Author Archives: sandy

The wheelchair was kicked over hard, and the world spun.

Snow had only just melted, leaving slushy water and black mud at the roadside. Cen Han fell into the muck, his brand-new off-white winter coat streaked with grime.

“What did you say? Cripple, are you trying to defy us on purpose?”

“Look at you, clinging to life, disgusting. The son of a traitor, and you still have the face to meet Major General Lu Di?”

“Dressed like a person, huh. Strip his clothes off.”

—This was the coat it gave me.

Hands roughly searched over his body. The boy’s cold face finally twisted with shadowy rage: “Get lost!”

But half his body was pinned under the wheelchair. Any resistance was a joke. Surrounded by tall, burly students, his thrown punch was caught with ease. The boy who grabbed his arm smirked, tugged at it, and sneered: “He’s got no strength at all.”

“A cripple who sits in a wheelchair all day—what strength could he have? I’ve seen his legs, shriveled like sticks. Hideous.”

Cen Han’s eyes burned red, like a trapped wolf cub. He lunged and bit down on the hand tugging at his coat.

His sight should’ve been all black, but now it was filled with searing red. Pain wracked his body; the taste of rusted blood spread across his tongue.

The blond he bit wailed, tears streaming, stomping his chest. Heavy snow boots pounded him, each blow forcing muffled groans from his throat.

A thought struck him.

Like a mad dog—biting and refusing to let go.

Too pathetic, he thought.

The boy screamed endlessly. No one had expected the cripple to target just one person, clamping down like a lunatic no matter how others punched or kicked.

“Pull him off me! He’s tearing out my flesh!” Fear overwhelmed him. “Trash, all of you—what is he, a dog?!”

“All this just because he can’t go to the ceremony. He’s acting crazy. He didn’t even go in past years!”

Fists slammed his face, his scalp tore with pain, his throat filled with copper.

A sudden rush of wind came from behind. Cen Han instinctively jerked aside. A brick smashed into the ground, splitting in two. The blond scrambled up, kicking him several more times before staggering away. He wanted to stomp again but faltered at the sight before him.

Cen Han panted, hair in disarray, blood dripping from his lips, his eyes burning scarlet with naked hatred.

That look—chilling, crazed—like a demon ready to devour.

The next moment, the rest swarmed him.

One straddled him, another struck, another forced his face into the mud. He curled up, biting his lip until it bled.

“Push his wheelchair away! Let him crawl home!” someone shouted—then cried out in pain, “Who hit me?!”

“Damn it, that hurt! Who the hell threw that?!”

“Wait—look over there—”

The air fell silent.

Cen Han twisted his face up, gasping. His ears rang with waterlogged silence. He heard nothing, saw nothing.

He didn’t know that above him floated a slingshot, and the bullies stared in terror.

The streetlamp shattered, plunging the corner into darkness.

A steel ball rolled to Cen Han’s fingertips.

Curses and cries of pain filled the air. Footsteps scattered into the night.

Hatred erupted like a volcano, then cooled into dark, silent lava.

Propping himself up, he wiped blood from his mouth, lowered his head to hide his bruised face, and rasped:

“…Was that you?”

Blindness all around. Yet a force lifted him, set him back in his chair.

Cool fingertips touched his jaw, tilting his face up.

—So ugly and wretched, it saw me like this, Cen Han thought.

Bruised, swollen, muddy.

He turned away in shame.

Then—he heard a voice.

Clear, soft, tinged with pity.

“…Ah, Cub’s face is all messed up.”

Anger colored the tone. “Why are people like this everywhere… I should’ve shot a few more times, teach them a lesson.”

…?

His lashes trembled. He jerked his gaze toward the voice.

Darkness eternal—but faint light cracked through.

His split lip ached. He licked it, about to speak, when the voice came again.

The little figure’s pale face was covered in bruises like spilled paint. A gash on the temple, lips swollen, cheeks marked with fingerprints.

Yet his expression stayed cold, staring at her as though unaware of how battered he looked.

Qian Yuan’s heart broke. Sniffling, she searched his wounds, afraid to touch. She pulled up her interface.

“…Huh?” she muttered. “Why’s there no text box?”

【……】

She checked the task list—her last side quest was done. The communication function was unlocked.

A bug?

Anxious, she swiped around, desperate to talk. Suddenly a tiny text box popped up, with a notice:

【Ding! Text box unlocked.】

The message was flat, lifeless.

Qian Yuan ignored it.

Her first chat with Cub, and at such a moment. She had to take it seriously.

She typed carefully.

【I’m late.】
【Cub, be good, bear it a little. I’ll take you home and put medicine on you.】

She looked up. Cen Han had turned away, staring into emptiness, his expression complicated.

What kind of reaction was that?

Worried she’d triggered a bad ending, she peeked at his diary.

【Cen Han: …】
【Cen Han feels conflicted.】
【Cen Han is very puzzled.】

At least his mood was rising. Relieved, Qian Yuan slipped the slingshot back into his bag and obediently pushed him toward the school gate.

She couldn’t teleport him home, but she wouldn’t leave him like this.

Remembering the one-yuan paper note, she muttered:

“That travel-together pack really is tempting. But way too expensive.”

She sighed. “If only there was a cheaper consumable. Poor folk like me can’t even afford a hundred-yuan pack, let alone two thousand.”

On the wheelchair, he stirred, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes sparkled, waiting for the system.

【…………】
【Ding~! Short-term Companion Pack now in store! Lets you escort Cub to a destination (still costs stamina)! Only 50 yuan!】

Her spirits lifted.

—This game’s online support is easy to sway!

Her dad had just transferred her money. She bought it, then guided Cub out.

Glowing arrows marked the path. She followed, watching scenery shift from smooth roads to shabby houses, then a flickering lamp.

The eerie light crackled, unnerving. She typed, trying to coax him to talk.

But Cen Han was quiet.

Of course—after that bullying, anyone would be. She thought back to the beating, grinding her teeth.

Finally the arrows vanished. She raised her eyes and fell silent.

A low hut, walls peeling and stained with damp.

She’d known he was poor, but from the outside, it was worse. Grim.

Surely the game would let them move someday—though what would that cost?

At the door a wooden ramp led up. She pushed him inside and typed:

【Cub, we’re home! I’ll get the medicine.】

He stirred, pulled out a key, opened the iron door. She wheeled him in, just as he rasped:

“Clothes are dirty.”

