Author Archives: sandy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re back already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He then emphasized another point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That morning had genuinely been enjoyable for him.

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “I understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tian Xuejun raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

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

Tian Xuejun: “……”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The realization sharpened her expression.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

Watching them, Tian Xuejun could not help feeling impressed.

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

After taking her seat, she turned toward Fu Qing.

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

“I’m here to discuss the Believers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She added an example:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The people in the meeting room exchanged uncertain looks.

Soldiers… cooperating under students’ command?

And during combat, they would merely stand by?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that would mean…

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

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

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

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

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

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

She found herself unable to agree.

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

Her tone was serious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one else was capable of taking on that responsibility.

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

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

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Next

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

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

Just how much strength had she used?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

Unconsciously, they counted down in their minds.

Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…

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

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

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

That single look nearly made her cry out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That zombie had also dodged a blade midair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bai Xianglei: …Shameless!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fu Qing: “…”

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

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

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

He could clearly feel the difference between their fighting styles.

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

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

It was not a fighting style forged in peaceful circumstances.

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

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

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

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

But Fu Qing?

How old was she? Twenty-five at most?

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

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

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

He felt he needed to speak with the commander.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

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

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

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

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

Everyone was astonished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They now stood atop an abandoned high-rise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Several teammates followed, equally curious.

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

What they saw stole their breath.

It was nothing like the apocalypse they had imagined.

Before them was simply a forgotten city.

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

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

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

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

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

Zhou Lingxi instinctively stepped back.

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

She had never imagined this.

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

Only humanity was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

Zhou Lingxi began to tremble uncontrollably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s fine. That wasn’t your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

Regardless of how fast they moved, their numbers quickly formed a tightening encirclement. Looking out, there was no visible end to them.

Even if a fully armed military unit were present, without helicopters their chances of breaking through would be almost nonexistent. And they were only a dozen people armed with cold weapons.

Zhou Lingxi could not yet identify which city they were in, but judging by the scale of the buildings, it must once have been prosperous.

A city like this could easily have held millions of residents. In an apocalypse where half the population died and the other half turned into zombies…

How many zombies were they facing?

Even if only a fraction had arrived so far, the disturbance was massive. Before long, the entire city’s undead would converge here.

A chill crept through Zhou Lingxi.

She remembered Song Rushuang mentioning earlier that this instance was set to “hell difficulty.”

It truly was hell difficulty.

Being surrounded by millions of zombies, even hell itself might not be this terrifying.

The zombies’ poor eyesight prevented them from spotting the group standing more than thirty floors up, but the soldiers’ keen vision allowed them to see everything clearly.

The longer they watched, the colder their hearts grew.

More than thirty stories high. Glass walls with almost no footholds. Taking the stairs would mean running directly into the first wave of approaching zombies.

How could they escape?

How could they possibly escape?

Faced with extreme danger, they did not panic like ordinary people. But that did not mean despair failed to creep in when no solution presented itself.

“Captain! We—”

Chu Hai instinctively turned to seek orders, only to stop halfway, his urgent words catching in his throat.

He opened his mouth, realizing a beat too late what was happening.

Bai Xianglei was looking at Fu Qing. She simply spread her hands calmly.

“I warned you,” she said, “stay here long enough, and it becomes easy to confuse this with reality.”

The more urgent the situation and the less time there was to think, the faster immersion took hold.

Just moments ago they had known this was only a simulation, casually observing their surroundings. But when faced with genuine life-and-death tension, human instinct still demanded escape.

Like standing inside a tilted funhouse, even knowing the illusion’s mechanism could not stop dizziness or the body’s involuntary attempts to rebalance.

The senses deceived the brain, and the brain deceived the body in return. These physiological reactions could not simply be resisted.

Unless one adapted to the sensation of being surrounded and hunted by a zombie horde, calmness was nearly impossible, even when one knew the environment was virtual.

Bai Xianglei remained silent for a moment before asking, “This is part of your regular training too?”

When they first agreed to the competition, Fu Qing had said every challenge reflected the students’ daily training.

That was precisely why he had accepted.

Winning or losing meant nothing to him. What truly mattered was understanding Fangzhou’s training methods.

He had fully accepted that each match favored the students and had never considered it unfair.

But now his voice carried unmistakable astonishment.

Because he could not believe that a situation like this could be considered a “favorable condition,” or that it could be routine training at all.

An ordinary person might require psychological counseling after experiencing this instance even once.

Were Fangzhou’s students really training in environments like this?

“No,” Fu Qing shook her head. “Only thirteen elite-class students were selected to endure long-term training in this instance. For ordinary students, training here is far less effective than in other scenarios.”

“And even for the elite class, they rarely come here.”

This instance was uniquely extreme. The entire city contained no humans at all. The moment a single human appeared, made a sound, or was detected by even one zombie with an unusually sharp sense of smell, the entire city would immediately converge in a full-scale siege.

This kind of environment was simply too extreme. When a scenario’s difficulty became excessively high, the training effect was actually worse than that of slightly easier advanced or even intermediate instances.

Because the students died too quickly.

What this instance emphasized was not combat ability, but psychological oppression and fear.

So Fu Qing only brought the elite-class students here occasionally, allowing them to stay for short periods so they could adapt gradually. Both the frequency and duration were carefully controlled to avoid leaving lasting trauma.

Psychological training was different from physical training. Growth was difficult to quantify, yet damage could occur in an instant.

Fu Qing had seen countless people who survived the apocalypse long enough to reach safe places like shelters, only to suddenly take their own lives.

She had also seen survivors who endured battle after battle, living for months or even years, suddenly lose their sanity one day and become no different from walking corpses.

Even the strongest warriors could not resist invisible emotional strain. Cases of soldiers developing PTSD after retirement were far from rare.

So no matter how harsh the training became, she was always careful to prevent her students from carrying lasting wounds. In matters like this, Fu Qing exercised particular caution.

Hearing this, Bai Xianglei let out a breath of relief.

If the students truly trained in environments like this every day, that would have been terrifyingly extreme.

“So…”

So the reason she brought them here was merely to witness this scene?

Then what about the match that followed…

He was interrupted by Fu Qing.

“Captain Bai, we don’t have much time.”

She drew a military knife, flicked it lightly in her hand, and calmly assumed a fighting stance.

“If we’re going to fight, it’s best to start soon. The first zombie should reach this floor in about fifty seconds.”

Her expression remained unchanged, her tone almost playful.

“Otherwise, once the horde arrives, the conditions you face will become much more unfavorable.”

More unfavorable?

Bai Xianglei paused.

The way she said it sounded as though he was already at a disadvantage, yet before the zombies arrived, their conditions seemed identical.

Unable to make sense of it, he stopped thinking about it. Translated on Hololo novels. In the distance, the approaching horde’s footsteps merged into a continuous rustling sound that set one’s nerves on edge.

He forced himself to ignore it, pushing aside any attempt to decipher the hidden meaning in her words, focusing entirely on the battle before him.

When the first sharp clash of blades rang out, Zhou Lingxi heard something else crack.

The military knives were specially made. The sound clearly had not come from them.

While everyone else watched the duel without blinking, Zhou Lingxi reacted first, rushing to the window and looking down.

At the base of the building, the first zombie leapt high into the air. Just as it seemed about to slide down the smooth glass exterior, it suddenly thrust out a hand. Its claws, sharp as blades, pierced deeply into the glass beneath it, which instantly fractured.

Crack.

She found the source of the sound.

Witnessing yet another evolutionary direction of the zombies, Zhou Lingxi’s eyelid twitched. She could easily imagine how effortlessly those claws would slice through a human throat.

Each leap carried the zombie two or three meters upward, its claws leaving holes in the glass like bullet impacts.

Step by step, it climbed toward them.

Using the stairs, it would never have arrived this fast. Zhou Lingxi finally understood what Fu Qing meant by “the first zombie will arrive in fifty seconds.”

She calculated the climbing speed and couldn’t help admiring the precision of Fu Qing’s estimate.

Only fifty seconds of combat.

The ringing clash of blades continued nonstop, so fast that multiple arcs of shining steel seemed to carve through the air at once.

Blocking another strike, Bai Xianglei gritted his teeth and held firm, inwardly shaken.

Not only because of Fu Qing’s astonishing strength, which made direct confrontation difficult even for him, but because he realized something else.

His hand was trembling.

The tremor was extremely slight, almost imperceptible.

But against an opponent this powerful, when victory could not be secured quickly, even such a tiny weakness became fatal.

First he had witnessed the ruins of a world where humanity was nearly extinct. Then he found himself surrounded by an endless zombie tide, constantly facing the threat of being torn apart at any moment.

The immense psychological pressure had manifested physically before he even noticed it himself, and Fu Qing had immediately sensed it.

Only now did Bai Xianglei understand what she meant by unfavorable conditions.

But…

He clenched his teeth, staring into Fu Qing’s eyes at close range in disbelief.

Focused. Calm. And carrying a faint excitement at facing a rare and worthy opponent.

There was not the slightest trace of pressure weighing on her.

Why did she look completely unaffected?

₊˚.🎧📓✩

By the time Song Rushuang scrambled up to the roof of the gymnasium like a monkey, climbing it in a few swift movements, then calmly sat there waiting for the zombies to reach the top before gripping her knife and stabbing them in the eyes one after another in something resembling an assembly line operation, the special operations squad was completely convinced.

No one understood how a battle that was supposed to be a pursuit match, zombies chasing humans while humans searched for chances to counterkill, had somehow turned into Song Rushuang sprinting ahead, a pack of zombies chasing after her, and Zhou Lingxi chasing the zombies from the very back.

The mantis stalks the cicada, the oriole waits behind, yet the oriole caught nothing and instead watched the cicada lure the mantis into a trap and wipe them all out at once.

…Was this even reasonable?

Zhou Lingxi had clearly been confused the entire time. After realizing Song Rushuang’s method was impossible to replicate, she tried returning to her original strategy. But her rhythm had already been disrupted from the start. Her zombies had been dragged too far away, forcing her to spend extra time eliminating them one by one.

In conventional combat and other operational fields, students who had trained for only a year were still far inferior to the special forces members.

But when facing zombies, the students’ experience and tactical creativity left the soldiers completely outmatched.

This was no longer a matter of physical fitness or fighting skill. It was simply that the soldiers had never imagined combat could be approached this way at all.

After discovering that these zombies could climb buildings, Zhou Lingxi was startled at first, finally understanding the purpose of the safety harness Fu Qing had provided. She quickly copied Song Rushuang, fastening the lock in place and taking advantage of the zombies’ vulnerability while climbing, their hands and feet occupied and movements restricted, to eliminate several in rapid succession.

Some zombies were killed by Zhou Lingxi before reaching the rooftop, recovering part of the overwhelmingly one-sided disadvantage.

But unlike Song Rushuang, who waited comfortably for prey to come to her, Zhou Lingxi’s approach consumed far more stamina. She could endure it, yet whenever she glanced up and saw Song Rushuang lounging at the edge of the rooftop, resting while waiting for targets, she could not help feeling a little envious.

In the end, Zhou Lingxi finished nearly a full minute later.

Considering there were no spatial restrictions this time and the zombies were harder to eliminate than in the first round, her speed was actually impressive.

Her timely adjustment of tactics also demonstrated sharp adaptability.

But victory and defeat were already decided. Zhou Lingxi made no excuses and admitted her shortcomings openly. “I really didn’t expect that shout of yours to pull all the zombies away.”

The match had always been more about exchange of experience than competition, and after chatting earlier they were already familiar with each other. Zhou Lingxi did not hide her confusion and asked directly:

“Before the match, wasn’t it said my zombies would prioritize locking onto me? Why did they all follow you instead?”

Song Rushuang scratched the back of her head, searching for wording that might make her tactic sound more sophisticated, when someone suddenly cut in beside them.

“There’s no complicated reason. She’s just too chaotic.”

Su Huaijin had listened earlier as Xue Ran vividly reenacted how Song Rushuang had bragged about her from the sidelines, leaving her mortified. Now seizing her chance, she enthusiastically stepped in to explain, firmly denying Song Rushuang any opportunity to act modest.

“This round’s aggro settings were different from the ‘arena restriction’ rules. They weren’t absolute. In the first round, zombies would never leave the designated combat zone. But this round, aggro was only prioritized toward each participant, which means they could still be lured away.”

As she spoke, Su Huaijin glanced at Song Rushuang, who had already begun awkwardly scratching her head. “She probably decided to drag your zombies away the moment the principal said the word ‘priority.’”

It had been intentional from the start.

Song Rushuang laughed awkwardly. “Well, it was a competition…”

Zhou Lingxi watched her eyes dart everywhere but forward and immediately understood.

Earlier, they had all assumed the students were ordinary college kids. That attitude must have stuck in their memories, and now each of them was determined to prove themselves during the matches.

In a way, they had dug their own pit and jumped into it.

“But I still don’t understand,” Zhou Lingxi continued. “When I started shouting too, why wouldn’t they turn back?”

She wanted to hear more about zombie aggro mechanics. Even casual information from Fangzhou’s students might prove valuable later.

After all, Fu Qing’s understanding of the apocalypse had been built gradually over several years. Translated on Hololo novels. Even though she had already shared as much foundational and critical information as possible with higher command and Tian Xuejun the day before, many details inevitably remained missing, waiting to be remembered and supplemented later.

Moreover, national operations involved multiple departments and countless personnel. With different classification levels layered across the system, information simply could not flow instantly and efficiently through every tier.

Some intelligence Fu Qing had shared openly was later assigned varying secrecy levels during dissemination.

For example, the truth about Fu Qing and Zhao Yunxiao’s “return from rebirth” and the theory of a previous life ranked among the highest classified information, known only to a handful of top leaders and Tian Xuejun, head of the special operations group.

The reason was simple. Convincing people of such a claim was extraordinarily difficult. Mishandled disclosure might even damage official credibility.

More people knew of Fu Qing’s role as the primary provider of virus intelligence, though even that group remained tightly limited and heavily vetted. Bai Xianglei and his special operations squad belonged to this category, and thus were aware of the System and Fangzhou.

Information about the Zombie King and the Devotee organization had a wider audience, though it still had not been publicly released.

