed frantically at the window frame, using it to drag himself out.

“H-help me…”

His voice came out in broken fragments.

“In the car… in my car… there’s someone…”

The crushing pressure had forced his eyes to bulge, bloodshot and filled with tears. His lips had turned a bluish purple. Watching that face inch closer and closer, Liao Yahui finally screamed.

The next second, another vehicle shot out from a side road at full speed, completely out of control.

Trapped inside the truck, the couple had only enough time to shield their heads and necks before the jeep slammed into the edge of the traffic line without slowing at all. Its front end crumpled instantly, the hood flipping up as thick smoke poured out. One collision triggered another, pushing the entire row of vehicles sideways until the shock reached the sedan beside them.

Liao Yahui squeezed her eyes shut as a thunderous blast rang through her head.

The man halfway out of the driver’s seat had his spine snapped by the impact. The light in his eyes faded instantly. His lower body remained trapped inside the car while his upper body bent backward unnaturally. His hands slid down limply. He stopped moving.

“How could this happen…” Liao Yahui gagged, half crying, the closest witness to the horror. “Why did he climb out?”

Sun Miao held his wife tightly. Over her shoulder, he suddenly saw the corpse move.

It was like something unseen beneath a dark sea had extended a long tentacle, wrapping around the body and dragging it downward. The man’s body began striking against the car again and again.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Sun Miao swallowed. “He said… there was someone in his car…”

Someone? What kind of person could frighten a strong man so badly that he would rather crawl out into danger than remain inside?

Sun Miao did not dare think further.

It felt exactly like a scene from a horror film.

They had barely checked their phones while driving, afraid of motion sickness, only briefly searching Sun Wei’s account during the earlier traffic jam. They still had no idea what was happening outside.

“We have to call Weiwei back,” Liao Yahui said, trembling. “Don’t let her see this.”

The man’s twisted corpse was simply too horrifying.

At that moment, the driver’s door opened. Sun Wei jumped back into the truck, immediately locking the doors before anything else. Spotting the phone that had fallen beneath the passenger seat, she picked it up, quickly reassured her viewers with a few words, and replied to Song Rushuang’s message.

“Don’t go out to check anymore. Just stay in the car and wait for the police and ambulance,” Liao Yahui said, feeling slightly calmer at the sight of her daughter, though she was still shaken.

After today, she thought, she might need to see a psychologist.

But Sun Wei suddenly turned, her expression urgent. “The police and emergency lines aren’t working. Mom, Dad, something’s wrong.”

Both of them froze. “Wrong? What do you mean?”

“People in the back are biting each other like they’ve gone crazy. The ones getting bitten are screaming horribly, and there’s more than one attacker,” Sun Wei said quickly. “I didn’t get too close, just watched from a distance. One of the bitten people lay on the ground for a while… then got back up and started biting the people trying to help him. It looked exactly like a zombie apocalypse movie.”

She bit her lip before adding carefully, “I also saw someone get bitten in the neck. Blood sprayed everywhere… there’s no way they survived.”

Liao Yahui covered her mouth. Sun Miao felt as though he might have a heart attack.

Yet remembering the man’s gruesome death moments earlier, neither of them could immediately deny her words.

“Maybe… maybe they’re filming a movie…” Liao Yahui tried weakly, though she didn’t dare look outside.

As long as she didn’t look, maybe the apocalypse wasn’t real.

Only those already standing in hell understood how impossible it was to accept reality in an instant. Human instinct was to deceive itself first.

Sun Wei shook her head, extinguishing the last trace of hope. “I talked briefly with some people nearby. They said the trending topics online are exploding. People all over the world are attacking and biting others. Forget zombies, it might be some unknown infectious disease outbreak.”

Silence filled the vehicle.

Sun Miao shakily reached for his phone to confirm her words when Liao Yahui suddenly jolted upright as if shocked.

“Th-there’s a hand!!”

From the corner of her eye, a blood-covered hand slowly reached out from beneath the car.

The man with the broken spine had risen again. His arm stretched forward repeatedly, but his body remained trapped, forcing him to move like a rusted machine stuck in a loop.

Liao Yahui’s heart nearly burst from her chest. The man’s eyes were empty now. All traces of pain and struggle had vanished. He no longer looked alive at all.

Could zombies really exist?

Staring in shock through the window, the couple suddenly felt a tap on their arms. Turning, they saw Sun Wei handing each of them a spring knife and a pair of thick gloves.

Without blinking, she lied smoothly. “The knives are for opening boxes and cutting fruit. The gloves are for moving cargo later. You might as well wear them now for protection.”

“In movies, zombie viruses spread through saliva and blood. Wear the gloves. If you get bitten, it’ll give you some protection.”

Still dazed and unable to fully accept reality, they took the items automatically.

The next moment, Sun Wei opened the driver’s window and, with a swift movement, climbed onto the roof of the truck. Her flexibility and smaller frame allowed her to squeeze through the opening easily, even though it was too narrow for a zombie to enter.

“I’m not getting off the vehicle. I’ll check from above,” she said, already stepping onto the roof and rising to her feet.

Looking out, she saw an endless line of vehicles stretching hundreds of meters. Voices, horns, and chaos blended together. Driving forward along the original route was impossible.

They would have to go around the side.

There were fewer cars there. If she could get into nearby vehicles and move them slightly, she could clear a narrow path wide enough for the truck to pass.

But first, the nearby zombies would have to be dealt with.

Not far away on the sidewalk, a fleeing woman was tackled by a zombie. Her screams weakened rapidly.

Sun Wei’s heart clenched. She wanted to jump down and help, but she hesitated, thinking of her parents inside the truck below.

Then her movement froze.

At the far end of her vision, a black SUV sped rapidly toward them.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Previous

Lu Huaizhou had originally intended to handle some government affairs, but instead ended up fooling around with Jiang Ji in the study for most of the afternoon. He even found it quite enjoyable and still felt unsatisfied afterward. In the end, it was Jiang Ji himself who suddenly remembered he had things to do and finally dragged himself outside.

Zhao Ru had spent the entire day shopping with the village chief and the others. They had not even returned at noon, eating lunch instead at Dingsheng Food House before continuing to wander around all afternoon. By the time they returned, they had bought a great many things.

The prosperity of the capital had completely dazzled the village chief and the others.

They visited the opera house, ate many specialty snacks unique to the capital, browsed countless shops, and even went to look at the outer walls of the Imperial Palace.

To them, the Imperial Palace was the most sacred and exalted place in existence. After all, it was where the Emperor lived.

Jiang Ji later heard that the village chief and the others had even knelt and kowtowed toward the palace from outside the walls.

After Zhao Ru returned, Lu Huaizhou and Jiang Ji made up for the morning tea-serving ceremony and formally served tea to Zhao Ru, who then gave them the usual reminders about husbands living harmoniously together and the like.

That evening, Madam Lu and the others also came to the Regent’s Residence for dinner together.

Lu Huaichuan had performed very well during the spring imperial examinations, placing eighth in the second class. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. He was now serving in the Ministry of Revenue and had already been working for over a month.

Because of Lu Huaizhou’s wedding, Minister Lu and Lu Huaichuan had both received several days off and could finally rest properly.

Nowadays, Lu Huaichuan had to wake up on time every day for work, and he had quite a lot to do. During dinner, he secretly whispered to Jiang Ji, “If I’d known, I would’ve waited another three years before taking the exam. Then I could’ve relaxed for three more years. How was I supposed to know I’d pass on the first try?”

Jiang Ji: “……Don’t let the other scholars hear that. That’s way too hateful. Be careful someone stuffs you into a sack.”

At eighteen years old, placing eighth in the second class was roughly equivalent to ranking eleventh nationally in the modern college entrance exams.

Although Lu Huaichuan was not as exceptionally talented as his older brother, he had still been clever since childhood. Combined with his family upbringing, his vast learning, and years spent listening to his father, grandfather, and brother discuss state affairs, he had absorbed these things naturally from a young age. It was said that during the palace examination, his policy essay had been especially outstanding.

Imagining himself cornered in an alley and beaten while trapped inside a sack, Lu Huaichuan visibly shuddered. “I was only saying it.”

Still, Jiang Ji could not help feeling somewhat sympathetic that an eighteen-year-old already had to enter officialdom and work exhausting hours every day. Patting him on the shoulder, he said, “I’ll have someone deliver you some snacks tomorrow.”

Lu Huaichuan’s eyes instantly lit up. “Really? Really? Thanks, Brother.”

Foodies truly were easy to appease.

Lu Huaizhou placed some food into Jiang Ji’s bowl with his chopsticks. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Nothing.” Hearing Lu Huaizhou’s voice, Jiang Ji turned and smiled at him before eating the food from his bowl.

Zhao Ru looked toward Lu Huaichuan and quietly asked Madam Lu beside her, “Huaichuan is already eighteen too. Are you considering his marriage yet?”

Madam Lu glanced at her younger son and smiled. “We’ve already started looking.”

Jiang Ji sat close enough to overhear. He glanced at Lu Huaichuan beside him, only to find the boy already enthusiastically discussing food with Jiang Nan.

Jiang Ji then looked over at Lu Huaizhou, who remained completely calm and unaffected as he continued eating. Leaning closer, Jiang Ji whispered into his ear, “Huaichuan’s so young and he’s already being pressured to marry.”

“Weren’t you being pressured before too? Matchmakers were already coming to your house.” Lu Huaizhou glanced at him and placed another piece of meat into his bowl, completely ignoring whatever his mother was saying.

Thinking back to the matchmakers who had come proposing marriage for him last year, Jiang Ji smiled slyly and nudged Lu Huaizhou with his elbow. “Back then, were you worried?”

Lu Huaizhou paused briefly before quietly admitting, “Mhm. At that time, I really didn’t feel very good.”

Jiang Ji widened his eyes. “So you already liked me back then?”

Lu Huaizhou looked at him and thought carefully. “Probably even earlier than that.”

“Then when was it?” Jiang Ji suddenly became very interested.

“I’m not really sure. By the time I realized it, I already cared a great deal,” Lu Huaizhou answered.

Jiang Ji’s eyes curved into smiling crescents.

He had long known that Lu Huaizhou’s feelings for him had grown slowly over time.

After dinner, Madam Lu and the others returned home. Before leaving, Lu Huaichuan still did not forget to remind Jiang Ji, “Brother, don’t forget my snacks.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll have someone deliver them tomorrow.”

Jiang Ji and Lu Huaizhou went for a walk in the garden to digest their meal.