A pause. “…Sorry.”

She turned.

He was wearing the coat she’d bought. Once pure white, now smeared with mud and boot prints.

He lowered his eyes, expression blank, but they were red. Had he cried?

Qian Yuan’s heart ached.

She fetched the medical spray, hurried back, and rubbed his hair.

【It’s okay, don’t be sad.】

She added:

【I’ll buy you more new clothes later!】

“…”

The mechanical voice laid out the promise in his ear.

Cen Han’s eyes rippled. His jaw tightened.

Her words were odd, but he caught a few key details.

She was poor. She wanted things she couldn’t afford.

Yet she still bought for him.

The cool mist soothed his wounds. He suddenly wanted to ask—

That girl’s voice before… was it yours?

Who were you talking to?

Why is it mechanical when you talk to me? Are you hiding your real self?

Who are you?

Confusion boiled like water, but he froze it over.

He breathed out, quietly said:

“No need.” A pause. “…As long as you—”

Too sentimental. He faltered, words stuck.

And then—fingers tugged his zipper down.

Unlike the earlier roughness, her touch was gentle, careful, as if afraid of hurting him.

He froze. Then felt his shirt button being undone.

“You—”

His mind roared. He instinctively reached to stop her, but caught only air. Panicked, he clutched his collar, his neck burning red.

“You—what are you doing?!”

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Qian Yuan’s plan collapsed the moment she stepped out the door.

She had just pushed it open and was still hopping on one foot to tug at her shoe heel when, coincidentally, the door across the hall opened too. An old granny came out with the trash. Seeing Qian Yuan, she greeted her warmly.

Qian Yuan froze on the spot, mind blank. She hadn’t seen people for a long time. To suddenly bump into a stranger like this made her fingers curl nervously inside her sleeves. She muttered a stiff reply.

She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth locked rigid, unbearably awkward.

The old woman’s eyesight was poor, and she didn’t notice the girl’s discomfort. Chuckling, she said, “Girl, I hardly see you going out. Young people shouldn’t just stay cooped up at home. Get some sun, it’s good for your health.”

Qian Yuan didn’t dare meet her eyes, just gave a stiff nod.

Fortunately, the elevator was empty. She slipped in like she was escaping, jabbing the first-floor button several times. As the car descended, she finally exhaled, leaning against the wall.

Her reflection blurred on the metal panel. A thin flush stained her face, sweat dampened her fringe, and her apricot eyes were unfocused.

—Clearly, the mental preparation she’d worked so hard on at home had fled. She pressed her lips, turned away from her reflection, pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket to wipe sweat, then tugged her hat on.

There were more people in the compound. She kept her head down, walked fast, and finally spotted her father’s car. She rushed over, yanked open the back door, and dove inside.

“Why’s your face so red?” Qian Yicheng put away his phone and glanced at her through the mirror.

A bit embarrassed, she didn’t answer.

Qian Yicheng was, without doubt, a charismatic man. Middle-aged, yet untouched by the crises others faced—thick hair, fit build. His artist’s style was clear: dyed golden hair tied back in a little tuft. He looked nothing like the father of a grown girl.

He was also talkative, with friends everywhere. Maybe because he already had so much emotional richness in life, family ties didn’t weigh as heavily.

Traffic was smooth; they soon reached a Western restaurant. He’d booked a private room. Qian Yuan sat while he went to smoke, then returned and sat across from her.

“How’ve you been lately?”

“Pretty good, Dad,” she whispered.

“Got enough money? I forgot last time, I’ll transfer some later. Oh, and that editor I told you about—did it work out?”

He was stingy with care, but generous with money—so long as he remembered.

They chatted idly, mostly him talking, her replying. When the waiter came, he ordered two meals without looking, then pushed the menu to her.

She watched his easy motions.

“I’ve known your Aunt Wen Pian for years,” he said cheerfully, as though reading her thoughts. “I’ll tell you someday about the day we suddenly clicked. It was romantic. Remember to call her properly later.”

—Wen Pian.

Qian Yuan froze. The menu she was about to take slipped and clattered to the table. The waiter glanced over. She quickly grabbed it and ordered a few dishes.

Soon after, that aunt arrived. A beautiful woman, gentle-eyed, smiling as she greeted Qian Yuan.

She was stunned.

Her idol—together with her father? She didn’t know how to react. Her face wouldn’t cooperate, lips wouldn’t move. She managed a stiff nod. Her voice, when she tried to speak, was mosquito-soft.

Qian Yicheng chuckled: “Wen Pian, this is my Xiaoyuan. Don’t mind her—she’s very shy and slow to warm up.”

Wen Pian smiled warmly: “Looks like a sweet, sensible girl. Old Qian, I didn’t expect your daughter to be this cute. Much better looking than you.”

By the end of the meal, Qian Yuan had gained a new impression of her idol: gentle, talkative, a perfect woman.

When leaving, Qian Yicheng asked Wen Pian to mentor Qian Yuan in portrait photography. Wen Pian brightened: “Xiaoyuan likes portrait photography too?”

“She used to—”

Abruptly, Qian Yuan cut in: “No. I don’t like it.”

The room went quiet. Her father glanced at her. Wen Pian didn’t understand but tactfully shifted the subject.

…

Back in the car, Qian Yicheng lowered the window for a smoke.

“Do you have a problem with Aunt Wen Pian?”

“…No.”

“Then why say you don’t like portraits? She’s an expert, she could help you a lot.” He exhaled smoke, rubbed his brow. “If you’re unhappy, tell me. We can talk it out.”

Qian Yuan suddenly felt she couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know why she’d quit school. Didn’t know she’d abandoned portrait photography long ago. Still—it hurt.

They rode in silence. When they reached her neighborhood, he tapped on his phone. A transfer popped up in her WeChat.

“Dad’s leaving tomorrow. Heading to Africa. If you run out of money, message me. I’ll reply if there’s signal. Sleep early, wake early, don’t stay up so late.”

She murmured assent, unbuckled, and left the car.

At home, she collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move.

Her guild had tagged her during lunch raid time. One tank complained about her laziness; the other pharmacist joked she’d found another dog and he’d take her spot.

Qian Yuan smiled faintly. She showered, threw her sweaty clothes in the wash, and pinged the chat.

【Thousand-Paper-Crane】: @Universe’s Number One Pharmacist, dream on.
【Thousand-Paper-Crane】: Anyone up for a raid?