Fu Qing understood why. Authorities were guarding against infiltration by the Devotees from within.

In short, even intelligence she had already revealed had to undergo layers of review and organization before reaching lower levels. A massive organization simply could not achieve real-time information sharing.

Not to mention that there were still things Fu Qing had not yet had time to explain.

Before departing, Bai Xianglei’s team had received explicit orders: everything Fu Qing and the students said held value and must be reported in detail to higher command on a daily schedule.

During interactions, they could gently guide conversations to help recall overlooked details, but they were forbidden from probing into matters the students chose not to discuss.

Those topics might lie beyond their clearance level.

Before asking her question, Zhou Lingxi had also considered this carefully. Concluding that zombie aggro mechanics did not fall under classified information, she finally asked openly.

Bai Xianglei and the others gathered nearby as well, pricking up their ears and listening intently.

Su Huaijin answered as expected, “This is still related to zombie characteristics. When zombies move together as a group, the sensory sharpness of individual members is partially masked. In other words, even if some zombies sense that something is wrong, once everyone is running in the same direction, their brains can’t quite process it. Most of the time, after a moment’s hesitation, they simply ignore that uneasy feeling and keep running with the group.”

The team members: “?”

They looked completely lost. One of them blurted out, “Zombies actually have herd mentality? Seriously?”

The others turned equally puzzled eyes toward Su Huaijin.

Holding back laughter, she said, “Since zombies exist as a species, they can naturally be studied and analyzed. If you treat them only as mindless NPCs that need to be killed, you’ll overlook many traits that can actually be understood and exploited.”

“These are things the principal taught us. Over the past year, this is exactly what we’ve been doing, constantly analyzing zombie behavior patterns and then testing our hypotheses again and again in real combat. Thankfully, the results proved it wasn’t wasted effort.”

The special operations soldiers gradually began to understand, though they remained astonished.

The people of Fangzhou had genuinely approached zombies with an academic research mindset.

They were attempting to interpret the behavioral logic of creatures without reason, like searching for meaning in a madman’s actions.

What ordinary people might consider a pointless waste of time had, in Fangzhou, become a serious collective research project led by teachers and carried out by students through repeated experimentation.

Apocalypse survival and academic study were things that should never have intersected, yet here they had merged in a strangely harmonious way.

They had truly carved out a viable path.

Realizing this left everyone with complicated emotions.

Su Huaijin, however, did not notice. Studying zombie habits was simply part of their daily routine, so familiar that she failed to recognize how unbelievable it sounded to outsiders.

She continued, “The larger the number of zombies in a group, the harder it becomes to draw the attention of any single individual, and the harder it is to break the group apart. That’s also why, as the apocalypse progresses, zombies gradually gather into larger and larger hordes…”

Bai Xianglei and the others’ expressions shifted slightly as they realized this might be something exploitable.

Given the nation’s heavy firepower, a concentrated mass of zombies would clearly be easier to eliminate than scattered individuals roaming streets and alleys.

The more they thought about it, the brighter their eyes became.

Fangzhou felt like a treasure trove. The deeper one dug, the more there was to uncover. Even an offhand remark could spark new insight.

Realizing she had drifted off topic, Su Huaijin brought the conversation back. “So in that situation just now, Xiaoshuang was too attention-grabbing at the start and completely pulled aggro onto herself. Then she kept shouting while running, which made it much harder for Sister Zhou to draw the zombies’ attention back.”

The special operations team had fully shifted into lecture mode by now. They collectively drew out an understanding “Ohhh~,” looking at Song Rushuang with admiration.

“….” Only then did Song Rushuang belatedly begin to feel embarrassed.

“But,” Su Huaijin added, “if Sister Zhou had created an even bigger disturbance at the time, it wouldn’t have been impossible to pull the aggro back.”

Zhou Lingxi replayed her actions in her mind, suddenly wondering whether she had held herself back too much.

But that didn’t make sense. In her entire life she had never chased enemies across a battlefield begging them to turn around. How much more uninhibited was she supposed to be?

Seeing Zhou Lingxi’s self-doubting expression pushed Song Rushuang’s embarrassment to its peak.

She whispered to Xue Ran beside her, “Was I really that over the top just now?”

Xue Ran nodded firmly. “Yep. I think you have real talent when it comes to attracting aggro. Not just zombies. Watching you made me want to run over and bite you too.”

Song “natural-born aggro magnet” Rushuang: “…?”

She quietly stepped aside to reflect on her life choices.

Su Huaijin went on, “We use the term ‘aggro value’ to describe where a zombie’s attention is focused, but it isn’t an actual measurable number like in a game. In real combat, all kinds of unexpected situations can happen, so theory alone isn’t enough. You still need extensive practical experience…”

Everyone in Fangzhou had killed at least a thousand zombies and experienced countless simulation scenarios. Translated on Hololo novels. Many of those experiences simply could not be fully put into words.

Some judgments they could make purely by instinct were impossible for outsiders to replicate.

This was the students’ other irreplaceable advantage beyond knowledge itself.

They had gained an entire uninterrupted year of training that others did not have.

Fu Qing had provided an environment stripped of outside interference, an exceptionally pure training space where they could focus entirely on honing their skills efficiently.

If someone struggled with maneuvering around zombies inside buildings, they simulated complex indoor environments and practiced repeatedly.

If someone could not confront runner-type zombies head-on, they rented simulated zombies and forced themselves to spar against runners for an entire week.

In the real apocalypse, such training conditions simply did not exist. After a year of repeated training, their abilities had surpassed even many survivors who had lived through several years of the apocalypse.

After all, many survivors endured by clinging to stronger groups or moving constantly between shelters, avoiding direct confrontation whenever possible.

The people of Fangzhou, by contrast, had forced themselves to face every type of zombie and overcome each weakness.

Out in the wider world, every one of them could be considered a perfectly balanced elite fighter.

Only within the campus, surrounded by others who were equally outstanding and hardworking, were rankings formed, distinguished merely by differences in specialization and in the upper and lower limits of individual ability.

They were running far ahead of everyone else, blazing a path so that humanity, watching their backs, could begin to discover a way to survive.

And there were more than two thousand such students in Fangzhou.

At eighteen or nineteen years old, they were like blazing sparks, symbols of hope and light burning fiercely.

Bai Xianglei silently let out a breath.

He had been in Fangzhou for less than half a day, yet he had already lost count of how many times he had been astonished, how many times he had felt moved.

All of those emotions ultimately converged on a single person.

Fu Qing.

She had built Fangzhou and discovered and cultivated this group of exceptional students.

She had gathered teachers with different areas of expertise and designed a comprehensive survival curriculum.

She established the shelter, planned its functional zones, opened residency slots, and removed the students’ worries about survival.

She had shared intelligence with humanity at the very first moment, risking suspicion and even the loss of her personal freedom so that the system originally bound to her alone could benefit all mankind as much as possible.

Nearby, Zhou Lingxi was still praising Song Rushuang’s combat thinking. When she mentioned how Song Rushuang had thrown zombies directly off the rooftop, Song Rushuang blushed.

“That part wasn’t really my own tactic,” she admitted. “I just improved on something the principal demonstrated before…”

She had simply learned it on the spot and reused it.

At the start of the semester, someone’s performance had been so astonishing that it left a deep impression on everyone.

For a long time afterward, students across the entire school had become unusually enthusiastic about climbing, constantly trying to pull off flashy maneuvers mid-climb.

Humans were ultimately more agile than most zombies. Reaching higher ground provided both tactical advantage and the opportunity to exploit zombies’ limited mobility while climbing, allowing for rapid kills.

After Song Rushuang finished her explanation, everyone’s gaze shifted toward Fu Qing, who stood quietly to one side.

Bai Xianglei could clearly feel the students’ deep, bone-level trust in their principal.

Beyond trust and respect, there was even a faint sense of reverence.

Considering what had just been said, he began to suspect that Su Huaijin’s analytical approach to studying zombie behavior and Song Rushuang’s bold, unconventional fighting style both originated, in some way, from learning and imitating different aspects of their principal.

Every movement the students made carried traces of her influence.

Whether intentional or not, this school she had built with her own hands bore the imprint of her personal style from top to bottom.

Bai Xianglei found himself growing increasingly curious about this principal.

He could barely restrain his curiosity, held back only by Tian Xuejun’s order not to pry too deeply into Fu Qing’s personal information.

He could only hope that during some future mission outside the campus, he might witness more sides of Fu Qing beyond her role as the principal stationed in Fangzhou.

Forcing himself to refocus, Bai Xianglei turned back to the match.

“Two to zero. In a best-of-three, we’ve already lost,” he said seriously. “But both rounds have taught us a great deal. If you don’t mind, I’d still like to complete the third round.”

“That was my plan as well,” Fu Qing nodded. “There’s still one thing I haven’t had the chance to show you.”

The team members exchanged eager looks.

Fu Qing led them to a new location, a room housing simulation pods.

Through the glass wall facing the corridor, they saw rows of egg-shaped devices neatly arranged inside. Clean lines traced their surfaces, faint blue light flowing along the contours. A middle-aged man was slowly lying down inside one under someone’s guidance. Just before the upper and lower halves of the “shell” closed, they saw several probes attach themselves to his arms and legs.

The special operations soldiers instantly grew excited.

This was the futuristic technology they had imagined.

They rushed into the room behind Fu Qing. Before she could begin explaining, one of the simulation pods suddenly opened. The middle-aged man inside, clearly a student’s father, snapped his eyes open and struggled out. The moment his feet touched the ground, his legs gave way and he nearly collapsed.

Another pod opened beside him. A student stepped out, startled upon seeing the principal, then quickly noticed his father slumped nearby.

He hurried over to help him up and explained to Fu Qing, “My dad kept refusing to believe how bad things are outside. He insisted on going home no matter what, so I brought him into the simulation pod to experience a zombie horde firsthand…”

As for what exactly he had seen that frightened his father into such a state, the student did not say, but everyone could more or less imagine it.

Fu Qing fell silent for a moment, then waved her hand. “Take him outside to get some fresh air.”

Looking at the man’s terrible complexion, she felt that if the student said even one more sentence, his father might throw up right there.

Sometimes Fu Qing felt that when her students dealt with their own parents, they were no gentler than she had been with the students themselves.

She knew their intentions were good, that they wanted their parents to grow quickly and adapt to the apocalypse as soon as possible. Still, good intentions or not, the results could be… worrying.

Watching the student carry his barely walking father out of the room, Fu Qing actually reflected on her own teaching methods for a full two seconds.

Two seconds later, reflection complete, she pointed at the simulation pods and introduced them to the special operations team.

“This machine can simulate many different scenarios from the apocalypse. Combined with mission objectives, they become game-like ‘instances’ with specific tasks. Each instance has a different theme, allowing students to train in targeted ways.”

“But the environments inside are one hundred percent realistic. Stay in too long, and you might even start confusing simulation with reality.”

“The third round will take place inside the simulation pods. As for the content of the match…”

Her gaze shifted to Bai Xianglei.

“Captain Bai, would you be interested in fighting me?”

Bai Xianglei froze for a moment, his expression instantly sharpening.

His intense curiosity about Fu Qing herself and her strength, combined with the competitive fire sparked by losing two rounds in a row, made his blood surge at the thought of this battle.

“Is that really okay?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” Fu Qing replied easily. “The others can enter the pods as spectators.”

At this hour, many students and parents had not yet returned to campus, and since simulation pod usage required earning time through completed tasks, more than half the pods in the room were currently empty, easily enough to accommodate everyone present.

Realizing they could personally experience the machine and watch the fight up close, the special operations soldiers could hardly hide their excitement.

Chu Hai and Zhou Lingxi could not help grinning. Bai Xianglei had been chosen as team captain not only for his experience but also because he was the strongest fighter among them.

With no zombies involved, no special conditions, just a pure one-on-one match, there was no way their captain would lose.

But as that thought passed through their minds, they accidentally caught sight of Song Rushuang and the others’ expressions and froze.

The students’ faces carried the exact same confidence.

Just like the soldiers, they seemed never to have considered the possibility that their principal might lose.

The two groups exchanged looks, the silent tension between them even stronger than when they themselves had competed.

While both sides engaged in an unspoken battle of stares, Fu Qing had already finished checking the empty simulation pods and gestured for everyone to choose one and lie down.

Bai Xianglei stepped up to his pod, took two deep breaths, and quietly adjusted his mental state.

It had been a long time since he had felt this trembling excitement before a fight began.

Only genuine respect for an opponent could create such anticipation.

“Oh, right.” Just before lying down, Fu Qing seemed to recall something. “A simple match would be a bit dull. Could we set the instance at a point several years after the virus outbreak, when humanity is nearly extinct?”

She spoke softly. “After all, the purpose of this match is still an exchange of intelligence. If we fail to stop the spread of the virus, if the number of infected keeps growing, if the zombies ultimately win… I assume you’d be interested in seeing what that looks like.”

The team members about to enter the pods stiffened slightly.

They remembered what she had said earlier, that the simulation’s realism could blur the boundary between illusion and reality.

In other words, if they agreed, they would witness an utterly real vision of humanity’s end.

Bai Xianglei hesitated for a moment, his voice slightly hoarse. “Alright… I have no objections.”

Perhaps only by seeing failure could they devote themselves fully to preventing that “bad ending” from ever becoming real.

Fu Qing nodded.

“Then, Captain Bai,” she said, “I’ll see you inside the instance.”

₊˚.🎧📓✩

“A match?”

Bai Xianglei glanced at the students. “What kind of match?”

Strictly speaking, he was almost a generation older than Song Rushuang and the others. No matter what they competed in, winning would feel awkward, and losing would feel just as strange.

Fu Qing seemed to notice his hesitation. “Don’t worry. I just want to show you our usual training grounds. As for what we’ll compete in, we’ll use the students’ daily training exercises.”

Since they were routine training activities, the students would naturally be more familiar with them. Even if Bai Xianglei and his team lost, it would not be embarrassing. Instead, it would allow them to participate more freely.

Besides, Fu Qing had already realized that Bai Xianglei and his group had arrived with a mission.

