Author Archives: sandy

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

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

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

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

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

They truly could not let go of their pets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clicking in revealed further explanation from the original poster.

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

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

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

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

My grades should allow me to exchange for two slots.

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

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

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

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

1L: [Sending the OP a hug.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was one of the advantages of an anonymous forum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

Everyone immediately understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Zang Lijun did not feel that was the case.

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

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

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

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

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

This realization left Zang Lijun restless and anxious.

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

“Qingqing.”

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

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

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

“Are you happy with your life at school?”

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

“Yes. I’m very happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Over the weekend, Grandma Zhang made a phone call to her daughter and son.

It was rare for the three of them to talk together, and this time Grandma Zhang was the one who initiated it.

The method of organizing a group video call through WeChat was something Song Rushuang had just taught her. Having learned something new, the elderly woman was delighted and immediately wanted to share it with her family.

Wearing her reading glasses, she fiddled with the phone for quite a while before finally managing to connect the call.

Her daughter Zhao Ya answered after only a few rings. On the small screen appeared the faces of her daughter and granddaughter, who seemed to be eating dinner.

Zhao Ya asked her child to greet Grandma, then walked aside with the phone. “Mom, what’s going on?”

At the same time, Zhao Liang, who lived overseas, also joined the call. “Mom? Why did you suddenly call me?”

Seeing both children present, Grandma Zhang turned slightly, revealing the items piled across her living room floor, smile lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“Look what this is.”

The floor was stacked with rice, flour, cooking oil, and other staple foods, along with toilet paper, garbage bags, and various large packages of food.

Zhao Ya was startled. “Mom, why did you buy so much?”

“It wasn’t me alone. Xiao Song’s daughter came home for vacation and taught me how to order things on my phone, so I bought a bit extra,” Grandma Zhang said cheerfully. “When are you and Yaya coming over? I can share some if I can’t finish it all.”

Hearing that her mother had made such purchases on her own, Zhao Ya frowned instinctively.

“You bought too much. Food will spoil if you can’t finish it. If you want something, just call me and I’ll order a few days’ worth for you at once. Wouldn’t that be more convenient?”

Grandma Zhang explained, “The supermarket had discounts…”

She did not say that whenever she called her daughter, eight out of ten times Zhao Ya was busy working or caring for her child, and the call would end after only a few hurried sentences. How could she bear to trouble her daughter to place orders for her?

Besides, she knew younger people didn’t have the habit of stocking up. Perhaps her thinking was outdated, but she still felt more secure having extra food at home.

By then Zhao Liang had gotten a clearer look at the items and exclaimed loudly, “Is that eight-treasure porridge? Mom, why did you buy so much of that!”

In the corner sat three full boxes of the red-packaged porridge, an impressive sight.

Each box held twenty-four cans, more than seventy cans in total.

Zhao Liang found it baffling. “Why do you even like that stuff? It doesn’t taste good.”

The faintly disdainful tone dimmed Grandma Zhang’s smile, her enthusiasm fading.

Noticing her mother’s change in mood, Zhao Ya quickly retorted, “If Mom likes it, then let her eat it. Eight-treasure porridge is better than plain rice gruel, isn’t it? The last few times I called around mealtime, she was always eating either porridge or noodles.”

Thinking about it, she felt a pang of regret. Her mother had finally taken the initiative to learn online shopping. She should be encouraging her, not criticizing.

Besides, Grandma Zhang was in good health and had no issues like high blood sugar. As breakfast, the porridge was far more nutritious than plain gruel.

Only Zhao Liang continued muttering, “It’s canned food. Not healthy. Nobody eats that in Country A.”

“And who knows what that kid’s intentions are? A stranger being that nice, especially when money’s involved. You’d better keep your distance from her… Wait, Mom, you didn’t tell her your bank card password, did you?”

Zhao Ya felt her anger flare instantly.

Ever since moving abroad, her younger brother always found ways to boast about life overseas whenever they spoke, subtly belittling life back home.

Yet whenever asked to visit their mother, he immediately fell silent and found excuses to end the call.

Zhao Ya was already under heavy pressure as a single mother. She still worried about their mother and drove back from a neighboring city whenever she could, each round trip taking four or five hours.

Meanwhile Zhao Liang not only offered no help but had stopped sending support money over the past two years.

What right did he have to criticize their mother’s lifestyle?

As he continued making sarcastic remarks, Zhao Ya’s long-suppressed frustration erupted.

“If she doesn’t eat these, should she live like you and chew lettuce leaves every day?”

“And aren’t emergency food supplies exactly what foreigners love to stockpile? That whole ‘prepper’ idea came from overseas in the first place!”

“We don’t live nearby and can’t take care of Mom. Xiao Shuang is just being kind. Why are you nitpicking? She’s only eighteen, and we watched her grow up. Don’t you know what kind of person she is?”

The siblings began arguing back and forth, their voices rising.

Grandma Zhang felt a headache coming on just listening.

She interrupted them, ended the call first, and sat quietly on the sofa for a while.

She had worked hard her entire life to raise her children, yet in her old age, not one of them was by her side.

In her loneliness, her gaze drifted toward the pile of supplies in the corner.

Gradually, her mood lifted a little.

At least there was Xiao Shuang, willing to sit with her for an entire afternoon, teaching her how to order things on her phone and how to make video calls to her family.

Though not related by blood, the girl was more patient than family.

That very morning they had just held a learning session on how to use smartphones for online shopping. Next would come a safety lecture, followed by a community initiative encouraging residents to replace their doors with security doors and install window grilles.

Song Rushuang had said many things. Grandma Zhang did not fully understand them, only that all these community activities could later be written into the girl’s résumé to help her find a job in the future.

The better the events were organized, the more impressive the résumé would look.

Thinking of this, Grandma Zhang finally cheered up.

She had lived in this neighborhood for decades and knew nearly every household. When the time came, she would make sure to bring plenty of people to support Xiao Shuang’s “work,” striving to promote security doors and window grilles throughout the entire community and turn it into a grand renovation effort.

*

Before the holiday, Fu Qing had announced that the campus reconstruction would officially be completed on August 1st, when the final shelter slots would be released for students to exchange using points.

Everyone awaited August 1st with anticipation no less intense than waiting for college entrance exam results the previous year.

Of course, the number of slots was limited. Some students on the forum had estimated Fangzhou’s current building capacity. Translated on Hololo novels. Aside from each student’s guaranteed personal slot, most people would probably only be able to exchange two or three additional places.

The exact number would still depend on individual results.

If a family was even slightly large, it might be impossible to bring everyone in.

Parents alone, plus both sets of grandparents, already made six people. Add siblings, and the number grew even larger.

Some students were not especially close to their families but had childhood friends they could not abandon. They would have to choose among them.

In recent days, nearly every discussion on the forum revolved around shelter slots, and the atmosphere had grown heavy.

For the first time in their lives, the students faced a cruel dilemma. The lives of those closest to them rested in their hands. Choosing to give someone a slot was equivalent to granting them a chance to live; refusing someone felt like sentencing them to death.

If those left behind later died in the apocalypse, the students would inevitably feel that their own decision had caused it. Even if they tried their best not to feel guilty, such thoughts would be impossible to avoid.

Some people might enjoy wielding such power over life and death, but for the students, it felt unbearably awful.

They would rather hand the decision to someone else and hide behind them, spared from the weight of responsibility.

Yet that thought was almost immediately dismissed.

Some burdens had to be carried personally.

Fortunately, many classmates were struggling with the same problem, and they could at least discuss it together.

Main thread:
[Sincere question: My grades aren’t great. Besides the one fixed slot the principal said everyone can exchange, I’ll probably only be able to get one extra slot. Including myself, that makes three total.

My dad passed away early, and my mom works constantly. I was basically raised by my older sister. She got married two years ago and has an adorable daughter who’s just over one year old. Putting my brother-in-law aside (sorry, brother-in-law), just my mom and sister already take up my two available slots, but I really can’t abandon my little niece.

I’m home for vacation these days, and my sister’s family came to visit. Watching my niece smile and holding her soft little hand honestly makes me want to cry.

If I don’t bring her, my sister definitely won’t leave with me either. I don’t want to lose my niece, but I also don’t want to lose my sister.

So I want to ask: is it possible to give my own slot to a family member? Has anyone asked the principal about this? With my own abilities, I could probably survive in a tent in West Mountain, but if I give up my niece, my sister and brother-in-law probably wouldn’t survive even a week with her.]

The poster’s question was heartfelt, and readers could not help worrying along with them.

1L:
[Sigh… kids that young really have extremely low survival rates in an apocalypse. They can’t control crying, and a one-year-old doesn’t understand anything yet. A shelter really is the best option.]

3L:
[This might sound harsh, but whatever you decide, don’t tell your mom that extra slots aren’t fixed. Otherwise she might give up her own slot for your sister and niece.]

4L (Original Poster) replying to 3L:
[Thanks for the reminder! I’ll come up with an excuse. I honestly think my mom would do exactly that…]

7L:
[I have the same problem. If possible, I’d give up my own slot too. I can’t imagine any of my family or friends surviving alone in the apocalypse. Lately I cry whenever I think about who to save and who to abandon. I’d rather wander the apocalypse myself.]

…

22L:
[I asked the principal about this before vacation. She said an announcement would explain everything when the slot exchange officially opens, but she didn’t tell me to keep it secret, so I’ll share it here.

First, unfortunately, the principal clearly stated that students cannot give up their own slots.

Everyone needs to understand that each person occupying a slot consumes food and water resources in the shelter. Adults can contribute labor, but infants can do nothing except eat, drink, and require care. They also consume labor indirectly, since someone must watch them day and night. In effect, that means losing two workers inside the shelter.

Yes, we’ve stockpiled supplies, but thinking those alone can sustain us for years is unrealistic. Crops and livestock on campus will require constant care. We aren’t entering the shelter to lie around comfortably. Don’t forget that.

The principal didn’t give us these slots for free. After a year of training, we are more capable than ordinary people, which means we carry greater responsibility. Agriculture students must lead farming and animal husbandry. Infrastructure students must build traps and repair walls. Others must protect everyone’s safety. When a zombie horde comes, we are the ones who must stand at the very front.

If you leave, what happens to the responsibilities that belong to you?

The school needs young and able people, and the ordinary civilians in the shelter need us too. The principal released the shelter slots without strict restrictions, and I think it’s because she understands that everyone has family and friends who are elderly, weak, or unable to fight. Forcing us to abandon them would be too cruel.

So she set only one rule: students are not allowed to give up their own slots. At the very least, this guarantees that more than two thousand young adults capable of fighting will remain inside the shelter.

But there are things she didn’t say outright that we need to understand ourselves.

Maybe this sounds harsh, even like empty words spoken from a comfortable position. From a personal standpoint, I truly understand how the original poster feels. Still, I hope the OP and everyone facing the same dilemma will think carefully before making a decision.]

The words in post 22 left the thread silent for quite a while before replies slowly began appearing again.

25L replying to 22L:
[That really woke me up. From the moment we entered Fangzhou, many of our decisions stopped being just about ourselves. Since we chose to stay, we must have already accepted that responsibility.]

26L:
[The OP is just overwhelmed because they care too much… honestly, it’s understandable… sigh…]

After some time, the original poster finally returned.

33L (OP) replying to 22L:
[Thank you for the reply. You’re right, I didn’t think things through enough. How long the shelter can last actually determines all of our fates, not just mine alone.

I’ve thought it over again. I’ve decided to spend this time stocking more supplies and self-defense tools for my family, and also reinforce the doors and windows at home. After the apocalypse begins, I’ll give my remaining slot to my sister.

If she decides to come with me, I can teach her and my brother-in-law how to fight zombies. We’ll go check on them regularly and scavenge supplies together. If she ultimately chooses not to come, I’ll still visit them from time to time.

Of course, the best outcome would be if my grades are just high enough to exchange for two extra slots. Then my brother-in-law wouldn’t have to stay outside alone with the baby, and his chances of survival would be better.]

Someone else might have chosen to avoid their responsibility, hiding behind the thousands already inside the shelter, thinking, “There are more than two thousand classmates and their families providing labor anyway. What difference does one less person make?”

But after a year of living, training, and struggling together, the people of Fangzhou had already become inseparable.

Only when everyone carried part of the burden could Fangzhou move forward.

After the OP made their decision, user 22 appeared again. This time they did not write a long explanation, only a sincere reply:

[Good luck.]

The thread did not end there. With the appearance of another reply, discussion became lively again.

36L:
[Not getting into the shelter doesn’t mean death! Don’t forget what Teacher Bai said. Many people in the past actually died while searching for supplies. Because they ran out of food, they were forced to leave safe homes and encountered wandering zombies outside.

So as long as we reinforce doors and windows and stock enough supplies, the family and friends who stay behind can survive for a long time too, just like Teacher Bai did. Even mid-level zombies have difficulty breaking through steel security grilles.

Everyone, don’t be so pessimistic!]

Post 36 was an anonymous reply from Su Huaijin.

In her view, Fangzhou’s students were placing too much pressure on themselves precisely because they were too kind.

In reality, things were often not as hopeless as they imagined.

If failing to enter the shelter truly meant certain death, then how had the principal and Teacher Hao survived for so long before?

Some people, anxious about the approaching apocalypse, sought comfort on the forum. Others stepped forward to encourage and reassure everyone.

Fangzhou was like a small boat. Some rowed, some patched leaks, some adjusted the sails.

Only by working together could they keep it moving forward, swaying yet steady against the waves.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Clang!

Something inside the apartment was knocked over with a loud crash.

Song Rushuang carefully climbed through the window. The child sucked on his fingers, staring at her with wide, clueless eyes. Not caring whether he understood, she raised a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.

The child: “……”

The two stared at each other. Song Rushuang landed lightly, almost without a sound.

Afraid the child might start moving again, she closed the window behind her.

Downstairs, the tense crowd finally relaxed, still unaware of what was happening inside and launching into excited discussion.

“Who was that girl? She’s incredible!”

“I think she’s Old Song Jianguo’s daughter.”

“She’s grown up that much already? Back from college for summer break?”

“Yeah, yeah. We should really tell Old Song later. With those moves she could star in a martial arts movie!”

“That was so dangerous just now. If not for Xiao Shuang, someone might’ve died…”

“Does she go to a sports academy?”

“No, I heard her university is really good. When her college entrance exam results came out last year, Old Song couldn’t stop smiling all summer…”

“Brains and brawn. Amazing!”

An elderly man gave an admiring thumbs-up.

Unaware she had become the topic of neighborhood gossip, Song Rushuang walked quietly through the apartment, tracing the source of the noise to a half-closed bedroom door.

From inside came muffled whimpering, followed by a low threatening voice: “Shut up!”

She listened for two seconds, judged there was no third person inside, and decisively pushed the door open.