The moon hung above the treetops while the evening breeze carried faint floral fragrance. Insects rustled softly in the grass, and frogs croaked noisily around the pond.

The two slowly circled the garden once. Holding Jiang Ji’s hand, Lu Huaizhou suddenly asked, “Then what about you?”

“Hm?” Jiang Ji had been thinking about visiting the estate tomorrow and did not react immediately. “What about me?”

Lu Huaizhou asked, “When did you start liking me?”

Jiang Ji: “……”

He stared at Lu Huaizhou in disbelief. “We’ve already finished dinner and walked an entire lap around the garden before you ask this? Isn’t your reaction speed way too slow?”

Lu Huaizhou did not understand the phrase “reaction speed,” but he tightened his grip on Jiang Ji’s hand anyway. “Tell me quickly.”

Swinging their joined hands back and forth, Jiang Ji grinned mischievously. “Guess.”

Lu Huaizhou shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He had always felt that Jiang Ji treated him more or less the same throughout, though somewhere deep down he vaguely sensed Jiang Ji viewed him differently from others. The feeling had always been hazy and indistinct.

Only later, when Jiang Ji once said he hoped Lu Huaizhou would never recover his memories so he could continue living forever at Jiang Ji’s home, did Lu Huaizhou finally realize Jiang Ji probably liked him.

This time, however, Jiang Ji did not keep teasing him. Turning to look at him directly, he answered, “From the very first day I carried you home.”

Lu Huaizhou stopped walking, staring at him in surprise.

Jiang Ji nodded. “That’s right. It was love at first sight.”

Love at first sight.

Lu Huaizhou’s heart trembled slightly. After a moment of silence, he said, “So when you said it was because I was handsome… you really meant it.”

“Hahaha, of course. Love at first sight is definitely based on looks.” Jiang Ji laughed. Seeing Lu Huaizhou’s speechless expression, he added, “But looks alone would never be enough to make me decide to marry you.”

Lu Huaizhou continued leading him forward. “Then what else?”

“Obviously because you’re a good person with excellent character.” Jiang Ji answered straightforwardly. “You’re handsome and you’re kind, so naturally I liked you even more.”

Lu Huaizhou tightened his grip on Jiang Ji’s hand. “Let’s go back.”

Jiang Ji looked surprised. “We’re not walking another round?”

“I want to go back.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

Lu Huaizhou led Jiang Ji back toward their courtyard, his pace unusually fast. Jiang Ji asked in confusion, “Do you need the latrine or something? Why are you walking so fast?”

Lu Huaizhou: “……”

Once they returned to the courtyard, Lu Huaizhou immediately instructed Xiao Liu, “Prepare water for bathing.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Xiao Liu hurried off to arrange it.

Lu Huaizhou led Jiang Ji back into the room and shut the door. The very next moment, he pressed Jiang Ji against the wooden door panels, his kisses landing urgently and heavily against Jiang Ji’s lips.

Jiang Ji blinked.

So the thing Lu Huaizhou wanted to get on top of was not the latrine, but him.

He raised his arms around Lu Huaizhou’s waist and tilted his head up to kiss him back.

Lu Huaizhou seemed unusually worked up. Once he caught Jiang Ji’s tongue, he refused to let it go, kissing until Jiang Ji’s lips went numb.

“Why are you suddenly so excited?” Jiang Ji asked between heavy breaths.

Lu Huaizhou did not answer. His kisses never paused.

Suddenly, Jiang Ji remembered something Lu Huaizhou had said before and seemed to grasp the key point.

So Lu Huaizhou liked hearing sweet words this much.

Jiang Ji’s eyes curved slightly in amusement.

Just as Lu Huaizhou was about to proceed further, Xiao Liu arrived with people carrying in the prepared bathwater.

“Alright, let’s bathe first.” Jiang Ji patted Lu Huaizhou’s shoulder.

Lu Huaizhou rested against Jiang Ji’s shoulder and breathed heavily for a few moments. “Mhm.”

The bath chamber was directly beside their bedroom, converted from a small side room with a connecting door between them.

The two entered the bath chamber together, and Lu Huaizhou held Jiang Ji’s hand as they stepped into the large bath barrel.

After a while, the water inside began sloshing over the edges, spilling onto the floor nearby. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. Fortunately, the bath chamber had been remodeled with cement, so there was no concern about water damage anymore.

“Didn’t we agree this time would be my turn?” Jiang Ji complained, gripping the edge of the bath barrel with one hand while slapping Lu Huaizhou lightly on the shoulder.

Lu Huaizhou kissed him softly on the lips, then whispered something quietly into his ear.

The moment Jiang Ji heard it, his ears turned bright red. He had never expected someone who looked so rigid and proper on the outside to actually have such wild thoughts in his head.

It truly fit that saying perfectly.

Once an old house catches fire, it becomes impossible to control.

Very quickly, Jiang Ji no longer had any spare attention left to think about it as he became completely immersed in everything instead.

The bath lasted for over half a shichen before Jiang Ji finally returned to bed exhausted, falling deeply asleep almost immediately afterward.

The village chief and the others stayed in the capital for three days before departing on the fourth day, worried about the crops back home.

Jiang Ji had Lu Shun prepare many return gifts for them to bring back to the other villagers. He also sent Ding Xiaojun and Manager Lü large quantities of dried chili peppers and arranged for several guards to escort them home safely.

After seeing the village chief and the others off, Jiang Ji and Lu Huaizhou spent several more days wrapped up in blissful newlywed sweetness.

Lu Huaizhou finally began to understand the meaning behind the phrase: “Spring nights are too short, and the ruler no longer wishes to attend morning court.”

Still, Jiang Ji eventually found time to visit the estate outside the city.

It was currently watermelon and tomato season. Large quantities of watermelons, tomatoes, chili peppers, and other crops had been planted on the lands belonging to the Lu Residence, Duke Chang Residence, and the Regent’s Residence. Even Duke Qin Residence and General Han’s estate had planted considerable amounts.

Every day, many produce merchants came to the estate to purchase goods wholesale. The people working the estate no longer needed to sell things individually and only needed to handle shipments directly from the estate itself.

That summer, the people of the capital and surrounding cities all got to eat sweet juicy watermelons, tangy tomatoes, and fresh chili peppers.

Naturally, Jiang Ji and the others earned immense profits as well.

Combined with the bumper winter wheat harvest, the officials of the capital finally truly experienced the benefits brought by Jiang Ji’s new seeds.

Because of this, even Madam Qin, who had originally been dissatisfied about Lu Huaizhou marrying Jiang Ji, began treating Jiang Ji much more kindly.

Many people grew curious about where Jiang Ji had obtained all these seeds. Some officials even asked Lu Huaizhou about it, only to be immediately shut down with a single sentence.

Lu Huaizhou said, “It doesn’t matter where he got them. As long as the people of Great Sheng can eat their fill and stay warm, that’s enough.”

After that, no official dared bring the matter up before Lu Huaizhou again.

Once Lu Huaizhou’s wedding leave ended, he had to begin attending court again.

One early morning before dawn, Xiao Liu softly reminded from outside, “Your Highness, it’s time to rise.”

“Understood.” Lu Huaizhou opened his eyes and quietly got up to light the lamp.

They had gone to bed somewhat late last night, and Jiang Ji was still sleeping soundly. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. Lu Huaizhou gently kissed Jiang Ji on the cheek before picking up his clothes and carrying the lamp outside to dress.

By the time Jiang Ji woke, the sky was already bright.

Seeing Lu Huaizhou absent, he lay there blankly for a while before finally remembering that Lu Huaizhou had resumed attending court today.

He remained in bed a little longer before finally getting up, only to notice a note tucked beneath the wooden comb on the dressing table.

— I’ve gone to court. Rest well. Huaizhou.

Looking at the familiar handwriting, Jiang Ji’s lips lifted high into a smile. After breakfast, he headed toward the outskirts of the city..

…

Two days later, it was another rest day.

During breakfast, Zhao Ru reminded Jiang Ji and Lu Huaizhou, “At noon today, the grandson of the Minister of Rites is celebrating his hundred-day banquet. Will you two come with me?”

The invitation had arrived three days earlier, and Uncle Zhong had already prepared the congratulatory gifts.

Jiang Ji nodded. “Sure. Are you going too?”

Lu Huaizhou nodded as well. “Mhm.”

Madam Lu specifically came to wait so they could all go together. Bringing the gifts with them, the group arrived at the Minister of Rites’ residence, where many guests had already gathered.

Zhao Ru and Madam Lu went to the rear courtyard to see the infant young master, while Jiang Ji and the others remained in the front hall drinking tea with the male guests.

Since it was a rest day, many officials had come. Before long, Prime Minister Shen dragged Lu Huaizhou away to play weiqi. Jiang Ji watched for a while before losing interest entirely.

Lu Huaichuan had also come and immediately dragged Jiang Ji away to play pitch-pot with the younger crowd.

This area was filled mostly with young people, including sons of noble families and several young ladies from prestigious households.

Seeing Jiang Ji arrive, one of the young men laughed. “Duke Chang is here! Duke Chang, come play a round.”

Jiang Ji laughed. “I’ve never played this before. I don’t know how.”

“It’s fine. Just play casually.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on. Here, take this. Just aim at the mouth of the pot and throw it in.”

“Alright then, I’ll give it a try.”

Jiang Ji accepted the arrows. He truly had never played pitch-pot before. After several failed throws, he sighed and said, “I really can’t play this. But I do know how to play darts.”

Lu Huaichuan looked puzzled. “Darts?”

Someone else asked, “What’s that? Some kind of hidden weapon like the guards use?”

“Something similar to this.” Jiang Ji thought for a moment before saying, “Wait here. I’ll go bring one for you to see.”

“Alright, alright!”

Jiang Ji headed over to his family carriage at the entrance and directly exchanged for a simple dartboard and ten feathered darts with chicken-plume tails. Carrying them back, he returned to the group.

“So fast?” someone asked in surprise.

“Mhm. I played with it before and left it in the carriage.” Jiang Ji casually explained before continuing, “This is also a kind of game, pretty similar to pitch-pot.”

Everyone stared curiously at the beautifully made dartboard.

“How do you play this?”

Jiang Ji explained, “It’s like archery. You hang this board somewhere farther away, then stand at a set distance and throw the darts at it. See the circles in the center? It’s scored like archery. The very center is worth ten points, then nine, eight, and so on. Once all the darts are thrown, whoever has the highest score wins.”