In addition to “protecting” them, they were also meant to observe and gather information about the System and Fangzhou. Translated on Hololo novels. Unlike hostile foreign spies, however, they were open about it. They had informed Fu Qing beforehand, and whatever they did afterward was carried out without any attempt to hide it from her.

In that case, they surely would not want to miss seeing the students’ daily training.

Bai Xianglei exchanged glances with his teammates, interest immediately sparking. “Alright, then let’s have a match.”

The group moved together toward another area. As they walked, Bai Xianglei suddenly stopped, staring at the field before him.

The familiar four-hundred-meter standard track, basketball hoops on either side, and the tree-lined path leading through a wire fence instantly stirred memories of his own school days.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “This is your training ground?”

Fu Qing nodded. “Yes.”

Her tone was completely matter-of-fact.

After witnessing her casually erase an entire lake earlier, Bai Xianglei had imagined something straight out of a science fiction film during the walk over. Walls made of nanomaterials, anti-gravity training chambers, futuristic combat simulators…

He never expected the “training ground” she mentioned to be so plain and ordinary.

Then again, it made sense.

What else would a school use for training besides its athletic field?

Today’s endless shocks had nearly made him forget that Fangzhou had once simply been a school.

Bai Xianglei laughed helplessly.

Just then, Song Rushuang suddenly spotted something and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Don’t stop!”

Everyone jumped in alarm.

They thought she had spotted a thief and turned sharply in that direction, only to see a middle-aged man with a protruding belly staggering along the track, gasping for breath.

His steps were weak, his face flushed red, as if he might collapse at any moment.

Seeing Song Rushuang, he wheezed, “I… I really can’t go on…”

Song Rushuang snorted coldly. “You’ve run two kilometers, have you? And you’re already done?”

The man shot her a resentful look, then resumed jogging with labored breaths.

“And that is…?” Bai Xianglei asked cautiously once the man had moved farther away.

Song Rushuang replied casually, “Oh, that’s my dad.”

The soldiers: “…?”

Looking again, they noticed many similar middle-aged runners on the track, each accompanied by a young “supervisor.” Hands on hips, delivering sharp critiques. Give them a small whip and they could pass for ancient slave drivers.

Bai Xianglei blinked. “Is this also the principal’s requirement?”

“Not really,” Su Huaijin explained. “We just thought they were too out of shape. If they run into zombies someday, they won’t be able to escape.”

She sighed afterward. “Honestly, this generation of middle-aged people has terrible stamina.”

“….”

Bai Xianglei silently concluded that this was a method they could never replicate.

The country might want to encourage nationwide fitness, but no official order could compare to pressure from one’s own children. Add in those visibly judgmental expressions, and no parent with any dignity could endure it.

In some ways, Fangzhou’s success truly could not be reproduced elsewhere.

After a moment of reflection, Bai Xianglei signaled his teammates to remove their jackets, revealing the fitted combat vests underneath. “So what exactly are we competing in?”

Fu Qing looked toward a nearby building.

The iron doors on the ground floor were slowly opening. Sunlight crept inward, illuminating the dim interior inch by inch and revealing a row of figures standing perfectly still.

…People?

Bai Xianglei narrowed his eyes. Before he could see clearly, the figures suddenly moved.

In perfect unison, they dropped to all fours and lunged forward at once.

The explosive burst of speed made Bai Xianglei and his team’s eyes widen.

Their running posture looked like those bizarre internet clips where characters move using both hands and feet as if glitching through bad code. Online it would look funny. In real life, it was deeply unsettling.

The figures moved like machines running precise programs. After crawling out of storage, each randomly locked onto runners on the track and charged after them at full speed.

The previously leisurely joggers panicked, sprinting away amid cries of alarm, while students cheered encouragingly behind them:

“Yes, that’s it! Run like that!”

The soldiers: “…??”

After chasing for a distance, the strange runners abruptly turned and regrouped toward Fu Qing.

Only then did the soldiers realize these were the same realistic zombie models Fu Qing had previously handed over.

Fu Qing patted the shoulder of the first one to return and explained, “When nobody’s borrowing them, these simulated zombies just sit in storage anyway. So I let them come out for a run now and then.”

“—A sudden scare, followed by squeezing out a little more of the trainees’ potential.”

“That also adds a bit of fun to otherwise boring exercise,” Fu Qing said.

The team members were speechless at her peculiar sense of humor.

Fun? Had she asked the opinion of the poor, innocent middle-aged men on the field who were screaming while being chased by zombies?

They suddenly felt that Fangzhou might not be such an easy place to live after all.

Once all the simulated zombies had gathered, Bai Xianglei gave them a quick count and realized there were about twenty in total.

So the competition involved them?

Sure enough, Fu Qing continued, “The rules are simple. We’ll follow our usual training format, divided into three rounds. In the first round, each team sends out one person. Five zombies will be deployed to attack simultaneously. Whoever eliminates all of them the fastest wins.”

“Just killing zombies would be too dull, so there’s one restriction. Movement must remain within a designated area.”

At a glance from Fu Qing, Qin Yufei immediately picked up a branch and drew a square roughly fifteen by fifteen meters on the ground.

“If any part of your body crosses this line, you fail immediately,” Fu Qing said.

The two exchanged no extra words, as though this was how training was always conducted.

The special operations soldiers’ expressions gradually grew serious.

And when Fu Qing finished adjusting each zombie’s settings, they finally lost their composure.

Since the soldiers had no clear concept yet of beginner zombies, intermediate zombies, or evolved special variants, Fu Qing ensured fairness by having each zombie step forward to warm up, demonstrating its speed, agility, and strength.

The virus had only just broken out, and zombie samples were scarce. None of the soldiers had ever seen zombies move this fast.

One of them was even more agile than a trained fighter.

Another zombie, after adjustment, emitted a series of cracking sounds as its bones shifted. Its body rapidly expanded, shooting up nearly thirty centimeters in height in the blink of an eye, growing over two meters tall. Dense muscles bulged beneath its skin, its weight easily reaching one hundred eighty kilograms.

With that kind of build, a single punch could deliver several hundred kilograms of force, enough to crush a human skull.

The remaining three zombies appeared less unusual, but their speed still far exceeded that of the typical slow-moving infected. Their presence was like adding three ordinary fighters into combat, not overwhelmingly dangerous but enough to create serious trouble.

“One reminder,” Fu Qing added. “They are zombies, not humans. Any scratch from their teeth carries an infection risk and counts as elimination.”

As she spoke, her gaze deliberately swept over the soldiers’ exposed muscular arms after they had removed their jackets. “Of course, if you insist on fighting dressed like that, I have no objections.”

The soldiers: “…”

Silently, they picked up their jackets and put them back on.

One of them muttered, “A fifteen-by-fifteen grid sounds large, but with six targets fighting inside, there’s practically no room to dodge.”

Was this really the students’ normal training?

He glanced again at Su Huaijin, the smallest and youngest-looking member of the student group, and seriously doubted whether she could endure something like this.

A zombie of that largest size could shatter her bones with a single blow. If struck in the wrong place, it could even be fatal.

Height, muscle mass, bone density, these were innate disadvantages that training could hardly overcome. That was why their own selection standards were so strict.

Su Huaijin noticed his gaze, paused, and turned to Song Rushuang. “Why was he looking at me when he said that?”

Song Rushuang replied flatly, “He probably thinks you can’t handle it.”

Su Huaijin: “…”

The soldier who had spoken quickly realized the small, youthful-looking girl had gone expressionless, apparently offended.

“Uh… I didn’t mean anything by it,” he hurriedly added.

But when Su Huaijin spoke again, her tone was perfectly calm.

“How would there be no space to dodge?”

“Just kill the zombies, and there will be.”

Her unexpectedly forceful answer stunned the soldiers.

During the campus tour earlier, Su Huaijin had mostly handled explanations of facilities, so they had assumed she was more of a strategist or intellectual type. Yet now, preparing for combat, the aura she gave off was no weaker than Song Rushuang or Qin Yufei.

After speaking, Su Huaijin stepped forward on her own. “Principal, I’ll take the first round.”

Fu Qing nodded casually, indicating she had no objection.

The soldiers stiffened. They looked at one another, but no one volunteered.

Su Huaijin had no choice but to pick someone herself, using the simplest method imaginable, randomly pointing at one like drawing lots.

The chosen soldier happened to be tall and powerfully built. He stepped forward with forced composure while the others, spared selection, quietly exhaled in relief.

Meanwhile, the students watched with mischievous grins, offering cheerful encouragement.

“Don’t feel too pressured.”

Xue Ran even whistled. “Losing isn’t embarrassing. After all, it’s your first time fighting zombies. You don’t have experience.”

That was enough to ignite competitive pride.

Fu Qing glanced at the troublemakers, suddenly feeling that when these students had first entered the elite class, they had not been nearly this irritating.

Back then, they were nervous around her, stammering when spoken to, restrained in everything they did.

Now she was standing right there, yet even the usually steady Liang Yi was hiding among the crowd, laughing along with the others.

Had they simply grown comfortable enough to reveal their true personalities?

Fu Qing fell into thought.

After waiting a while without receiving further instruction, Qin Yufei jogged over and used his branch to draw another square of identical size beside the first.

“Both matches will be carried out simultaneously so neither side can copy the other’s tactics. That makes it fairer,” he said.

At first glance, nothing about this looked like a fair contest. Yet after Fu Qing and the students solemnly added and adjusted rule after rule, the atmosphere somehow began to resemble a competition between evenly matched opponents.

The two contestants stepped into their respective arenas and took their positions.

The only permitted weapon was a military knife. Both were already accustomed to similar weapons, so no adjustment was necessary.

The surrounding students immediately began cheering enthusiastically. Translated on Hololo novels. Su Huaijin clenched her fist and raised it, giving a confident upward pump.

After a moment’s thought, the squad members stopped overthinking and began cheering for their own teammate as well.

The chosen soldier, Chu Hai, felt his ears grow warm under the encouragement. Just as he tried to sneak another glance toward Su Huaijin, Fu Qing spoke calmly:

“As a completion reward, regardless of victory or defeat, I’ll give a detailed explanation of each zombie type and how to deal with them. By the way, that large one is what we call a brute-type zombie. The fast-moving one is generally referred to as a runner-type.”

“I’ve lowered their parameters here for safety, since the battlefield is restricted. In real combat, depending on circumstances, they’re far more troublesome.”

“I’ve already reported these common zombie types to higher command, but seeing is better than hearing. Now you have a chance to face them directly.” Fu Qing smiled lightly. “Ready?”

Her words instantly lifted everyone’s spirits, igniting a stronger fighting intent.

“Three, two, one. Begin.”

The moment her voice fell, the ten zombies stationed at the edge of the fields activated simultaneously and charged toward Su Huaijin and Chu Hai.

Shifting figures blocked the view. In an instant, Su Huaijin disappeared beneath the swarm. Chu Hai, who had been watching her closely, hurriedly forced himself to look away and refocus.

Yet that brief distraction before the match had already slowed his reaction by half a beat.

The runner-type zombie reached him in a flash. Its explosive speed startled him. Realizing the danger, he dodged while slashing forward, but in the next instant the zombie vanished from sight.

Observers saw clearly what happened.

The runner twisted its waist midair, forcibly changing direction. One hand touched the ground, and using only arm strength it rebounded upward at an impossible angle, ghostlike, reappearing diagonally behind Chu Hai. Its jaws opened wide, fangs aimed directly at the back of his neck.

With a single exchange, everyone’s expressions turned grave.

The creature’s coordination and bodily control were nothing like a human’s. No, it was no longer human at all.

Its humanlike appearance was deeply deceptive. If Chu Hai continued treating it like a human opponent, he would suffer badly.

The zombie had neither breath nor body warmth. At close range it moved silently. Fortunately, Chu Hai was no ordinary soldier. At the final moment he lunged forward sharply while sweeping a leg backward like a whip along the ground. The runner stumbled and was knocked off balance.

Chu Hai turned to finish it, but the other three zombies, slightly slower, had already closed in. One glance was enough to make his eye twitch.

During warm-up he had not noticed, but now he realized these three were not merely physically equivalent to ordinary people.

Their positions naturally formed an encirclement, gradually compressing his movement space.

Behind them, the slowest of all, the brute-type zombie advanced steadily, radiating an overwhelming sense of pressure.

If he turned to kill the runner now, he would lose precious time breaking the encirclement.

In a split-second decision, Chu Hai abandoned the kill and charged instead at the nearest ordinary zombie.

Against a special forces soldier, an ordinary zombie posed little threat. It barely managed to open its mouth before being swiftly eliminated.

The body crashed to the ground. Before Chu Hai could breathe out, cheers suddenly erupted from somewhere nearby.

His teammates turned, mouths half open, staring toward Su Huaijin’s side of the field.

Still focused on combat, Chu Hai did not know what had happened, but a sudden sense of foreboding rose in his chest.

…

On Su Huaijin’s side, the runner-type zombie also arrived first.

But she appeared prepared. Her eyes locked onto its movements. Only when it lunged with jaws wide did she move, calmly sliding sideways at the final instant. Holding the knife in a reverse grip, she struck as their bodies crossed, the blade slipping precisely into the gap of the neck joint and angling upward.

The brain was pierced instantly.

Even a slight deviation would have caused the blade to jam against the occipital bone, yet her angle, placement, and force were perfectly precise.

The special operations team stared in astonishment.

“Why could that zombie dodge Chu Hai midair, but not her?” asked Zhou Lingxi, one of the female soldiers.

Standing beside her, Song Rushuang smiled. “Didn’t you notice? Xiao Su dodged exactly when the zombie opened its mouth wide. Zombies don’t rely much on smell or hearing during close combat. Vision is still their primary sense. When it opened its mouth, its field of vision was briefly obstructed. That gave her the opening.”

“In the end, that brother Chu Hai just suffered from not understanding zombies. Against a brain-type player like Xiao Su, the difference becomes obvious.” Song Rushuang continued, “The principal announced the zombie types before the match. Xiao Su definitely prepared in advance. During our normal training, zombie types are decided on the spot. Until they move, you can’t tell what you’re facing.”

It was like a chess match, and Su Huaijin was their best strategist.