Judging by the size, it was the master bedroom. A young man in his twenties stood beside the bed, fierce-looking, holding a fruit knife against a woman’s throat.

The woman looked to be in her fifties or sixties, likely the child’s grandmother. Terrified and desperate, her mouth was covered by the man’s hand, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Song Rushuang scanned the situation quickly. The man wore a food delivery uniform shirt. Putting the clues together, she immediately understood.

He was probably a burglar.

Their old residential complex had no access control at the entrance. Disguised as a delivery worker, it was easy to slip in. Many people assumed burglars only broke in at night, but in reality many crimes happened during the daytime when homes were empty.

Security here was outdated, with few cameras. Once someone learned residents’ schedules, theft became easy.

She guessed the thief had been staking the place out for days, likely noticing that the grandmother usually took the child downstairs at this hour. But judging by the child’s constant sniffing earlier, he was probably sick today, disrupting the routine and causing them to run into the thief.

When the confrontation began, noise from downstairs and people knocking at the door must have panicked him. Afraid the woman would call for help, he had restrained her with a knife.

Unknowingly, he had just escalated theft into kidnapping.

Right now, saving the woman came first.

Song Rushuang’s eyes flicked around. Facing the stunned pair, she deliberately acted like a clueless hothead and shouted:

“What are you doing?! The window was open! The kid almost fell downstairs! Didn’t you hear people knocking?!”

Hearing this, the woman panicked and struggled again despite the danger.

The thief nearly lost control of her with one hand. At the same moment, Song Rushuang closed the distance rapidly.

The man tried both to restrain the woman and wave the knife at Song Rushuang, his movements turning chaotic in panic.

As the blade swung, she seized the brief opening when the knife moved away from the woman’s throat, grabbed his wrist, and executed a clean shoulder throw, slamming him onto the floor.

The wooden flooring rang with a heavy crash. Stars exploded in the thief’s vision, leaving him temporarily unable to move.

Only then did Song Rushuang pick up the fruit knife and turn politely to the stunned woman.

“Auntie, pick up the child, go open the door for the guy outside, and call the police. Oh, and could you find me a rope?”

The woman froze for several seconds before scrambling to her feet. “O-okay, no problem.”

Song Rushuang tied the thief up tightly, dusted off her hands, and stood just as knocking sounded at the door again.

The police arrived pretty fast?

She felt slightly surprised.

Seeing the woman still sitting on the sofa in shock with her grandson in her arms, clearly not recovered yet, Song Rushuang went to open the door herself.

But the moment she cracked it open, a powerful force shoved from outside.

The door flew wide as someone rushed in, shouting anxiously:

“Xiao Shuang! Xiao Shuang!”

Song Rushuang focused and saw her father, Comrade Song Jianguo, wearing an old sleeveless undershirt and loose shorts, looking like he had been dragged straight out of bed, charging inside in panic.

Song Rushuang: “……”

She had survived a burglar only to nearly be slammed into the wall by her own father.

Xu Mingyu followed close behind, face full of worry, still carrying a bag of now-cold buns.

Seeing their daughter unharmed, the couple finally relaxed, but still turned her around repeatedly, checking for injuries from every angle.

After confirming she was completely fine, Xu Mingyu collapsed onto the floor, panting. “Oh my god, I’m exhausted.”

Song Jianguo’s legs felt weak too, not from fear but from sprinting over and climbing six flights of stairs without stopping.

“Didn’t feel anything while climbing,” he said, wiping sweat, “but once I stopped, I’m completely worn out. Guess I’m getting old.”

Song Rushuang curled her lip. “I climbed up here and didn’t complain. You two should’ve trained with me.”

Her parents bristled at the reminder, but thinking about how she had saved someone, and recalling how everyone downstairs had praised her bravery, they held their tongues, though lingering fear remained.

And when they thought about it carefully… she wasn’t wrong.

If she had not trained so diligently every day, she definitely would not have had the strength to climb to the sixth floor today. And if something had really happened to that child…

As parents themselves, the couple couldn’t help imagining the situation with a younger Song Rushuang in that child’s place. Goosebumps rose all over their skin.

“By the way,” Song Jianguo said, still incredulous, “that young guy who showed us the way said there was a thief inside too. You were really the one who subdued him?”

“Yep!” Song Rushuang replied.

Seizing the moment, she added, “So how about you two start practicing self-defense with me? Otherwise, if something like this happens again, you run so slowly you won’t even make it in time to save me.”

That struck a nerve. While rushing over earlier, both of them had been thinking exactly the same thing, wishing they could run faster.

What if they had arrived too late and something had happened to their daughter?

They would never have forgiven themselves.

Still shaken by that fear, they found themselves seriously considering her suggestion for the first time.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Song Rushuang’s gaze froze on the bag of buns in Xu Mingyu’s hand, and her mouth twitched.

“Mom… you brought emergency rations to rescue me?”

Xu Mingyu shot her a look. “Your Grandma Zhang handed me the buns the moment she came in. She probably forgot, and I didn’t think about it either, so I just carried them all the way here.”

Trying to ease the awkwardness, she glanced at the others in the room. “Um… would you like some too?”

The grandmother and the helpful young man: “……”

That really wasn’t necessary.

The police arrived quickly, within about ten minutes. One of them looked oddly familiar.

After thinking for a moment, Song Rushuang realized he was one of the officers present the day she had gone to check surveillance footage.

He clearly remembered her too. After hearing her explanation, he looked impressed.

“So you’re saying you climbed to the sixth floor bare-handed, saved a child about to fall, then discovered a burglar threatening someone with a knife and rescued the hostage while subduing the suspect? Little sister, are you Wonder Woman?”

The young officer, not much older than her, laughed before adding seriously, “Two acts of bravery in one year. That’s amazing. But you still need to prioritize your own safety.”

Song Rushuang nodded quickly.

At that moment, his partner stepped forward, frowning slightly. “Which school did you say you attend?”

“Fangzhou University!” the younger officer answered first. The name clearly stuck with him. “I’ve even met their principal.”

“I knew I’d heard that somewhere,” the partner said, smacking his fist into his palm. “A few days ago at a mall on Anrao Road, some lunatic was waving a knife around and terrifying people. Before he could attack, a young guy shopping with friends subdued him. I remember he was also a Fangzhou University student!”

Song Rushuang chuckled inwardly. Apparently her classmates hadn’t been idle during summer break either.

She wondered which classmate it was and whether she knew him.

The officer looked at her with curiosity. “How does your school train students? One after another, all so brave.”

And not reckless bravery either. Both cases showed strategy and composure. He had seen the surveillance footage of the mall incident. The young man had casually blended into the crowd, drifting into the attacker’s blind spot before striking decisively. Even reviewing the footage afterward, the officers hadn’t noticed his intent beforehand.

As for Song Rushuang, although he hadn’t asked for all the details yet, she had rescued a hostage unharmed in just two or three minutes. That was far beyond ordinary ability.

One case might be coincidence. Two Fangzhou students performing heroic acts within three days was something else entirely.

The younger officer joked, “If you met their principal, you’d understand. That’s just their school culture.”

Compared with Fu Qing subduing Liu Yong, ordinary thieves were child’s play. The memory of Liu Yong’s miserable condition at arrest still left a deep impression on him.

His partner scratched his head and moved on, addressing everyone present.

“You’ve all seen the news. Things haven’t been very stable lately. Even during the day, keep doors and windows locked. Older residential complexes like this have weak security, and neighbors know each other too well, so people relax their guard. On my way up, I saw someone leave their security door open with only a screen door closed. That’s basically inviting thieves in.”

His tone was serious.

Advice from a police officer carried weight. After giving several recent burglary examples, Xu Mingyu and the others nodded repeatedly, visibly tense.

As Song Rushuang listened, an idea formed. She stepped forward.

“I also think our community’s security is too weak. And many residents are elderly. Older people often keep cash at home, which makes them easy targets.”

Everyone nodded.

Taking advantage of the momentum, she continued, “Since so many neighbors witnessed today’s incident, word will spread quickly. Why not organize a safety seminar and teach burglary prevention?”

“Also, our infrastructure needs upgrading. Many elderly residents still use decades-old wooden doors. They should be replaced with security doors, and the locks upgraded. The current ones are basically useless. We also need more surveillance cameras. And today showed us something else. Higher floors should install window grilles. Many grandparents care for children at home, and since our buildings aren’t tall, if I could climb up, criminals probably could too.”

Surveillance cameras wouldn’t help much during the apocalypse, but she mentioned them to avoid suspicion.

Her real priority was reinforced doors and window grilles.

Without window protection, once zombies evolved, upper-floor residents would be in danger.

And the old wooden doors many seniors used could be broken open with a simple fire axe.

Originally, she had planned to privately persuade Grandma Zhang and others to upgrade their doors, but now that a burglary had occurred, she could mobilize the entire community at once.

The officers naturally supported the proposal.

“You can submit the idea to property management,” one said. “Have them contact us and we’ll send someone to hold a lecture.”

Given the recent incident during morning rush hour, the community would likely remain anxious for some time. Acting immediately would be most effective.

“Though installing window grilles can create fire hazards,” the officer added. “Fire safety in old communities is already a headache.”

He had seen fire lanes blocked by parked cars and hallways stacked with cardboard during his arrival.

Song Rushuang nodded readily. “Then residents can decide individually whether to install grilles. We can also encourage smoke detectors. Elderly people often forget cooking on the stove. They’re really necessary.”

“Our kitchen has one,” Song Jianguo added quickly. “Xiao Shuang made us install it. Last month I nearly burned a pot dry, and it saved us.”

He beamed, delighted by the officers praising his daughter.

“She definitely has better safety awareness than we do,” he said modestly, though he was clearly proud.

Seeing her father like this, Song Rushuang felt secretly pleased. For a while, he would probably agree to anything she suggested.

Tomorrow, she decided, they were buying workout clothes and sneakers. And starting training with her.

Maybe she could even ask for some extra allowance.

She had been busy stockpiling supplies lately and her funds were running low.

As for installing window grilles, she suspected many residents would do it voluntarily now.

After all, everyone had witnessed her climbing up via the air-conditioning units.

In their eyes, she was just a teenage girl.

If she could climb up, a professional thief certainly could.

She could already imagine the neighbors’ thoughts and decided there was no need to push the police further.

For younger residents without children, she could suggest nearly invisible safety mesh for pets. Steel-wire mesh might also provide some protection against zombies.

As for those who still refused, there was nothing more she could do.

She had already done everything within her power.

Xu Mingyu mentioned she had a classmate working at the neighborhood committee and volunteered to coordinate the seminar. The plan was settled through their discussion.

Song Rushuang finally relaxed.

Now she could focus on helping Grandma Zhang and the other elderly residents stock up with peace of mind.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

During summer vacation, the students returned home one after another like birds flying back to their nests, scattering across the country.

When she first got home, Song Rushuang felt completely out of sync. Every time six o’clock approached, she instinctively expected her wristband to sound the “death alarm,” urging her downstairs for morning training.

So although her body clock woke her at five thirty, she still lay in bed patiently waiting until one minute past six.

It somehow felt like the day only truly began if she were dragged awake by an alarm.

However, perhaps considering that everyone had their own summer plans and preparations to make for the coming apocalypse, the principal had thoughtfully canceled the daily morning training reminders, leaving Song Rushuang oddly disappointed.

With no other choice, she climbed out of bed on her own, changed into sportswear, and went downstairs to train.

First came her unchanging five-kilometer run. After that, she used the fitness equipment in the residential exercise area: legs hooked over one side of the parallel bars while pressing against the other side to do crunches, then pull-ups on the horizontal bar, back to the parallel bars for dips, and finally box jumps using a platform about thigh height. She rotated through several sets until completing her daily targets before stopping to stretch.

This was a method she had learned online. It allowed for high-intensity training right downstairs without needing to visit a gym, saving plenty of time.

She had kept it up for several days since vacation began, and the results seemed promising. Song Rushuang even shared the routine on the school forum, where enthusiastic classmates boosted it into one of the site’s most popular posts.

By the time she finished, it was already seven thirty. Wiping sweat with a towel, she headed home, planning to buy some steamed buns at the entrance on the way and wake her parents afterward.

When Song Rushuang had first come home for break, Song Jianguo had grand plans about “not wasting summer vacation,” intending to take his daughter on early morning walks for fitness. But on the second day, when he dragged himself out of bed to his alarm, he found his daughter already back home, energetic and carrying breakfast. His enthusiasm instantly withered.

Ironically, Song Rushuang herself became interested in her father’s sudden desire to exercise and even tried to rope Xu Mingyu into joining.

Both parents preferred staying still. During holidays they lounged at home scrolling through phones, even driving to the corner shopping plaza instead of walking, nothing like the energetic middle-aged people often seen online.

Song Rushuang had tried persuading them several times over the past year without success. Now that she would be home longer during the summer, she planned to completely change her parents’ lifestyle habits.

After much coaxing, she finally convinced them a few days ago to come downstairs for morning exercise.

The result was disastrous.

The moment the couple reached the fitness area, they saw their daughter gripping the horizontal bar with both hands, one leg hooked over it, hair flying everywhere as she spun using her core strength like a human windmill, looking exactly like the extreme fitness enthusiasts from viral videos.

Both parents froze: “???”

Song Jianguo recalled his original warm vision of father and daughter strolling together and bonding, and his pupils practically trembled.

Mrs. Xu, even more outraged, declared, “Song Rushuang, if you want to murder your mother, just say it directly. No need to be subtle.”

Song Rushuang: “…”

She had only been bored while waiting and decided to try it casually…

In short, after that day, the couple firmly refused to exercise with her again, telling their daughter to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t disturb their sleep.

Their apartment complex was close to their workplace, and they usually dragged themselves out of bed around eight.

Parents sleeping in, daughter buying breakfast. The family roles had completely reversed.

Song Rushuang felt helpless, but she couldn’t tell them that the apocalypse was approaching. Translated on Hololo novels. The only thing she could do was constantly forward videos from the account “Teacher Fang Has Something to Say” to them every day.

Thinking about that account made her even more frustrated.

Ever since the principal asked Xu Mingyu and Song Jianguo to help promote it, they had enthusiastically completed the task, sharing every video to their social feeds and collecting hundreds of likes. Yet Song Rushuang suspected they had never actually watched a single one. They had perfected the workplace art of outward compliance paired with inward indifference.

As she carried the steamed buns home, she kept thinking about it.

Nearly a year had passed since the pedestrian street collision incident. To Xu Mingyu and Song Jianguo, it was merely an unexpected accident, not something worth remaining vigilant over.

Was there any other way to convince them?

She felt troubled.

Song Rushuang’s family lived in an old residential complex where they had stayed since her birth. The neighborhood consisted of eight-story buildings constructed long ago, mostly occupied by coworkers from the same work unit or retired employees and their families. Everyone knew one another.