【Cherry】: We’re just finishing, one minute. Perfect timing—Pharmacist’s off to dinner.
【Drink More Lava】: Sigh, no room for two pharmacists.

For her, games were the best escape. The focus required drowned out bad feelings. She gamed through the afternoon until the group disbanded at dinner. Then she made instant noodles.

Her dad had sent her 5,000 yuan. She accepted the transfer. As she exited, she saw a public account in her chat list.

【Raising-Cub APP】: Ding~! Your cub needs your company!
【Raising-Cub APP】: Warning! Your cub’s mood is terrible!
【Raising-Cub APP】: Master, come back and protect your cub!

“…?”

When had she followed this?

The messages came at 5–6 p.m.—her cub’s school dismissal time.

She frowned. Uneasy. She wolfed down noodles, strapped on the headset.

The room was empty. She opened the diary.

Mood: blood-red, –80. Dropping by twos as she watched.

She stared, scanning the entries.

【Cen Han bullied.】
【Cen Han locked in school.】
【Cen Han mocked.】
【Cen Han threatened.】
【Cen Han blocked.】
【Cen Han’s hair yanked.】
【Cen Han’s wheelchair kicked over.】
【Cen Han fell.】
【Cen Han bit attacker’s hand.】

…

Qian Yuan’s breath caught. The further she read, the harsher it became. By the end, she couldn’t go on.

It was school violence.

She was seeing school violence again—inside a game.

The plain words burned. Old memories collided with these records. She clenched her fists and ran to the door.

But there was no 【School】 option. She was level 2. Max stamina 15. School required 20.

Would she have to watch, helpless, as he was beaten?

Her avatar spun in place, a volcano steaming over her head. Just then a prompt appeared.

【Ding~! Limited-time EXP Pack! Each adds +10 EXP! Only 50 yuan!】

“…”

This game planner…

She cursed, but quickly checked her stats.

【Player Info】
Name: Thousand-Paper-Crane
Birthday: Jan 15
Level: 2 (100/120)
Stamina: 15/15

Luckily, she’d finished the main quest. Only 20 EXP short. 100 yuan. Her heart ached, but she bought two packs.

【Congrats, leveled up!】
【Reached Level 3! Farm & Ranch Shop unlocked!】

Ignoring it, she grabbed the doorknob, chose 【School】.

【Insufficient stamina!】
【Ding~! Stamina Pack! +10 Stamina for only 20 yuan!】

“…” Addicted much?

But she’d already dropped 100. She couldn’t stop at 20. She bought it.

Light flashed. She shielded her eyes, then looked—

Her cub, black-haired, crumpled under a streetlamp. His wheelchair overturned, pinning his legs. Someone yanked his hair, someone kicked him. He seemed numb to pain, jaw locked on a blond boy’s arm like he meant to tear flesh.

Blood streaked his lips. The blond howled. Cen Han stayed silent. His soft, cute face had twisted into grim, desperate ferocity.

Qian Yuan’s heart clenched. For an instant, tears nearly fell.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Buy engine oil… and, and offerings—

Qian Yuan froze, feeling her image in her little cub’s heart had turned rather strange, though she had no proof.

When she glanced over, the cub blinked at her innocently, confused. She rubbed her own head and decided not to press it.

After wiping down the wheelchair, the cub rolled into the bathroom. Qian Yuan watched him go, then opened the diary.

—Mood values steady. Just past midnight, the communication system would unlock, and she could finally talk to him!

Other popular VR raising or romance games all had amazing dialogue systems. Even if this one had no trace of beta testers, its production quality wasn’t beneath them. Maybe the communication feature would surprise her.

She was excited, even tempted to stay up all night in-game.

The water ran steadily in the bathroom—the cub must be showering. Qian Yuan leaned back against the bed and scrolled the player forum using the headset’s built-in browser.

Until suddenly her virtual wristwatch trembled and a prompt popped up.

【Your WeChat contact [Through Wind and Rain] requests video】

Qian Yuan blinked.

…Dad.

The water in the bathroom grew quieter. Qian Yuan stared at the prompt. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the menu and logged out.

She’d have to wait until tomorrow to talk with the cub, she thought regretfully.

…

Cen Han tugged a towel over his head, rubbing his wet hair carelessly, then reached for the door.

He’d been out too long today and felt filthy, unbearable, so he’d rushed to bathe right away. Because the little ghost was in the room, his movements were too hasty—slipping when shifting back into the chair, he crashed hard onto the floor.

At least no one saw his clumsiness.

He hadn’t removed the external lens membrane all day; his eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Rubbing his sockets, he fitted the lenses back on.

The room was empty.

He froze. The tiny flame of joy was doused.

A bottle tied with a ribbon sat on the table. Cen Han picked it up, thoughtful.

He knew it. Specialty fruit wine from Bill Star, beloved by women across the system, expensive.

His mother had loved it too.

The ghost had chosen this… even tied a bow.

His rough fingertips traced the glass. His eyes softened despite himself.

After a long while, he set the wine aside, removed the lens membrane, let the world fall back to black, and slowly pulled himself onto the bed.

Today replayed in his mind.

Mercenary Jian had been satisfied with his skill, giving him several orders. Cen Han had paid Zhang San a fee to buy the needed materials. If things went well, he might leave behind the scavenger work, step into true mechanics.

…It had once been a schoolboy hobby, but now, steady income was enough.

He turned over.

Exhausted, he soon fell asleep. By morning, pain lanced his eyes when he woke.

He couldn’t wear the lenses today.

Frowning, uneasy, he pressed his sockets.

He wasn’t afraid of darkness—he’d grown used to avoiding the lenses at home. But he hated helplessness. Especially at school.

Yet after being transferred down from the prestigious military academy’s high school affiliate, his truancy had drawn warnings. The teachers despised him. One more absence and he might not graduate.

He pressed his lips, wheeled out, hesitated at the door, then grudgingly put the lenses on.

The road was rough. He needed sight.

His eyes watered, bloodshot, but he kept them lowered, as though pain meant nothing.

…

In December, the capital’s schools entered winter break. Beforehand, they always held a closing ceremony.

“Did you hear?”

Tang Zhenzhen’s friend whispered as she loaded the next textbook: “This year, they invited Major General Lu Di.”

Tang Zhenzhen froze. “Lu Di? The young commander with an entire fleet?”