The moment they heard it was a new game, everyone immediately became excited.

“Let’s try it! Hurry and hang it up!”

“This could be used for competitions too.”

“Quick, quick, put it up!”

Very quickly, they found some nails and hung the dartboard beneath a corridor roof.

Standing about two zhang away, Jiang Ji drew a line on the ground. “Throw from here. Alright, who wants to try first?”

“Me, me, me! Brother, let me!” Lu Huaichuan immediately raised his hand first.

Jiang Ji handed him the darts. Lu Huaichuan excitedly accepted them. “It’s so close. I’ll definitely hit every throw!”

“Huaichuan, stop bragging. You can’t even hit every shot in archery.”

“But this is so close. I should be able to, right?”

Lu Huaichuan was filled with confidence. “This is easy. Watch me.”

Whoosh—

The dart landed in the outermost ring, barely even making the board.

Lu Huaichuan: “……I’m just not used to it yet. Again.”

Refusing to accept defeat, he threw the second dart.

It missed the board entirely.

The third, the fourth…

After throwing all ten darts, his total score was thirteen.

Lu Huaichuan: “……”

“My turn, my turn!” Another young master patted Lu Huaichuan on the shoulder. “Watch me.”

This young master confidently stepped forward.

In the end… twelve points.

One point lower than Lu Huaichuan.

“This doesn’t make sense. It’s so close, yet I still can’t hit it.”

One by one, several others stepped up to try. The best score was only twenty-five points, and many could not even hit the board at all.

“I didn’t expect this thing to actually be difficult.”

“Exactly. It’s hard to control the angle of your hand. A tiny movement and it goes off.”

“Duke Chang, you try first.”

“Yeah, yeah, Duke Chang, your turn.”

Jiang Ji smiled. “Alright.”

In his previous life, Jiang Ji had actually been fairly good at darts. Standing behind the line, he angled his body slightly and aimed carefully at the dartboard.

Whoosh—

The dart landed in the eight-point ring.

Jiang Ji frowned and muttered, “It’s been too long since I played. I’m rusty.”

Everyone: “!”

This was considered rusty?!

“Excellent!” Lu Huaichuan immediately started applauding first.

Everyone else followed with enthusiastic applause and praise.

Jiang Ji smiled, then threw the second dart.

Nine points.

Third dart: ten points.

Fourth dart: ten points.

Fifth dart: ten points…

By the time he finished throwing all ten darts, everyone was stunned.

Aside from three darts outside the bullseye, every single one had landed directly in the center.

Not far away, Lu Huaizhou glanced toward Jiang Ji amidst the crowd and slightly raised a brow before calmly returning to his game of weiqi.

Lu Huaichuan’s eyes practically sparkled with stars. “Brother Jiang Ji, you’re amazing!”

Jiang Ji laughed. “It’s just because I’ve played a lot. Once you all get used to it, you’ll manage too.”

“Duke Chang is too modest. This really isn’t as easy as it looks,” one of the people who had tried said honestly.

“Yeah. At least with archery you can stabilize yourself. With this, even the slightest movement of your hand changes the direction.”

“At first I thought it would be simple, but who knew…”

“I definitely underestimated this game.”

Everyone sighed in admiration, and the respect in their gazes toward Jiang Ji deepened further.

The young people quickly became completely captivated by the game. Everyone took turns trying it, five darts each round.

Several young ladies standing nearby also watched curiously the whole time, though what fascinated them even more was Jiang Ji himself.

One of the girls finally gathered the courage to ask, “Duke Chang, may we ask you a question?”

“What question? Go ahead.” Jiang Ji nodded.

The young lady asked, “Duke Chang, we’ve heard many storytellers talk about the story between you and the Regent. We wanted to ask… are those stories true?”

Jiang Ji blinked. “You can’t trust storytellers’ tales.”

“Ah?” Several of the young ladies looked confused. “So all of it is fake?”

“Ah, well…” Jiang Ji scratched his head. “It’s true that he was injured and I saved him. And it’s also true that I fell in love with him at first sight.”

The young ladies’ eyes instantly sparkled as they stared at him with immense curiosity, clearly desperate to hear more about their story.

Another young lady bravely asked, “Then what about the Regent? There are so many talented scholars and beautiful young ladies in the capital, yet His Highness never favored anyone. Did you ever ask him why he alone fell in love with you?”

Jiang Ji’s brows lifted brightly as he laughed. “Well obviously because he has excellent taste.”

The young ladies: “……”

“Brother Jiang Ji, hurry and come teach me!” Lu Huaichuan called loudly from the other side when it became his turn again, immediately summoning reinforcements.

“Ladies, Huaichuan needs me. Excuse me.”

Jiang Ji walked off toward Lu Huaichuan, leaving the noble young ladies standing there in utter bewilderment.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾

Previous

The Su family’s arrival was nothing short of grand.

Three representatives came to Newborn Island:

One was Colonel Su Wujun, commander of the Su family’s special fleet, the Su Leopard.
One was Su Qingyi, president of the Su Oil Group, who managed the family’s petroleum business.
And one was Miss Su Baichun, the family’s heiress—officially visiting for “peace,” but in truth only to make an appearance.

The three of them represented three generations of the Su family.

With Su Wujun leading the delegation, it was clear their real purpose lay behind the pretense: they were here because of the three Li family escort ships that had been sunk.

All this talk about trade negotiations or mediating between Newborn Island and the Li family was merely a cover.

On Newborn Island’s side, the ones meeting them were Qi Jiayu, An Fengxuan, and the newly joined Du Xiaogan.

Du Xiaogan didn’t quite understand why the acting island masters had called her along.

Qi Jiayu told her, “You’re one of us now.”

“But I’m just an ordinary person,” Du Xiaogan said.

“You’re not ordinary,” An Fengxuan replied. “From today on, you’re the head of Newborn Island’s logistics team.”

“…The logistics team doesn’t only consist of me, does it?”

“You can recruit your own members.”

Du Xiaogan felt no thrill of promotion—only uncertainty about the future.

While waiting for the guests to arrive, she asked casually, “Is the island short on medical personnel? I can recommend someone as leader of a medical team.”

“Someone more skilled than the Little Boss?”

“Well, not exactly,” Du Xiaogan admitted. “But before the apocalypse, she was an emergency physician at the Sidar branch of Hilrus Hospital. She’s got broad experience and can handle most conditions.”

“Hilrus Hospital!?” Qi Jiayu blurted in surprise.

Du Xiaogan thought she was shocked by the doctor’s credentials—after all, Hilrus was one of the top hospitals in the world.

She didn’t realize Qi Jiayu was astonished because of the coincidence—Hilrus again. Even Newborn Island itself was tied, somehow, to that name.

An Fengxuan said to Qi Jiayu, “The shelter has a hospital, right? The expensive medical equipment’s gone, but there are still first-aid supplies. Having a doctor on the island would be good.”

Once she and the Little Boss left, who would treat the sick or injured? Having a doctor meant security.

Qi Jiayu nodded. “Ask her if she’d like to live here on Newborn Island.”

Du Xiaogan agreed—Dr. Chu was already on the island, so she’d find her once things settled.

Before long, the guests arrived.

First came Xu Jiayi, acting as mediator for the meeting.

Not long after, several luxury yachts docked offshore.

The Su family’s warships remained several nautical miles away—they followed international protocol and didn’t enter Lonewind’s waters.

When Su Wujun saw only three people representing Newborn Island, he frowned inwardly, feeling insulted.

Still, his face was unreadable. “I’m Su Wujun,” he said.

Qi Jiayu knew who he was and couldn’t help feeling tense.

Du Xiaogan, who seldom followed political news, only thought the name sounded vaguely familiar.

An Fengxuan didn’t know him at all—but she instantly disliked his aloof, superior manner.

Still, Zhou Li had warned them: she wasn’t from this world, and once she left, this island would be in their hands. They had to learn to govern it themselves.

“Colon—” Qi Jiayu began reflexively, about to call him “Colonel.” But she caught herself—she was no longer a soldier. She was acting island master now, representing not herself, but Newborn Island.

Her expression hardened. “Colonel Su, hello. I’m Qi Jiayu, acting island master of Newborn Island. I’ll be overseeing today’s negotiations regarding heavy oil trade.”

Su Wujun’s face revealed neither approval nor displeasure.

At that moment, Su Qingyi stepped forward with a composed smile. “Greetings. I’m Su Qingyi, president of the Su Oil Group.”

“So,” Qi Jiayu said evenly, “President Su is actually the one in charge of this discussion?”

Her meaning was clear: if this meeting was meant to appear as a commercial negotiation, then Su Wujun shouldn’t be the one taking the lead.

In Anhai, no one had ever dared treat Su Wujun with such indifference. His displeasure showed faintly in his eyes.

Qi Jiayu ignored it completely.

Su Qingyi, aware of the tension, didn’t press the matter. Instead, she looked around, admiring the scenery. “Your island seems to have been built to resort standards?” she said meaningfully.

Qi Jiayu countered, “President Su—does this look like a resort island to you?”

After all, any true resort island would have hotels and villas.

Here, apart from a supermarket, the beaches and forests were bare—no resorts, no guesthouses.

In truth, the original design plans had included villas, but the apocalypse struck before construction could begin.

Still, it was a convenient excuse to deflect unwanted curiosity.

Through this exchange, Du Xiaogan realized that Su Qingyi wasn’t genuinely asking about the island’s construction—she was probing its origins.

Few powers could afford to build artificial islands at all. Even billionaires could only manage a few thousand square meters.

Newborn Island, nearly ten thousand square meters and equipped with a shelter, could only have been built by a super consortium.

And such a wealthy creator would surely have prioritized comfort—villas, resorts, maybe even water parks.

Naturally, Qi Jiayu couldn’t reveal the truth.

What if a surviving member of the Hilrus family came forward and demanded the island back?

She had already decided—this place would be her home. No one would take it away.

Sensing her guardedness, Su Qingyi said, “Don’t misunderstand me, Island Master Qi. I only mean that if this island was built to luxury standards, your demand for heavy fuel might not be large. That’s all—after all, that’s what this negotiation is about, isn’t it?”

Qi Jiayu glanced briefly at Xu Jiayi and the Su family entourage, then gestured toward a nearby tent.

“Let’s move inside,” she said calmly. “We can discuss business in detail there.”

Using her inexperience in petroleum trade as an excuse, Su Baichun slipped away from the Su family’s delegation, taking only a single bodyguard with her for a walk around the island.