On the way home, she ran into an elderly grandmother who had cared for her when she was young, and she naturally stopped to chat.

During adolescence, Song Rushuang had grown less willing to talk with elders, but ever since entering Fangzhou, she found herself speaking more warmly whenever she met relatives or old acquaintances.

The grandmother asked about her studies, and Song Rushuang answered seriously before enthusiastically adding,

“Shopping on your phone is really convenient now! That app gives first-time users a membership discount. Next time, let me use your phone and I’ll help you stock up on rice and noodles!”

She even pulled up the page to show her. “Look, they deliver right to your door. Some summer sale items are twenty percent off, and there are coupons too. It’s really worth it.”

Song Rushuang knew Grandma Zhang lived alone. One child worked in another city, the other abroad, and visits were rare. After the apocalypse, it would be almost impossible for them to return quickly.

At that point, the seventy-year-old woman would likely have to survive alone for a long time, and that was the most optimistic scenario.

When Song Rushuang was little, Grandma Zhang always gave her snacks whenever they met. Now that she could help, she wanted to do what she could.

For people of that generation, smartphones were unfamiliar things. Many could barely manage messaging apps, let alone understand the countless applications and complicated discount systems.

Using that as an excuse, Song Rushuang could help them buy things they would need in the future.

The moment she heard that delivery could be made straight to the door, Grandma Zhang immediately became interested.

Living alone, the most inconvenient thing for her was grocery shopping. Even with the small cart her daughter had bought, she still had to walk and rest repeatedly, spending half a day each trip and unable to carry too many heavy items at once.

If things could be delivered directly to her doorstep, wouldn’t that be much easier?

“They really deliver?” Grandma Zhang asked curiously. “How much does it cost? Is it expensive?”

“They do!” Song Rushuang demonstrated. “It’s free. As long as you spend over two hundred yuan, the delivery fee is waived.”

She deliberately guided Grandma Zhang toward buying more items. Anything she couldn’t finish immediately could simply be stored away.

That way, she could also encourage her to purchase foods with long shelf lives.

Grandma Zhang was clearly tempted but hesitated. “But I live alone. If I buy too much, I won’t be able to finish it…”

“How about this,” Song Rushuang persuaded her. “We’ll buy some vegetables, fruit, meat, eggs, and milk for now, and then add rice, dried noodles, cooking oil, and seasonings. Those last a long time and won’t spoil easily. Keep them somewhere cool and you’ll definitely use them eventually.”

She added, “If we reach the coupon threshold, we save thirty yuan. That’s basically like getting a bottle of oil for free.”

Putting on her reading glasses, Grandma Zhang squinted at the screen and was astonished to discover it was true.

Shopping online could actually be this cheap? A 900-ml bottle of cooking oil cost thirty yuan offline, but with coupons and discounts combined, it came out to just over twenty online.

The elderly woman felt as though a whole new world had opened before her.

She immediately asked Song Rushuang to help place the order. Song Rushuang cheerfully agreed and quickly added canned luncheon meat, eight-treasure porridge, canned tomatoes, and similar items to the cart. She chose vacuum-packed rice portions for longer shelf life.

As for foods that required freezing for long storage, like steamed buns, Song Rushuang bought only a small amount. Considering electricity would likely fail within a month after the apocalypse, stocking too many frozen foods made little sense. After asking about Grandma Zhang’s preferences, she bought one bag for the next few days.

Seasonings like salt and sugar rarely expired and were inexpensive, so under the pretense of “stocking up,” Song Rushuang added several extra bags for her.

The two stood beneath roadside shade trees while the sun climbed higher. Busy operating the phone, Song Rushuang soon had sweat beading on her forehead. Grandma Zhang felt sorry for her and waved a handheld fan several times to cool her.

Finally finished, Song Rushuang happily showed her the total.

“Look, we saved more than sixty yuan! Delivery is free too. Since we ordered in the morning, it says everything should arrive around four this afternoon.”

Grandma Zhang beamed with delight. “So convenient. Xiaoshuang, thank you so much.”

She covered her mouth with a pleased smile. “Even my daughter doesn’t have time to help me with things like this. Every time she comes back she’s rushing around, and I still have to watch my granddaughter. You’re more thoughtful than my own children. I’m going to go brag to Grandpa Li and the others later.”

Song Rushuang suddenly had an idea. The elderly residents in the complex gathered daily to chat. Because there were so many seniors, property management had even built a recreation room with air conditioning, tea, and ping-pong tables to keep them from secretly organizing mahjong games.

Maybe… she could make use of that space.

“Grandma Zhang, how about we talk to the community and hold a special ordering event in the activity room to help everyone place orders?” Song Rushuang suggested after thinking for a moment. “Grandpa Li and the others must need groceries too.”

Life was especially hard for elderly people during the apocalypse. Song Rushuang genuinely wanted to help where she could.

“Wouldn’t that be too much trouble for you?” Grandma Zhang asked hesitantly.

“Not at all,” Song Rushuang said with a smile. “You all practically watched me grow up. It’s nothing.”

That was how old work-unit compounds worked. Neighbors helped one another, everyone familiar and close. When fruit ripened in someone’s yard or someone cooked too much food, they would knock on neighbors’ doors to share. When Song Rushuang fell while playing as a child, elderly neighbors had taken her home and bandaged her wounds.

Besides, most of the retirees here had once been coworkers, highly educated people who were reasonable and kind. Song Rushuang guessed that if she organized such an event, the seniors might feel embarrassed not to participate and would instead try to purchase essential goods all at once.

That would indirectly encourage stockpiling.

Grandma Zhang immediately agreed to discuss it with Grandpa Li and the others and promised to inform Song Rushuang once a time was set.

Song Rushuang wouldn’t need to worry about scheduling, location, or participants. She only had to spare one afternoon.

And the grandparents would probably bring fruit and snacks for her too.

She happily agreed.

Still, holding just one event was not enough.

Since the activity would be framed as “helping elderly residents living alone,” other residents probably wouldn’t join but would certainly notice it happening.

When the apocalypse arrived and food supplies ran low, younger and stronger residents might set their sights on the elderly.

Seniors living alone were among the most vulnerable groups in an apocalypse.

Neighborhood relationships were harmonious now, but in a crisis, no one could predict what others might do.

She couldn’t let good intentions create future danger.

While Song Rushuang was still thinking through solutions, Grandma Zhang grabbed her wrist and insisted she come upstairs for a visit. “I have lots of fruit at home I can’t finish. Xiaoshuang, take some back for your parents.”

Song Rushuang: “…”

Uh-oh. She suddenly realized she had forgotten something.

Awkwardly lifting the plastic bag in her hand and looking at the steamed buns inside, now cooling from warm to lukewarm, she finally remembered her hungry parents waiting at home for breakfast.

“No need, Grandma. My parents are still waiting for breakfast,” she hurriedly said.

Before she could finish speaking, a woman carrying a bag of vegetables passed by nearby. She glanced upward casually, and the plastic bag slipped from her hands with a thud as she cried out in alarm.

“Oh my god! Why is there a child up there?!”

Covering her mouth in shock, she stared toward a half-open window on about the sixth floor of a nearby building. A toddler, barely one or two years old, leaned against the window, peering curiously downward, one hand reaching forward as if ready to lunge out, a sight that made hearts stop.

Grandma Zhang looked up as well and staggered back two steps, clutching her chest. “Oh heavens…”

Panic spread among the passersby.

“Whose child is that?”

“Oh my god, where are the adults in that house? How could they leave a child unattended like this?!”

“Who’s young and fast? Go knock on the door!”

“Call the police. No, wait, we need the fire department…”

“Hurry, hurry! Does anyone have bedsheets or something to catch him? Don’t let him fall!”

A young man on his way to work threw aside his breakfast and rushed into the building stairwell three steps at a time, probably going to bang on the door.

Two other women spun anxiously in circles. Spotting bedsheets hanging nearby to dry, they hurried over to pull them down. One of them even tripped and fell but ignored her injury, dragging the sheet downstairs and calling others to help stretch it open.

Soon several kindhearted people gathered to assist.

Song Rushuang took one look and knew this wouldn’t work.

The sheet was a thin summer quilt, light and flimsy. The child upstairs was no longer a tiny infant but a one- or two-year-old toddler, much heavier. Falling from the sixth floor, a single sheet like that might not hold.

And if they missed even slightly, any limb striking the people below could easily cause fractures or worse.

She made up her mind and handed the bag of buns to Grandma Zhang. “Grandma, could you hold these for me?”

Grandma Zhang was still watching the child nervously when several fragrant buns were suddenly pressed into her hands. She froze, then saw the girl beside her wipe sweat from her palms onto her tracksuit, quickly size up the building, take a running start, and charge straight toward the first-floor resident’s outdoor air-conditioning unit.

Grandma Zhang: “???”

Her mouth fell open as she watched Song Rushuang leap forward, planting one foot against the building’s exterior wall. The wall was rough pebble-dash concrete, providing strong friction. She kicked off it, twisted her body, grabbed the protective edge of the air-conditioning unit, and, using her light weight to her advantage, stepped onto it. With a crouched spring upward, she relied on her explosive jump to grab the second-floor security bars, then pushed off the decorative ledge beneath the window and climbed another level in the blink of an eye.

From the first to third floors, most apartments had metal security grilles, making the climb relatively easy. Repeating the same movements several times, Song Rushuang quickly reached the fourth floor.

Only then did the people below finally notice someone scaling the building barehanded from the outside. Screams erupted one after another.

Watching Song Rushuang move as lightly as a swallow, Grandma Zhang nearly blacked out on the spot.

Clutching her chest and forcing herself to breathe, she glanced at the buns in her hands, slapped her thigh, and ran toward the Song family apartment, shouting shakily at the top of her lungs:

“Little Song! Xiao Xu! Come out quick, your daughter’s climbing the sky!”

…

Meanwhile, Song Rushuang reached the fourth floor, where climbing became much harder.

The building’s exterior lacked decorative structures. The ledges were narrow, barely wide enough for footing. Without proper handholds, climbing was extremely difficult. If not for the air-conditioning units and the urgent danger of the child falling at any moment, she would never have attempted to climb barehanded.

People below saw her pause and soon realized there were no more security grilles above. Anxiety spread among the crowd.

From their perspective, she looked like someone who had rushed up in a burst of courage only to become stuck halfway.

At such a height, with no safety equipment, even looking down would be terrifying.

Some people covered their eyes, unable to watch.

But Song Rushuang was not panicking at all. She bit her lower lip lightly, calmly planning her next move.

She had climbed similar walls countless times over the past year. Even if she failed to reach the top, she knew she could get down safely. She was far from reckless.

The chaotic shouting and instructions from below went in one ear and out the other. Her mindset remained steady and unaffected.

Listening to nonprofessionals at a moment like this would only disrupt her rhythm.

While she was thinking, a nearby window suddenly slid open.

The person inside moved carefully, clearly afraid of startling her, and cautiously extended a hand. “Miss, come this way.”

Song Rushhuang looked over, surprised to see an anxious auntie leaning out the window. “Be careful! I’ll pull you in.”

Warmth flickered in Song Rushhuang’s chest. She smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, Auntie. I practice rock climbing. I’ve got this.”

But the woman’s action gave her an idea.

Tilting her head back, Song Rushhuang shouted loudly, “Fifth floor! Could someone open a window?”

The fifth-floor resident had long been watching the commotion but couldn’t see her from his angle. Only after she shouted twice did he realize she meant him. He hurriedly opened the window and stuck his head out.

“Who is it? …Oh my god!”

He finally spotted Song Rushhuang crouched on the air-conditioning unit like Spider-Man.

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, perfect! Just keep the window open like that!”

After testing the stability of the unit beneath her feet and confirming it could bear her weight, she found her landing point and launched herself upward again.

The auntie watching from the window nearly screamed, covering her mouth and peeking through her fingers in terror so as not to startle her.

The fifth-floor resident, thoroughly frightened, retreated inside, then awkwardly returned holding a stool. “Would stepping on this make it easier?”

From his perspective, she still seemed far from the sixth-floor child.

Song Rushhuang laughed. “Thanks!”

But the stool looked unstable, so she didn’t risk it and continued climbing on her own.

When she finally reached the sixth floor, found solid footing, and carefully pressed the child’s head back inside the window, everyone below released a collective sigh of relief.

Such an early-morning scare was truly terrible for the heart.

The child disappeared from the window. Song Rushhuang glanced down and decided not to climb back the way she came.

Otherwise, she might frighten everyone half to death again.

The sixth-floor window was a sliding type. If left unlocked, a toddler could indeed push it open. It probably hadn’t been intentionally left open by the adults.

But…

Cool air from an air conditioner drifted out through the open window.

The AC was running. Someone should be inside.

So why hadn’t anyone come out?

The doorbell at the apartment entrance rang nonstop. The young man who had run upstairs kept pressing it while pounding on the door, shouting loudly:

“Is anyone home? Your kid’s playing by the window, hurry and take care of him! Is anyone home?!”

Inside remained completely silent.

The child sat on the windowsill, sniffled loudly, and locked eyes with Song Rushhuang.

Her brow slowly furrowed.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

In the previous world, there were not many Believers. Yet several had appeared around Fu Qing in quick succession.

Some were chance encounters, like the madwoman she met in the shelter. Others, like Fan Zheng, had concealed their identities and infiltrated her side directly.

She had always felt it was a strange coincidence.

But instinct told Fu Qing that behind every coincidence there was an inevitable connection.

It was half a sigh, half an offhand remark. “Don’t you think so…?”

Lu Yan’s posture seemed to stiffen for a moment. Fu Qing glanced at him. Before he could answer, she turned and walked out of the classroom, waving behind her without looking back.

“I’ve said what I needed to say. I’m leaving. I’ve still got training tonight.”

“Oh.” Lu Yan snapped out of it and followed, quickening his steps to open the door for her.

But Fu Qing had already pulled the tightly shut door open. Just before she left, she paused again and said, out of nowhere, “Actually… maybe I do feel a bit guilty.”

Lu Yan did not react in time.

“Afterward, I replayed that day so many times in my head. The only reason I ever regretted that decision was because it got you killed.” Fu Qing turned back, frowning at Lu Yan, as if seeing him and also seeing through him, back to that day.

That day, shrouded even in memory.

“Not me,” Lu Yan corrected seriously. “I got out of that factory alive. The only one injured that day was you, Fu Qing. Everything that happened after was my own choice, not yours.”

“You bear the consequences of your choices. I bear mine. That’s fair.”

Fair.

Fu Qing rolled the word around once, then gave a soft laugh.

“No matter what, it feels good to see you again.”

The negative emotion was only a momentary illusion. She returned to her usual calm and cut it off cleanly.

“Goodbye.”