“That’s him! Our principal knew him in the army. He’s only coming as a favor. We might even get to test mechs.” Then, lowering her voice: “You know, he was Cen Xiaoyuan’s mortal enemy.”

Tang Zhenzhen’s mother had once served under Cen Xiaoyuan. She forced a laugh. “Oh… really?”

“Yeah. They clashed constantly. Wonder if Cen Han will show. In a wheelchair, he’ll be in the front row. First thing Lu Di sees will be the traitor’s son. How annoying for him.”

A boy ahead turned, grinning. “Don’t worry. Brother Shan already said he’ll make sure Cen Han ‘knows his place.’”

“What? But Brother Shan was recommended to the Third Military Academy. He barely comes now.”

“Would I lie? He’s aiming for Lu Di’s fleet. This ceremony is his chance.”

Tang Zhenzhen tapped notes absentmindedly. She knew Shan—they all did. Top student, good-looking, rumored ties to mercenaries.

If he intervened… could Cen Han cope?

She shook her head quickly.

Her father had warned her: no ties with Cen Han. And anyway, he was nothing like the boy she’d once admired.

She glanced toward him.

In shadow, hair veiling his face, head lowered in his chair. He seemed smaller, more broken than ever.

Completely different.

…

Qian Yuan yawned, groggily opening her closet.

Her dad had suddenly called her last night—today’s “meal” was no simple lunch. She’d heard the subtext.

A “friend” to introduce likely meant a new stepmom.

Qian Yicheng, wildlife photographer, obsessed with his career, had already lost one marriage to it.

She wasn’t against him remarrying. She lived alone anyway.

But she’d tossed sleeplessly all night, thoughts churning.

She’d meant to chat with her cub in the morning—but overslept till noon. Now it was already time to go.

She changed half-heartedly, peeked through the curtains. Neighbors bustled. Old men played chess at stone tables.

She breathed deep, then out.

Her phone buzzed violently. She jumped, nearly dropping it. Heart pounding, she checked the screen.

【Dad】

She pressed accept. His voice came cheerfully: “Xiaoyuan, I’m outside. Come down.”

“…Okay, Dad.”

She hung up, slapped her cheeks in the mirror.

Be on your best behavior, she told herself.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

The desk was cluttered with mechanical parts. Mercenary Jian walked in through the back door, carrying a grease-stained toolbox on one shoulder and a filthy robot on the other.

It was a butler robot, its silver-gray casing covered in grime, its crystal-chip eyes dim, head lolling to the side.

“This is my housekeeper bot. Energy’s still not drained, but it just up and died. Been meaning to fix it.”

Jian dropped the half-man-tall machine in front of Cen Han, then cleared a space on the table for his tools. Absentmindedly rubbing the scar at his temple, he said lazily, “Let’s see if you can fix it.”

Usually Cen Han only built or repaired scrap-level parts. This was a real test—miles harder. Even Old Zhang, who knew a little about machines, frowned uneasily.

Repairing loose junk from the garbage heap wasn’t the same as restoring an intact robot. It demanded advanced knowledge of structure, circuits, control systems. A mechanical academy student might manage—but Cen Han had no such schooling.

Old Zhang rubbed his wrinkled face nervously. Maybe the mercenary was deliberately making things hard. After all, the name “Cen Han” carried weight. And mercenaries might serve money, but who knew if this one held certain loyalties? Would he be angry at Zhang San for bringing this boy here?

Jian leaned back, crossing his legs. Zhang San busied himself behind the counter. The sickly old man looked on anxiously.

And next to them, the glowing little ghost stared with shining curiosity.

Cen Han pulled on black gloves, dragged the toolbox closer.

The robot’s shell, though filthy, wasn’t cracked. Confirming the fault was inside, he began to dismantle it. Hands steady, movements deft, eyes sharp—he handled every tool with practiced precision.

Jian leaned forward, interest piqued.

Qian Yuan held her breath, watching. If he succeeded, this Jian Dahua might think well of him. That would bring her one step closer to finishing the lucrative side quest.

But as she stared, her thoughts drifted. Cen Han’s serious face, so focused—it was ridiculously cute.

Outside, night had fallen. Yellow lamplight flickered. Voices from the street drifted in.

“Where’s Dahua? Didn’t he say he’d be hanging out in the outer ring? Gone again.”

“Who knows. That guy’s always running wild. Bet he hasn’t finished the order the boss gave him. He’s hopeless…”

Qian Yuan’s ears twitched.

No one inside reacted—except Jian. He nearly jumped, then forced himself still. His face shifted pale to green, little angry icons popping above his head.

So… he hated people calling him by his real name.

The footsteps faded, but they kept mentioning Dahua. Qian Yuan blinked. In a game, “passerby NPCs” dropping names at just this moment? Probably important.

She slipped out the back door, openly tailing the two mercs.

“…Saw him earlier, grabbing a robot. Said he was meeting someone—what was the name? Cen… Cen Han? Never heard of that.”

“Cen Han?” the other stopped, shocked. “How would Dahua know him? …Oh, you’re new to the capital. Cen Han’s Cen Xiaoyuan’s son.”

Cen Xiaoyuan?

Qian Yuan frowned. The medal she’d seen earlier bore a different name.

The second merc gasped. “You mean the one who betrayed the Empire, colluded with the Federation, caused the radiation on the capital star?”

“That’s him. Family stripped, estates seized. That kid can’t afford Fierce Vulture fees. No idea why Dahua’s bothering.”

“I’d like to see him myself. Cen Xiaoyuan was my idol! To park a battleship outside the capital without the military’s permission—that kind of trust from the Emperor! And then, boom, one cannon blast right in the Emperor’s face. Ignoring his own son onboard, he self-destructed—cold, ruthless, insane. Brilliant.”

“Careful. The boss has been working with the second prince. Say the wrong thing and you’ll lose more than your booze collection.”

The two disappeared around a corner.

Qian Yuan slowed, heart tangled. The game had just revealed Cen Han’s backstory: son of a traitor.

So that was why he was bullied. He’d even survived the explosion himself. Maybe that’s how he ended up disabled.

She sighed. Betrayal, radiation, condemnation—yet the guilty one was long dead. And the one paying the price was his child.

…

Back at the shop, the butler robot emerged, newly repaired, dust wiped away. “Master, it’s dinner time. Please don’t drink too much—”

“Shut it.” Jian smacked the back of its head. The bot blinked reproachfully.