“Do you see anything unusual?” she asked.

The bodyguard shook his head. “I can’t read them—or this island.”

Su Baichun nodded thoughtfully. “Right. No guards patrolling, no security checks, no one even cared that we brought weapons ashore. They don’t mind us wandering around either. I can’t tell if that’s confidence… or lack of manpower.”

The whole place gave off an odd, dissonant feeling.

Everywhere she looked, she saw flaws—gaps in surveillance, weak points anyone could exploit.

And yet this very island had sunk three of the Li family’s escort ships.

Su Baichun suddenly chuckled. “Still, I quite like that acting island master. Did you see my grand-uncle’s face? It was priceless.”

Su Wujun had strutted in expecting deference, only for Qi Jiayu to give him none. He’d ended up forced to sit at the side of the table like a mere guest.

“Miss, be careful what you say,” the bodyguard murmured, glancing around before relaxing when no one was nearby.

“Forget that old man,” Su Baichun said airily.

Then her gaze fell on a small building by the beach—with a supermarket sign hanging over its door.

“Come on. Let’s take a look.”

They walked to the little supermarket and found three queues outside.

Two led to machines, while one stretched toward the entrance.

Su Baichun joined the line leading inside and asked the person in front, “Hey, it’s not that crowded inside—why’s everyone waiting out here?”

“They’re queuing for cards.”

“What kind of cards?”

“Supermarket membership cards. You can’t buy anything without one.” The man eyed her clothes and added helpfully, “You brought something valuable to trade, right? Don’t come all this way for nothing.”

Su Baichun pulled out a gold bar. “This valuable enough?”

Her bodyguard stiffened, half-expecting someone to grab it.

But the man only glanced at it and said, “Pure 24k gold trades at seven hundred seventy-one points per gram. If it’s less than 24k, it’s discounted—9k, 10k, 14k, 18k tiers and so on. Figure out your own exchange rate.”

Su Baichun blinked in surprise—they could test gold purity here?

Still, since her family minted the bar themselves, she knew it was about sixty-eight percent pure—around 14k. That meant it would exchange at 58.3 percent value, about 449.5 points per gram.

At 100 grams, the bar was worth 44,950 points.

“Seems kind of cheap,” she muttered.

In Anhai, that much gold could buy plenty.

The man said, “You’re underestimating it. That gold’ll get you tens of thousands of membership points—enough supplies for a family of three for a whole year.”

Only then did Su Baichun realize: while gold didn’t exchange for much, the supermarket’s prices must be far lower than Anhai’s.

At last it was the man’s turn.

Su Baichun watched as he pulled a palm-sized stone from his pack—and exchanged it for over two million points.

She stared. “???”

What—why was a rock worth more than her gold!?

Her bodyguard was equally shocked but had sharp hearing. He whispered, “Miss, someone said that’s whale stone—ambergris. Worth over twenty thousand points per gram.”

“???” Su Baichun gaped.

Whale stones were that valuable?

And Xu Jiayi had never mentioned it!

—Well, of course she hadn’t. Xu Jiayi would have to be insane to tell the Su family.

“Once we’re back,” Su Baichun instructed quietly, “send people to collect ambergris—but keep it secret. No one else can know.”

The bodyguard nodded. After a pause, he asked, “Miss, the Anxi Archipelago has its own factories producing goods. Do we really need to hoard so much ambergris?”

Ambergris only had value here. Anywhere else, it was just a useless lump.

“Yes,” Su Baichun said softly. “The Su family has so many islands, so many industries… but how much of it truly belongs to me? I have to plan for myself.”

Besides, even with their production capacity, Su industry was limited. It only seemed sufficient because their population was small.

In truth, everything the Su factories made was tainted—polluted from the source. The problem couldn’t be fixed completely.

A hidden danger, waiting to erupt into sickness one day.

For years, survival had forced people to ignore such risks and lower their standards.

But Newborn Island’s arrival shattered that illusion.

When people discovered better, cleaner goods, they’d abandon Anxi’s products—and the Su family’s hold over the archipelago would crumble.

She knew what she should do: warn her family.

But she also knew what their response would be. To preserve their power, they’d side with the Li family and crush Newborn Island.

Its destruction might benefit the great houses—but for the struggling masses still clawing for survival, it would be a tragedy.

Her bodyguard’s thoughts were broken by her sudden, cryptic comment:

“Xu Jiayi is an idealist—she’s given up personal gain for higher ideals. But I must admit, fortune always seems to favor her.”

☢️☢️☢️

After the first Lonewind Islander triggered the supermarket’s security system and was blacklisted, Xu Jiayi immediately broadcast a public warning to anyone planning to visit Newborn Island: follow the island’s rules.

Newborn Island didn’t have many rules—so long as one didn’t try to take advantage of the place or harm its interests, they wouldn’t be punished.

But some people, long accustomed to exploiting Lonewind Island’s generosity, paid no heed to the warning.

Over the next two days, several more individuals triggered the defense system and were blacklisted as well.

Once blacklisted, their behavior revealed the darker sides of human nature.

The most common reaction was self-justification—excuses like “I didn’t mean to” or “I was desperate.” When playing the victim failed to earn Zhou Li’s forgiveness, they turned to anger, slandering her and spreading rumors among the Lonewind populace.

Rumors like: “All the supplies on Newborn Island are expired,” or “They keep women and children there as slaves,” or even “There’s a zombie-virus lab on the island—the Savi Island outbreak was their doing!”

The claims were ridiculous. Anyone who actually set foot on Newborn Island could see the truth for themselves.

But not everyone on Lonewind Island had that chance.

Many survivors had lived through the worst days of the apocalypse—they had seen too much death and danger. As long as they could survive without starving, they wouldn’t risk venturing out again.

Their only sources of information were official broadcasts and the gossip of those around them.

So when they heard those rumors about Newborn Island, most believed them.

When Du Xiaogan returned to Lonewind Island to move her remaining belongings, her neighbor—a nosy old auntie—stopped her.

“Xiaogan, you’ve been to Newborn Island, haven’t you? Is it really like they say?”

Du Xiaogan could only stare at her, speechless.

The woman continued, “And why have you been carrying so many things every day lately?”

“I’m moving,” Du Xiaogan said simply.

“Moving?!” The woman was shocked. “Moving where?”

“Newborn Island,” Du Xiaogan replied with a faint, teasing smile.

The neighbor took half a step back, then gasped. “So it’s true—they do keep women there?”

“Do I look like someone being held captive?” Du Xiaogan asked coolly.

The woman looked her up and down, then glanced around nervously.

“No one’s watching us,” Du Xiaogan said dryly.

“Then why would you move there? Did your grandmother and sister go too?”

“We’re a family,” Du Xiaogan said. “Of course we stay together.”

The woman hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, but Du Xiaogan wasn’t interested. She hoisted the last of her belongings and left.

At the pier, she saw Dr. Chu crouched on the sand, digging around.

“Lonewind’s shores have already been combed clean,” Du Xiaogan remarked.

Dr. Chu caught the joke and laughed, brushing sand from her hands.

“So the rumors about ambergris are true?”

“Seems like it,” Du Xiaogan said, though not entirely sure.

She’d first heard the story after returning from Newborn Island—from her grandmother, who’d overheard some soldiers talking while transporting supplies.

The rumor hadn’t yet reached Lonewind, but Xu Jiayi had already dispatched her troops to collect every stone along the coast.

Now, the beaches were cleaner than any pre-apocalypse resort.

A boat arrived.

When Du Xiaogan boarded, she noticed Dr. Chu coming aboard as well.

“The doctor’s heading to Newborn Island too?”

“Of course,” Dr. Chu said. “If I don’t see it with my own eyes, I’ll feel like I’m missing something important.” Her tone was meaningful.

Du Xiaogan understood what she meant.

When she’d first returned from Newborn Island, she’d gone to Dr. Chu, intending to give her one of the pills Zhou Li had sold her—to test whether it truly worked for ALS.

But then she thought: what if that one pill made the difference between life and death for her sister? If she gave it away, her sister’s condition might worsen.

So in the end, she gave nothing—only told Dr. Chu that she had indeed bought medicine there.

Dr. Chu had been speechless.

If she’d owned anything valuable enough to exchange for supermarket credits, she would have gone straight there herself.

After two days of waiting, she finally bought some from another person and now set out for the island.

…

The trip across seven nautical miles took half an hour by fishing boat.

When they arrived, they were surprised to see several vessels already anchored nearby.

They soon learned those boats carried refugees from Savi Island.

After the zombie outbreak there, Li Zairen had gone on a killing spree. To escape both him and infection, many fled by sea.

But the islands under the Li family’s control were all unsafe, so they aimed for the nearest—Lonewind Island.

However, Lonewind’s inspections were strict and denied most entry. So they changed course again—to the artificial island: Newborn Island.

And indeed, when they landed, no one stopped them.

If Xu Ouge hadn’t been on-site managing transactions and ordered guards to keep order—suspecting these newcomers might cause trouble—Newborn Island would have descended into chaos.

Yet despite the influx of people, no one besides An Fengxuan, Qi Jiayu, and a few others appeared to enforce order.

Naturally, onlookers began to wonder—how powerful was Newborn Island, really?

Security officer An Fengxuan smiled mysteriously. “Want to know? Try starting a fight here and you’ll find out.”

Grandma Du, newly moved in, was quick to “spread the word.”

“Oh, you folks didn’t see it! A thief stole from the supermarket, and as soon as he ran out, bam! he dropped like a rock! Then another guy tried to rob someone—‘whoosh!’—flat on the sand in a blink!”

The refugees from Savi Island fell silent.

Try it and die? No thanks.

All they wanted now was a safe place to live.

And Newborn Island—few people, plenty of resources, stable security—was perfect.

Many began asking how to apply for residency.

Zhou Li turned to Qi Jiayu and the others. “As we agreed before, island affairs are your responsibility. So whether to accept them, and how, is up to you.”

Lin Xiaole spoke first. “They’re from Savi Island—there must be Li family spies among them. My opinion: reject them.”

Five years of apocalypse had made her distrustful. She always assumed the worst of strangers.

Fang Qin and Qi Jiayu felt the same.

But Qi Jiayu added, “Still, Newborn Island needs its own armed force.”

She knew the only reason they’d been able to destroy those escort ships was because the Little Boss was here.

If Zhou Li left, they’d need their own defense to survive.

But trust was hard to earn. How could they tell who was reliable?