Once she knew the opponent’s strategy beforehand, she could practically play the rest with her eyes closed.

Zhou Lingxi was deeply surprised. They had clearly underestimated these students.

Song Rushuang, however, was not finished. After a brief show of modesty, she launched enthusiastically into praise.

“We usually train with daggers,” she said, gesturing. “A standard dagger is shorter than a military knife, so stabbing through the brainstem from the back is harder. I bet Xiao Su noticed the knife length and adjusted her tactic on the spot.”

Zhou Lingxi: “…”

A last-minute decision, yet executed with such precision?

Apparently these students were not only skilled fighters but also highly knowledgeable in human anatomy.

As they spoke, both battles ended almost simultaneously.

Five zombies total, two enhanced variants and three ordinary ones, were not meant to prolong the fight.

The match primarily tested adaptability. Often a single decision determined victory against one zombie.

Though Chu Hai lost time early on, he adapted quickly as the fight progressed. Especially against ordinary zombies, he eliminated them faster than Su Huaijin.

However, when grappling with the brute-type zombie at the end, he instinctively attempted to lock its neck with his arm, nearly getting bitten and almost eliminated on the spot.

His extensive experience fighting humans had ironically become a disadvantage.

The observing soldiers silently etched that lesson into memory, determined not to let muscle memory betray them in real combat.

Meanwhile, Su Huaijin maintained a consistent rhythm throughout, as if every step had already been rehearsed in her mind and all she needed to do now was execute it exactly as planned.

She finished off the final zombie just a step ahead of Chu Hai.

When she returned to the edge of the field, her breathing was not even disturbed.

Only then did Chu Hai truly believe that this was merely the students’ daily training. He accepted his defeat wholeheartedly. “You’re incredible.”

Thinking back to his attitude before the match, shame crept in.

He never should have underestimated his opponent.

Even if that opponent was only a seventeen-year-old minor, she still deserved equal respect.

Remembering how he had worried earlier that winning might feel embarrassing, Chu Hai now wished he could bury his head. Who would have thought that even after giving everything he had, he would still lose?

And the loss did not feel humiliating at all. Instead, what burned his face with embarrassment was his earlier lack of respect, even if it had never come from ill intent.

Chu Hai took the initiative to walk over and shake Su Huaijin’s hand. Only then did he realize that the girl who had looked annoyed before the match was already smiling brightly.

She had never truly been angry.

Realizing this, Chu Hai relaxed completely. They exchanged smiles before he returned to his team.

Su Huaijin also went back to her side, high-fiving Song Rushuang excitedly. “One to zero. Yes!”

Even if it was their own specialty they had competed in… they had still beaten special forces soldiers!

“Too bad Qingqing isn’t here,” Song Rushuang said regretfully. “She definitely wouldn’t have missed something this fun.”

Having witnessed the students’ abilities firsthand, Bai Xianglei was now fully invested. He asked proactively, “That’s the end of round one. What about round two?”

Only ten of the twenty simulated zombies had been used so far. The remaining ten would obviously appear next.

Bai Xianglei tried to guess their purpose but found he could not predict Fu Qing’s thinking at all.

Fu Qing said, “The second round is based on our regular PE training. A pursuit battle against ten zombies. The arena includes the entire track field and the gymnasium behind us.”

She then produced two safety harnesses. “You’ll need to wear these. There are suspended safety ropes along the outer walls of the gym. Once the lock is secured, you can use them to ensure safety while climbing.”

The building walls even came equipped with climbing safety lines.

The squad members had already been numbed by Fangzhou’s endless surprises.

Their attention drifted elsewhere. “Your PE classes usually train like this?”

Could this even still be called physical education?

Fu Qing had been right from the start, seeing was believing. If they had known Fangzhou’s curriculum was this intense, they never would have underestimated the students.

Before arriving, Commander Tian had told them only that every student here possessed rich survival experience and zombie knowledge and required priority protection.

No one had mentioned that their combat experience against zombies was equally extensive.

And when they first arrived, they had run into Zhao Yunxiao, who was preparing to leave for the capital. After exchanging greetings, they saw a gentle, scholarly teacher who looked like he could barely lift anything heavy. Naturally, they assumed his students were similar.

Who would have guessed Zhao Yunxiao was actually the weakest one here?

The squad members silently cursed their misjudgment.

Their primary mission was to protect Fangzhou’s students, yet the more Bai Xianglei thought about it, the stranger it felt.

With skills like these, did they really need protection?

And then there was the individual repeatedly emphasized by higher command as the highest-priority protection target…

They discreetly glanced at Fu Qing, who had behaved modestly and cooperatively the entire time, patient and composed like nothing more than a conscientious school principal. They tried to detect what made her special.

As if sensing their gaze, she turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing…” they replied awkwardly, hurriedly looking away.

The second round soon began. The representatives were Song Rushuang and Zhou Lingxi.

Because the arena was larger this time, Fu Qing showed Zhou Lingxi a floor plan of the gym beforehand to prevent her from getting lost indoors.

The track field itself was simple enough to see at a glance, so no map was needed.

Memorizing layouts and rapidly familiarizing oneself with terrain was already part of their training, and since the gym design was straightforward, Zhou Lingxi quickly nodded to indicate she understood.

Once both contestants fastened their harnesses, Fu Qing gave the signal. All twenty simulated zombies activated simultaneously, clattering off toward different corners of the field.

“The first to complete all eliminations wins.”

“There are no special zombies this round. All move at normal human speed. This tests pursuit and positioning more than close combat.”

The rules were simple. After giving them ten seconds to prepare, Fu Qing started the match.

Having learned from Chu Hai’s mistake, Zhou Lingxi did not rush forward immediately. Instead, she stood still, observing where her assigned ten zombies scattered, planning an efficient elimination route.

Under Fu Qing’s command, the zombies’ clothing had been simulated in two colors, red and blue, making them easy to distinguish.

But before Zhou Lingxi had even located all of hers, Song Rushuang suddenly sprinted ahead.

She appeared completely strategy-less, running straight across the field until she reached a spot visible to every zombie.

Then she stopped.

The next second, Song Rushuang inhaled deeply and shouted at the top of her lungs:

“HEY—!!!”

Everyone on the field jumped in shock. Song Jianguo, far away, whipped his head around in alarm, eyes wide.

If humans reacted like that, the sharp-hearing zombies reacted even more strongly.

All of them, red and blue alike, threw their heads back with roars and charged toward Song Rushuang in a chaotic wave.

The lure worked perfectly.

Once they were close enough and clearly fully aggroed, Song Rushuang spun around without hesitation and sprinted toward the gymnasium.

Behind her followed a wildly howling procession of zombies.

Zhou Lingxi watched helplessly as her own zombies also abandoned their routes and chased Song Rushuang without a backward glance.

“?????”

That works too???

She froze for several seconds, utterly at a loss.

Snapping back to reality, she hurried after them and, after gathering her breath, began shouting as well:

“Don’t go! I’m over here!!!”

From afar, Song Jianguo shaded his eyes and stared in confusion. “What is my daughter doing?”

Zhang Feng beside him sighed. “…How would I know?”

As Song Rushuang disappeared into the distance with a roaring zombie parade while Zhou Lingxi chased behind trying desperately to reclaim their attention, Bai Xianglei turned toward Fu Qing with genuine curiosity.

“I’ve actually wanted to ask this for a while,” he said. “What exactly are your selection standards for team members?”

It felt like talents appeared here one after another.

Fu Qing fell briefly silent.

Others aside, one of the reasons Song Rushuang had been selected really was her unusually unconventional way of thinking.

After all, not everyone could come up with the idea of lowering a limping roommate down as bait…

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Wang Yuqin’s shocking actions caught everyone completely off guard.

No one had expected the woman who doted so much on her son to suddenly lose control like that. After the gathering dispersed, a few people stayed behind to help move Zhao Yongxiang’s body, while the others walked home in small groups, sighing and whispering among themselves.

Grandpa Shen, unusually talkative, made several remarks along the way. None of them were kind. Between the lines, he insisted Wang Yuqin had simply gone mad from the shock of her husband’s death.

He had seen hysterical women like that before. Since it was someone else’s family matter, he felt entirely detached and unconcerned.

That detached attitude was completely shattered early the next morning when the village chief arrived at his house with several people.

“You’re saying someone from our family has to go work in the fields?” Grandpa Shen’s voice rose in disbelief. “Me?”

Village chief: “…”

Apparently Shen Qingqing had not discussed this with the old man at all after going home the night before.

Whether she had been too lazy to explain or simply trusted him too much was unclear.

“Why not send Shen Qingqing? She looks full of energy these days,” Grandpa Shen said suspiciously, convinced his granddaughter must be behind this somehow.

In the village chief’s mind, Shen Qingqing’s importance now surpassed that of most able-bodied villagers. Without hesitation, he sided with her.

“Everyone agreed yesterday. Every laborer in the village matters now. Anyone without work has to step up. Shen Qingqing has her own vegetable plot to take care of, she’s busy. You’re the only one free in your family. If you don’t go, who will?”

Grandpa Shen: “…”

The village chief coaxed him gently. “Uncle Shen, everyone’s already waiting outside. Let’s go.”

“I…” Grandpa Shen sputtered angrily, about to protest, when several young men stepped straight into the Shen family courtyard.

They were among those who had previously avoided work. After thinking things over late into the night, they had realized this arrangement was almost certainly Shen Qingqing’s suggestion.

After all, she had been the one arguing with Zhao Hailin earlier, and now she was also one of the beneficiaries receiving vegetables.

Having figured that out, none of them had slept well. Now, upon arriving, they scanned the courtyard with displeased expressions.

Shen Qingqing’s door was still locked, and she appeared to be sleeping, so their irritation fell squarely on Grandpa Shen instead.

In their eyes, the Shen family acted as one unit. Sending the old man as their labor representative clearly meant trying to avoid work.

They had already decided that today, under no circumstances, would they allow Grandpa Shen to slack off.

Though no one spoke, the oppressive stares alone made him falter.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he muttered, grabbing a straw hat resentfully.

After a moment’s thought, he picked up a pack of cigarettes as well.

Before he could tuck it into his pocket, the village chief stopped him.

Recalling Shen Qingqing’s final words from the night before, the chief spoke gently but firmly, “Better leave the cigarettes. There are children working with you today. Consider this a good chance to quit anyway. Who knows when you’ll be able to buy more.”

Grandpa Shen: “…”

He looked outside in shock and saw a line of children waiting, even five- or six-year-olds sent by their families to pull weeds.

The sooner the fields were prepared and crops planted, the sooner they could harvest. Until then, they would have to borrow vegetables from others.

And borrowed food had to be repaid. Crops they grew themselves would at least leave them seventy percent.

Everyone understood that calculation clearly. Though reluctant, no one dared avoid labor.

Grandpa Shen had planned to rely on his age to claim the easiest tasks and finish early, but seeing the row of small children, his face twisted in discomfort.

Even he could not bring himself to compete with six-year-olds for lighter work.

And so he followed the group to the fields.

Zang Lijun and Grandma Shen watched him leave in stunned silence, unable to process what had just happened.

At that moment, Shen Qingqing’s door creaked open.

She stepped out fully dressed, looking nothing like someone who had been sleeping in.

Seeing the two women preparing vegetables, she sat down and began helping swiftly, saying casually, “From now on, we’ll handle breakfast. Dad cooks lunch. Grandpa makes dinner. Division of labor. No objections, right?”

Grandma Shen dropped the beans she was holding. “What did you say?”

Patiently, Shen Qingqing replied, “Everyone in the family has work now. Dad doesn’t count for the moment since he’s still recovering, but once he’s better he’ll help in the fields too. Since everyone has responsibilities, housework should be divided as well.”

“What if you cut your hand doing chores, or cooking takes too long and the fields aren’t properly tended? Are we supposed to live on air?”

“I haven’t even mentioned the rest yet. Cleaning, chopping firewood, all of it should be assigned too.”

Grandma Shen glared. “It’s just cooking. How could that possibly waste time? Haven’t we always lived like this? Why are you stirring up trouble again?”

She had long suspected the village chief’s labor team plan had something to do with her granddaughter.

She had seen Shen Qingqing go straight to speak with him after returning, and within minutes he had called everyone together.

Grandma Shen had always known her granddaughter’s obedience was only an act. Recently she had not even bothered pretending. Still, she had thought Qingqing was merely being rebellious, never imagining she would actually gain influence with the village chief.

A few words from her had secured so many vegetables.

Combined with the vegetable patch Shen Qingqing had cultivated herself, the Shen family had suddenly become one of the most “well-off” households in the village.

As long as nothing unexpected happened, they would not need to worry about food even if the village remained sealed.

That realization had softened Grandma Shen’s attitude toward her somewhat.

Yet in less than half a day, the girl was stirring trouble again.

Shen Qingqing treated her grandmother’s complaints as background noise and smiled lightly. “You may like living that way, but I don’t.”

She rose and began chopping vegetables on the cutting board, the loud thuds making people uneasy.

“More than half the grain at home was bought with my own money,” she said calmly while chopping. “It’s just stored together with yours for now. If you don’t want to live the same way as me, that’s fine. We can separate all household duties and meals.”

“You can keep cooking for Grandpa and Dad. I’ll cook for myself. We’ll divide the grain too. If you run out later, you can ask me for some. I’ll give you as much as you need, but it’ll be exchanged for vegetables.” She spoke gently. “And of course, during special times like this, grain and vegetables harvested daily won’t have the same value. You understand that.”

Shen Qingqing had also stockpiled plenty of compressed biscuits, planning to bring them back to school if necessary, so she had no fear of running out of food.

Zang Lijun lowered her head and continued working silently.

Grandma Shen’s fingers trembled with anger. “We raised you all these years, and now you’re calculating everything so clearly with us. Are you even human?”

“Grandma, you were the one who said I had to earn my own food,” Shen Qingqing replied evenly. “I started pulling weeds in the fields as soon as I could walk. By seven or eight I was cooking on a stool. I’ve never done less housework than anyone else. Why shouldn’t I keep accounts?”

She paused, calm and steady.

“You should think carefully about who exactly you’ve been raising.”

Grandma Shen fell speechless.