“Finish those orders. Zhang San will deliver them.” Jian added, “And you, boy—stop hanging around garbage heaps. Earn your keep.”

Zhang San glanced guiltily at Cen Han. Cen Han only lowered his eyes—until he noticed Qian Yuan returning. His lips pressed tight, but his eyes brightened.

When Jian left, Cen Han and Zhang San prepared to go too. Qian Yuan accompanied Cen Han to the black market’s edge, waved goodbye, then teleported home.

Time to claim her daily reward.

【Congrats! You signed in and got: Gacha Coin ×1, Star Coins ×10!】

She checked her balance—fifty-three coins. Still far from filling his wardrobe with outfits. She sighed and spun the gacha.

Rainbow light burst forth—her heart jumped.

【Rare item: Bill Star Specialty Fruit Wine ×1!】

“…”

Just wine?

And Cen Han wasn’t even old enough to drink!

Disappointed, she remembered the mercs’ chatter about alcohol. Maybe if she gifted it to Jian, it would raise his favorability.

Night deepened. The lock clicked. Cen Han wheeled inside. Spotting her still there, his lips curved faintly.

“I got some orders.”

The joy lasted only a moment. His face cooled again, voice calm. “You don’t need to worry about me. From now on, I’ll buy you machine oil, energy stones.”

Qian Yuan’s dumpling avatar nearly toppled over.

A question mark popped over her head. Cen Han hesitated, then added: “…Or offerings, if you like.”

Qian Yuan: “…”

What on earth?!

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

At night, Zhang San arrived as promised.

“The black market’s between the slums and the outskirts of the capital. Not too far from your place, but some stretches of road are rough.”

The big messy-haired dumpling rubbed his bird’s-nest head even worse, looking battered, voice weak: “I’ll carry you over, kid. Just don’t lose your temper.”

Lose his temper?

Qian Yuan glanced at Cen Han’s face. Sure enough, at those words he looked displeased, a little rain cloud forming over his head.

Had he gotten angry about this before?

The front door stood open, icy wind pouring in. Cen Han pulled on the new coat she’d given him, zipped it to his neck, tugged up the furry hood. The ragged old clothes beneath were hidden, and in an instant, he looked different.

Qian Yuan delightedly circled him. Zhang San glanced over too, raising his brows in surprise.

“…Didn’t expect you to look like a real person,” he muttered. “Usually you’re half dead. Hey, why don’t you cut your hair?”

Cen Han ran his fingers through his bangs, briefly revealing his full forehead and sharp brows, then let them fall again.

“Not necessary,” he said flatly.

Why cut his hair? So the ones who mocked him could better see the hatred in his eyes? He sneered inwardly. Then, catching the little ghost’s starry-eyed stare, his gaze faltered.

He turned away, embarrassed, the hood brushing his cheek with a hint of warmth.

“…Let’s go,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been ready! Hurry up already!” Zhang San hollered.

Qian Yuan blinked.

Right… to reach the black market, there was still the journey.

She tried stepping toward the open door. As expected, her fingertips met the invisible barrier again.

Cen Han had already wheeled himself outside, body angled slightly, waiting for her—as if she could walk beside him—despite Zhang San watching with a puzzled stare.

She opened her mouth helplessly. How was she supposed to let Cen Han know she could only poof straight to the black market?

Seeing her pause, the little rain cloud over his head darkened, thunder rumbling.

Qian Yuan: “…”

A bead of sweat popped on her dumpling head. Uh-oh.

【Ding~! Limited-time “Travel Together” bundle now in the shop! With it, you can accompany your cub anywhere (still costs stamina)! Super discount price: 1888 RMB!】

Qian Yuan: “.”

She stared at the glowing words “super discount.”

Plenty of games opened top-up channels during beta, often refunding players later. But this one felt more like “grab all the cash before shutting down.”

She closed the window mercilessly, muttering, “Almost two thousand for a bundle? Is this game only for whales? If the packs were cheaper, I might’ve skipped meals to buy them…”

【……】
【…………】
【Ding~! Limited-time ‘Note’ bundle now in the shop! With it, you can send a heartfelt message! Super discount price: 1 RMB!】

Qian Yuan: “Wow!”

Did this game have a live customer service??

Finally she could spend a single yuan for her cub. The poor girl nearly squealed, bought the note, and typed quickly before his thundercloud burst.

【Cub, I’ll be waiting for you at the black market!】

The words turned into sparkling light. At that moment, a mechanical voice rang in Cen Han’s ear.

He froze.

The voice was cold, robotic, emotionless—so unlike the laughing ghost before him. But apart from Zhang San and himself, only the ghost was here.

So… was the ghost some kind of robot? Technology this advanced? And “cub”… what did that mean?

He stared blankly at the ghost. Zhang San, meanwhile, was horrified—watching him make eye contact with thin air was enough to make his scalp prickle.

“K-Kid…” Zhang San swallowed, voice cautious. “We… we should go, right?”

Cen Han came back to himself.

The ghost waved, poked at the air as if to prove something, then vanished.

Cen Han pressed his lips together and nodded at Zhang San.

…

Dilapidated shops lined the streets, men lounging on curbs, chatting lazily. Even the Empire’s shining capital had its dark sides—slums, black markets. The royals had long given up trying to stamp them out.

“The black market’s split inner and outer, like the capital itself,” Zhang San rambled as he led Cen Han. “We’re only in the outer ring now. The dangerous types aren’t here. Stick close and you’ll be fine.”

Cen Han said nothing. Qian Yuan followed curiously, invisible.

Unable to stand silence, Zhang San chattered on. “My old man lives here—sells light-brains. Yeah, illegal ones. Most stripped off corpses from the frontlines. Still cheaper than the municipal ones.”

At this, Cen Han’s chin lifted, eyes narrowing faintly behind his bangs.

They wound through alleys until reaching a quieter, bleaker street. Moss on stone walls, houses little better than slum shacks.

“Dad!” Zhang San called, stepping into a shop.

Voices answered. Cen Han waited outside, head bowed. Soon, Zhang San reemerged with a gaunt old man—and another figure.

“The mysterious supplier behind Tang Mingqi?” the stranger muttered.

Qian Yuan looked.

A bronze-skinned dumpling, clad only in a black vest and garish floral pants despite the winter cold.

Seeing Cen Han, his gaze flicked briefly to the boy’s legs. “A kid? Zhang San, you sure you’ve got the right guy?”