An Fengxuan, watching their debate, chuckled. “I’ve got a way to tell—but it might backfire.”

Fang Qin asked, “What way?”

An Fengxuan took out a pen. “Ask the spirit of the pen. Write everyone’s names on a sheet, ask specific questions, and the pen will circle the ones who match. Just don’t ask subjective things like ‘Is this person loyal?’—that’s too personal, and you’ll only get distorted answers.”

The three women stared at her, half amused, half doubtful.

“By backfire… you mean the pen spirit might really haunt us?” Lin Xiaole asked.

An Fengxuan laughed. “Depends on whether this world has pen spirits.”

In the Infinite Worlds, they certainly existed—but maybe not here. That wasn’t the real danger.

“The risk,” she explained, “isn’t the spirit. People change. Greed, ideals—anything can shift loyalty. Relying too much on what the pen says without your own judgment could bring betrayal later.”

The others exhaled in relief.

“Fair point,” they agreed.

After An Fengxuan explained how to use it, she handed them the pen. “Borrow it if you like, but return it before we leave.”

With their new “divination tool,” Qi Jiayu and her companions began drafting criteria for selection.

At first, they focused on recruiting combatants. But soon they realized an island couldn’t be filled with only soldiers.

Beyond defense, they also needed revenue.

—Without revenue, how would they buy heavy oil?
—Without revenue, how would they sustain their armed force?

They weren’t running a charity, after all.

Once they understood that, they decided to open part of the shelter’s rooms and shop rentals to newcomers.

According to post-apocalyptic prices and the supermarket’s credit exchange rate:

• Dorm-style rooms (no private bath) cost 200 credits per day, fitting four people—50 credits each.
• Private rooms with bathrooms cost 300 credits per day, fitting two to three people.
• Utilities followed a tiered billing system.

They also added necessary restrictions:

• Anyone renting a shelter room must first register for a supermarket membership card, which stored identity data—preventing others from seizing rooms.
• No one was allowed to damage the island’s environment or facilities under any pretext.

…

While Qi Jiayu and her team were setting up Newborn Island’s regulations, Zhou Li finally received her second major business client—none other than the Su family from the Anxi Archipelago.

☢️☢️☢️

As the first family to settle after Zhou Li officially became the island’s master, Du Xiaogan and her grandmother and sister were granted free choice of rooms within the shelter complex.

For the first time, they realized that the island’s dwellings were all underground.

“It’s so big and empty in here! How come there’s no one around?” Grandma Du asked.

Lin Xiaole, who was guiding them, replied, “You’re the second group to move in.”

“The second?” Du Xiaogan was surprised.

Was such a huge island really run by only a handful of people?

Grandma Du, however, saw nothing odd about it and chuckled. “No wonder there are so few people—so it wasn’t just my imagination.”

Du Xiaogan didn’t browse for long. She chose a room on the first basement level—there was a hospital nearby, unopened but somehow reassuring.

“Mercy, what a big room!” Grandma Du said after peeking in.

Most rooms in the shelter were singles. The complex had originally been built to house the Hiltus family, so many units had their own bathrooms.

Only a quarter of the rooms were meant for workers and servants, about twenty square meters each, with no private bath and two bunk beds inside, like college dorms.

To care for her grandmother and sister, Du Xiaogan picked a room with a solid wood bunk bed and private bath. Her grandmother and sister shared the 1.5-meter lower bunk, while she slept on the 1.2-meter upper one.

Lin Xiaole said, “You could actually pick three rooms—there are still plenty vacant.”

“No need,” said Du Xiaogan. “When more people move in, changing rooms would be trouble. One is enough for us.”

The room made efficient use of its space: besides the bed and bathroom, there was a wardrobe, a small desk, a sofa, and even a kitchenette. The kitchen ran only on electricity—but power didn’t seem to be lacking.

…

Once she had settled her grandmother and sister, Du Xiaogan went back to Lonewind Island to finish moving.

The underground structure made Grandma Du feel stifled. Wanting some air but unwilling to leave her younger granddaughter alone, she pushed the wheelchair along for a walk through the shelter.

“Goodness, there’s even a movie theater!”

“Why isn’t the cafeteria open?”

“The hospital’s closed too… this place is huge—you could get lost so easily!”

Each time she shouted, her voice echoed back, as though someone were repeating her words.

After a while, the eerie resonance made her uneasy. She hurried to take the elevator up to the surface.

*

After the Du family settled in, Zhou Li paid them no further attention.

For her, being the island master was a side job—her true focus was still running the little supermarket.

That night, Xu Jiayi returned to the island again—this time with several boatloads of coral and a crate of sea fluorite.

The coral came from islanders she’d bought from; the fluorite was recovered from an island warehouse.

Zhou Li opened a corporate account for her. “Even if Newborn Island relocates elsewhere, you can still trade by sending your representative here.”

Xu Jiayi couldn’t serve as the legal representative herself—she needed to stay and oversee Lonewind Island—so she appointed her secretary, Xu Ouge, to hold the account.

“These corals are worth twenty-two billion,” Zhou Li said. “The sea fluorite, one hundred thirty thousand.”

The coral haul weighed over two tons, with some rare red coral among it. But because so much hit the market at once, prices crashed; the final total was only twenty-two billion.

The sea fluorite, however, held steady at 7.5 yuan per gram.

Knowing that fluorite was valuable in magical worlds, Zhou Li decided to buy it through the supermarket’s business account under the label of “craft material.”

She paused, then added, “And these ambergris pieces—one point eight billion.”

Xu Jiayi blinked at the white, rock-like lumps beside Zhou Li. “Ambergris?”

“You don’t know what it is?” Zhou Li asked in surprise.

Xu Jiayi glanced at her secretary.

Xu Ouge whispered, “Ma’am, when we were buying coral, one of the fishermen tried to cheat the scale by tossing that stone into the bag—uh, ambergris. We were in a hurry to load up, so I didn’t throw it out…”

Xu Jiayi: …

Wasn’t that the same as picking up 1.8 billion for free?

Eager to learn, she asked for details.

Zhou Li explained the origin of ambergris.

“So when a whale excretes ambergris, the waves can wash it ashore, and you can just find it on the beach?” Xu Ouge asked.

“Sometimes, yes,” Zhou Li said.

She hadn’t expected that no one here even knew what ambergris was.

She’d assumed there were no whales—but its presence proved whales lived in these waters.

“In many island cultures,” Xu Jiayi said, “whales are seen as divine beings. Hunting them is forbidden. Researchers once determined ambergris to be merely their excretion or intestinal stones—nothing valuable.”

That enlightened Zhou Li.

On Earth, ambergris had been prized precisely because of perfume culture; rare, luxurious, it was both fragrance and fixative.

But here, there was no long tradition of scent craft.

And since raw ambergris smelled foul, no one had thought to study it.

Zhou Li smiled. “If no one’s paying attention to it, that means plenty of ambergris is still out there waiting to be found.”

Xu Jiayi immediately saw how she could raise the needed seventy-eight billion quickly.

Judging by the earlier batch, ambergris fetched tens of thousands per gram.

Yet she didn’t lose herself in greed. “Little Boss,” she asked, “would it be possible to prepare part of the shipment in advance?”

She had to bring part of the supplies back to the island first—only when the people saw tangible goods with their own eyes would they truly calm down.

Zhou Li said, “We can do it in batches. Come by tomorrow morning to pick up the first shipment.”

Once they had finalized matters regarding Lonewind Island, Xu Jiayi added, “By the way, Little Boss, I’ve already contacted the Su family. They’ll be sending representatives soon.”

The Su family controlled the oil fields, so if Zhou Li wanted to purchase heavy fuel, negotiations had to go through them.

Since Xu Jiayi had profited quite well from her trade with Zhou Li, she was happy to act as intermediary.

“Thank you. Come by tomorrow—I’ll treat you to coffee,” Zhou Li said. (Though it was only instant coffee.)

…

At around nine that night, Zhou Li closed the supermarket for the day.

She still needed to move the supplies Xu Jiayi had requested into a temporary warehouse beforehand.

The temporary warehouse was nothing more than a tent that Xu Jiayi’s men had set up.

After all, if she let them fetch goods directly from the shelter’s underground storage, the mystery surrounding Newborn Island’s facilities would vanish.

By keeping the items in the temporary warehouse, she could maintain the illusion that they were being moved out from the shelter’s stockpile.

“Why does Lonewind Island need so much refined sugar?”

When Zhou Li was bidding for items through the auction system, she noticed that the amount of sugar on Xu Jiayi’s list was unusually large.

Wait—wasn’t sugar used to enhance the power of explosives?

She carefully went over the names on the list again and, sure enough, found potassium nitrate and fertilizer among them.

Her chemistry grades had never been great, but she could still make an educated guess: Xu Jiayi planned to extract purified potassium nitrate and mix it with sugar to make gunpowder.

In this post-apocalyptic world, firearms were scarce, and with Lonewind Island under blockade by the Li family, Xu Jiayi had little choice but to innovate.

Zhou Li didn’t cancel those items from the transaction.

As long as she wasn’t directly supplying weapons, she didn’t care what Xu Jiayi intended to do with the materials.

Luckily, the auction system had upgraded—otherwise, buying that much sugar from the Earth dimension would definitely have drawn the attention of national security.

“Hey, System,” Zhou Li asked, “does this seventy-eight-billion mega-order count as complete?”

The system responded with a burst of digital fireworks. “Congratulations! You’ve set a new record for the highest single-order transaction. May your sales continue to soar!”

Zhou Li twitched the corner of her mouth. “If I remember right, the biggest deal should’ve been the one with the Interstellar City Hall, no?”

“Single order,” the system clarified. “Your trade with the Hall was multiple transactions. Different category.”

“Fine,” she said. “So, any rewards?”

The system fell silent for a moment, then replied, “…Energy surplus is its own reward.”

Zhou Li: “That sounds like your reward, not mine.”

“The duration of your spatial-fold storage technology has been extended,” the system replied stiffly.

Zhou Li had been about to say that now that she had the auction system, the spatial-fold feature seemed redundant.

But before she could, it hit her—it wasn’t useless at all.

She had noticed something: the auction listings never went beyond Earth’s current level of technology.

For example, whenever she tried to purchase interdimensional artifacts or items from the Infinite Plane, the search results always came up empty.

Likewise, she couldn’t find magical stones or high-tech equipment from the interstellar realm.

Even “ancient” goods were modern reproductions, not genuine relics.