Lu Yan, who had tried to catch up and nearly got his nose caught in the door: “…”

Fu Qing left in a rush, brisk as a gust of wind, leaving Lu Yan alone in the empty classroom. He stood there for a while, dazed, then slowly raised his wrist, purely out of instinct.

And checked his own pulse.

*

[Assessment complete. Click to view report]

Survivors: 1883

Average kills, basic zombies: 5.32 per person (up 0.41 from last assessment)

Average kills, mid-level zombies: 0.70 per person (up 0.22 from last assessment)

Average survival time…

…

[Overall Evaluation]

Total: 2370

C: 0 (0%)

B: 0 (0%)

A: 2124 (89.62%)

S: 239 (10.08%)

SS: 7 (0.3%)

…

[Completed: Main Quest “Ability Test · Final”]

[Requirement: By the end of the school year, at least 1500 students reach an overall evaluation of A. (Completed)]

[Reward: Steel Ground-Spike Traps x1000]

[Note: Each trap covers a 2m x 2m area. No pre-dug pit required. After placement, the ground sinks automatically, positioning the trap at the bottom.]

…

[Hidden Requirement Triggered: By the end of the school year, all students reach an overall evaluation of A or above. (Completed)]

[Reward: 3000 Teaching Points]

Fangzhou University’s second-semester finals were lively.

They were called finals, but in a sense, they were also graduation exams.

Every instructor brought out their best, setting questions that were sharp and punishingly difficult. In First Aid, for instance, they used the simulation pods to build an entire question bank, then imported it as a dungeon. Students got three chances to draw lots, choosing one of three scenarios for the exam, including how to complete a surgical operation in extreme conditions without professional assistance, and so on.

After such surgery, fewer than one in ten patients would survive, but the exam tested whether the student’s response was calm and professional, and whether they had done the best possible under the circumstances.

Do everything you can, then accept what you cannot control.

When the surgery was done, students had to remain in the pod and stay with the patient through the postoperative recovery period, until they witnessed the final outcome with their own eyes, whether the patient recovered or died.

Only when everything had settled would the system issue the final score. Even if the patient ultimately died, a student could still earn full marks if their technique had been flawless.

In reality, the apocalypse made sterile environments nearly impossible, postoperative infection rates were extremely high, and fewer than one in ten patients would make it. Translated on Hololo novels. The rule that students must stay until the end and watch the patient’s outcome placed tremendous psychological pressure on them.

Yet the words “Assessment Passed” also seemed to tell them: you did the best possible under the circumstances, so you do not need to blame yourself.

For emergency responders, it is only ever doing everything you can, then accepting what follows.

Instead of deepening the shadow of death, that lesson dispersed it, giving them the courage to pick up their medical kits and head once more toward the next battlefield meant for medical soldiers.

And then there was Infrastructure.

All through the second half of the semester, Infrastructure students worked on a major project: in a simulation-pod map selected by Xu Mingyue, they were divided into groups and tasked with building a shelter from scratch, brick by brick.

Their final exam was to rely on that shelter to withstand a zombie tide assault lasting three full hours.

There were two scoring criteria: the shelter’s integrity after the horde retreated, and the group’s casualty count.

The horde was too large for students to leave the shelter to fight. They could only hold the walls, relying on the traps they had built and weapons cobbled together from scavenged tools, grinding it out to the end. The whole thing had an uncanny, frantic resemblance to Plants vs. Zombies.

To pass, students came up with every trick imaginable. Some never slacked off all semester, building shelters that were nearly unbreakable, then layering traps outside, and they held with ease.

Some students knew their shelter walls were made from materials that were not sturdy enough, so they dug tunnels in advance, covering the entrances with straw and foul-smelling coatings. When the defenses could no longer hold, they slipped into the tunnels and escaped. By the time the zombies discovered the tunnel entrances, they were already far away, at least earning survival points.

Others had prepared poorly and could only resort to desperate last-minute measures. Seeing their defenses about to collapse, they poured gasoline along the walls, hoping to set the zombies ablaze and pile the burning corpses into a barricade.

The zombies did catch fire, but the students themselves were overcome by smoke and suffocated, creating the bizarre outcome of an intact shelter paired with a score of zero survivors.

For the Zombie Characteristics course, the final exam included not only a written test but also a special lecture hosted by Zhao Yunxiao in the auditorium. He shared in detail the difficulties and breakthroughs he encountered while developing the serum in the previous life, then distributed two printed copies of his notes to everyone.

Zhao Yunxiao’s understanding of zombies had reached the cellular level, but that knowledge had been directly imprinted into his mind by the system. Truly comprehending it and translating it into teachable material was extraordinarily difficult. Humans are born knowing how to cry or move their limbs, yet explaining precisely how those processes work and teaching them to a nonhuman being would be nearly impossible.

It took Zhao Yunxiao half an entire year to compile those notes.

Though nothing could compare to his personal guidance, he believed the material would still greatly assist future researchers.

Zhao Yunxiao would no longer die, but his fate was inseparably tied to Fangzhou.

If, in the worst possible future, Fangzhou were ever to fall and the students scattered in all directions, then these thousands of copies of notes might become humanity’s final hope.

Bai Tang, Hao Zhenye, Liu Yingchun. During the final week, every instructor shared everything they had learned in their lifetimes and everything they had realized through facing death, offering it freely in every form they could.

Students learned through classes, through exams, through mistakes. Translated on Hololo novels. Until the very last moment, they continued growing like shoots after spring rain.

Even by the system’s standards, the transformation of Fangzhou’s two thousand students over a single year was astonishing.

From a majority rated C-level to an entire student body reaching A-level overall evaluations, with nearly one-tenth achieving S-level or higher, enough to lead small survivor groups in the apocalypse. It was hard to imagine that just a year earlier they had been so inexperienced and naive.

Yet the students still felt it was not enough.

The closer the apocalypse drew, the more often they woke in the middle of the night, as though examinees forced onto the stage before finishing their revision, hearts filled with indescribable anxiety and fear.

The end of classes meant that from now on, no one would step forward after their failures to patiently explain their mistakes. No longer would each death be followed by a harsh-looking yet meticulously detailed review report.

Only when they were about to leave did the students realize how deeply they had come to depend on Fangzhou.

*

On the day final grades were released, Fu Qing announced the official members of the elite squad.

Seven students across the school had achieved SS-level overall evaluations, indicating exceptional strength in at least one area and the ability to survive independently for long periods in the apocalypse.

Of course, the system’s rankings were only broad standards. Even within the same level, differences could be vast. Most students at Fangzhou appeared to be A-level, but some had reached that tier months earlier and were already on the verge of promotion.

These seven SS-level students, however, had only barely reached the threshold during the final exam, still some distance away from veterans who had survived years in the apocalypse.

Fu Qing believed those gaps would gradually disappear once the apocalypse truly began.

Moreover, achieving an S or SS overall rating did not mean every individual skill reached that level. More often, it meant the absence of major weaknesses.

Take Bai Tang for example. If the system evaluated her strictly, her overall rating might only be A due to poor physical strength and combat ability, yet her survival skills surpassed the vast majority of students at Fangzhou.

In the principal’s office, thirteen students stood nervously before Fu Qing. She lowered her gaze to the seven names on the list.

All seven SS-level students were members of the elite class.

The remaining six stared down at their toes as if they had committed some grave mistake, their faces mixed with frustration and disappointment.

Shame kept them from meeting the principal’s eyes.

After all, she had taught them so diligently these past six months.

Why had they not tried harder during the exams? Why had they not killed a few more zombies? Why had they made mistakes at critical moments?

One student felt their nose sting and nearly cried, hurriedly wiping away tears before anyone noticed.

Too embarrassing…

“Everyone starts from a different foundation,” Fu Qing said, closing the panel. “Even if you run the same distance, or farther, you may not reach the same destination. You’ve already done very well.”

Every student at Fangzhou worked hard, but these thirteen from the elite class had undoubtedly put in the greatest effort and shed the most sweat.

Fu Qing knew exactly how harsh her training methods were.

She had originally expected the intensity to drive a few people away. Instead, every single one of them endured to the end.

According to system statistics, all thirteen had made tremendous improvements in strength, endurance, agility, and speed, far surpassing the rest of the student body.

The six who fell short simply began from a much weaker baseline.

Accustomed to seeing their principal as a relentless drill instructor, receiving a rare word of comfort from her should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like the prelude to farewell.

Liang Yi’s eyes reddened. He hesitated. “Principal…”

He wanted to say, Please don’t abandon us.

But the words would not come.

He had failed to meet her standards.

At that moment, Fu Qing spoke again.

“Now, I will announce the five members of the elite squad.”

Everyone quietly drew in a breath.

The names announced next were somewhat unexpected.

“Song Rushuang, Shen Qingqing, Su Huaijin, Qin Yufei, Liang Yi.”

“Yes!” Qin Yufei clenched his fist in excitement without trying to hide it, only to be quickly pressed down by Su Huaijin.

This guy really had no sense of timing. Didn’t he see that the people who hadn’t been selected were practically on the verge of tears?

Even so…

Su Huaijin glanced at the hand she used to restrain Qin Yufei and realized it was trembling slightly as well.

This was… wonderful.

Song Rushuang and Shen Qingqing, the close friends, had both been chosen. Overcome with excitement, they immediately threw their arms around each other.

Only Liang Yi reacted differently. The moment he heard his name, he lifted his head in disbelief, eyes still red behind his black-rimmed glasses.

He had never expected to be on the list.

He hadn’t even reached SS rank.

One of the rejected students quickly recovered and spoke up anxiously. “Principal!”

“I…” She glanced at Liang Yi, apology flashing briefly in her eyes before she forced herself to continue. “I object! I clearly achieved an SS rating. Why wasn’t I chosen?”

Her voice trembled with grievance.

“The list was determined based on your performance over the past six months, as well as each person’s strengths. I believe this is the best current combination,” Fu Qing said. Translated on Hololo novels. She lowered her gaze and noticed Song Rushuang quietly reaching out to hold the girl’s hand and gently shake it. Fu Qing paused briefly before continuing. “The elite squad is not only about selecting elites. More importantly, it must be a team with seamless coordination and no weaknesses.”

Song Rushuang and Shen Qingqing both excelled in close combat. Agile and adaptable, they fought in complementary styles, and together their effectiveness far exceeded what either could achieve alone.

Qin Yufei was also combat-oriented, but his advantage lay in physical endurance and strength. During the final month of training, he had even managed to overpower giant-type simulated zombies. Whether fighting alone or protecting injured teammates in emergencies, he was ideal.

As for Su Huaijin, there was no need to elaborate. She possessed exceptional strategic awareness and leadership ability, serving as the team’s tactical core. Song Rushuang occasionally produced sudden flashes of unconventional but effective ideas, adding flexibility to their combat strategies.

And Liang Yi possessed unparalleled spatial awareness. With him on the team, their movements would become far more flexible, allowing both rapid advances and clean retreats.

This was the result of Fu Qing’s comprehensive evaluation.

She stopped there. The students were all intelligent and quickly understood why this lineup formed the optimal team.

Only the girl named Xue Ran persisted. “But…”

“Not being selected for the elite squad does not mean I no longer need your help,” Fu Qing interrupted calmly. “Aside from me, the rest of Fangzhou’s students, your families and friends, and countless innocent people will all need you.”

Xue Ran froze.

“The eight of you who were not selected, stay behind later. I have something to discuss with you. The rest of you may leave,” Fu Qing said, looking toward the five chosen members.

“This summer, spend more time with your families.”

The five snapped out of their earlier excitement. After a long moment, they forced faint smiles and quietly acknowledged her words.

They left in silence. The remaining eight fell into brief quiet as well, Fu Qing’s final sentence leaving their emotions tangled, tinged with an indescribable bitterness.

They were competitors, but also comrades who had endured hardships together and trusted one another more than anyone else.

Only Xue Ran continued staring firmly at Fu Qing.

She could not tell whether the principal’s claim that she needed their help was genuine or merely comfort for those who had failed selection. If it was the latter, she resolved to find a way to convince Fu Qing to include her in the squad.

Xue Ran made up her mind.

Meeting her gaze, Fu Qing thought Xue Ran’s eyes matched her name: clear and sharp, as if a quiet flame burned constantly within them.

She recalled the student background information she had seen in the system records.

It stated that Xue Ran had been raised by her grandparents. Both her parents had been police officers who died in the line of duty shortly after her birth.

Her grandfather passed away from illness when she was in middle school. Earlier this year, her grandmother followed.

Whether influenced by her parents or because she had already lost everyone close to her and had nothing left to hold her back, Xue Ran had been the first to write “willing to participate” when Fu Qing asked for volunteers.

That day, she had left the principal’s office with everyone else but never truly departed. Her footsteps stopped outside the door, and she stood there quietly for half an hour. Only after everyone else had gathered did she return with them to sign her name.

Fu Qing wondered whether, during that half hour, Xue Ran had been thinking about her parents.

Fu Qing had not lied. She truly did have tasks for the eight students, though the mission she intended for Xue Ran was somewhat different.

On her own, it would be difficult to gain official trust.

But Xue Ran’s identity as the child of fallen heroes might serve as a bridge.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

The truth of the world slowly unfolded before Fu Qing.

The electronic voice carried no emotion, yet the undertone of its words was unmistakably stirring.

Through its explanation, the curtain lifted, allowing Fu Qing to glimpse a corner of a higher reality.

The underlying logic of the world resembled a precisely operating machine, pushing them again and again toward a predetermined ending.

Humanity had already failed once. How many chances to resist remained?

“You said the species that once dominated the world had to die for a new one to be born. So humanity’s successor… will be zombies?”

【Not necessarily,】 the system replied. 【Most zombies lack reproductive ability. In a few more years they will naturally decay and lose mobility. The remaining intelligent infected are too few to form a sustainable population. However, it is possible that new seeds of life may emerge from them and, after millions of years of evolution, become an entirely new species beyond your imagination.】

Its tone was detached, carrying the cold indifference of something observing the fate of lower lifeforms from afar.

Fu Qing nodded, losing interest in the zombies’ future. She caught the key point instead.

“The number of intelligent zombies is small because they must be personally infected by the Zombie King?”

【Yes. Each infection also costs it something. Intelligent infected serve as leaders within the zombie population. There is no need for many leaders,】 the system said tactfully. 【Much like you and your students.】

“Then why didn’t I encounter intelligent zombies in the previous life?” Fu Qing paused before asking again, “And why didn’t you establish Fangzhou directly back then?”

【The cycle of the world is an ongoing game. In the previous life, the Zombie King gained the advantage and thus acquired greater abilities. As for me…】 the system hummed briefly before answering, 【I believed individual strength alone would be enough to win. Later, I learned that was a mistake.】

Fu Qing considered this. “Maybe choosing a different host last time would have worked better? Zhao Yunxiao’s personality wasn’t suited for such radical actions.”