Strictly speaking, a sixth-year high schooler, Cen Han wasn’t really a “kid.” But Qian Yuan didn’t know that. Her attention was already caught by the pop-up:

【Ding~! Side quest unlocked! Help your cub expand his connections! Goal: Through mercenary Jian Dahua, establish ties with a mercenary corps. Reward: EXP ×100, Star Coins ×50.】

A side quest with rewards richer than the main quest! One hundred EXP—enough to level up and finally accompany him to school.

But high rewards meant high difficulty. Qian Yuan steadied herself, eyes sparkling as she watched the buzz-cut mercenary, “EXP 100” practically stamped on his forehead.

…

“A kid?” The words weren’t loud, but everyone heard. Cen Han’s eyes lifted, expression cold. Zhang San rubbed his nose awkwardly.

“Brother Jian, no mistake. He’s Cen Han,” Zhang San said.

“Cen Han… why does that name sound familiar?” Jian frowned, muttered, then turned toward the shop. “Come in. Let’s see if you’ve got any skill.”

The gaunt elder followed. Zhang San leaned back to whisper, “You’re lucky—Brother Jian’s from the Fierce Vultures. Big deal. If he takes you in, you’ll never worry about food again.”

His voice dropped with envy. “Those mercs drink top-grade nutrient fluid, sometimes even real wine and meat.”

Inside, Jian called again. Zhang San hurried in. Cen Han sat still, recalling an old conversation—

A man in uniform, browsing military news, had once grumbled: “Space pirates loot weapons, ships, mechs from the Zerg front, then resell them. Parasites. But mercenaries are no better—money-hungry scum.”

Then, more gravely: “Even royals sometimes use them as blades. But blades cut both ways. You’ll serve the Empire one day, Xiao Han. Protect your name. Don’t get tied to filth, or they’ll use it against you.”

…

Cen Han’s lips twitched. To the Empire now, he was filthier than any mercenary.

His chair jolted suddenly. He turned—

The ghost was pushing him over the curb, grinning, fist raised in encouragement.

“…Alright,” he murmured hoarsely, heart softening.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Outside, the cold wind howled, while inside the warm lamplight poured down, glinting in Cen Han’s dark eyes.

He leaned forward slightly, lifted the box from the bed, and carefully opened it.

Inside lay a neatly folded new winter coat. The fine, heavy fabric caught his gaze, and when his fingertips brushed the beige fur trim of the hood, the softness tickled faintly against his skin.

He hadn’t worn anything like this in a very long time.

Back when he was shuttled endlessly between the hospital and interrogation rooms, he’d longed to return home—only to find the villa doors sealed with glaring stripes of confiscation tape.

His father’s unforgivable crime had stripped them of everything: medals of honor, all property, even clothes. Overnight, he and his mother were left with nothing, not even a change of garments.

“…”

The warm light traced a golden edge around his cold features, his lowered bangs shadowing his eyes so only the tiny teardrop mole beneath his right lash-line could be seen.

He stared down, dazed, as if a feather had brushed his heart, rippling it silently.

Then a sudden glow appeared in the corner of his vision. Cen Han instinctively turned his head—and there it was, the little ghost he had just been thinking about, smiling at him as always.

Noticing the box in his hands, it beamed even wider, crescent-eyed, hopping excitedly toward him. It pointed at the box, tilted its head, asking wordlessly:

—Do you like it?

Do you like this little gift?

His fingers curled unconsciously. That strange, uncontrollable sensation rose again, spreading from his tongue to his chest, seeping into every part of him.

He didn’t know what to do with these sudden emotions.

“…I like it very much.” His voice came out hoarse. “Thank you.”

The ghost looked even happier. It pulled the coat out, patted it smooth, and hung it neatly on the wall hook by the door.

Cen Han pressed his lips together, watching.

The hooks were shaped like little rabbits, with two fluffy ears—clearly not part of the original furnishings. He realized the ghost must have placed them there before, though he had never noticed.

Once the coat was hung, the ghost ran to the box again, digging out a bottle of nutrient solution. It eagerly held it up, insisting he drink his dinner. Cen Han coughed awkwardly, trying to take the bottle himself, but was firmly refused.

His fingers clenched the wheelchair armrest. At last, he shut his eyes, letting the ghost tip the bottle to his lips. His lashes quivered, betraying his discomfort.

…He had lost his family, his friends, and every warmth in the world.

Yet here, in his darkest days, he had unexpectedly gained a small, ever-smiling ghost.

The little dumpling-faced boy drained the bottle completely.

Qian Yuan, satisfied after supervising him, withdrew her hand.

The 70-point happiness goal was once again achieved. Just one more day, and the communication system would unlock.

The next noon, when she went to the junkyard to farm Star Coins, she kept an eye out for scraps like the ones on Cen Han’s desk. But no matter how long she searched, she couldn’t find a single screw.

Where did Cen Han dig up all those treasures?

“When the communication system unlocks, I’ll have to ask him.” Hugging her full backpack, she clicked “Return Home,” muttering, “It’s practically a get-rich-quick scheme!”

Back at the house, she found Cen Han sitting on a low stool outside, wiping down his wheelchair wheels with a rag.

The stool was so short that a normal person’s knees would bend—but Cen Han’s legs dangled strangely, limp and slack, his disability laid bare.

Like a broken doll.

Qian Yuan froze, then saw him glance toward her instinctively. Panic flashed across his face, and he tugged his shirt hem downward in a futile attempt at concealment. Realizing it was useless, he turned his head aside, bangs falling to hide his eyes.

After a stiff pause, he bent down again, scrubbing the wheels.

Qian Yuan pressed her lips together.

…This game had a futuristic setting. Surely, later on, there might be a way to cure his disability.

That thought comforted her a little. She stepped forward, poked his cheek, then pointed at the rag with a puzzled tilt of her head.

“…”

Cen Han hesitated, then, after a furtive glance through his bangs at the ghost’s ever-smiling face—seeing no hint of disgust—he said quietly, “If the wheels are clean, the floor won’t get dirty.”

He knew the place was filthy, but rarely cleaned. Years of despair had left him sunk in apathy. What did tidiness matter to someone crippled and blind? With his cheap optic membranes removed, he couldn’t see anyway.

But now, with this little ghost who looked after him, fed him, and cleaned the house…

His gaze flicked toward it again.

He didn’t want it working too hard.

What he didn’t know was that Qian Yuan, hearing this, nearly fainted in disbelief.