That meant all the items she bought across different planes could only be stored in her personal space.

There was still room for now—but what about later, when she accumulated much more?

She’d wanted to buy an interstellar-grade spaceship, but where would she keep it?

That’s where the spatial-fold storage technology would come in handy.

Realizing this, Zhou Li happily accepted her “reward.”

…

Meanwhile, on the same sea—Vila Island.

Unlike Lonewind Island, where coral harvesting was booming, Vila Island was shrouded in fear and tension.

The cause: its master, Li Zairen, and his recent madness.

First, he mobilized every armed force under his command. Then, at the slightest mistake, he imposed severe punishment—declaring the island under martial law.

During this “emergency period,” all discussion of him was forbidden.

He ordered residents to monitor and report on one another, and anyone caught spreading talk would be tortured with electric shocks.

Some believed he did this to preserve his image—and to ensure news of his humiliating defeat in Lonewind’s waters never reached the main island.

But there’s no such thing as a secret that stays buried forever.

When General De’an heard the news, he was so furious he needed an oxygen tube to breathe.

He immediately ordered Li Zairen to return to the main island.

Li Zairen refused, claiming that a zombie outbreak had erupted on his subordinate island, Savi, and that he couldn’t leave.

After he said it—whether it was true or not—it had to happen now.

☢️☢️☢️

The eldest granddaughter did not come home that afternoon.

By evening, Grandma Du reheated the meat soup, just as her granddaughter had instructed.

After thinking for a while, she bent down, reached under the bed, and pulled out an old iron tin. Hearing the faint rattle of rice grains inside, she squinted her eyes in satisfaction.

She had hidden that rice for many years. It used to be a full box, and whenever her granddaughter didn’t make it back in time, she’d secretly cook a little to fill her stomach.

Later, bugs got into it, and it even grew mold. When her granddaughter found out, she scolded her and forbade her from eating it.

But when the girl wasn’t home, Grandma washed the rice, dried it, and hid it again—this time even deeper. Her granddaughter never discovered it.

Opening the lid, she revealed a thin layer of rice.

Some grains had turned gray-green; the rest were a dull yellowish white.

She poured out a third of a cup. To save clean water, she didn’t rinse it—just dumped it straight into the pot.

After adding some coal to the stove, she said to her younger granddaughter, “Grandma’s making you porridge.”

Du Yishi: …

She wanted to stop her grandmother, but she couldn’t speak at all anymore.

She could only pray her sister would come home soon.

She didn’t care about dying—but she refused to die from her grandmother’s porridge.

And if she must die, fine—but Grandma must not.

“Open up! Routine inspection!”

The loud banging on the door interrupted her thoughts. Cursing under her breath, Grandma Du went to answer it.

Since the North Street riots, inspectors had been coming almost every day, going door to door.

Grandma Du believed they frightened her sickly granddaughter and was furious—but she also knew that not opening the door would bring worse trouble. So she grumbled, but complied.

The inspectors came in pairs. After looking around the house and finding no strangers hiding there, they prepared to leave.

“The registry says three people live here. Where’s the third?”

“Out working! How else would we eat?” she barked back.

The inspectors said nothing more.

Just then, Grandma Du heard movement upstairs. She leaned on the railing to take a look—

And then she smelled something burning.

Her eyes widened. She rushed toward the kitchen.

As she feared, the coal fire had gotten too hot, and she’d forgotten to put the lid back on. The water in the pot had long evaporated; the porridge was now a blackened crust.

Grandma Du clutched her chest in dismay.

Her precious rice—ruined!

There was nothing to be done. Her younger granddaughter couldn’t chew solid food, and this scorched mess was inedible.

So she spooned out the minced meat from the soup and fed it to Du Yishi instead.

By the time she was done, the sky had darkened completely.

Then she cleaned the girl—wiping her face, her body, changing her soiled cloths.

Her joints ached terribly.

When she finally finished, she could barely straighten her back. Her stomach growled, but she was too exhausted to eat.

After resting for a while, she decided she’d eat the burnt rice after all.

Just as she was scraping the charred crust from the pot, she heard the door creak open.

Panic jolted through her. Her granddaughter always scolded her for sneaking food, so she tried to hide it—

But it was too late. Even before stepping inside, Du Xiaogan had smelled the burning.

When she entered and saw her grandmother’s guilty hunch, she couldn’t help laughing through her exasperation. “Grandma!”

Grandma Du grinned sheepishly. “Ah, my granddaughter’s home!”

She braced herself for a scolding, her posture defiant—being yelled at didn’t cost her any flesh anyway.

But to her surprise, Du Xiaogan didn’t scold her at all.

Instead, she left again—then returned a few minutes later carrying a bulging bag.

“What did you bring back?” Grandma Du asked, hurrying to shut the door. The usually cautious girl was being far too bold—didn’t she care about being seen?

“Everyone went out to harvest coral today,” Du Xiaogan said calmly. “Everyone’s coming back with bags like this.”

Meaning—hers wouldn’t draw attention.

“So you went coral-diving too?” Grandma Du asked.

Du Xiaogan nodded.

Setting the bag aside, she turned toward her sister. “Did you eat?”

Suddenly, Grandma Du gasped.

By the time she remembered to stay quiet, her granddaughter had already shut all the doors and windows and drawn the curtains.

“Granddaughter—where did all this come from!?”

Du Yishi’s eyes moved toward the bag. Seeing all the food and supplies inside, she too widened her eyes in disbelief.

“I sold the coral I harvested,” said Du Xiaogan, “on the artificial island. Traded it for money, and bought these from the supermarket there.”

Grandma Du began taking things out, one by one.

Even without reading the labels, she could tell what most were just from the packaging—

Two slabs of ribs, a pork leg bone, a large carton of eggs, several packs of noodles, bottles of mineral water, milk, senior formula, and a huge bag of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Household goods—knives, thread, tissues, clothes, socks, soap, and shampoo—everything they could ever need.

“How much did all this cost!?” Grandma Du exclaimed.

“About two thousand,” Du Xiaogan said.

“So cheap!?”

Grandma Du was skeptical—surely her granddaughter had downplayed the price.

Du Xiaogan didn’t bother to explain. Instead, she said to her sister, “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Newborn Island. They have advanced medical equipment there—they can examine you properly.”

At the word examine, pain flickered through Du Yishi’s eyes.

But Grandma Du was overjoyed—she could hardly wait for morning to come.

She grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and asked how much the examination would cost.

“The coral I sold is enough to cover it,” Du Xiaogan said.

The exam itself wouldn’t be expensive—treatment would be.

But that didn’t matter. As long as she could still work, she could always earn more.

…

The next morning, Du Xiaogan left home as usual.

The streets were bustling.

Those who had gone coral-diving after yesterday’s broadcast were now heading to sell their harvest.

Those who hadn’t caught much were teaming up to fish today instead.

Amid the clamor, faint cries could be heard—someone was weeping.

People on the island were talking about how someone had been bitten by a drowned corpse the previous day. When he returned to shore, he tried to force his way through a checkpoint and was caught by the soldiers.

By today, he had already turned into a zombie and was executed. His family was now cursing Xu Jiayi, accusing her of luring them into harvesting coral.

Ordinarily, such words might have swayed public sympathy.

But now, every islander had a carrot dangling in front of them—and until they got to take a bite of it, none of them dared offend Xu Jiayi.

Du Xiaogan didn’t know how Xu Jiayi would handle the situation. She slipped into Dr. Chu’s small clinic once again.

Dr. Chu spoke first: “Still no news today.”

Du Xiaogan was silent for a moment, her expression showing faint resignation.

She had already prepared herself to take her sister to Newborn Island for an examination—but a small part of her still hoped for another option.

“Thanks. I’ll think of something.”

Seeing that the clinic was empty, she quietly placed a small bag of haw flakes behind the doctor’s desk.

Dr. Chu blinked in surprise.

“Bought them from that supermarket on Newborn Island,” Du Xiaogan said.

Dr. Chu understood immediately—it was a reminder to hurry and stock up while supplies from that island were still available.

Feeling warmed, the doctor pulled out a small jar of medicinal ointment. “Old Lady Du’s joints ache often, don’t they? Take this for her.”

Du Xiaogan hadn’t brought the candy for favors, but since it could ease her grandmother’s pain, she accepted it gratefully.

As soon as she left, Dr. Chu locked up the clinic.

When Du Xiaogan got home, Grandma Du had already made breakfast.

After eating, the three of them set out together.

Lonewind Island hadn’t yet banned civilians from going to sea, but to be safe, Du Xiaogan chose to board a large fishing boat.

Many others had the same idea—they were also heading toward the artificial island.

After all, not everyone believed what the authorities said.

Sensing Xu Jiayi’s permissive attitude, the islanders made no effort to hide their true intentions.

Seven or eight people stood aboard the fishing vessel; most of them knew each other.

One man greeted Du Xiaogan. “Well, this is rare—you’re actually bringing your family out?”

She gave a small smile but said nothing.

He leaned closer, whispering, “You got some insider info, didn’t you? Otherwise, you’d never risk bringing them.”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Du Xiaogan replied.

The man, convinced he’d guessed right, was thrilled—if she was bringing her family, that meant the island wasn’t dangerous.

When they arrived, Lonewind’s patrol boats had already occupied Newborn Island’s pier, so the fishermen had to stop near the beach and let passengers swim the rest of the way.

But in her sister’s condition, swimming was impossible.

Luckily, Du Xiaogan had prepared for this.

She inflated two small rubber rafts—one for Grandma, one for her sister—and swam alongside them, pulling both to shore.

The patrol boats had already cleared the area of drowned corpses, so they had little to fear.

“Oh my, this place is so comfortable!” Grandma Du exclaimed.

Du Xiaogan thought to herself: of course it was. The greenery here had clearly been planned—trees, flowers, lawns—it looked like a vacation island.

“But why are there so few buildings? And hardly any people?”

“This is just the outer area, Grandma,” said Du Xiaogan. “They don’t let outsiders into the central zone.”

To keep her from wandering, she added, “You remember those escort ships the Li family lost, right?”

Grandma Du, frightened by the mention, promised not to stray.

An Fengxuan happened to pass by on patrol. Seeing Du Xiaogan struggling to carry her sister while packing up the rafts, she came over to help.

Grandma Du, learning she was a security officer, immediately started asking her about the island.

An Fengxuan: …

I really shouldn’t have been so helpful.

Du Xiaogan sighed. “Grandma, please don’t trouble her.”