Shen Qingqing ignored everything else and began stir-frying the vegetables. At last, Zang Lijun stood up and hurried over to take the spatula from her.

“It’s too hot. I’ll do it. You shouldn’t stay here, let Grandma think things through herself,” she whispered softly.

Shen Qingqing raised an eyebrow in surprise, glanced at her grandmother sitting there sulking, then nodded in agreement.

Grandma Shen was busy calculating how long the remaining grain at home would last, and if she really had to trade with that heartless granddaughter, how many vegetables she would have to give away.

In truth, aside from the family’s daily consumption, the vegetables in their field were more than enough to exchange for grain. Translated on Hololo novels. But then there would be little left to store.

In times like these, not having a reserve of vegetables made her deeply uneasy. What if the chaos outside lasted all the way into winter?

After thinking for a long time, she finally slammed the basket in her hands onto the floor in frustration.

Zang Lijun kept her eyes lowered and continued stirring the wok, pretending not to hear a thing.

After that, surprisingly, Grandma Shen did not go looking for trouble with Shen Qingqing again.

No one knew what she said to Grandpa Shen, but that evening the two argued behind closed doors for a long time. After a bowl shattered inside, Grandpa Shen opened the door with a dark expression and, astonishingly, walked straight to the stove.

Shen Qingqing watched everything quietly. After symbolically tasting two bites of the charred, blackened dish he cooked, she simply chewed on compressed biscuits and returned to her room.

Grandpa Shen nearly fainted from anger.

Closing her door behind her, Shen Qingqing reflected calmly.

She knew perfectly well that her grandfather had intentionally ruined the dish to discourage everyone from letting him cook again. But she refused to yield. No matter how many small tricks he played, they would only waste the family’s already limited grain and seasonings.

Before long, even Grandma would lose patience. The resentment directed at her would inevitably turn into conflict between the two elders themselves.

All she had to do was wait.

Still…

Shen Qingqing glanced at her wristband. The apocalypse countdown displayed on the student device had already switched to a forward timer, now reading:

[1 day 5 hours]

She did not have much longer to remain in this village.

She needed to reunite with the principal as soon as possible.

Throwing herself onto the bed, she buried her face in the pillow and let out a long sigh.

*

Early on the second morning after the outbreak, Tian Xuejun arrived at Fangzhou with a twelve-member squad.

They brought along a military truck loaded with supplies.

Originally, Tian Xuejun had prepared far more, intending to hand everything over for Fu Qing to distribute. But Fu Qing explained that Fangzhou already had its own reserves and declined most of the materials.

Resources outside were extremely scarce. These supplies would be better used by those in greater need.

So Tian Xuejun kept only what the squad required for short-term living and transferred the rest to the city authorities of S City, to be used either for future shelters or distributed immediately to trapped civilians.

The squad leader was Bai Xianglei, a man around thirty-five, sharp-browed and clear-eyed, with a lean, capable build.

Tian Xuejun’s special operations group oversaw all matters related to Fangzhou and Fu Qing. Since she could not remain on campus long-term, she assigned Bai Xianglei to lead the team stationed there.

Whenever Fu Qing or the students left campus in the future, Bai Xianglei would arrange escorts for their protection.

Although Tian Xuejun herself would not live on campus, their temporary command post was nearby. If anything happened, reinforcements could arrive within minutes.

Fu Qing and Tian Xuejun had already met the previous day. Neither was talkative, and their reunion was brief. After introducing Bai Xianglei and exchanging a few words, Tian Xuejun departed to handle other matters.

After seeing her off, Fu Qing turned to face the neatly lined twelve-person squad behind her.

To avoid drawing attention, they had changed into civilian clothes, yet their crisp haircuts and perfectly upright posture instantly revealed their military background.

Fu Qing could not help finding it slightly amusing.

After introductions, she led them to the dormitories prepared in advance. The twelve split up, female soldiers staying in former student housing, while the male soldiers occupied dormitories converted from classroom buildings.

She gave them half an hour to settle in. When she returned, she announced she would take them on a campus tour.

Bai Xianglei naturally agreed, though he cast an extra glance at the group following behind Fu Qing.

Their faces were youthful, unmistakably students. Before arriving, he had heard that the school’s students were only in their second year of university.

Yet their expressions, their posture while walking, even the sun-weathered marks on their skin, were indistinguishable from the soldiers behind him.

Rather than ivory-tower students, they looked like warriors forged through harsh training.

He also noticed something interesting. Unlike soldiers selected through rigorous military screening, Fu Qing’s students clearly differed greatly in physical foundation.

One boy stood nearly six feet three; another girl barely reached five feet. Some wore glasses. Others had pierced ears or dyed hair, faint streaks of color still lingering at the ends.

Standing together, they were mismatched in height and appearance. At best, diverse. At worst, chaotic. No one could guess what criteria Fu Qing had used to assemble such a team.

And yet, seeing them in person made the higher command’s words suddenly real.

These were ordinary college students who had spent an entire year transforming themselves to fight the apocalypse.

Bai Xianglei felt admiration, mixed with curiosity.

If this was merely a tour, why involve them as escorts?

Fu Qing seemed oblivious to his unspoken question. Once everyone assembled, she led them through the campus section by section.

Starting from the east gate, they passed through the quarantine zone, the residential area, the facilities sector, and finally the underground complex.

Fu Qing explained the design philosophy and functions of each area in detail.

Bai Xianglei quickly realized this was not only meant to familiarize future residents with the campus. It also served as a reference model for the government’s future shelter construction.

Officials would certainly consult experts for more technical designs, but time was short. And unlike those experts, Fu Qing had already lived through an apocalypse once.

Many of her design decisions anticipated future developments, including viral evolution and long-term survival challenges. She had prepared against dangers before they even appeared.

For the authorities, that experience was invaluable.

He hurriedly called a halt. At first he wanted to ask whether experts could be brought in to observe, but then remembered that the shelter design team was still in the capital. Left with no better option, he awkwardly pulled out his phone and asked, “Um… would it be all right if I recorded what you’re saying…?”

“And… could you please speak a little slower…” The more he spoke, the more embarrassed he felt.

Fu Qing was simply talking too fast. He genuinely could not keep up.

The remaining eleven squad members caught their captain’s signal at once. Some scrambled for their phones, others dug out notebooks, all beginning to take notes so their captain could later fill in any gaps.

As for Song Rushuang and the others beside them, barely suppressing their laughter as it leaked out in little bursts, well, kids liked to laugh. They could laugh all they wanted.

None of the elite special forces soldiers had expected that their first mission upon arriving in Fangzhou would involve furiously scribbling notes.

They felt vaguely bewildered. Was this what people meant by adapting to local customs?

Had coming to a school somehow infused them with scholarly spirit…?

But hardly anyone here even looked like they were seriously studying.

…

By the time they reached the agricultural zone, all twelve were completely convinced.

If not for the original building names still hanging overhead, who would have guessed this place had once been a school?

Even the shelters the authorities were planning to build could never begin with facilities this complete.

Four-person dorm rooms with private bathrooms. Plenty of recreational space. Daily supplies of fresh vegetables, eggs, and milk. A robotic chef cooking meals. Even the menu was varied. Although the types of vegetables available each day were limited and portions were rationed per person, the weekly menu rarely repeated dishes, and every meal was designed to ensure balanced nutrition.

They had arrived early, just as breakfast service began. Though they had already eaten before coming, Fu Qing still handed each of them a meal voucher and sent them off to get food themselves.

The breakfast selection astonished them: pancakes, fried dough sticks, steamed buns, stuffed flatbreads, porridge, noodles, even tofu pudding in both sweet and savory versions. Drinks included soy milk and fresh milk.

Considering this was an apocalypse shelter, the food was remarkably abundant.

They had brought their own rations and military field meals, fully prepared not to take even the smallest advantage of civilians. If necessary, they had even been ready to donate their own supplies.

Yet now they realized the civilians neither feared being taken advantage of nor, quite possibly, had any interest in their rations at all.

No one had warned them the food here would be this good.

This was nothing like the disaster shelters they had imagined, filled with refugees waiting for aid.

Steam rose from every serving window in the cafeteria. The aroma of freshly cooked food drifted through the air. People lined up in orderly queues, collected their meals, then returned to sit with family and friends.

They chatted while eating. Though not as relaxed as before the outbreak, no one felt their life was in immediate danger, and the overall atmosphere remained light.

This did not feel like a shelter at all. It felt like a peaceful university cafeteria before an early morning class.

Clutching their meal vouchers and breathing in the tempting smells, the soldiers swallowed instinctively. Only after Fu Qing explained the grain production on the plains outside campus did they justify to themselves that “experiencing cafeteria standards is also part of intelligence gathering,” and hurried off to get food.

Bai Xianglei continued recording notes on his phone. Faced with the astonishing variety of dishes, he felt words were insufficient and tried to open his camera to take a picture.

The moment the camera activated, the screen went black.

Song Rushuang said from beside him, “Photography isn’t allowed here. Camera functions are automatically blocked. Only the school-issued wristbands can take pictures.”

She raised her wristband as demonstration.

Bai Xianglei fell silent.

Was this really a university? Even their military district did not possess technology like this. They relied on signal jammers or confiscating devices outright, yet his phone still worked perfectly.

Every app functioned normally except the camera, which alone was disabled. Was something like that even possible?

He recalled the vague mention from higher command about Fu Qing possessing a higher-dimensional entity called a System, and the shock in his heart only deepened.

Left with no choice, Bai Xianglei switched back to handwritten notes and asked, “With so many dishes prepared every morning, aren’t you worried about food waste?”

Before Fu Qing could answer, Su Huaijin eagerly replied, “The cafeteria publishes the next day’s menu on the wristband system the night before. Everyone registers what they want to eat, then uses the wristband to scan and collect meals at the corresponding window.”

“Since everyone receives fixed portions each day, there’s no issue of some people eating too little and leaving leftovers or others not getting enough. Once preferences are registered, the kitchen knows exactly how much to prepare, which minimizes waste.”

He added, “It’s not just meals. Showers, daily supplies, labor assignments, basically everything needed for daily life in Fangzhou can be registered through the wristbands ahead of time. It saves a lot of manpower.”

Although the students had stockpiled plenty of goods and had not yet needed to claim supplies, each person already had an allocated quota in the system. If someone ran out of toothbrushes, toilet paper, or toothpaste, they could simply request more through the wristband.

With the System aggregating data in real time and calculating allocations automatically, human staff only needed to record incoming inventory.

Bai Xianglei was stunned. No wonder Fangzhou had managed to operate for an entire year with only a handful of teachers.

This system was astonishing. The wristbands it issued were directly linked to each person’s biometric information, creating a strong, individualized binding.

Still, he reassured himself, they could develop similar management software for shelters later. Facial recognition could achieve much the same result.

That thought finally steadied him a little.

Su Huaijin added, “Of course, even if there really are leftovers, there’s no need to worry. Fangzhou’s waste-processing system is very complete. All kitchen waste is collected the same day, then sorted and processed into fertilizer, animal feed, and other materials. In the end, we can achieve almost one hundred percent resource reutilization.”

As she finished speaking, the squad members who had already sat down to eat were done with their meals and were returning their spotless trays to the collection area.

As they passed, they glanced at the slop bucket by the entrance and found almost nothing inside, only a few eggshells.

Everyone understood the situation was unusual and did not dare waste food. Even if someone could not finish their portion, someone else was usually still hungry, and sharing among themselves solved the issue. Ironically, the small robot stationed there, though expressionless, somehow gave the impression that it was disappointed at not having any work to do.

The group fell silent.

Su Huaijin paused as well. “…So, at the moment, recycling results aren’t exactly ideal.”

“But it’s fine,” she quickly added, brightening again. “The principal said that even if there isn’t much waste, we don’t need to worry about feed supplies. She’ll figure something out.”

Her tone carried absolute trust in Fu Qing.

Bai Xianglei and the others soon learned exactly how Fu Qing intended to solve the problem.

Because they watched, with their own eyes, as she casually raised a hand and erased an entire shimmering lake.

It vanished cleanly and completely, as if its existence had been deleted from the map itself.

…

[Do you wish to dismantle “Artificial Lake”?]

[Notice: Dismantling a structure refunds 50% of its purchase cost in Teaching Points. Demolished facilities must be repurchased if rebuilt.]

[“Artificial Lake” is a starting bonus structure. Purchase cost: 0 Teaching Points. Original store price: 300 Teaching Points. Refund upon dismantling: 0 Teaching Points. Please confirm carefully.]

[Yes]

The moment Fu Qing selected Yes, the calm surface of the artificial lake suddenly churned.

People walking nearby cried out and hurried away as the soil and grass along the shore expanded inward at astonishing speed. Earth rose upward, greenery intertwined with water, and within moments the vibrant green overtook the blue. In the blink of an eye, the vast lake was replaced by a flourishing lawn.

Not only Bai Xianglei and his team but even Song Rushuang and the others had never seen anything like it. They stared, dumbfounded.

The principal’s magic was not finished yet. Fu Qing then dragged several previously purchased structures out of her inventory.

A fish farming zone.
A black soldier fly breeding facility.
A spirulina cultivation pool.
And…

All twelve soldiers, along with Fangzhou’s elite student team, watched with greenish faces as masses of pale, plump black soldier fly larvae wriggled and poured from empty air like a waterfall, tumbling noisily into rows of breeding containers.

“…Had the principal really been carrying these things around the whole time?”

In the blink of an eye, several brand-new buildings stood beneath the sunlight.

The sheer wonder of the System completely convinced Bai Xianglei.

All he could feel now was relief that the person who possessed such power had chosen to use it not for personal gain, but to shelter as many people as possible.

For a long time to come, Fangzhou would undoubtedly remain one of the world’s foremost shelters.

Watching residents curiously gather near the breeding facilities to peer inside, Bai Xianglei could not help but sigh inwardly.

Those living here, brought in before or just as the outbreak began, likely had no idea how fortunate they were compared to people outside.

Fu Qing introduced each facility’s function in turn, then registered the related farming tasks into the wristband system. Only then did she look back at Bai Xianglei and the others.

“Before we head to the agricultural zone,” she said, “there’s one more place I’d like to show you.”