【He was the best choice under those circumstances,】 the system replied without elaborating. 【Successful resistance against the world consciousness is extraordinarily rare. Zhao Yunxiao’s failure was normal.】

“The best choice” could be interpreted many ways. Fu Qing suspected that during the first cycle, lacking knowledge of everyone’s capabilities, the system had hastily bound itself to someone almost at random.

Zhao Yunxiao might not have been exceptional, but he was genuinely kind.

There were probably very few people in the world who, after obtaining a miraculous advantage, would immediately choose to hand it over.

Fu Qing silently complained to herself.

By the second cycle, with data to reference, the system had deliberately chosen her, the one who survived until the end. Translated on Hololo novels. That made sense.

But the system’s final statement tightened something in her chest.

“You heard my conversation with Lu Yan,” she said. “If we kill the Zombie King… is there really a chance to save the world?”

【Yes. Without its assistance, humanity’s accumulated experience from previous cycles will be enough for you to achieve victory.】

The system answered firmly.

The tension in Fu Qing’s body finally eased.

The system left part unsaid: from its perspective, even if only one human survived, it would still count as humanity’s victory.

But Fu Qing knew that meant one thing. The longer it took to kill the Zombie King, the fewer humans would remain alive.

Still, knowing there was a solution was encouraging.

Her mood lifted slightly. After a moment’s thought, she asked one final question.

“If we fail this time… will there be another cycle?”

【Probably not.】

The system continued:

【Repeated failures allow the Zombie King to accumulate increasing advantages. In the next rebirth, it might awaken half a year or even a full year earlier than I do. By the time the apocalypse truly arrives, it would already be too late. The chance of victory would be negligible.】

Silence filled the air.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily onto her shoulders, making even Fu Qing’s breathing feel difficult.

After a long while, she said quietly, “I understand.”

*

Leaving the room, Fu Qing turned toward the teaching building.

The memories she had just relived suddenly made her want to see someone.

The sunlight was bright. The walk from the simulation training room to the academic building required crossing the entire field, a fairly long distance. As she walked, she continued speaking with the system.

“Right before I woke up, I think I saw memories that didn’t belong to me.”

“…Who was the person that fired the gun?”

The system fell silent for a moment, as if thinking.

【At the time, I was competing with the Zombie King for control of the simulation pod. The data was extremely unstable. Other scenes may have been inserted accidentally.】

It explained:

【Most simulation dungeons are reconstructed from real events of the previous world. The database also contains many scenes not yet turned into playable instances. Those are preloaded when the machine is purchased, but can only be accessed after payment authorization.】

Fu Qing gave an acknowledging hum. So it had been like triggering a bug, accidentally unpacking unreleased content.

With her question answered, she arrived at her destination.

First aid class was in session.

Several realistic zombie models lay neatly on dissection tables while Lu Yan guided students through suturing practice.

The simulated zombies allowed wounds to be created anywhere on their bodies for training. Resetting restored the tissue instantly and expelled the sutures automatically. It was an extraordinarily convenient teaching tool.

Ten minutes remained before class ended. Waiting outside felt boring, so Fu Qing decided to enter through the back door and check on the students’ progress one by one.

At other schools, principals or administrators might occasionally visit classrooms on a whim, but since the term began, Fu Qing had never exercised that sort of authority.

With the system monitoring things, nothing serious could happen anyway. She preferred not to create extra work for herself.

This was her first time appearing inside a classroom.

The students were divided into small groups, each assigned a “cadaver teacher.” They stood around the tables, some suturing limbs, others working on abdominal closures, while one student stood at the zombie’s head, holding a medical razor in one hand and parting greasy hair with the other to locate a wound.

The simulated corpse was covered in wounds from head to toe, used to maximum efficiency. Clearly someone had subjected it to particularly brutal experimentation earlier.

Watching, Fu Qing felt the points spent on these teaching props were absolutely worth it.

They could practice combat, pursuit scenarios, dissection, treatment, zombie research, and even combat assistance when necessary… truly multi-purpose. Where else could you find such a useful tool person, no, tool corpse?

She clicked her tongue in approval.

The student suturing the head wound carefully lifted strands of oily hair and made a faintly disgusted face.

After all, zombies were still decomposing bodies. Their skin texture and organ structure differed from living humans. Yet the emergency medicine students were clearly already accustomed to it.

The student examined the wound and prepared to use the electric razor when, from the corner of her eye, she suddenly noticed someone standing beside her.

That person leaned slightly over her shoulder, studying the zombie with apparent interest.

But Instructor Lu was clearly across the room guiding another group, and everyone else was busy with their own work.

So who was this?

She turned in surprise and met Fu Qing’s gaze.

Fu Qing looked back innocently. Interpreted generously, the principal’s expression seemed to say: Why are you looking at me? The answers aren’t written on my face. Or perhaps: Lose focus during practice and I’ll deduct your credits.

Student: “…”

Her mind went blank for two seconds, and she nearly let out a shriek.

Wait… why was the principal here?!

How come no one on the forum had ever mentioned she did classroom inspections? And of all times, her very first visit just happened to land on her?

Was this bad luck or good luck…?

The student’s electric razor was already running. Startled out of her wits, her hand slipped. The trimmer plowed from the crown straight to the forehead, hair dropping in clumps, leaving a clean strip of bare “no man’s land” like the crescent-bang look from period dramas.

Simulated zombie: “…”

Girl: “…”

Luckily, the simulated zombie was not a real patient, or she would have earned a spectacularly bad review.

Still rattled, she darted another glance sideways and found the principal had already moved on, now checking the next group. The student there nearly jabbed a needle into someone’s arm.

By the third group, the student under observation simply could not bring herself to needle down. She kept her head lowered, trembling, and swabbed with alcohol again and again until that patch of skin was cleaner than the surrounding area, practically glowing, before the principal finally moved along.

Wherever the principal went, chaos followed.

After she had terrorized over half the class, Lu Yan finished his demonstration, looked up, and finally noticed the unexpected extra person in the room. Hands clasped behind her back, she was strolling like an old man on a walk, as if “checking in” meant startling students one by one. He found it absurd and funny in equal measure.

He signaled for the students to start wrapping up, removed his mask, and strode over. To avoid disturbing the class, he lowered his voice.

“What are you doing?”

Fu Qing was clearly distracted. She was not really inspecting anyone’s technique, only frowning unconsciously while thinking, which was enough to scare everyone half to death.

Lu Yan almost felt sorry for the students.

They stood in a corner. Class was not over, so everyone kept working, but their attention had obviously drifted. Ears were tilted toward them, trying to figure out why the principal had shown up in person.

Lu Yan did not even need to turn around to know exactly what they were doing. He smiled to himself and did not stop them.

The apocalypse was approaching, and the students were perpetually on edge. He occasionally let them drift for a moment so they would not snap from holding themselves too tight.

Fu Qing leaned against the windowsill, rubbing her earlobe with one hand. Her gaze was loose, fixed on some point in empty space. She frowned.

“I saw Fan Zheng.”

The smile vanished from Lu Yan’s lips. A shadow crossed his eyes, dark and sudden.

Fan Zheng was the traitor’s name.

They had known him for three years. The first time they met, he was not part of their team. He was wandering alone through the apocalypse with his elderly mother and his wife and child.

In the apocalypse, people who could still travel with elders and children might not have been rare at the beginning, but as the years went on, they became fewer and fewer. Their first impression of him had not been bad.

The second meeting came two years later. Fan Zheng’s mother, wife, and child were gone. He was starving and barely coherent. When he saw them, he dropped to his knees and begged for a bite of dried food.

Fu Qing gave him some.

By then, there were not many survivors left. The early days of fighting over supplies and shelters had also largely faded. Most of what people saw day to day were roaming zombies, and toward the remaining humans there was an instinctive sense of kinship. Still, most survivors had fixed teams. If they crossed paths while scavenging, they might exchange a greeting and move on.

A lone drifter like Fan Zheng was rare. When encountered, almost every team would try to recruit him, partly to strengthen themselves, partly because no one wanted to watch another human die.

Fan Zheng joined Fu Qing’s team naturally.

He spent half a year earning their trust. His combat ability was poor, but he was quick-witted, good at finding things, and brought back plenty of supplies, proving his usefulness. He was also skilled at getting along with people, and quickly blended in with everyone.

He seldom spoke of his family, and no one was tactless enough to poke at old wounds.

After all, each of them had someone or something they did not want to speak about.

No one imagined that someone who seemed like a quiet, decent man would stab them in the back at such a critical moment.

The bell rang. Lu Yan came back to himself, smoothed away the sudden chill in his expression, and returned to the front to dismiss the class.

Students hurried out with their bags, but as they left, many cast an ostensibly casual glance at Fu Qing.

She had lowered her eyes, sunk into her own world.

When Fu Qing refused to reach outward, she became like an island, cold and inaccessible.

But the students already knew what that island looked like. Translated on Hololo novels. The wind there was warm, the soil soft. They were no longer afraid of drawing close.

They were simply curious, and vaguely uneasy, about what could make the principal wear that expression.

With no class next, Lu Yan locked the classroom door in case someone wandered in by mistake.

“You said you saw Fan Zheng. How?”

Fu Qing briefly explained the simulation pod accident.

Lu Yan scanned her quickly from head to toe, then held up a hand and formed a number with his fingers, asking with earnest seriousness, “How many is this?”

Fu Qing: “…”

Expressionless, she folded his two fingers back down.

“My head is very clear. That thing was dealt with in time. It didn’t leave any lasting effects.”

“Good.” Lu Yan shrugged, then, unusually serious, added, “Don’t dwell on Fan Zheng… that wasn’t anyone’s fault. He hid it too well. No one could have expected…”

He paused, lowering his voice.

“I’ve always thought something about it was strange. Turning on us like that gave him nothing.”

Worried Fu Qing might blame herself, he was about to continue when her gaze drifted over and she said, genuinely puzzled, “I didn’t think it was my fault.”

Lu Yan: “?”

His temple twitched. His smile stiffened.

“I suddenly feel like… maybe you could blame yourself a little, just a tiny bit?”

It was not that Fu Qing had made any wrong call.

Saving their companions was a collective decision. Fu Qing took on the infiltration role, carrying the greatest risk herself, and even the other two teams’ actions had been reviewed by her. Every step had gone smoothly. In fact, even if they failed to rescue their teammates, Fu Qing still had the ability to withdraw safely. The only variable was Fan Zheng, who had supposedly already died, reappearing.

Yet when teammates die, everyone who lives carries a kind of guilt, closer to survivor’s guilt than any rational assessment. It is irrational, senseless, a trauma response that insists you should have died with them.

Lu Yan had been haunted by that for a long time. But looking at Fu Qing now, he thought that perhaps being more rational was not a bad thing. Otherwise, the weight on her shoulders would be unbearable.

Fu Qing said, “No. Running into Fan Zheng in the pod actually helped me understand a few things.”

As Lu Yan had said, betraying them at that moment benefited him in no way.

There were hardly any humans left on Blue Star. Staying with Fu Qing’s team would have allowed him to live longer.

If, as he claimed, he had long harbored resentment toward Fu Qing, it still should not have been strong enough to make him throw away his own life by betraying them at the critical moment and inviting the team’s hatred. It was simply too stupid.

Unless… it did benefit him.

“I always found it strange,” Fu Qing continued. “There were far too many zombies around that factory. Without you all, even I couldn’t have gotten in smoothly. So how did a useless guy like Fan Zheng manage it? I gave him all kinds of excuses. Maybe when we fled, the zombies were distracted and he hid in some back room. Or maybe he just got lucky…”

A thought surfaced in Lu Yan’s mind: so she did not come here to reminisce after being triggered by the simulation pod.

In that instant, he felt the same bleak, inexplicable despair Xu Mingyue so often wore, the kind that made you wonder what, exactly, you had been hoping for.

Fu Qing did not notice his shift in mood. She continued.

“The one possibility I never considered was that the zombies never meant to attack him in the first place.”

Given what the Fu Qing of that life knew, she could not have imagined such a direction.

“And there’s another issue,” she said. “Shi Man’s mutation.”

Shi Man was the teammate trapped in the factory who mutated after death and attacked them.

“Special zombies are one in ten thousand. How could Fan Zheng be so sure Shi Man would mutate, and would help him attack me? If she had just turned into an ordinary zombie, then all his scheming, luring the horde, faking death, separating from the team, would have been pointless.”

His plan was too risky, too dependent on coincidences, to the point that Fu Qing had been troubled by his way of thinking for a long time afterward.

Why did the horde gather around the factory on the very night Fan Zheng was on watch?

How did Fan Zheng evade such a massive swarm?

Why did Shi Man just happen to mutate into a high-offense special infected?

When the Fu Qing of that life decided to go back for the rescue, she could never have anticipated these “coincidences,” which was why she had been caught off guard.

Now, in this life, with more information, she finally saw the answer.

“The Zombie King choosing him as a host confirmed it for me,” Fu Qing said, the tight knot between her brows loosening. “Fan Zheng was most likely a Believer all along, just extraordinarily well hidden.”

She lifted a hand and touched her abdomen, where a scar ran across her side.

It was long, twisting like a centipede, and from its shape alone you could imagine how brutal the wound had been.

Yet now it was neatly closed, stitch by stitch. Fu Qing had touched it many times, and still found it hard to imagine how Lu Yan had managed such precise suturing under those circumstances.

“So…” Lu Yan asked, “you ran over here, couldn’t even wait until class ended, just to tell me this line of reasoning?”

As if realizing his tone sounded odd, he added, “But you’re right. Back then, we didn’t even have the concept of ‘Believers.’ Of course we wouldn’t think someone might willingly ally with zombies to attack humans.”

“No.” Fu Qing lowered her hand, thoughtful. “I was just thinking…”

“Don’t you feel like there are a lot of Believers around me?”

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Previous

Mu Xing hadn’t expected Mu Lin to support him so quickly on Weibo. This could only mean Mu Lin had been keeping an eye on the matter all along.

You had to know, in the original storyline, Mu Lin was a typical workaholic, someone who hardly ever looked at apps like Weibo.

He clicked into Mu Lin’s account, and sure enough, it was spotless. The only post was the one she had just made.

It might even be that this account was specially registered just to support him.

The comments under that post had already reached thousands:

【Holy shit!】

【Hua Shi’s CEO? Mu Lin? Mu Xing? Siblings?】

【Good lord, who was it that said before Mu Xing was from a poor family and grew up in a mountain village? Who! Stand up and admit it!】

【I’m laughing my ass off. This is the parent rushing out to protect their kid after seeing them bullied? And what did Jiang Shengyu say again? That Mu Xing was after his and Qin Song’s money and resources, threatening them? I declare this the biggest joke I’ve heard all year.】

【So there really was a rich young master hiding his identity to join the entertainment circle? No need to explain further. Does Jiang Shengyu’s face hurt? Mu Xing lacking money? If he really wanted resources, would he need to threaten you two?】

【I never thought the melon I’ve been eating would turn out like this.】

Mu Xing replied to Mu Lin on Weibo: Thanks sis, I didn’t expect I was actually this poor [cat sigh].