When they reached the supermarket, Grandma gasped. “My goodness, this must be where rich folks live!”

Du Xiaogan told her to look around while she took her sister upstairs to see Zhou Li.

“I’m coming too,” Grandma said.

But Zhou Li stopped her. “The space is small, and too many people spread germs. One person’s enough.”

Grandma reluctantly stayed behind in the stairwell.

Before going up, Du Xiaogan warned her, “Grandma, pick whatever you want, but wait for me to pay. And don’t take anything you shouldn’t.”

She was worried her grandmother might break the rules—getting blacklisted was minor; losing the chance for her sister’s treatment would be far worse.

“I know, I know,” Grandma muttered.

*

The medical pod finished its scan quickly, producing a full diagnostic report.

It even listed several treatment options.

What shocked Zhou Li was that—there was actually a curative plan available.

ALS—an untreatable disease even on Earth—had a cure here in the interstellar dimension.

But the required medications existed only there, which meant Zhou Li would need to return to that realm to procure them.

She didn’t mention that part to Du Xiaogan.

Instead, she produced the medicine she had bought the previous night through the auction system. “Here—these are the ones I told you about. I’ve reviewed her data; she can take them safely.”

Du Xiaogan’s joy was tinged with disappointment.

She was thrilled that medicine existed at all—but seeing the futuristic medical pod, she had briefly dared to hope for a miracle.

It seemed that was only a dream.

As Zhou Li escorted the sisters downstairs, a commotion broke out inside and outside the supermarket.

Grandma Du came bustling over. “Oh, little boss! Someone almost stole from your store!”

Zhou Li smiled faintly, watching her.

Grandma Du instantly grew nervous under that gaze.

Knowing her grandmother too well, Du Xiaogan frowned. “Grandma—you didn’t disobey me, did you?”

“I did! I mean—I didn’t!” Grandma stammered, sounding anything but convincing.

Zhou Li already understood. Grandma Du had likely been tempted to pocket something, but when she saw another thief punished, she quietly took out the items she’d grabbed and pretended she was going to buy them.

Zhou Li turned to the culprits outside. “This supermarket doesn’t run on charity. Anyone who wants something must pay for it. Stealing is theft, and theft has consequences.”

“You weren’t even here! How were we supposed to pay?” one of the thieves’ companions protested.

“My presence or absence doesn’t justify stealing,” Zhou Li replied coolly. “Right now I’m only punishing him. But if you keep arguing, I’ll blacklist you too—and you’ll never set foot on this island again.”

The man switched tactics, pleading that they were starving and would pay later.

“That’s enough,” Du Xiaogan snapped. “You’ve already shamed yourself once—don’t make it worse.”

The man faltered, then asked, “What’ll happen to him?”

“I’ll have Lonewind’s soldiers take him back,” Zhou Li said.

Since the thief had shown no real malice toward the store, the system merely knocked him unconscious and flagged him—nothing more.

When the matter settled, Grandma Du hurried to ask, “So how’s the test?”

“They have the medicine she needs,” Du Xiaogan said, swiping her membership card to buy it.

Over ten thousand points vanished instantly.

The price was far higher than the cheap SOD1-03, but the packaging looked professional, trustworthy.

It was worth every bit.

As they prepared to leave, Zhou Li suddenly called out, “Actually—your sister’s illness can be cured.”

Du Xiaogan froze. A heartbeat later, she rushed up. “What did you say?”

Smiling, Zhou Li asked, “Would you like to live here on our island?”

The idea had struck her just moments ago.

There were too few people on Newborn Island. Once she and An Fengxuan left, only Qi Jiayu’s trio would remain—and they might not be able to hold the island.

It was time to bring in new residents.

And rather than strangers, she preferred people like Du Xiaogan—someone with a weakness, someone who’d fight to protect what she loved.

If she knew her sister could be healed, she would never leave.

And when Zhou Li eventually departed, she would defend this island herself.

As expected, Du Xiaogan answered without hesitation, “Please take us in!”

[Author’s Note]

Du: I was already thinking about moving—now I’m definitely staying! [dog head emoji]

☢️☢️☢️

After Xu Jiayi issued the coral-harvesting decree, the nearby waters were reopened.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Du Xiaogan rowed a small fishing boat out to sea.

Like everyone else, she came to collect coral.

After killing the drowned corpses drifting around her boat, she decisively plunged into the water and began her descent.

Coral grew below depths of a hundred meters. Without specialized equipment, most people couldn’t dive that deep.

The current free-diving world record exceeded 300 meters—but even that required assistance. Without support, holding one’s breath for so long would cause hypoxia and death by suffocation.

Du Xiaogan had lived on the sea since childhood; her personal record was 160 meters.

But she preferred to stay around fifty meters deep, where the pressure wasn’t as intense and she could hold her breath for an extra minute or two.

This time, she dove seventy meters down, aiming for the coral columns below, each over twenty meters tall.

In the post-apocalyptic world, coral growing too fast wasn’t necessarily a blessing. It provided both shelter for fish—and hiding places for drowned corpses.

The lighting was dim, the terrain cluttered, and visibility was poor.

Turn the wrong way, and one might find a corpse face to face.

Du Xiaogan stayed on high alert.

She carried a modified speargun and a riot trident. The trident could block an approaching corpse, while the speargun was used to pierce their eyes.

Their skulls were too hard to penetrate; only a shot through the mouth or the eye could kill them instantly.

After several rounds of diving and resurfacing, Du Xiaogan finally hauled a coral branch back onto her little boat.

She lay back, utterly exhausted.

The aftereffects of long underwater dives hit her hard—her body felt as heavy as lead.

Fortunately, the nearby fishing boats’ engines had drawn away most of the drowned corpses, leaving her temporarily safe.

After resting half an hour, the sky turned violet-red with evening clouds.

Instead of returning home, she caught a few fish to quell her hunger. When night fell, she quietly rowed her little boat toward Newborn Island.

Perhaps uncertain of Newborn Island’s stance, Lonewind’s patrol boats didn’t dare venture too close—certainly not to surround it like the Li family’s escort ships once had.

That gave Du Xiaogan her chance.

The pitch-black sea was her cloak; no one would notice a small, hand-rowed boat slipping silently across the waves.

She didn’t expect to be discovered so soon after setting foot on the island.

*

“Medicine? What kind of medicine do you need?” Zhou Li asked the woman who had secretly landed on Newborn Island.

Du Xiaogan’s cracked lips parted. “SOD1-03.”

Zhou Li blinked. “System, what’s that?”

The system replied, “It appears to be this planet’s medication for ALS—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. However, it’s not a formally approved drug. The official version is called riluzole. SOD1-03 is an uncertified imitation—illegal, but much cheaper.”

Zhou Li understood.

“I don’t have that specific medicine,” she told Du Xiaogan.

Since it wasn’t legally produced, the auction house wouldn’t list it either.

And even if she searched for riluzole, it might not exist under that name in the marketplace.

So she preferred to start with a diagnostic scan in her med-pod before deciding on treatment.

But when Du Xiaogan heard there was no such drug, her eyes dimmed. “It was wrong of me to trespass. I’m sorry.”

She turned to leave.

If even this island had no medicine, then Lonewind certainly wouldn’t.

Without it, her sister’s condition would worsen quickly. She might as well go home and spend the little time left by her side.

“Your family member has ALS?” Zhou Li asked.

Du Xiaogan froze mid-step. “You… know ALS?”

Zhou Li nodded. “Can you tell me a bit about her condition?”

After a short pause, Du Xiaogan said, “It’s my sister. She fell ill four years ago…”

When her sister, Du Yishi, first developed symptoms, no one took it seriously.

Afraid people would think she’d contracted the zombie virus, Yishi kept quiet, hiding her weakness.

By the time Du Xiaogan noticed, her sister could no longer walk.

She hated herself for not realizing sooner.

Yishi comforted her, saying it wasn’t her fault—everyone knew how hard Xiaogan worked to keep them alive.

The sisters had been raised by their grandmother, the three of them depending on each other.

After the apocalypse, Grandmother was too frail to fight zombies, and Yishi was still a child, so all the scavenging and protection fell to Xiaogan.

She left home at dawn and returned at night, day after day.

And since Yishi deliberately concealed her condition, Xiaogan never noticed anything wrong—until it was too late.

At the hospital, they were told Yishi had ALS.

A disease that slowly withered the muscles—from the legs upward to the torso, neck, and head.

The paralysis that robbed her of movement was only the beginning. Later, she’d lose her ability to speak, swallow, and finally, even breathe.

Most ALS patients didn’t live more than five years. With aggressive treatment, maybe ten.

Yishi had wanted to die upon hearing it.

But Xiaogan refused to give up, doing everything she could to find medication to slow the disease.

Such drugs existed only in large hospitals—dangerous, densely populated islands ruled by powerful factions.

Every trip Xiaogan made might have been her last.

Even so, she never stopped.

When the islands were later divided by rival powers, resources fell tightly under their control.

Hearing that Lonewind’s hospitals offered free treatment, she moved her family there—only to find they had little stock of ALS medicine. She’d still need to buy it elsewhere, and not everyone was willing to sell.

Thankfully, Dr. Chu, a private physician, had access to some underground sources.

…

Zhou Li asked, “You know the official drug is called riluzole, right?”

Du Xiaogan gave a bitter smile. “Yes. But Dr. Chu can only get SOD1-03.”

Nearby, Lin Xiaole, who had been eavesdropping the whole time, couldn’t hold back. “Are you orphans too?”

Orphans were common after the apocalypse—like her.

“Sort of,” said Du Xiaogan.

They had parents, and their grandmother had children.

But their parents didn’t want them.

After having a son—the family’s pride—they’d dumped the girls on their grandmother and moved to the main island with him.

When the zombie virus broke out, they vanished.

During a scavenging trip, Xiaogan had once run into them.

She’d begged for help to find medicine for her sister, but they refused her flatly.

Since then, she’d considered them dead.

But she’d never told her grandmother or Yishi about it.

Fang Qin rubbed Lin Xiaole’s head. “That question was rude. Apologize.”

“Sorry,” Lin Xiaole mumbled.

Du Xiaogan regarded them curiously.

From their appearance, they didn’t look like people long used to abundant supplies.

“I’m Fang Qin,” Fang Qin said warmly—she had a soft spot for people like Xiaogan.

“I’m Lin Le,” added the other.

“You’re island residents here?” Du Xiaogan asked.

“Yes,” Fang Qin replied. “Though we only became official residents recently.”