She tilted her head toward the direction of the athletic field. Bai Xianglei followed her gaze in confusion and noticed Song Rushuang and the students suddenly brighten, barely able to hide their excitement.

The students subtly gathered around Fu Qing at the center of their formation. Whether they had intentionally drawn closer to their principal or whether it was a habit formed through long training even they did not notice was impossible to tell.

Noticing their small, barely concealed expressions, Fu Qing spoke considerately:

“Before the tour continues, I have a question.”

“I wonder whether you would be interested in a friendly match with Fangzhou’s students?”

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Seeds themselves were not worth much. What truly held value was the labor invested afterward.

By contributing only a small amount of seed, one could gain an extra thirty percent of the harvest without doing any additional work. Once such a condition was proposed, no one would reasonably refuse.

That was why Shen Qingqing had included Aunt Li and the others in her proposal from the start.

If any of them later declined, withdrawing would not be troublesome.

The village chief froze for a moment, then gritted his teeth. “No problem. I’ll make the decision and agree to it. We’ll do it this way.”

He had originally assumed Shen Qingqing’s condition would involve asking for special care for the Shen family during the village lockdown. After all, she had taken such enormous risks. It would only be natural for her to seek something in return for herself and her family.

But to his surprise, the condition she ultimately proposed was simply a fair exchange.

Those with land would provide seeds; those without land would provide labor. Everyone could survive together. No one was deliberately disadvantaged, and anyone with basic reason would find no grounds for objection.

She had considered everything so carefully that even from the chief’s perspective, there was nothing to criticize.

The thought moved him slightly.

Without consulting anyone else, he decided on the spot. “You don’t need to worry about this anymore. I’ll go explain it to them.”

When Shen Qingqing had stated her condition, she had spoken quietly beside him, unheard by the others. After thinking it through, the chief realized it truly would not be appropriate for her to present the proposal herself.

No matter how capable or perceptive she was, in the villagers’ eyes she was still a young junior, and a girl at that. If people learned the plan had been led by her, opposition might arise even against a proposal that otherwise would have passed smoothly.

That was simply how things worked in the village. He had been born and raised there, climbing from migrant laborer to village chief over decades, and until now he had never thought much of such attitudes.

But suddenly, the idea that this urgent plan might be obstructed by such narrow-minded prejudice filled him with unexpected irritation.

Not to mention Shen Qingqing’s own grandfather…

He let out a heavy sigh.

At that moment, Shen Qingqing spoke again.

Hearing him agree, the girl pressed her lips together and revealed a sweet smile. For the first time, she resembled the obedient child she once had been.

Yet the chief, seeing that smile, had the uneasy feeling she was about to stir up something else.

“Thank you, Grandpa Village Chief. But there are a few things we should clarify first. It’s not just food. In the coming period, the village may also lose water and electricity.”

“With limited manpower, the military will prioritize protecting major substations. The distribution lines supplying remote villages like ours won’t receive protection. If any node is damaged by zombies or left unmaintained for too long, the entire system could fail.”

The chief was utterly bewildered. He knew nothing about such technical matters and had no idea where Shen Qingqing had learned all this, but he nodded along anyway.

“If water and electricity are cut off, the village will fall into even greater chaos,” she continued. “So you’re right. We must stay united to survive. Labor will become even more valuable under these circumstances. That’s why I suggest that when forming labor teams, we organize them by individuals, not by households.”

“That way, people who usually slack off won’t be able to hide behind hardworking family members. In times like this, we can’t allow anyone to continue living leisurely as before.”

“Besides that, I suggest forming a patrol team to circle the village daily. On one hand, they can watch for approaching zombies. On the other, they can supervise the labor teams.”

She spoke calmly, but the chief immediately thought of someone.

Zhao Hailin.

If labor were assigned per household, that man would absolutely stay home while letting his wife and mother work in his place. Hadn’t he done exactly that when Old Zhao was still alive?

And there were others too, people lazy enough to lie around all day and sneak vegetables from neighbors’ fields when they needed ingredients. Their character spoke for itself. Some form of enforcement was indeed necessary.

Framing it as a patrol team made it legitimate.

The chief knew Zhao Hailin had past conflicts with Shen Qingqing and naturally assumed this suggestion targeted him specifically.

“You’re right,” he said firmly. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle the mobilization. Not a single worker will be wasted.”

Anyone dreaming of lying at home during a crisis could forget it.

He was already composing sharp remarks in his mind to shame Zhao Hailin later when Shen Qingqing added with a cheerful smile,

“Thank you. And to make things fair, our family will also contribute one laborer.”

“—You can include my grandfather.”

The chief blinked. “?”

He thought he had misheard.

Shen Qingqing said lightly, “My father is recovering from injuries and can’t do heavy work for now. My mother and grandmother need to tend our family’s vegetable plot. That leaves only my grandfather.”

“He’s physically healthy with all his limbs intact. If the elderly and women can work, then naturally he can too. Please feel free to assign him tasks.”

The chief stared blankly for several seconds. “…Huh?”

His gaze drifted toward Old Shen, who stood at the edge of the crowd smoking and impatiently complaining about wanting to go home. A single thought surfaced in his mind:

What goes around comes around.

It was not that retribution never came. The time had simply not arrived yet.

“Alright,” he said at last, withdrawing his gaze. “I’ll announce it shortly.”

…

Aunt Li could hardly believe her ears.

Just by providing a little seed, they could receive thirty percent of the harvest for free? Translated on Hololo novels. And the village chief had made it clear that for these newly reclaimed fields, they would not need to do any work at all. They simply had to wait at home until harvest time, when others would gather the vegetables and deliver them straight to their doors.

For people like Zang Lijun and Grandma Shen, who had always tended their own plots, this was one thing. But for Aunt Li and the others, who had stopped farming for a period and only recently resumed working their fields, it felt like pies falling straight from the sky and landing on their heads.

“That’s not something falling from the sky,” someone muttered nearby. “Shen Qingqing threw it to us.”

Aunt Li wholeheartedly agreed.

With the outside world in such chaos, even if the zombies were eventually cleared away, they would not dare travel into the county anytime soon. The tragic fate of Old Zhao and the others had frightened them too deeply.

Under such circumstances, having more food stored at home meant a greater chance of survival.

How could they not feel grateful to Shen Qingqing?

If she had not pulled them along at the crucial moment, how could they possibly have gained such an advantage?

The village chief had announced that before the newly planted crops matured, those with vegetables already growing would temporarily share some produce with households that had none.

Not too much. Each family’s own needs came first. And whatever was shared was not a gift.

Everything taken would later have to be repaid.

After repayment, an additional thirty percent would still be owed before the remaining produce could belong fully to the growers.

Once this was explained, not only Aunt Li and the others but even Zang Lijun and her group could not help smiling.

The vegetables they grew were originally meant partly for sale anyway. Now that they could not travel to the county market, consuming them within the village worked just as well. They were not losing anything at all.

Some even felt this system was better than before. Before the disaster, neighbors often picked vegetables freely from others’ fields. Out of courtesy, people rarely said anything even when they noticed.

Now that a patrol team existed, sneaking into fields to pick vegetables would be impossible.

As for the patrol team, since its official duty was to “protect the village” and “watch for approaching zombies,” everyone in the village had to take turns participating, not just those with farmland.

And once patrols existed, village order naturally fell under their watch as well. With so many eyes observing, anyone trying to slack off, avoid labor, or secretly keep more harvested vegetables than reported would have to think twice about the shame of being exposed.

No matter how they calculated it, they were clearly benefiting.

They received more while worrying less.

Aunt Li felt delighted inside, and even the gloom brought by the apocalypse faded somewhat.

In stark contrast stood the villagers without farmland.

Having to hand over thirty percent of crops they worked hard to grow was something few could accept.

Zhao Hailin was the first to object.

“I don’t agree!” he said, face flushed red. “Seeds don’t cost much. We can just pay for them. Once we’ve paid, how we plant and distribute the harvest should be our own business.”

“And who knows how long the outside chaos will last? Crops have to be grown continuously. If things stay chaotic for a year, are we supposed to farm for others for free all year? That makes no sense.”

A few people voiced agreement.

But others still resented Zhao Hailin, believing everything had started because of him. If he had not spread rumors earlier about relocation housing, they might now be among those receiving free vegetables.

Feeling the angry stares behind him like needles in his back, Zhao Hailin raised his voice even louder, demanding an explanation from the village chief.

Unbeknownst to him, his energetic arguing only made him look worse in others’ eyes.

Old Zhao had just died, and in such a tragic way. Translated on Hololo novels. Aunt Zhao sat off to the side, spirit visibly broken, barely reacting to anything around her. Yet Zhao Hailin was already calculating his own losses and quibbling over benefits.

The label of an unfilial son settled firmly upon him, and in a village like this, that meant public scorn.

Even the most conservative elders, those who traditionally favored men, now looked at him differently.

Shen Qingqing stood at the edge of the crowd the entire time, silent, keeping her presence as small as possible.

She only watched, expressionless.

At last, the village chief spoke.

“Pay money instead? At a time like this, money is nothing but scrap paper. Supplies matter more than anything. You won’t die without money, but without food you won’t even survive the week.”

He did not believe Zhao Hailin failed to understand this. The man was simply using others in the same situation to stir trouble under the guise of collective fairness.

The more he thought about it, the more the chief felt both amused and irritated. “You want to trade for seeds? Fine, I’ll allow it. But you’ll have to trade using your stored grain.”

The moment grain was mentioned, Zhao Hailin’s wife, who had been caring for Aunt Zhao, rushed forward in alarm.

“No!” she cried.

Without vegetables, they could still try gathering wild greens in the mountains. But without grain, life truly could not continue.

Crops took time to grow. Without stored food, how would they survive until harvest?

Zhao Hailin flew into a rage from humiliation. “Shut up! What business is this of yours?”

Without thinking, he shoved at his wife, trying to push her aside. The others could not stand it any longer. Several people, blood boiling, pointed at Zhao Hailin and began shouting at him.

His wife had reached her limit as well. She clawed at his face with her nails and screamed hoarsely, “Zhao, if you dare give away our grain, we’re getting divorced! I can’t live like this anymore anyway!”

They had only been married a short time, yet Zhao Hailin’s bad habits had surfaced one after another. With no children tying her down, she truly no longer wanted to endure it.

Just as the couple seemed ready to come to blows, Shen Qingqing, who had been standing aside with folded arms and watching coldly, noticed from the corner of her eye that Aunt Zhao, who had stood like a statue with her head lowered the entire time, suddenly moved.

Because both of them stood near the edge of the crowd, they had unknowingly ended up side by side.

Aunt Zhao reached out and pointed at the wood-cutting knife Shen Qingqing carried. “Qingqing, may I borrow that knife?”

Slightly surprised, Shen Qingqing nodded.

Taking the knife, Aunt Zhao pushed through the crowd and walked to the center.

She had once been someone who cared deeply about appearances. Shen Qingqing remembered countless times she had proudly boasted about her capable, reliable son, her eyes shining with pride. But now this Aunt Zhao, Wang Yuqin, had disheveled hair and clothes smeared with dirt from when she fainted earlier. She was almost unrecognizable.

Carrying the knife, she slowly walked up to her son and pulled her daughter-in-law to her feet.

The two had been grappling on the ground. Accustomed to farm work, the younger woman’s strength had surged with anger, and she had actually pinned Zhao Hailin down, scratching several bloody streaks across his face.

When she was abruptly pulled away, she still burned with fury, but upon seeing the wood-cutting knife in her mother-in-law’s hand, her face turned pale.

Wang Yuqin simply gestured for her to stand aside. Lowering her gaze, she looked at her son, who lay on the ground clutching his face and shouting curses, her expression filled with disappointment.

This was the son she had once been so proud of.

All the love and careful upbringing she had given him, all the protection since childhood. No matter how little Zhao Hailin achieved, she had always believed he would someday make something of himself.

She had never realized he was rotten to the core long ago.

Still spewing insults and cursing his wife, Zhao Hailin suddenly found a wood-cutting knife pressed before his eyes, its bright blade pointed directly at the tip of his nose.

Wang Yuqin’s face was exhausted, but her grip was steady. Years of farm labor made such tools extensions of her hands.

“Tomorrow you will go work in the fields with the labor team,” she said evenly. “You will be the first to arrive and the last to leave.”

“If I find out you slack off, show up late, or leave early… well, I don’t particularly want to live anymore anyway. You can come with me and keep me and your father company. All right, Hailin?”

Her voice held no emotion, as though her heart had already turned to ash. That calmness frightened Zhao Hailin far more than anger would have.

The mother before him felt like a stranger.

He had a sudden certainty that if he refused, Wang Yuqin might truly strike.

The man who had been making a scene moments ago instantly fell silent.

Staring at the blade, he swallowed hard and stammered, “…I… I understand.”

Wang Yuqin nodded, withdrew the knife, and said flatly, “Good.”

Then she turned, walked step by step back to Shen Qingqing, returned the knife, and once again sank into silence.

Everyone’s gaze followed her. The gathering, which had been filled with heated arguments over the formation of the labor team, suddenly grew quiet as well.

The surroundings fell completely silent. Even the voices of opposition disappeared.

Shen Qingqing exchanged a glance with the village chief.

And just like that, the matter was settled.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Previous

After confirming the hypothesis that “magical constructs can function in the dungeon worlds,” An Fengxuan burst into wild laughter.

Zhou Li grew concerned, wondering if she had been contaminated.

An Fengxuan quickly reassured her. “Don’t worry, Boss. I’m not insane—I’m just thrilled. I want to learn magic!”

Zhou Li asked, “You mean you want to be a priest?”

“If I can meet one and learn divine spells, that’s ideal. If not, other professions will do.”

An Fengxuan had made up her mind: once she returned to the zombie world, she would gather as many sea fluorites as possible. She believed that as the supermarket’s fame spread across worlds, the person she was waiting for would eventually appear.

Then she suddenly remembered—she was still a heavily indebted employee. How could she go off to study without discussing it with her boss first?

“Boss…”

Zhou Li already knew what she wanted to say and replied, “As long as work isn’t busy, you’re allowed to take time for study.”