He hadn’t let her buy him food. Now he wouldn’t let her tidy up. And he was cleaning his own wheelchair!

What was going on? Why was this NPC so independent?

…At this rate, would the game turn into some idle “traveling frog” type of hands-off simulator?

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

Previous

After the New Year, winter break seemed to hit the fast-forward button.

While the students were home, Fu Qing carried out another round of campus upgrades and renovations. The farmland enclosed on the western plain expanded significantly. The system had already finished reclaiming the soil in advance, waiting only for spring planting. After that, students in the agriculture class would handle daily maintenance, irrigation, fertilizing, pest control, weeding, pruning, and pollination, all important components of their regular course credits.

In addition, she spent more funds to designate a plot in a corner of the campus, planning to raise piglets, chicks, calves, and the like.

Worth mentioning was the batch of dyed chicks Fu Qing had brought back earlier. After some gradually died off, a surprisingly large number survived. The dye on their feathers slowly faded, revealing their natural colors again.

Not long ago, they had even started laying eggs. The students sent them all to the cafeteria, and that day the egg drop soup was especially generous with eggs.

University students could practically be called one of the most animal-loving groups. Not only did they carefully care for the chicks, even the stray cats that wandered onto campus were fed until their coats shone. Their increasingly plump bodies swayed as they strolled leisurely around the grounds.

Perhaps because the environment was so unusual, these stray cats became the first cats in the world to see “zombies.” They treated the simulated zombies as nothing strange. Some time ago, when Fu Qing passed by the warehouse storing inactive simulated zombies, she saw one chubby orange cat curled comfortably in the arms of a powered-down model, sprawled belly-up and snoring peacefully.

It wasn’t afraid when it saw her. Instead, it walked over familiarly, rubbing its round head affectionately against her palm, purring loudly.

The temptation completely bewitched the principal. The next day, she secretly added several cat beds to the supply list.

In short, with both pasture and farmland prepared, Fangzhou finally achieved food self-sufficiency instead of relying entirely on stored supplies.

As for reinforcing the walls and installing zombie traps outside them, Xu Mingyue suggested assigning the work to students from the infrastructure class, much like digging tunnels.

With the remaining points, Fu Qing purchased large amounts of cold storage and additional warehouse space, installing them underground where it was cool and dry without occupying surface area.

Once the renovations were complete, she finally began to enjoy what little remained of winter break.

The winter sunlight made people pleasantly drowsy. Fu Qing left her office and found a bench with a good view beside the artificial lake. Facing the shimmering water, she took a notebook from her backpack, its edges worn and wrinkled from repeated use.

She had developed the habit of keeping notes starting from the entrance exam. Over time, the notes accumulated until three thick notebooks were completely filled.

Opening one, every page contained several names accompanied by short but incisive evaluations, her first impressions when each person entered her field of view.

Further in, some names appeared again. When someone improved rapidly, she added brief comments noting their potential. Translated on Hololo novels. When someone showed severe weaknesses, she circled their name in red pen so the system could remind them after monthly exams or evaluations to address shortcomings, or at least understand their vulnerabilities to avoid suffering later.

These three notebooks recorded the growth of Fangzhou’s 2,730 students over five full months since the semester began.

Through this process, each student’s performance had also etched itself into her memory.

If, at the start of term, the sheer number of students meant Fu Qing only remembered a few standout individuals like Su Huaijin, then after a semester she now firmly remembered every face and every distinguishing trait at Fangzhou.

She turned to a new page in the notebook, its thickness nearly doubled from constant handling, and wrote the first name across the blank paper.

Song Rushuang.

During the entrance exam, she remained calm despite being framed, killed a zombie, and successfully ranked within the top one hundred. Later, on Yongxin Road Pedestrian Street, she stepped forward during a crisis to protect a mobility-impaired stranger now roommate. In every subsequent assessment, she showed clear improvement. According to system reports, she even ranked in the top five of the grade in the final physical education exam, demonstrating outstanding combat capability.

Fu Qing understood that the key to dealing with zombies lay in whether one could overcome fear and face them directly.

That fear came partly from fear of zombies themselves, and partly from fear of killing.

Song Rushuang had forced herself to take that first step during a life-and-death test. After that, everything naturally became easier.

Besides, she was talented to begin with.

When Fu Qing considered forming an elite squad to hunt the Believers, Song Rushuang was the first person who came to mind.

There were certainly students at Fangzhou better at pure combat. In the final practical combat exam, which focused solely on close-quarters fighting against zombies, Song Rushuang ranked twelfth. But the strategic awareness and sudden flashes of ingenuity she displayed during testing were enough to make up for that gap.

Fu Qing had not forgotten that the outrageous idea of hanging Sun Wei up as bait during the first monthly exam had been Song Rushuang’s.

…As she reviewed earlier notes and reflected on each assessment, her hand never stopped moving, writing down name after name across the page.

Song Rushuang had no idea she had already secured a place in the principal’s mental shortlist. She spent the entire winter break happily replaying Fu Qing’s words, “Happy New Year,” in her mind.

Then, on the day school reopened, she urged her parents to leave early and arrived at Fangzhou’s gates before eight in the morning, dragging her suitcase behind her.

Before she even entered campus, she ran into someone she knew.

Song Rushuang stared in surprise at Sun Wei. She never would have imagined that someone else from Dorm 1111 would suddenly feel the same impulse to return to school early.

After all, Sun Wei had not received a “Happy New Year” from the principal.

Swallowing her urge to brag, Song Rushuang noticed two people standing beside her.

A woman carefully lifted Sun Wei’s suitcase out of a car trunk. After exchanging a few words, Sun Wei waved goodbye to them and began pulling her luggage toward the school gate.

Then she spotted Song Rushuang, who had apparently been standing there sneakily observing for who knew how long.

Song Rushuang had already recognized the pair. They were the mother and son who had been with Sun Wei before the Yongxin Road Pedestrian Street incident. The woman wore her long hair neatly pinned up and black-framed glasses, her appearance gentle and scholarly, though her expression carried an unshakable fatigue. The boy was strikingly beautiful, with long curled eyelashes framing dark eyes that held a captivating intensity, though he was rather short, not even reaching Sun Wei’s chest.

Back then, Song Rushuang had not known Sun Wei would become her future roommate. Seeing the three together and equally good-looking, she had assumed they were family.