【Dying, so this is what they call not-knowing-your-own-poverty Mu Xing?】

【I just want to know, what must Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu be feeling right now?】

Mu Lin’s reply shot straight up to number one on the trending list.

Meanwhile, netizens began piecing together Mu Xing’s entire public life trajectory in the entertainment circle.

He had never revealed his connection to the Mu family, and once when paparazzi followed him, the address they caught was in an ordinary residential complex. From the few times he’d been photographed, there was absolutely no trace of a wealthy background.

At this point, a netizen came forward claiming insider knowledge, saying their family and the Mu family were longtime acquaintances, and they knew some details. Mu Xing and Mu Lin were real siblings, but their parents had divorced when they were young. The sister followed their father, while Mu Xing lived abroad with their mother. His maternal grandfather’s side was also a wealthy family.

He had only returned from abroad last year, and not long after, entered the entertainment circle. He had a flash marriage with Qin Song, which caused a huge falling-out with his family. It was said that at his angriest, Mu Xing’s father had even threatened to kick this unfilial son out of the family.

The poster sighed: who would have thought, he turned against his family for Qin Song, and this was the result.

【Anyone got proof for this? Is it true or fake?】

【If it’s true, then Qin Song really is trash. This young master was willing to fight with his family just to be with him, and what does he do? Comes up with some sham of an agreement marriage, and during the marriage itself, sneaks around with Jiang Shengyu. That’s cheating, no way to wash it.】

【No wonder Mu Xing couldn’t even be bothered to hide it on the show. His dislike for the two of them was written plainly on his face. I think his restraint was already impressive. If it were me, I’d have crushed those two dogs.】

【The truth isn’t even out yet, why are people rushing to brand Qin Song guilty?】

【And besides, Qin Song already said he mentioned the agreement marriage beforehand, and Mu Xing agreed. One was willing to hit, one was willing to take the hit. How is that deception?】

【Don’t twist concepts. Agreement marriage is one thing, but Qin Song only said “let’s try.” He didn’t say he could cheat during the marriage, did he?】

【Qin fans, stop whitewashing. Watching you mindlessly defend him is disgusting.】

【And you can still stan a lying, cheating scumbag?】

【Go check Weibo, this is hilarious.】

The gossip crowd shifted focus, and it turned out Huo Jing had also posted on Weibo. His account was clearly verified as the director of Hongtai Real Estate.

Hongtai Real Estate was the biggest real estate group in Nan Province, and one of the top in the country. Its developments could be seen nationwide.

Huo Jing v: What kind of house does little brother like, a large flat or a villa? Brother-in-law will give you one.

【Good lord, eating this melon brought me to tears of envy.】

【Is this the world of the rich? Houses are just given away like that.】

【This guy really doesn’t lack houses.】

Huo Jing?

Mu Xing froze for a moment when he saw the name, the other party calling himself brother-in-law.

He thought for a bit before remembering who this was.

His sister Mu Lin’s boyfriend. But after Mu Xing had returned, he hadn’t really seen much of him.

In the original storyline, there hadn’t been much description of the sister and brother-in-law either, only that Mu Lin had a long-term, stable boyfriend, who later likely became her husband.

He politely replied: Thank you, brother-in-law.

*

The moment Jiang Shengyu saw Mu Lin’s reply, his face went pale.

He angrily called Qin Song: “Why didn’t you tell me Mu Xing was the Mu family’s young master?”

Qin Song was irritated too: “How would I know? He never said anything!”

If he had known Mu Xing was the Mu family’s young master, how could he have proposed such a ridiculous agreement marriage?

The Mu family was absolutely not someone he could afford to offend.

Jiang Shengyu demanded: “Then what do we do now?”

With Mu Xing’s identity exposed, their previous words became a joke. Just like Mu Xing had said: “No matter what, I would never covet your money or resources.”

He had just opened his own Weibo, and the comments below were unbearable.

Although a large part of his fans still supported him, many were unfollowing, and there were plenty of passersby mocking him.

Jiang Shengyu’s voice was trembling: “I just finished filming a drama, and that drama could win an award! Director Wang even contacted me a few days ago, I had hope to be in his movie and appear on the big screen. How could something like this happen?”

Qin Song heard the trembling in his voice, and couldn’t help but soften inside. After all, this was the person he had loved for many years.

He spoke gently: “Don’t be afraid, Shengyu. I’ll find a way. Leave it to me, okay?”

Jiang Shengyu cried out: “I told you before, I told you to restrain yourself, not to expose our relationship. You didn’t listen, you even got mad at me and went to find some substitute who looked like me. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be facing this situation at all!”

Qin Song felt bitter. He said heavily: “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”

Two hours later, Qin Song logged into his account and posted an apology statement.

He didn’t make excuses anymore. Instead, he honestly apologized to Mu Xing.

He apologized for his “fraudulent marriage,” for his “cheating during marriage,” and for previously trying to smear Mu Xing to clear his own name.

He took all the blame on himself.

He said Jiang Shengyu knew nothing.

He explained that the marriage with Mu Xing had been his and Mu Xing’s cooperation, a deal of interests, for the purpose of protecting Jiang Shengyu, who didn’t want to reveal his real relationship with Qin Song.

Jiang Shengyu had truly believed Mu Xing was cooperating with Qin Song for money. That was why he had said those things before.

It was also because he knew about Mu Xing and Qin Song’s arrangement that he felt secure continuing with Qin Song, so he wasn’t really a third party.

In short, Qin Song shouldered all the blame himself.

Mu Xing read his statement, a little surprised: “He really does love Jiang Shengyu more than I thought.”

Qin Song couldn’t possibly not know what admitting to all this meant.

His career would likely collapse, and he’d completely offend the Mu family.

He could have pushed the blame back and forth with Jiang Shengyu, but he didn’t.

As expected, when the statement came out, netizens cursed him. Some, though, said he still had a bit of responsibility:

【Although you’re a scumbag, I still want to say, at least you’re a real man.】

【From Mu Xing’s standpoint, I wish I could slap you twice. From Jiang Shengyu’s standpoint, you’re indeed a reliable lover.】

【Does having responsibility cover up being trash? I’m disappointed in you.】

【Unfollowing. No matter how you spin it, you’re still a scumbag who played with someone’s feelings.】

Overnight, Qin Song lost countless fans. Even some longtime big fans and fan-site leaders who had spent a lot of money on him issued statements declaring they were unfollowing.

Several luxury endorsements he held quickly released statements canceling cooperation and even said they would pursue further responsibility.

The scripts he had been negotiating for suddenly went silent.

Qin Song’s agent called him. Even though he tried to restrain himself, the anger couldn’t be hidden: “You really are something. A lovestruck fool. Protecting your little lover spotless and innocent. And you? Don’t you want your career anymore?”

Qin Song said in a deep voice: “It’s only temporary. I’ve been in this circle for so many years, I still have a foundation. It’s not impossible to make a comeback. But Shengyu is different. He’s still too shallow in the industry, and relies on fans. If such a scandal broke out, he’d be ruined.”

The agent, Cheng Hua, laughed angrily: “Shengyu, Shengyu—do you really think he’s some innocent child who doesn’t understand anything?”

“Cheng Hua!” Qin Song called his name in displeasure.

Cheng Hua sneered: “Fine, I won’t say more. Do what you want.”

He hung up and sighed.

Hope you don’t regret it.

Meanwhile, with Qin Song covering him, Jiang Shengyu’s side was full of joy among fans.

Weibo comments were quickly controlled.

【This has nothing to do with my idol.】

【He’s also an innocent victim who was deceived.】

【It’s all that scumbag Qin Song’s fault.】

In the industry, many watched coldly. Though many didn’t really believe Jiang Shengyu was that innocent, his reputation was preserved, and he even gained sympathy. His popularity and traffic soared.

He was still that top trending young idol.

That night, Jiang Shengyu called Qin Song.

“What is it?” Qin Song’s tone was weary.

He would be stuck for a long time, busy and exhausted, dealing with the consequences of this matter.

Jiang Shengyu said softly: “Thank you, Qin Song.”

Qin Song smiled and comforted him: “It’s nothing. You understand my heart. As long as you’re doing well, that’s enough.”

With Mu Xing’s identity revealed, naturally some were happy while others were worried.

Mu Xing’s phone suddenly became very lively.

People like Fu Chen, who had only recently added him as a friend, were yelling at him on WeChat for not being straightforward.

At the company, both the general manager and director personally called him several times. Their tone was gentler than ever before. They said the company had gotten several scripts and variety shows for him, and he could choose as he pleased.

That was when Mu Xing remembered that only Zhong Ling knew his identity, and apparently hadn’t told the company.

Some colleagues from the same company whom he had never interacted with also rushed to add him as a friend. Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was extremely popular.

Mu Xing ignored all the friend requests and asked Zhong Ling one thing.

“The script we talked about before—did Jiang Shengyu still take it?”

Zhong Ling quickly confirmed.

Mu Xing nodded: then they would follow the original plan, finish filming that drama from the storyline, and then terminate the contract as previously agreed.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

The week-long recording ended, and Mu Xing exchanged contact information with several guests.

He carried his suitcase back to the Mu family home.

Zhong Ling had contacted him a few times over the past two days. From his words, it was clear that through this variety show, he had seen Mu Xing’s value, and asked if he wanted to reconsider leaving the entertainment circle.

Mu Xing wasn’t interested and refused.

After learning Mu Xing’s true identity, Zhong Ling had no confidence to dictate his choices. Seeing his firm attitude, he sighed and didn’t press further.

Mu Xing faintly felt something: in the last few days of Dream Pastoral, Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu were unexpectedly quiet. Aside from interacting with each other more frequently, they didn’t bother him at all.

This gave him a few comfortable days, but Mu Xing always felt something was off.

At the moment he received Zhong Ling’s call, he actually sighed in relief.

Finally, it’s here.

Qin Song accepted an interview.

In the video, he said: “I originally didn’t intend to bring private matters before the public, but recently, many people seem to have misunderstandings about me, about Shengyu, and about my relationship with Mu Xing. I think I need to explain.”

He said he indeed had a marital relationship with Mu Xing, but it was not out of love, rather a contract.

Mu Xing married him to shield him from all kinds of women outside, and the payment was a house in the Imperial Capital and some industry resources.

He admitted: “Between us, it was a mutually beneficial relationship. In the end, we parted on good terms. So I don’t understand why Mu Xing harbors such deep hostility toward me.”

“If everyone wants proof, look at this.” He placed a property transfer contract in front of the camera.

Once this interview came out, the internet exploded:

[What the hell, a contract marriage? Playing this wild?]

[??? So the two were just partners? There wasn’t any real feeling, so don’t talk about betrayal or cheating?]

[Good lord, Mu Xing and Qin Song were married only half a year, right? Half a year for a house in the Imperial Capital, where do I find such a good deal? I want it too!]

[So by this logic, Qin Song was Mu Xing’s employer? Watching the show, you couldn’t tell. Mu Xing looked lofty in front of Qin Song. I really thought he couldn’t stand a heartless man.]

[Damn, I even sincerely analyzed what kind of harm Mu Xing suffered in this marriage. Now it seems the harm was a house.]

[Maybe even Dream Pastoral was something Qin Song got for Mu Xing.]

Although Qin Song didn’t directly say anything bad about Mu Xing in the interview, it was obvious he had already achieved his intended effect.

Qin’s fans, naturally, arrogantly rushed to Mu Xing’s Weibo to curse him.

And many passersby who had developed a good impression of Mu Xing through Dream Pastoral were deeply disappointed.

A contractual marriage is nothing, but on the show, Mu Xing’s reaction to Qin and Jiang clearly looked like that of a “victim.”

At the time, when people didn’t know the truth, netizens thought he was genuine, thought he was pitiful.

But if the two were only in a relationship of interest? He took the money, so how could he still act like a victimized white lotus?

Hypocritical.

Only people who knew Mu Xing’s identity, like Zhong Ling, frowned at the trending topics.

This interview by Qin Song basically painted Mu Xing as someone who “takes money but doesn’t do his part.”

A house in the Imperial Capital, resources, plus the publicity from being nominally married to a film emperor, was indeed enough to be tempting.

It sounded reasonable.

But the person was Mu Xing.

The young master of the Mu family—would he wrong himself for a house?

He faintly felt: this time, Qin Song was very likely to lift a rock only to smash his own foot.

*

Looking at the online public opinion, Qin Song let out a long breath.

These past days he and Jiang Shengyu had discussed it, and felt that Mu Xing probably had some evidence of his real relationship with Jiang Shengyu.

Such things absolutely could not be revealed, or rather, had to be rendered useless.

To render them useless was simple: what he and Jiang Shengyu feared was being condemned for having an intimate relationship during the marriage.

Then just deny the marriage.

A marriage based only on interest meant he and Mu Xing had nothing to do with each other.

As long as the public accepted this, even if his relationship with Jiang Shengyu was exposed in the future, people wouldn’t label it “cheating.”

An image of that face blushing before him flashed in his mind, and he thought: You can’t blame me for being this ruthless, Mu Xing.

You were the one who struck first.

*

Mu Xing clicked the link Zhong Ling sent and finished watching the interview.

Zhong Ling said: “Right now, the online opinion is very unfavorable toward you.”

Mu Xing only laughed: “I was wondering how long they would hold back. Faster than I thought.”

Taking an interview right after Dream Pastoral ended—clearly well prepared, and also showing they didn’t want to face Mu Xing directly.

Hearing his relaxed tone, Zhong Ling immediately knew there would be a reversal.

He also breathed easier, laughing: “Then what’s your plan? Do you need me to contact the media?”

Mu Xing shook his head: “No need for the trouble. Don’t I have a Weibo?”

Hearing him mention Weibo, Zhong Ling’s mouth couldn’t help twitching: so this young master still remembered he had a Weibo account?

At 8 p.m., Mu Xing used his Weibo account to post a long statement.

Mu Xing v: [Mr. Qin Song’s rhetoric is truly beautiful. Since it’s out in the open, let’s just be clear.]

First, our marriage did have an agreement, but it was not a partnership of interests. It was Qin Song who took the initiative to approach me. After we met a few times, he suggested marriage. His exact words were: “I’m not sure if I can develop feelings for you, but I’m willing to give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll break up.” Looking back now, it was a real scumbag thing to say, but I still agreed. Because at that time, I really liked him, and I didn’t know that he already had someone he liked in his heart.