“Thank you, Boss!”

*

Magic and Steam Plane – Emerald Wasteland

The “earthquake” caused by the small supermarket was still rippling across the land.

After Ariel, Luna too heard from the shaman about the growing rumor that the supermarket might actually be a divine realm.

Before the Age of Waning Magic, the concept of divine realms had already spread across the Four Continents.

People believed that every god possessed a divine realm of their own, residing in temples within that sacred kingdom. Upon death, their believers would be drawn there to serve as divine attendants.

Over time, this belief evolved—by the waning era, it was thought that only the most devout, those who had cultivated themselves close to godhood, could enter such realms.

When divine power diminished and gods weakened, they no longer had the strength to receive every deceased follower. Only the most exceptional believers were chosen, and the gods would send divine envoys to personally open the gate of the divine realm and bring them in.

Throughout history, literature and art often depicted these realms, though none had ever been verified. Those who claimed to have been there were later proven delirious.

If not for the existence of the Primordial Sea of Life, people might have abandoned the notion of divine realms entirely under the march of industrial progress.

Yet even the Primordial Sea’s divine nature had begun to be questioned.

For Mayrelian nations—whose power rested upon magic and faith—such doubt was disastrous. If the divine realm itself were denied, the entire structure of faith and order could collapse.

Thus, both Ariel and the Elders of the Senate were desperate to use this event to restore people’s faith in the gods and in magic.

Those same nobles who once wore greed on their faces now hid behind reverent masks.

No one dared to wager that the supermarket was not a divine realm.

After all—what else could explain its endless supply of elemental gems? If it truly was a god’s domain, wasn’t such abundance only natural?

What else could explain how it appeared and disappeared without warning? The divine realm’s gate opens—it manifests. The gate closes—it vanishes. Simple.

And only a divine realm could produce the overwhelming energy field that destroyed thieves and shadow creatures in an instant. If a god’s domain could be invaded so easily, would it still be worthy of the name?

The only problem was—whose divine realm was it?

The Senate analyzed every known deity, but none seemed to fit.

The Nethermoon Goddess was the first ruled out—shadow creatures couldn’t even approach the supermarket.

The God of Light and the Goddess of War were dismissed next. Their followers had ventured there in waves and felt nothing.

The Goddess of Life was also out—if the supermarket was her realm, then what would the Primordial Sea of Life be?

That left only three possibilities: the Goddess of Wisdom, the Goddess of Oaths, or the Goddess of Nature.

The debate among the elders grew heated:

“To buy anything in that store, you must follow strict rules—perhaps it’s the Goddess of Oaths’ realm.”

“But that could also be seen as a form of order. By your logic, it might belong to the Goddess of Order instead.”

“There are many advanced industrial products inside. Maybe it’s the realm of those false gods of the steam faction.”

“False gods don’t have divine realms!”

“What if it’s a wild god, an unknown one never recorded in the codices?”

“Impossible for it to be the Goddess of Wisdom’s—she would never hide herself like this.”

“And the Goddess of Nature despises industry. Her realm could never hold machinery.”

“The Atmos people are opportunistic fence-sitters. They keep praising these so-called ‘false gods.’ Who knows—maybe if they flatter them long enough, one might actually manifest.”

By the end of their analysis, an uneasy conclusion settled over the council.

Either this supermarket was the divine realm of some steam-faction god—or it belonged to a new, unrecorded wild god.

And either answer made them deeply uncomfortable.

If it was one of their own, they would rather see it destroyed!

But saying that was easier than doing it.

Even the Archmage sent by Kirog declared that he needed to observe longer before making any conclusion.

In the end, the Senate resolved to gather more powerful individuals to investigate the Emerald Wasteland in secret.

If it was confirmed to be the realm of a newborn wild god—they would eradicate it at all costs.

*

The Thorn Consortium, however, took the opposite stance.

Upon hearing that a divine realm might have appeared in the Emerald Wasteland, the Chairwoman was thrilled.

To her, it didn’t matter whether it belonged to an old god, a new god, or a wild god.

Any being capable of wielding power beyond both magic and technology was, without question, a god.

She even began to entertain a bold idea—perhaps the Consortium should begin worshipping this “God of Commerce” to seek divine protection.

Indeed, the Chairwoman had already taken the liberty of bestowing upon Zhou Li her own divine title:

The God of Commerce.

Luna said, “…Isn’t that blasphemous? What if there really is a God of Commerce out there?”

The Chairwoman replied, “Look at her—she doesn’t belong to either the Mayrelian faction or the Atmos faction. She takes no sides, yet does business with both, treating every honest trader equally. Tell me, if that’s not the God of Commerce, then what is?”

Luna: …

Admittedly, that actually sounded reasonable.

A true God of Commerce would sell anything. Elemental gems, high-tech inventions more advanced than Kemeigao’s machines—everything had a price.

“But she looks like an ordinary human,” Luna added after some thought.

The Chairwoman replied, “If a god’s disguise could be seen through so easily, would they still be a god?”

Luna had no response.

And just like that, she found herself thoroughly indoctrinated.

*

When Zhou Li and the supermarket returned to the Emerald Wasteland more than twenty days later, she thought for sure the system had mis-set the coordinates.

“Why is it this lively? Don’t tell me you dropped us in a village, system?”

The system answered, “No mistake. This is the same location.”

Zhou Li was silent for a moment.

“So… this entire village was built while we were gone?”

Indeed. From the storefront outward, the endless wilderness had transformed into rows of wooden-and-stone houses.

They were neatly arranged, with streets divided by architectural style.

Looking up, Zhou Li recognized the banners fluttering above.

The cluster of homes built around a modest chapel belonged to the Mayrelian faction. The rough, refugee-camp-like dwellings were those of the Thorn Consortium, and the row of linked townhouses clearly marked the Atmos faction.

Suddenly, a shout rang through the air: “It’s back!”

Luna was the first to arrive, leading her people. When she saw Zhou Li, she visibly exhaled in relief.

“My God of Commerce, you’ve finally returned.”

Zhou Li thought drily, What is this, a contagion? First Kemeigao with his “my this-god, my that-god,” and now her too?

Out loud, she said, “What, were you worried I’d run off with the money?”

Luna waved her hands quickly. “I wouldn’t dare! I have absolute faith in your noble character.”

Zhou Li: ?

Was that sarcasm or not?

But Luna’s expression was so sincere it was impossible to tell.

Sigh, Zhou Li thought. Thanks to the internet, I can’t even tell when people are being genuine anymore.

“Anyway,” Zhou Li asked, “you’re here to pick up the goods? Are you ready to receive them?”

“We’re fully prepared,” Luna replied. “We’ve hired plenty of laborers for transport, and even built a warehouse.”

Zhou Li eyed the not-so-large structure she pointed at. “That warehouse alone won’t hold everything.”

“Exactly why I’d like to request delivery in batches,” said Luna.

The Chairwoman had already studied the instruction manuals and decided that laying a telephone network couldn’t be done all at once—it would have to be built in phases.

After internal discussion, the Consortium also agreed to cooperate with the Radiant Consortium on the project. To that end, the Radiant Consortium would establish a communications station in the Emerald Wasteland.

Zhou Li shrugged. “Sure.”

She then told the system to “spit out” the basic equipment that had been stored via folded-space technology, stacking it neatly in the open field.

That one gesture left the archmages hiding in the shadows trembling in awe.

“She didn’t use a teleportation circle!? A miracle—this is a divine miracle!” someone cried.

Ariel, who knew the Senate intended to test Zhou Li and the supermarket, wanted to flee on the spot. The last thing she needed was to be caught in divine wrath because of their meddling.

Just then, a deep, thoughtful voice muttered, “Could that be spatial magic?”

The suggestion was met with immediate outrage. “Impossible! There’s no such thing as spatial magic in this world!”

In this realm, magic types were defined by elemental affinity. There were only nine: water, fire, wind, earth, lightning, light, nature, life, and shadow.

No one had ever discovered a spatial elemental gem—nor did any god rule over the “law of space.”

“But isn’t a divine realm itself a kind of ‘space’?” the voice continued.

“You shouldn’t—!” a mage began to scold, but then the speaker pulled back their cloak, revealing a face everyone knew all too well.

“Chief Elder Wendisha!?” Ariel gasped. “You came in person?”

Wendisha simply said, “I came to see for myself.”

At her appearance, the noisy debate suddenly unified into hushed silence.

“If it’s proven to be a divine realm,” someone murmured, “that wouldn’t bode well for us…”

Wendisha said calmly, “You must look at matters dialectically. Even if it is not the domain of our gods, at least it proves that divine realms exist—and that the gods themselves exist.”

*

Author’s Note

Boss Zhou: Me? The God of Commerce?
Oh, right—yes! I am the True Saint of Trade, the Savior of Humanity, the Infinite Protector, the Mysterious Island Master, the God of Commerce—Zhou Xiaoli!

System: …We don’t have enough server space for that many titles.

☢️☢️☢️

Luna was jolted awake in the middle of the night by the guards on duty. When she learned that the supermarket had disappeared, she bolted outside—her hair unpinned, clothes still wrinkled from sleep.

On the way, she ran into Ariel and her people, who had clearly just gotten the same news.

The Radiant Consortium were the first to notice the disappearance. They were now engaged in desperate combat against the shadow creatures that had surged forward the moment the supermarket vanished.

Seeing Luna, Kemeigao shouted for help.

Luna first glanced toward Ariel and saw her standing aside with arms crossed, looking thoroughly entertained.

Truth be told, while firearms could harm shadow creatures, the effect was pitiful. Against humans, one bullet could kill. Against those things? It barely shaved a sliver off their health bar—one shot might not even deal one percent damage.

Steam-powered weapons were effective for fighting people, but when it came to dealing with magical entities, only magic could counter magic.

Kemeigao, sweating, felt lucky that the Thorn Consortium dabbled in both magic and technology—maybe he could get them to lend a hand.

But Luna was a merchant, not a saint.

He had no choice but to promise to sell the Thorn Consortium a batch of firearms at cost price.

Only then did Luna signal one of her never-before-seen guards to act.

That guard had always worn a wide cloak that concealed their figure and a hood that hid most of their masked face, so no one knew whether they were male or female.

Now, as the hood fell back, everyone saw the carved multicolored runes on the mask—and gasped.

A shaman!

Shamans, like druids, were followers of the Goddess of Nature.

But unlike druids—who roamed the world in the open—shamans were secretive, elusive, and few in number. They rarely integrated with ordinary society, and most people never saw one in their lifetime.

Ariel was surprised at first to see a shaman among the Thorn Consortium’s ranks, but then it made sense. The Emerald Wasteland was a perfect place for such reclusive believers to hide, and since the Consortium frequently traveled these lands, it wasn’t strange that they knew a few.

The shaman pulled from the cloak a staff carved with totems and miniature figures, chanting as they swung it in sweeping arcs.

Every shadow creature that came close was physically obliterated.

The Radiant Consortium soldiers frowned, puzzled. “I thought they’d use spells. Why just… hit things with a stick?”

“Shut up,” Kemeigao snapped.

When they hit something with a stick, it was like giving the monster a massage. When a shaman did it, the blow was an exorcism.

These fools couldn’t tell the difference, yet they were proud of their ignorance.

No wonder—the followers of the War God were never known for brains. The War Academy trained nothing but muscle-bound brutes.

When the shaman finally cleared most of the surrounding shadow creatures, Luna went to speak with Kemeigao.

“What happened?” she asked. The empty field before them—where the supermarket should have been—made her uneasy.

Kemeigao briefly explained how the entire building had vanished into thin air.

“You’re sure it disappeared instantly, not teleported away, or—”

Before she could finish, a soldier interrupted her loudly, “It’s true! I was on night watch! I was dozing against the wall when I suddenly fell flat on my face. I turned around—and the whole building was just gone!”

Kemeigao added, “And besides, do you know how huge a teleportation circle would need to be to move a structure that size? No Archmage alive could build one that big.”

Ariel sneered. “You seem quite knowledgeable about teleportation magic.”

Kemeigao lifted his chin. “Know your enemy, know yourself—then you’ll win every battle. If I don’t understand magic, how can I design machines to replace it?”

Luna turned to the shaman. “Can you sense anything?”

The shaman circled the empty space, chanting and stamping rhythmically. After a while, a deep voice murmured, “The wind says… there was no trace of magical energy flow.”

That ruled out teleportation magic.

“Then what—did the shop grow legs and walk away?” someone muttered.

Ariel gave a short laugh and led her people back toward the Senate camp.

Luna’s eyes flickered with calculation. She called out, “Lady Ariel, wait.”

“What is it?” Ariel’s tone was cold.

Luna took a few steps closer but was blocked by the knights.

She looked at Ariel imploringly. The other woman said nothing at first, merely watching her with a calm, unreadable expression.

The standoff lasted so long it began to look almost suggestive to onlookers—until Ariel finally waved the knights aside and allowed Luna to follow her to the Senate’s camp.

Even on the enemy’s turf, Luna didn’t bother to restrain herself. “Lady Ariel,” she began bluntly, “you seemed… unsurprised when the shop disappeared. Do you know why?”

Ariel had indeed watched the chaos unfold with detached calm. At first, Luna thought it was petty revenge—Ariel enjoying her and Kemeigao’s suffering. But then she realized Ariel hadn’t been surprised at all.

That meant she knew something.

And considering the Black Crow Legion were the first to discover this mysterious shop, it was entirely possible Ariel had learned something from them before coming here.

Ariel replied, “Didn’t the shopkeeper tell you she’d be leaving for about twenty days?”

“She did,” Luna said, “but she didn’t say she’d take the entire shop with her!”

Ariel fell silent.

She recalled the sentries at Vitus Outpost mentioning strange occurrences before—how they had once returned here hoping to buy more gems, only to find an empty field. The soldiers had guessed that the owner, afraid of attention, had dismantled the shop overnight and fled.

Ariel hadn’t known if she’d find anything this time—until she spotted the blood hawk circling from her airship. That was why she’d insisted on coming.

Tonight was her first time personally witnessing the “shop vanishing” phenomenon.

As shock faded, her mind raced. How could the shopkeeper possibly do it?