Something about the island felt off.

It seemed almost empty.

So far, besides the little shop’s owner, she’d only seen Fang Qin and Lin Le.

(The two scouts who had caught her earlier were from Lonewind, not counted.)

With so few people, it was hard to believe they had sunk three escort ships.

But she didn’t dwell on it long.

Then Zhou Li said, “I may not have your sister’s medicine yet, but I do have a medical pod. You can bring her here for an examination.”

Du Xiaogan sensed the sincerity in her tone. “Thank you.”

Fang Qin noticed Xiaogan’s hesitation and immediately understood—she must think it was just a check-up.

Without medicine, what good would that do except bring her sister more pain?

Fang Qin snorted softly but couldn’t stand letting her miss the chance.

She whispered, “The boss’s med-pod is very advanced. Most people never get the chance to use it!”

Du Xiaogan’s eyes lit up, her breathing quickened.

“Thank you. I’ll bring her tomorrow.”

Then she removed the cloth bundle from her shoulder and handed it to Zhou Li.

“I heard your island is collecting coral. I don’t have much strength—this is all I could gather today. Please accept it. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”

Zhou Li looked at the coral, about thirty centimeters tall and forty long, solid and milky white throughout—and was stunned.

This thing weighed several pounds!

And the quality—was that white coral?

Though white coral wasn’t as valuable as red, selling for only two to three hundred yuan per gram, a piece this size could easily fetch three to five hundred thousand.

Zhou Li said, “Would you like to exchange it for supermarket membership points? You can use those to buy whatever you need.”

Only then did Du Xiaogan turn her gaze toward the supermarket shelves.

Half an hour later, she rubbed her face in disbelief.

Was this… heaven?

[Author’s note]

Little Boss: Yes, this is heaven. [dog head emoji]

☢️☢️☢️

The first person to show symptoms similar to what Mu Xing had described was the head chef of a five-star hotel in the capital, a forty-year-old man named Lin Fusheng.

Two days ago and again this morning, he went to the hospital for checkups. Nothing unusual was found, but he kept having recurring fevers, sweating, and feeling weak all over.

He also mentioned that his sense of smell seemed sharper than before.

Naturally, Lin Fusheng was put under secret observation.

After a week, when he complained on the phone to his wife, also a chef, that he could no longer stand the fishy odor of her pickled fish soup, those observing him basically confirmed that he was indeed going through the awakening period.

Lin Fusheng was “invited” to a secret hospital. His wife and daughter were informed that he was now being treated at a national hospital and they needn’t worry.

During this same week, several hundred similar awakeners were gradually discovered across the country.

All of these awakeners were immediately taken to special hospitals under the guise of “treatment” for observation.

After long consideration, the leadership of China still issued a warning to the international community: at present, many people in the country were experiencing repeated unexplained fevers, and it was unclear whether this was a new type of flu. They urged other countries to be alert.

Unfortunately, no one paid attention. Many foreigners even mocked them for being overly timid.

When Mu Xing saw this online, he wasn’t surprised.

The ones mocking the hardest now were exactly the countries that would be thrown into the worst chaos in the original plot.

Time flew by.

A little over a month later, various strange news stories started appearing abroad.

Someone called the police at midnight, saying his wife’s body suddenly burst into flames. The fire didn’t burn her, but it set their whole house ablaze.

Others reported seeing someone sprout wings and fly in the sky, even capturing video footage and posting it online.

There were multiple eyewitnesses, and the strange events weren’t confined to one place. People with all sorts of bizarre abilities were appearing around the world.

While panic spread abroad, with people completely baffled as to what was happening—

*

In China.

At a secret base.

Mu Xing stood on a massive training ground, in front of a line of people standing neatly in formation.

Most of them still looked normal, but a few had undergone physical changes:

A towering two-meter-tall figure, muscles bulging with power.
Eyes turned pale gray.
Hair turned fiery red, like some delinquent punk.

These were China’s first known ability users.

Lin Fusheng was among them.

Perhaps due to his profession, his awakened ability was fire-based, allowing him to manipulate flames. Of all his senses, his sense of smell had been enhanced the most.

Mu Xing looked over them. Excluding those still in the awakening phase, the eighty people standing before him were the first batch of fully awakened ability users.

Many, upon realizing what they could do, had first reacted with panic and confusion.

But Mu Xing, as the first awakened in the world and someone already officially registered, served as their “instructor.”

He told them not to be afraid or anxious—they were not alone. Many others were awakening too.

The state knew about their situation and would not treat them differently.

As for the few who grew overly arrogant after gaining abilities, Mu Xing, smiling kindly, taught them to remain humble.

In short, this group of ability users soon felt at ease.

They thought: awakening powers isn’t really that special. Instructor Mu said many more people would awaken in the future.

And what’s the use of being “powerful”? Those who jumped around flaunting their abilities when they first awakened still ended up strung up and beaten by one of Instructor Mu’s vines.

They also realized that the state didn’t seem to regard them as a particularly special group. Other than some health tests and issuing them brand-new identification, nothing else was done.

They were kept here only because they still didn’t know how to control their powers.

So every day, they had to gather here to receive Instructor Mu’s lessons.

Two weeks later, when a new batch of awakeners arrived, Lin Fusheng and the others, holding their new ID cards, left the base.

That evening, China’s state television reported the news.

A dignified, composed anchor smiled calmly and said: now, all around the world, ability awakenings had begun appearing.

Then, the anchor described in detail the physical signs of an awakening.

Officials urged the public not to panic. If they or someone around them showed similar symptoms, they should immediately call the authorities for help, to avoid accidents during the awakening period that could cause injury or property damage.

The audience: ???

Then, the broadcast aired two interview clips.

The first was with Lin Fusheng.

When asked how he felt now, he cheerfully replied, “My sense of smell has become extra sharp. The downside is that bad odors bother me a lot more. But the upside is much greater—for a chef, this makes me much more precise in handling ingredients.”

He demonstrated his fire ability to the audience and cooked a fragrant, flavorful, perfectly presented Kung Pao chicken on the spot.

Lin Fusheng was especially delighted: “Ever since awakening this ability, my control over heat has reached an incredible level. My cooking skills have leapt forward. I can’t wait for my wife to try my new dishes.”

The second interviewee was a seventeen-year-old named Li Jin.

He was currently a high school sophomore in the sports track.

On the 400-meter track, Li Jin showed off his lightning speed.

The camera could only catch an afterimage.

He scratched his head: “I was originally a sports student specializing in sprints. My awakened ability is speed-related. Right now, my running speed has reached 100 meters per second, which is about the speed of a high-speed train.”

What he didn’t mention was that this speed might continue to grow in the future.

Li Jin pulled a long face: “I called my coach and told him about it. He said I can’t compete anymore, because it wouldn’t be fair to others.”

…

When this news broke, the whole country was stunned.

Under the official platform’s account, countless comments appeared:

[Is this real? It’s not April Fool’s Day today, right?]

[Even if it were April Fool’s Day, the official news channel wouldn’t joke like this.]

[Holy crap holy crap holy crap holy crap holy crap holy crap holy crap!]

[What the hell, Li Jin is my classmate! A little over a month ago he wasn’t feeling well, then he took leave saying he was going to the hospital for treatment. Didn’t expect this! Damn, he’s an ability user?!]

[Am I hallucinating, or has the world turned into a fantasy novel?]

[Holy crap, haven’t foreign countries been reporting stuff like this lately? Angels appearing, people spontaneously bursting into flames? Turns out we have it here too!]

[Man, hearing the first part: holy crap! Ability users! Sci-fi movies are real! Then the second part: wuwuwu where does Chef Lin work, can I go eat there?]

[Damn, I started having a fever last night. I didn’t think much of it, so I didn’t go to the hospital. Am I about to awaken too?!]

[Am I the only one worried? If this news is real, these ability users have way too much power compared to normal people. If they wanted to do evil, wouldn’t we have no way to resist?]

[Since the state dared to announce it, they must already have measures in place.]

…

This news was no doubt timely and effective.

It was impossible for most ordinary people to hear the words “ability users” and not feel some fear or unease.

Besides, if awakenings spread on a large scale, it couldn’t be covered up anyway.

After high-level discussions, they chose not to hide it.

Not only did they not hide it, they openly and formally told the public about ability users.

They even released several interview videos.

Before the public even had time to panic, they realized: oh, even after awakening abilities, they’re still just ordinary people.

Chef Lin awakened a fire ability, but he just went back to his hotel kitchen. His fire power simply lets him cook tastier food.

Li Jin gained supersonic speed, and his first reaction was that his coach didn’t want him anymore.

Everyone was still thinking about their own jobs and futures. That’s not so different from us!

Public opinion quickly lightened up.

The hotel where Chef Lin worked even released an official statement saying they were giving him a raise, and that for the next two weeks, all of his dishes at the hotel would be half price.

The hype spread instantly.

As for Li Jin, things got even more ridiculous.

Multiple companies like Parkour Delivery and Fengxing Express @-ed him on Weibo, saying they were willing to hire him at a high salary as a part-time courier.

Netizens laughed: good guy, if he really did that job, I’d definitely order from them every day.

Meanwhile, chaos was already brewing abroad.

Many countries were still choosing to conceal things. This move from China clearly caught them off guard.

But it was too late for them to copy.

Not to mention, their awakened ability users didn’t listen to them at all.

And more and more people were still awakening.

By now, Mu Xing’s title, besides being a consultant for the Special Action Unit, had become that of an instructor for the “Dragon Fang” division of the ability users.

Dragon Fang was a newly established department. From among the awakened, they selected those with suitable temperament and abilities, brought them under state control, and trained them uniformly to prepare for any possible incidents.

After all, not everyone would behave obediently. Such a force was absolutely necessary.

Mu Xing had no desire to be any kind of instructor. He was completely pushed into it.

Of course, his role was largely symbolic, a figure of deterrence more than anything else.

The training plans were developed by the research institute after studying ability users. Implementation and supervision all fell to Gu Zhao and the others.

Mu Xing was basically a mascot.

After Gu Zhao and his team fully awakened their own abilities, Mu Xing didn’t even bother pretending anymore. Every day he just lounged comfortably, watching others grind their teeth under Gu Zhao’s devilish training.

Occasionally someone would protest, pointing at Mu Xing: “Why doesn’t he have to train?!”

Gu Zhao: “…”

He kept a straight face: “Because I can’t beat him. If you were stronger than me, I couldn’t force you to train either.”

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