Second, the house in the Imperial Capital did exist, but it was never so-called “payment.” I never asked for anything when I married him. This was compensation that Mr. Qin Song insisted on giving me after his extramarital entanglement with Mr. Jiang Shengyu during our marriage, and after our divorce. On the very day I received it, I sold the house and donated the money to a welfare institution. I’ll attach the proof below. Why shouldn’t I take the only bit of guilty conscience compensation a scumbag offers?

Third, I have a question. Mr. Qin Song, since you and Mr. Jiang are mutually in love, liking each other, and even during our short half-year marriage you were repeatedly entangled and going on dates with Jiang Shengyu, why did you drag an innocent and unaware me into your mess? Just because I liked you, I deserved to be deceived? To be treated like trash? To be used?

Below the long post were pictures.

The pictures included the amount from selling the house in the Imperial Capital, as well as the donation amount to the welfare institution.

There were also many photos of Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu, all marked with dates.

The earliest one was three years ago, with gaps in between, but during Mu Xing and Qin Song’s marriage, there were also intimate photos taken of the two.

[Holy shit, a reversal?]

[Are these pictures real? My god, Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu really are a couple?]

[I only care about that house in the Imperial Capital… eight figures, just donated like that, Mu Xing is insane!]

[Looking at the donation time, Mu Xing really did donate only a few days after receiving the house, so that earlier rumor about him marrying Qin Song for money is proven false, right?]

[According to Mu Xing’s words… does this mean Qin Song already had a lover, then tricked someone into marriage? After tricking him, still cheated during the marriage? After divorce, even gave an interview shading his ex-husband? What an absolute scumbag!]

[Honestly, I can’t believe Qin Song is that kind of person.]

[But this is only Mu Xing’s one-sided statement. You said Qin Song asked you a few times and you just agreed to marry? Would normal people marry so rashly? Can you really say you weren’t after his fame and money?]

[Selling the property means nothing. Who knows how many other benefits you got from marrying Brother Song?]

[Not saying anything yet, let’s wait and see if there’s more evidence.]

[Exactly, there are too many reversals these days.]

…

Very soon, Jiang Shengyu also posted on Weibo.

Jiang Shengyu V: [I didn’t expect to be dragged into this. First, I’m sorry for hiding this from everyone all this time. I am indeed with Qin Song.

As for Mu Xing, I can testify that his marriage with Qin Song was fake. He discovered my relationship with Qin Song privately and used these photos to threaten us for money and resources.

At that time, I was scared and didn’t dare face the fans who had always supported me, so I gave in to his threat. That’s how the agreement marriage came about.

I don’t know why Mu Xing sold that house. Thinking about it now, maybe he had planned this scheme long ago. I want to ask you, what grudge do you have against us, to calculate against us like this?]

[! This melon keeps getting bigger.]

[Slammed, slammed! In my lifetime I actually got a real CP!]

[This… I didn’t expect it.]

[Even Jiang Shengyu has been forced to come out and admit the relationship, so Mu Xing must be self-directing this “evidence” by himself, right?]

[Where’s the evidence? Both sides are just arguing, there’s no real proof, just a house.]

[Trust Shengyu! Drama queen Mu Xing, get lost.]

[That being said, this statement feels strange. You said Mu Xing threatened you with evidence for money and resources, but then why would Qin Song still marry him afterward?]

…

When Zhong Ling saw Jiang Shengyu’s statement, he almost spat out his drink.

Mu Xing actually laughed out loud.

Never seen someone rush forward to slap themselves like this.

He went on Weibo, reposted Jiang Shengyu’s post, and lazily replied: “At least make up a decent story. No matter what, I’d never covet your money or resources.”

Netizens were baffled.

But soon they understood what Mu Xing meant.

[Holy shit!]

[Holy shit!]

[Now this is the real shocking reversal!]

[I read Jiang Shengyu’s statement several times and suddenly laughed. Never seen someone so eager to slap themselves.]

[Hahaha, Mu Xing coveting their money and resources? No wonder Mu Xing said they can’t even make up a convincing story.]

[Mu Xing is the younger brother of Hua Shi’s CEO? Is that real? That’s a true wealthy family, worth hundreds of billions!]

The shock came from one Weibo post.

Mu Lin: Little brother, have you really gotten so poor that you’d sell yourself for a house? Your sister will give you two, don’t embarrass our family.

This account looked ordinary, without even verification.

But the first comment under the post was from the official Hua Shi Group account: The official certification hasn’t come out yet, so here’s a manual certification of the CEO’s identity [dog head].

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

The videos of their interactions—those who shipped them were thrilled, those who didn’t took one look and left.

Most casual viewers online weren’t particularly interested in celebrity romances.

But with Mu Xing, that wasn’t the case.

Every viewer who clicked in, once they understood the backstory, couldn’t help but laugh.

Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu did, indeed, manage to stir up plenty of attention online, just as they’d hoped.

The problem was, it wasn’t for anything good.

Everywhere people were mocking them as “not the brightest pair.”

Qin Song’s face darkened. Suddenly, he went upstairs and knocked on Mu Xing’s door.

At first Mu Xing thought it was staff from the production team. When he opened the door and saw Qin Song, he was surprised.

He stood in the doorway without stepping back. “What do you want?”

Qin Song said, “Mu Xing, I want to talk to you.”

Mu Xing shook his head. “I have nothing to talk about with you.”

Qin Song frowned. “Mu Xing, I know you’re resentful! But didn’t we make things clear when we divorced? I even gave you compensation. What more do you want?”

As he spoke, Qin Song glanced down the hall. Even though only guests stayed on the upper floors and staff usually didn’t bother them at night, there were still plenty of eyes and ears around.

He lowered his voice. “Let me in. Let’s talk properly.”

Mu Xing’s face sank. “Don’t you understand human speech? I don’t want to talk to you. There’s nothing to talk about.”

When Qin Song still didn’t leave, Mu Xing added sharply, “This is the production set. We finally managed to cut ties cleanly. You don’t really want tomorrow’s headline to be #QinSongAndMuXingLateNightMeeting, do you?”

At that, Qin Song instinctively took a step back.

Mu Xing moved to shut the door, but Qin Song quickly reached out to block it.

“You have grievances—fine, take them out on me. But why target Shengyu? Mu Xing, how did I never realize you were this petty?”

Mu Xing thought he must be out of his mind. “What grievances? How am I targeting Jiang Shengyu? Where are you even getting this from?”

Qin Song said, “Wasn’t it obvious from your behavior on the show? Mu Xing, I feel guilty toward you, so I’ve tolerated your disrespect. But patience has its limits. If you keep this up, I’ll have no choice but to take action.”

Oh—threats.

Mu Xing looked amused. “And what action would that be?”

Seeing his reaction, Qin Song thought he was intimidated. He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you. But if you insist on revenge, Mu Xing, the entertainment industry is ruthless.”

“Alright, got it,” Mu Xing said lazily. “I think you might be misunderstanding something.”

As Qin Song looked at him, Mu Xing said flatly, “I don’t have any grudges against you two, nor have I deliberately targeted you. I just simply can’t stand you. As for what I said earlier today…”

He looked almost surprised. “That counts as targeting? Weren’t those all just facts? Your behavior really is stupid.”

Qin Song: “…”

He narrowed his eyes. “So you’re set on being our enemy?”

Mu Xing’s expression cooled, and he looked at him like at a fool. “I have no idea where you two get the confidence to act tough in front of me. From our sham of a contractual marriage? Or from the fact that you and Jiang Shengyu were still tangled up while we were married?”

Qin Song’s face changed drastically.

Mu Xing said softly, “If I were you, I’d behave myself and stay out of my sight.”

His words were clear. “I hate the two of you. The best way we can coexist is by pretending we’re strangers, with nothing to do with each other. I hope you and Jiang Shengyu get that, and stop bothering me. If I’m in a bad mood and happen to say something on camera, that wouldn’t exactly be surprising, would it?”

With that, he slammed the door in Qin Song’s face.

Qin Song stood there, face black with rage, staring for a while before leaving.

Back in his room, the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He told Jiang Shengyu about the exchange.

Jiang Shengyu’s face shifted. “Does he have something on us? Is that why he’s acting so cocky?”

Back when he and Qin Song were on the rocks, they hadn’t completely stopped seeing each other.

If Mu Xing had sent someone to follow them and gotten photos, it wasn’t impossible.

“No. We need to strike first,” Jiang Shengyu said.

*

In the following days, perhaps because Mu Xing’s warning had sunk in, neither Qin Song nor Jiang Shengyu tried to approach him again.

But on camera, the two of them acted even more intimate than before. Their constant interactions were driving CP fans insane.

Even so, the biggest winner of Dream Pastoral was still Mu Xing.

For some reason, after the villagers discussed among themselves, the next day all the stall owners with children came to Mu Xing. They asked if, while tutoring, he could also take on their kids or their relatives’ kids.

They didn’t expect him to do anything else—just teach the children. And he could take whatever ingredients he wanted.

This was something that hadn’t happened in all six episodes of the show.

But the production team had made it clear from the start: stall owners were free to handle things as they wished, and the guests could use any method as long as it worked. What Mu Xing was doing fully fit the rules.

And for him, whether it was teaching two kids or ten, there wasn’t much difference—so of course, he agreed.

[Good grief, other guests are all working in the fields, but Mu Xing is basically a private tutor.]

[Mu Xing: fake celebrity, real tutor.]

[Honestly I think Mu Xing is pretty well-suited to be a teacher. If he doesn’t want to stay in showbiz later, he could totally go into education.]

In just seven days, Mu Xing was trending almost every day, and his Weibo followers shot up by more than three million.

On the last day of filming, when Zhang Tiantian and the others heard he was leaving, their eyes went red with reluctance.

Mu Xing smiled as he gave the kids his contact info, telling them they could call if they ran into hard problems.

That day, after class ended, none of the kids wanted to leave.

Zhang Tiantian’s grandmother insisted the guests should come to her house for a meal to properly thank them.

That wasn’t very convenient, but seeing the children about to cry, Mu Xing thought for a moment and said, “Wait here for me.”

He left in a hurry.

Fu Chen wondered aloud, “What’s he up to?”

Ji Yuyou was also curious. She shook her head. “Mu Xing wouldn’t let the cameraman follow him. Said he was preparing a little surprise for the kids.”

The children instantly forgot about crying, blinking curiously as they waited.

About twenty minutes later, Mu Xing came back and called them over to another stall.

“Tiantian, you first.”

Obediently, Zhang Tiantian stood in front of him. Mu Xing held out his two fists, smiling. “I’ve hidden a gift in one hand. Guess which one. Only if you guess right, you get it.”

Tiantian hesitated nervously, then picked the left.

Mu Xing chuckled and opened his right—empty.

Then, somehow, with a tug of his right hand toward the left, a golden sunflower suddenly bloomed in his palm.

“Wow!” the children gasped in unison.

When Tiantian touched it, she realized it wasn’t a real flower but a beautifully made plush toy.

The livestream comments exploded with 666s:

[Was that magic?]

[I don’t get it. Where did that sunflower come from? It’s too big to hide anywhere.]

[I suspected back when Mu Xing hid that little woven spider that he could do magic. Sure enough.]

[So amazing. Any pros here to explain?]

Mu Xing gave the sunflower to Tiantian.

Next was Zhao Song—he got a Transformer model.

The third girl received a bunny plush.

…

Every child got something different. Finally, Mu Xing pressed his palms together, rubbed them, snapped his fingers—

Bang.

Beautiful golden confetti burst overhead, falling gently around everyone.

But above them was only open sky, no sign of any hidden device.

Mu Xing smiled at the children. “Was that fun?”

Their eyes sparkled as they all shouted, “Yes!”

“Study hard, behave well. If I get the chance, I’ll come visit you again.” Mu Xing patted their heads and waved goodbye.

[Wow, I’m stunned! This is hands-down the most romantic farewell in all six episodes of Dream Pastoral.]

[I watched every move and couldn’t find a single flaw in that trick. Absolutely brilliant.]

[Mu Xing is amazing! Is there anything he can’t do?]

[A true treasure boy—handsome, talented, and charming. And Qin Song didn’t appreciate him? That’s just clueless.]

[If I were these kids, I’d remember this big brother for life.]

[I want Mu Xing to tutor me. I want Mu Xing to do magic for me. Wuwuwu.]

It wasn’t just the kids who were dazzled. Even the other guests were stunned.

Fu Chen, who had grown close to Mu Xing over the week, couldn’t wait until they left Dada Village before asking, “How did you do that just now? Was it magic?”

Mu Xing only smiled and snapped his fingers—

A piece of candy dropped onto Fu Chen’s head.

“Just a little trick.” Mu Xing fished another candy from his pocket, unwrapped it, and squinted lazily in satisfaction.

Fu Chen plucked the candy from his hair, eyes sparkling. “Bro, Mu Xing bro! Teach me that!”

Gu Jiani also clamored to learn.

Mu Xing propped his chin. “Takes talent. You two wouldn’t get it.”

Fu Chen protested, “Says who? How would we know if we don’t try…”

The carriage filled with chatter and laughter.

[Mu Xing really is popular.]

[After a week I’ve figured it out—aside from Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu, Mu Xing can get along with anyone. Don’t tell me nothing’s going on.]

[Of course he gets along. He’s handsome, good-natured, multi-talented. Who wouldn’t like him?]

In the front, Qin Song and Jiang Shengyu sat with eyes closed, pretending to nap.

Listening to the laughter behind them, Jiang Shengyu’s lips curved faintly.

Laugh while you can.

Just wait—you might not be laughing much longer.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣

It was midsummer, and the night breeze carried an intoxicating warmth.

The Regent’s Residence was brilliantly lit, filled with lively noise as guests raised cups and exchanged drinks.

In the rear courtyard, at the residence where Jiang Ji and Lu Huaizhou lived, the guards had all retreated far away.

The sounds of drinking and laughter drifted over from the front courtyard. Original translation at HololoNovels dot com. Xiao Liu stood watch at the entrance of the courtyard. After finishing dinner, he sat there with a bag of melon seeds and a pot of tea, enjoying the moonlight while cracking seeds and guarding the gate.

Red lanterns hung beneath the eaves inside the courtyard, swaying gently in the night breeze. The large red “double happiness” characters pasted on the windows glowed with flickering candlelight from inside the room, while faint sounds occasionally drifted out.

Inside the room, the red wedding robes had fallen to the floor, scattered beside countless red dates, peanuts, longans, and lotus seeds.

Jiang Ji held Lu Huaizhou in his arms. Beneath his fingertips, he brushed against the old scar over Lu Huaizhou’s chest. He paused briefly, then bent down and kissed the scar gently.

Lu Huaizhou’s heart skipped slightly, his gaze darkening further as his arms unconsciously tightened.