Even as Kemeigao said—no Archmage could build a teleportation circle large enough to move an entire building along with living people.

Unless…

A dreadful thought flashed through Ariel’s mind. The mere possibility made her shudder from head to toe.

“What’s wrong?” Luna asked, noticing her trembling.

Ariel’s turquoise eyes flickered—then glowed faintly with specks of gold.

“Leave,” she said curtly.

Luna, baffled, didn’t press. She already found the Senate’s nobles insufferably arrogant, so Ariel’s behavior didn’t exactly make her opinion worse—it had already been low enough.

She turned back to her camp to discuss with her own people.

Once Luna was gone, Ariel immediately contacted the Senate’s High Elder.

“Honored Elder Wendisha,” she reported breathlessly, “the Emerald Wasteland may be witnessing the descent of a divine realm…”

*

After Zhou Li sent An Fengxuan back to the Infinite World, The Game apparently didn’t appreciate her casually snatching away one of its players. The moment An Fengxuan stepped out of the supermarket, the system retaliated—throwing her straight into a dungeon instance.

Zhou Li: …

Was the damn Game angry now?

She didn’t rush to locate An Fengxuan right away, instead resuming business as usual when the clock hit operating hours.

The next morning, as she opened the doors, she saw An Yixiao standing at the boundary between dawn and shadow, staring into the distance pensively.

Hearing the door open, she turned around.

“You going for the brooding aesthetic now?” Zhou Li asked.

She chuckled softly, pulled out a green tea–flavored cookie stick, and said, “Fengxuan asked me to request leave for her.”

Zhou Li raised an eyebrow. “You know she got pulled into an instance?”

She nodded. “She carries an item that alerts me whenever she enters one.”

When An Fengxuan had entered, An Yixiao had used an artifact—The Eerie Right Eye—to view the dungeon.

It was an A-rank dungeon. Her promotion trial.

If she cleared it, she’d advance to A-rank. If she failed—she’d become part of the dungeon itself.

The trial would take some time, so she’d sent An Yixiao to inform Zhou Li personally.

Zhou Li wasn’t too worried. During their time in the world of Magic and Steam, Lamanda, Luna, and Ariel had all exchanged magical artifacts for store credits.

While seeking a cure for The Game’s mental corruption, An Fengxuan had bought several such items from Zhou Li, including a Purification Necklace that Ariel had brought.

Blessed by a priest, it could cleanse negative effects—exactly the kind of spiritual tool she needed.

She wanted to test whether magical artifacts could work against The Game’s pollution.

Zhou Li suspected they would. After all, Game-generated items worked across worlds—so why wouldn’t magical ones?

As for why that was possible…

Zhou Li believed that all these planes must share some underlying property—whether physical, metaphysical, or divine.

For example, in the interstellar plane, the planets Blue Star and Mia were similar yet composed of different materials. Their biology evolved differently, yet both were habitable for humans.

To truly understand why “Game items” and “magical artifacts” both functioned across dimensions, one would have to uncover the secrets of the System itself.

But that was far beyond human comprehension—and Zhou Li had no desire to become a scientist obsessed with the unknowable.

She wasn’t that curious. And she had no intention of getting stuck pondering questions modern science couldn’t touch.

*

After spending four days with her supermarket in the Infinite World’s public hall, Zhou Li returned briefly to Earth’s base plane, then entered the dungeon where An Fengxuan was.

She arrived right at the climax of the trial.

As soon as the supermarket materialized, the surviving players—who had already heard of its legend—rushed inside for safety.

“We’re not retreating,” they said breathlessly. “We’re just… catching our breath.”

An Fengxuan, though uninjured, looked utterly battered.

It had been a long time since her last dungeon run—she was rusty. Worse, The Game seemed to be deliberately targeting her. While other B-rank players faced A-rank-level challenges, her trial felt like pre–S-rank hell.

She’d cursed aloud, “The Game, are you seriously that petty!?”

One of the enemy anomalies had hissed back, “Throw away that illegal item that doesn’t belong to the Game, then we’ll talk!”

An Fengxuan snapped, “I earned my inventory fair and square—why should I throw it away?”

That line alone made her a target.

Soon after, certain players received new side missions: they could betray their teammates. Kill another player in the same instance, and they’d be guaranteed promotion.

Since this wasn’t a PvP dungeon, nobody had been wary of each other—and the result was a massacre.

An Fengxuan survived only because she never fully trusted anyone.

Just when everyone thought they were doomed, the supermarket appeared.

“Boss Zhou, I’ve never loved you this much in my life!” shouted one player.

Zhou Li: ?

Players tended their wounds, restocked supplies, and huddled together to strategize.

Zhou Li ignored the commotion and turned to An Fengxuan. “You going to keep pushing?”

An Fengxuan thought for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “I’ve come ninety-nine steps. No point giving up on the last one.”

Zhou Li respected her resolve and said no more.

Finally, on the seventh day of her dungeon run—

The system announced the result:

An Fengxuan had cleared the instance.

☢️☢️☢️

Ariel successfully bought all the elemental gems—but it cost her every last bit of funding she had brought.

Her group still carried many magical artifacts, but those were for survival. If she used them all to exchange for supermarket credits, she might not even make it out of the Emerald Wasteland alive.

Worried that someone might try to steal the gems, she didn’t dare return to the Vitus outpost to use its teleportation circle. Instead, she immediately found a quiet corner and began setting up a ritual circle to contact the Elders’ Council.

She reported everything that had happened, including the existence of over twenty thousand elemental gems.

The news shocked the Elders. They unanimously ordered her to transfer all the gems to the Senate at once.

Helpless, Ariel used runestones and several rare magic scrolls to build a temporary teleportation point connected to the Senate’s main teleport hub.

It was only temporary because she lacked the materials for a fixed array. A circle made solely from scrolls and runestones was unstable—by the time the twenty thousand gems arrived, there might only be two thousand left.

Each gem lost was like a knife to Ariel’s accountant’s heart.

And since the temporary circle’s “bandwidth” was limited—meaning it could only handle a small number of items at once—Ariel decided to keep some behind for safekeeping.

Zhou Li and An Fengxuan, curious about how this teleportation array differed from Natisha’s summoning circle, watched closely.

Sure enough, they were very different.

When Natisha transported supplies using shadow creatures, the items sank into the earth—or rather, into the creatures’ shadow realm.

The teleportation array, however, made the object vanish entirely.

Recalling Lamanda’s earlier explanation, Zhou Li guessed that the items weren’t really disappearing, but breaking down into particles too small for the eye to perceive—so quickly it looked like vanishing into thin air.

They also noticed that each time Ariel teleported a cluster of gems, the light on the surrounding runestones dimmed slightly.

When the glow reached a certain faintness, Ariel would promptly replace the runestone.

Luna explained, “That’s because a temporary array’s use depends on the energy stored in its runestones. Teleportation consumes magical energy—if there’s too little, the transfer becomes unstable.”

Zhou Li nodded. “I get it. Like running out of data mid-transfer. The runestones are data packs—if you run out halfway through sending a file, the upload fails.”

Luna: ?

Leaving Ariel to her work, Zhou Li pulled out a stack of books and handed them to Luna. “Here are the instruction manuals for the telephone communication system.”

Luna stared up at the pile—taller than she was. “…This many?”

“Yup. This one’s for the telephone unit. This one’s for the switchboard. This set covers repeater stations and supporting infrastructure, and then these…”

Luna’s head spun just looking at them.

An Fengxuan whispered, “Can they even read what’s written on those?”

Zhou Li said, “Isn’t there a Goddess of Wisdom? Worst case, they can ask the Church of Knowledge for help.”

An Fengxuan: …Does the Goddess of Wisdom know you’re putting this much faith in Her?

Zhou Li laughed, thinking that if needed, she could just pay a bit of energy for the system to translate.

Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. Luna squinted at the pages and said, “This is written in Atmosian. A few typos here and there, and the grammar’s a bit strange—but it’s readable.”

Zhou Li froze.

So it was confirmed—Atmos was basically Great Britain!

“Anyway,” Zhou Li said, “make sure you read carefully. When setting up the network, pay close attention to safety. One wrong move and you’ll be electrocuted.”

Luna grew serious. “We’ll study it thoroughly.”

As for warranties—there were none.

But Zhou Li knew that with how cunning capitalists were, these devices would spread across the entire Atmos Kingdom within a year.

Sure enough, Engineer Kemeigao was already eyeing them greedily.

“So,” Zhou Li asked, “do you want to pick up the equipment now or later?”

“Later,” Luna said. “I need to return and discuss it with the Chairwoman.”

Installing a phone network wasn’t something that could be done overnight. How to route it, who to assign, what preparations to make, how to handle the Radiant Consortium’s cooperation offer—all would require careful planning.

Luna took the manuals and left for camp.

Kemeigao, however, lingered in the supermarket.

After scraping together enough gold coins, he exchanged them for tens of thousands of membership points and asked if the vending machines or refrigerators were for sale.

Zhou Li said, “The vending machines aren’t for sale, and the store units stay here. But if you want new refrigerators, I can arrange that.”

She paused, remembering the power incompatibility issue, and added a warning.

Kemeigao waved it off. “It’s fine. I’ll develop an adapter for the power source.”

He clearly planned to dismantle them for research, not immediate use.

In the end, he ordered one of every refrigerator model available.

*

Night fell.

In the Senate’s camp, Ariel tidied her bedding and prepared to rest—when the mirror inside her tent suddenly glowed.

Realizing it was a communication signal, she immediately sat up.

The moment the connection stabilized, the face of the Third Elder appeared.

“Ariel,” he said.

“Good evening, Elder Kirog. What are your orders?”

Kirog paused for a long time, then spoke gravely. “I need you to do something.”

“I’ve already warded the tent—no one can overhear,” Ariel assured him.

“Good,” said Kirog. “You must bring that shopkeeper under control.”

Ariel froze.

He continued, “We believe she controls at least one elemental mine. Only by controlling her can we secure a steady source of gems.”

Ariel understood that all too well—but she wasn’t blinded by greed.

“Elder, allow me to remind you of prior intelligence. The Arka Company once sent dozens of thieves under Ebus’s command to attack her. They failed. Over ten died—instantly, the moment they struck. That suggests her power rivals that of an Archmage.”

She thought bitterly that these pampered nobles had grown too complacent. Whenever they wanted something, they bought it; whenever they caused trouble, mages, paladins, and priests fixed it for them. They’d forgotten how terrifying true high-level magic could be.

Though she often clashed with Kemeigao, she still retained judgment—she knew if the Senate’s Elders came in person, they’d likely use threats to prevent Kemeigao from getting what he wanted.

But as for Zhou Li—provoking her would be stupidity beyond measure.

Kirog said, “I’ve already persuaded Archmage Jackalin to visit personally.”

Ariel’s breath caught. Even the Archmage was being sent? Clearly, these gems had touched the nobles’ deepest interests.

*

Meanwhile, in the Thorn Consortium camp, Luna was reporting to the Chairwoman.

The Consortium, originally the Adventurer’s Guild, had retained its old title—its leader was still called “Chairwoman.” Her official position now was Chief President of the Thorn Management Council.

Luna relayed everything that happened that day—the deals, the tensions, the other factions.

The Chairwoman frowned. “So the Senate bought all the gems?”

“Yes,” Luna admitted.

“Why didn’t you purchase any? We may avoid direct conflict with the Senate, but that doesn’t mean we should fear them.”

The Thorn Consortium accepted both industrial and magical technology. They had not abandoned the old gods, nor rejected new machines—they drew strength from both sides.

“For example,” Luna explained, “to protect the repeater stations for our phone lines, we’ll need to fortify them magically. For that, we’ll require elemental gems and magical constructs.”

“Then why didn’t you buy them?”

Luna said, “Because in today’s tense atmosphere, avoiding offense is the wiser path. If we had fought the Senate for those gems, Ariel would have done everything to sabotage us. And besides…” she smiled slightly, “I believe the store still has more. Our telephone network hasn’t even begun construction—we can always buy more next time.”

The Chairwoman asked, “And your reasoning?”

“The shopkeeper’s attitude. She was far too relaxed. She didn’t even bother categorizing the gems—just dumped them on the shelves as-is. That means she has plenty more. When someone has an endless supply, they don’t treat it like treasure.”

The Chairwoman nodded slowly. “A good analysis. But remember—if you can see that, so can the Senate and the Radiant Consortium.”

“You think they’ll try to take the shop by force?”

“Greed drives all hearts, Luna. Never underestimate it.”

“But I have faith in the shopkeeper. Lamanda spoke highly of her—I believe she has her own protections.”

After a thoughtful pause, the Chairwoman said, “If necessary, make peace. If she can withstand them, befriending her would benefit us greatly.”

“That’s a wise call, Chairwoman.”

*

At the supermarket, third floor.

Before bed, Zhou Li glanced at the surveillance feed and sighed. “These Radiant Consortium folks really know how to exploit loopholes.”

The Thorn Consortium and the Senate had set up camps some distance away—but Kemeigao and his crew? They’d set up right outside her door.

They’d noticed that the area around the supermarket was free from shadow creatures.

The Atmos people despised magic and refused to use magical devices to repel them, but bullets were costly—and shadow creatures ate ammo fast.

To save ammunition, they just clustered in front of the store to rest.

The only problem: their vehicles couldn’t enter that safe zone.

By morning, one of Kemeigao’s officers reported a missing trike.

At first, they suspected Zhou Li.

But Kemeigao said, “Someone who can build such advanced technology wouldn’t need to steal. Don’t forget—we’re in the Emerald Wasteland. Thieves and shadow mages roam everywhere.”

To spirit away a whole trike silently—it had to be a shadow mage’s work.

The officer cursed and ranted about how shadow mages were sneaky cowards who’d never dare face them in a real fight.

*

By the next day, Zhou Li was preparing to depart for another world. She told Luna and Kemeigao—who had preordered goods—that she’d be gone for about twenty days.

They assumed she meant she was simply closing the shop for a break, so neither took it seriously.

But later that night, as the Radiant Consortium men slept outside her door—

They awoke to find the supermarket was gone.

And with it, the protective barrier vanished too.

☢️☢️☢️