“Don’t be nervous. I’m very gentle.” Sensing the brief tension in Lu Huaizhou’s body, Jiang Ji kissed him lightly on the lips in reassurance.

Lu Huaizhou: “……”

He curved his lips into a smile, rolled them over in one motion, and gave Jiang Ji a deep kiss that left him dizzy and breathless before quietly taking advantage of the moment to move his hand.

Jiang Ji immediately startled, opening his eyes wide in surprise tinged with delighted shock, his gaze hazy with moisture. “Lu Huaizhou, you’re really good at this. Did you secretly study behind my back?”

“Mhm. I read a little. Just leave it to me,” Lu Huaizhou answered in a low voice, continuing to kiss him without giving him much room to think.

Jiang Ji was still reeling from the revelation that someone as serious-looking as Lu Huaizhou had secretly read little booklets like that when, in the very next moment, his scalp went numb.

This was deadly.

Jiang Ji suddenly felt like he, a modern person, might actually lose to someone from ancient times. Refusing to admit defeat, he quickly gathered himself and stubbornly placed his own hand over Lu Huaizhou’s.

“I’ll do it.”

Lu Huaizhou paused, withdrew his hand, and let Jiang Ji take over. Then, while Jiang Ji focused intently, Lu Huaizhou smoothly reversed the situation and reached elsewhere instead.

Jiang Ji: “!”

“What are you doing?” he asked in shock, staring at Lu Huaizhou.

Under the warm red candlelight, the corners of Jiang Ji’s eyes were faintly flushed red. The words sounded more coquettish than accusing, completely lacking any real force.

Lu Huaizhou’s throat bobbed. He kissed the corner of Jiang Ji’s eye softly. “Heavy work. Let me handle it.”

“You…”

Before he could finish speaking, his home territory had already been stolen.

Jiang Ji: “……”

He looked at Lu Huaizhou with complicated emotions.

So Lu Huaizhou had been harboring the exact same thoughts as him all along.

But very quickly, Lu Huaizhou’s kisses chased after him again, leaving him no energy to think about it anymore.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for a very long time.” Lu Huaizhou kissed his lips as he spoke hoarsely into his ear, making no effort whatsoever to hide his feelings.

Jiang Ji: “……” He had been waiting a long time too.

Tilting his head up, he bit lightly at Lu Huaizhou’s lips and muttered softly, “I’ll let you win this time.”

Forget it. Whoever did it was still doing it. At a critical moment like this, he was not actually that stubborn about the matter. They could always switch things up later anyway.

Lu Huaizhou laughed softly. “Mhm. Thank you.”

The red bed curtains swayed gently while the red candles burned little by little, crackling softly through the night until they finally extinguished sometime past midnight, leaving behind only melted wax hardened atop the candle stands.

…

The next day, the sun already hung high outside the window while birds chirped noisily from the tree branches as they sheltered from the heat.

Inside the room, Lu Huaizhou had woken long ago but still had not gotten up. He simply stared at the person in his arms without blinking, the corners of his lips raised, his gaze so gentle it practically overflowed with tenderness.

Jiang Ji had been exhausted the night before and was sleeping deeply. His lips were slightly swollen, parted faintly as he breathed.

After an unknown amount of time, he smacked his lips lightly in his sleep and rolled over, instinctively reaching for Lu Huaizhou’s arm. Missing it, he instead wrapped his arms around Lu Huaizhou’s waist and burrowed his head into his chest.

Lu Huaizhou found him unbearably adorable. Opening his arms, he pulled Jiang Ji fully into his embrace and kissed his forehead.

Jiang Ji slept a while longer before slowly waking up. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Lu Huaizhou watching him.

“Morning. You didn’t go to court?” Jiang Ji asked groggily, confused to see Lu Huaizhou still there. “Is it a rest day today?”

Normally, whenever Jiang Ji woke in the morning, Lu Huaizhou had already gone to court unless it was a day off.

Knowing he was still half asleep, Lu Huaizhou laughed softly and reminded him, “I have seven days of wedding leave.”

Jiang Ji blinked. The red bed curtains and red quilt entered his sight, and suddenly he remembered that they had gotten married yesterday.

“Oh right, we got married. We have marriage leave.” Jiang Ji grinned foolishly, but the moment he moved, he suddenly froze.

Jiang Ji: “……”

The soreness throughout his body instantly brought all the memories rushing back.

The two of them had restrained themselves for far too long. Last night, they had been like people parched for ages or tigers finally released from cages, tireless and relentless. By the time Lu Huaizhou finished helping him bathe and they finally went to sleep, Jiang Ji remembered glancing at the system clock and seeing that it was already past three in the morning.

And if he remembered correctly, it had not even been eight yet when they first entered the room.

He gave Lu Huaizhou a subtle look.

Lu Huaizhou frowned slightly. “Does something hurt?”

His large hand immediately settled against Jiang Ji’s waist, gently massaging it.

“No, I’m alright.” Jiang Ji had spent years doing physical labor, so his body now was completely different from his previous life. “Just a little sore.”

Besides, Lu Huaizhou had even applied medicine for him afterward. Jiang Ji had no idea Lu Huaizhou had already prepared nourishing medicine ahead of time. Thinking about it now, this man had clearly been plotting for a long time.

But what could he do? He picked this wife himself, so he could only endure it himself.

Lu Huaizhou looked genuinely distressed. “My fault. I lost control.”

Jiang Ji glanced at him before coughing awkwardly. “I also…”

…kind of enjoyed it once it started.

The two looked at each other, instantly understanding the other’s meaning. They smiled together before Lu Huaizhou leaned closer to kiss him, and the two exchanged another gentle kiss.

Poking lightly at the stubble on Lu Huaizhou’s chin, Jiang Ji said, “This is the result of you insisting on holding back until after the wedding.”

Lu Huaizhou caught his hand and kissed it. “Even if I had another chance, I’d still do the same.”

Jiang Ji: “……” Fine then. Ancient people. One had to be understanding.

“Should we get up?” Jiang Ji lay flat on the bed, stretching carefully despite the discomfort.

“Mhm. We need to go serve tea to Auntie. Lie down a bit longer. I’ll have someone bring water.”

Lu Huaizhou got out of bed and began dressing while Jiang Ji opened the livestream chat to take a look.

【Hehehehe】

【I got up early just to see the streamer’s tragic fate. Streamer, is your butt okay?】

【Aiya, this is way too sweet】

【“Lost control”! Just how late did this go on for?】

【We know the stream ended before eight last night, and now it’s already ten before it started again. Normally Jiang Ji sleeps just over seven hours】

【Mmm. This old master has calculated it with his fingers. At least six or seven hours】

【Wedding night after holding back that long? Of course they had to enjoy themselves properly】

【Two complete rookies. One hot-blooded young man and one old tree finally blooming. Of course they were going to go wild】

【LMAO the Regent is only twenty-seven. How is that “an old tree blooming”】

【Today’s driving speed is way too fast】

【I just want to know, Streamer, do you finally know who the wife is now?】

【Right, the streamer always wanted to pin the Regent down】

【Streamer, do you know who the wife is now?】

Jiang Ji: “……！”

Ahhh, he was doomed!

He had not reacted just now, but he had always treated Lu Huaizhou like his wife before. The viewers had definitely heard everything earlier! There was no hiding it anymore.

It was unbearably embarrassing, and he was also a little indignant.

If only he himself knew about it, that would have been one thing. But now all the viewers knew.

His dignity was completely gone.

His face turned bright red. He shut off the livestream and stared blankly at the ceiling for quite a while before finally getting up to put on his clothes and shoes.

Walking felt a little awkward. His legs were weak and shaky as he slowly supported himself against the wall and shuffled outside, only to see Lu Huaizhou carrying in a bucket of water.

Seeing Jiang Ji puffing his cheeks angrily, Lu Huaizhou asked, “What’s wrong? Why is your face so red?”

The moment Jiang Ji thought about the viewers’ comments, all his grievance and frustration surged up. He glared at Lu Huaizhou and muttered resentfully, “Isn’t it all your fault?”

Lu Huaizhou set the bucket down and came over to support his waist. “Does it hurt badly? Didn’t you just say you were alright?”

“……” Jiang Ji glared at him, now both embarrassed and angry. In a teasing tone, he said, “You promised before that you’d be my wife. Then you changed your mind the moment we got married and broke your word on the very first day. I’ve already lost all my dignity in front of the immortals. How am I supposed to live like this?”

So he had fully sobered up and come to settle accounts.

Lu Huaizhou coughed lightly. “……Wasn’t I just worried about tiring you out?”

Jiang Ji huffed. “Next time, let me return the favor.”

Lu Huaizhou glanced at his legs and raised a brow. “Do you still have the strength for that?”

Seeing the aggressive look in Lu Huaizhou’s eyes, Jiang Ji’s legs weakened slightly again.

“!”

“N-next time I’ll definitely have strength!”

Lu Huaizhou slowly rubbed at his waist before leaning close to whisper ambiguously into his ear, “Looks like I still wasn’t working hard enough?”

Jiang Ji: “……” No, you worked way too hard!

“You were clearly very happy last night. Did you already forget?” Lu Huaizhou pinched lightly at his waist. “How about we go back and revisit the memory?”

Jiang Ji’s legs trembled.

“!”

Looking at Lu Huaizhou’s approaching face, Jiang Ji slapped a hand against it and pushed him away. “……Forget it. I’ll spare you today.”

Seeing Jiang Ji’s frustrated expression, Lu Huaizhou coaxed him gently, “Alright, don’t be upset anymore.”

“You don’t even know what I’m upset about, and you’re telling me not to be upset?”

Lu Huaizhou thought for a moment and roughly guessed what was bothering him. In a low voice, he asked, “Did the immortals hear what we said this morning?”

“Yes!” Jiang Ji answered helplessly. “Otherwise why would I be this angry?”

Lu Huaizhou fell silent for a moment, then pulled him into his arms and softly called out, “Husband.”

Jiang Ji: “!”

His heart thumped violently.

Jiang Ji widened his eyes and stared at Lu Huaizhou in disbelief. “Y-you… what did you just call me?”

“Husband,” Lu Huaizhou repeated.

Jiang Ji: “……”

Blinking, his face instantly turned red all over again. “Y-you… say it one more time?”

Lu Huaizhou obediently repeated, “Husband?”

“Ah.” Jiang Ji excitedly rose onto his toes and kissed him. “Wife.”

“Mhm.” The corners of Lu Huaizhou’s lips curved upward. “I’m your wife, and you’re also my wife. I’m your husband, and you’re my husband. As long as the two of us live well together, that’s enough. Don’t mind what others say, alright?”

Jiang Ji glared at him and muttered, “You only say this after I’ve already lost all my face.”

Lu Huaizhou cleared his throat, then said in a serious tone, “Greetings, immortals. I am Jiang Ji’s wife, Lu Huaizhou. Please grant us husbands a little privacy.”

Jiang Ji: “……”

With complicated emotions, he said, “……That sounds exactly like trying to hide silver after already burying it.”

But honestly, Lu Huaizhou coaxing him like this and even calling him “husband” had already greatly satisfied Jiang Ji psychologically.

Forget it.

At worst, he simply would not look at the livestream comments for the next few days.

Lu Huaizhou laughed softly. “Alright, stop worrying about them. Finish washing up and let’s go eat breakfast. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am.”

Jiang Ji slowly walked over to the washstand while Lu Huaizhou ladled water into the basin for him. After the two brushed their teeth and washed their faces, Xiao Liu brought breakfast in.

【Ahhh, “husband,” the Regent spoils Jiang Ji way too much】

【Husband~】

【The streamer actually forgot about it at first, until all of you reminded him】

【They were so sweet right after waking up】

【They’re still sweet】

【Streamer, don’t mind it. Us dumb viewers are just joking around. It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms】

【The streamer just can’t get over losing face. But he never cared much about embarrassment before anyway. His skin is thick. He’ll recover in a few days】

【Their relationship is so good. The Regent spoils him so much】

After breakfast, Jiang Ji regained some energy and felt much better physically.

The two were supposed to go serve tea to Zhao Ru together, but Zhao Ru had already gone shopping with the village chief and the others.

So the two instead went to the Lu Residence and served tea to Minister Lu and Madam Lu before returning for lunch.

They only ate a little at noon. Since Lu Huaizhou was on leave, he held Jiang Ji while the two took an afternoon nap together.

By the time Jiang Ji woke up again, his body felt mostly recovered.

The two went to the study, where Lu Huaizhou planned to handle some official matters, but Jiang Ji stopped him.

“What is it?” Lu Huaizhou asked while rubbing his waist.

Jiang Ji closed the study doors and whispered, “That thing you read… let me see it too.”

“What…” Lu Huaizhou paused before understanding. The tips of his ears immediately heated slightly. “You want to see it?”

Jiang Ji nodded impatiently. “Quick.”

Lu Huaizhou glanced at him before bending down to retrieve a book hidden at the very bottom of the lowest drawer of the desk and handing it over.

“You actually kept it in the study?!” Jiang Ji widened his eyes. “You read this stuff in the study?”

Lu Huaizhou’s ears turned red. “If I kept it in the bedroom, you would’ve discovered it.”

Jiang Ji: “……”

Holding the book, he noticed the cover was extremely plain, without even a title written on it. But the moment he opened it, his eyes widened.

“Whoa——”

The pages were filled entirely with illustrations, all in color too. They were not nearly as explicit as modern adult films, but for this ancient era, they were extremely bold.

He hurriedly paused the livestream.

【Ahhh, why pause it? I want to see!】

【Streamer, what are you doing? Let me look too!】

【What is there that us VIP viewers aren’t allowed to see?!】

【Streamer, don’t hoard it. Share a little】

Ignoring the audience entirely, Jiang Ji began reading with great interest.

Lu Huaizhou pulled him into his arms and looked through it together with him.

“I thought this was just an ordinary spring palace album, but it’s actually a Longyang booklet.” Jiang Ji flipped through the pages, visibly shocked.

Lu Huaizhou: “……”

Jiang Ji turned to look at him. “Where did you get this?”

“In the palace,” Lu Huaizhou answered quietly.

Jiang Ji: “……”

Blinking, he asked, “The palace has this kind of thing too?”

Lu Huaizhou kissed his ear and whispered, “The palace has everything.”

Jiang Ji: “……”

Understood.

Throughout history, there had never been a shortage of emperors who kept male favorites.

Quietly, he continued flipping through the book before pointing at one particular page. “Next time, let’s try this one.”

Lu Huaizhou looked at the illustration in the book, then at Jiang Ji, tightening his arms around him slightly before nodding.

“Alright.”

He himself had never imagined that, in broad daylight, he would one day sit in the study together with Jiang Ji looking through this kind of book and seriously discussing future positions.

Lowering his head, he kissed the person in his arms.

This really was a treasure.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾

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