Later, chatting in the dorm, she learned Sun Wei did not have a younger brother.

She had forgotten to ask about their relationship until now, making this the perfect chance to satisfy her curiosity.

“Oh, them…” Sun Wei scratched her head. “Remember when I broke my leg before school started? That was when I saved that kid.”

The two dragged their luggage toward the dormitory as Sun Wei quickly explained.

The “kid,” named Jing Yun, was actually thirteen and in his first year of middle school. Translated on Hololo novels. It had been summer vacation. Sun Wei had just received her Fangzhou admission notice and was running home excitedly when she turned a corner and collided with Jing Yun, who was also running.

Because of the size difference, Sun Wei was fine, but Jing Yun staggered backward. Behind him happened to be a flight of stairs.

“I grabbed him, and we both rolled down together,” Sun Wei admitted honestly. “Honestly, I was partly at fault too. But Auntie Jing kept saying I saved her son. She thanked me several times and even treated me to dinner. Today she saw me dragging my suitcase and insisted on driving me to school.”

Song Rushuang finally understood the story behind the “Sun Wei broke her leg saving someone” incident the principal had casually mentioned before.

“Auntie Jing is really kind,” Sun Wei added softly. “She’s a single mother raising her son alone. It’s not easy.”

Lowering her voice, she continued, “I told her in the car that the economy’s been unstable lately and society feels unsettled. I suggested she change the locks and prepare some protective supplies.”

When the apocalypse arrived, those supplies might at least give the mother and son a chance to defend themselves if someone with bad intentions targeted them.

A single mother with a child was clearly a high-risk group in the apocalypse.

…Especially given how eye-catching their appearances were.

Song Rushuang nodded. During winter break, she had also taken advantage of family visits to discuss similar precautions with relatives who lived in isolated areas or poorly secured neighborhoods.

Her parents, Song Jianguo and Xu Mingyu, had been baffled. Ever since starting university, their daughter’s personality seemed to have changed completely.

The girl who once hated visiting relatives now actively started conversations, even dragging them to reconnect with distant family members they had not seen in years. It was as if she had become a different person.

“I don’t know how much they’ll actually listen,” Sun Wei said quietly, still worried, “but I’d feel guilty if I didn’t at least warn them.”

Song Rushuang agreed wholeheartedly.

Every night after midnight, their student wristbands displayed the apocalypse countdown. Even during normal use, the timer ticked down in a corner of the interface. As the numbers shrank, everyone’s nerves grew increasingly tense.

After unpacking and grabbing lunch at the cafeteria, Zhang Han and Shen Qingqing returned to campus later that afternoon with the rest of the students.

At three o’clock, while Song Rushuang was chatting in the dorm, her wristband suddenly vibrated.

Shen Qingqing raised her wrist at nearly the same moment. The two glanced down, and their expressions changed instantly.

Sun Wei and Zhang Han looked confused.

“What are you looking at?”

“Did something pop up?”

Zhang Han even opened her wristband interface, but nothing appeared.

Song Rushuang stared at the notification, unsure how to explain. Shen Qingqing recovered first. Translated on Hololo novels. Though she sounded calm, a trace of excitement leaked through her voice.

“It’s from the principal.”

“She wants us to come to her office. It’s… about forming an elite class.”

By the end, Shen Qingqing could no longer suppress the slight upward curl of her lips.

“It looks like the elite class will be taught personally by the principal.”

…

Half a minute later.

Shen Qingqing bolted out the door clutching her head.

Behind her came Zhang Han’s devastated howl:

“One of you got a New Year greeting from the principal, and the other gets into the elite class. Why do I get nothing?! I’m protesting!!”

“Shen Qingqing, you’re definitely showing off, aren’t you? I’m mad! Wait, Xiao Shuang, where are you going?!”

Song Rushuang, who had been slowly edging toward the door, froze. Then, in a flash, under Zhang Han’s betrayed and despairing gaze, she decisively turned and hurried after Shen Qingqing.

Neither of them explained. There was no point. At that moment, nothing anyone said would calm Zhang Han down.

Behind them, Zhang Han’s loud wailing mixed with Sun Wei’s opportunistic encouragement:

“This is outrageous! How could they betray their sisters like this? You have to get revenge!”

“That’s right!” Zhang Han sniffled. “For a whole week I won’t save them seats in the cafeteria! I won’t grab limited fried chicken legs or braised pork or spicy boiled pork slices for them! And I won’t do their daily game tasks either!”

Sun Wei: “…”

A question mark slowly appeared in her mind.

Under Sun Wei’s complicated gaze, Zhang Han wiped her tears and loudly declared:

“This time, I! Am! Really! Angry!”

Far down the hall, Shen Qingqing and Song Rushuang slowed their pace and both let out relieved breaths.

“I knew it,” Shen Qingqing muttered. “The harshest revenge she could come up with is probably posting on the confession wall.”

The two patted their chests in relief and headed off to find the principal.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

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Next

Halfway through their shopping, Fu Qing unexpectedly ran into two familiar faces.

Song Rushuang and her mother, Xu Mingyu.

They were browsing nearby shelves when Xu Mingyu recognized Fu Qing first and happily called out to her.

“Principal, happy New Year!” Xu Mingyu’s eyes curved into crescents with her smile.

The last time on the pedestrian street, Fu Qing had not only saved Song Rushuang but, because of that incident, Song Rushuang later received official commendation. An educational film adapted from her experience had played for months in schools and subway stations, allowing the whole family, after the lingering fear faded, to feel immensely proud.

Ever since then, Xu Mingyu often mentioned this young and capable principal at home.

Hearing the enthusiastic greeting, Fu Qing turned her head and met Song Rushuang’s gaze.

Song Rushuang slowly lowered her eyes and noticed the large Want Want snack gift pack in the principal’s hands.

Teacher and student meeting in the snack aisle felt just a little awkward.

Fu Qing tossed the gift pack into her already overflowing cart and gave Xu Mingyu a polite professional smile. “Hello, Song Rushuang’s parent.”

“Hello, hello, what a coincidence,” Xu Mingyu said, pulling her daughter forward to greet the principal while she herself stepped back half a step and quickly took out her phone. She hurriedly sent a message to Song Jianguo, who was nearby buying meat, telling him to grab several gift boxes and bring them over immediately.

It was New Year’s. How could they possibly let the principal leave empty-handed?

Song Rushuang was nearly yanked off balance by her unusually strong mother and almost crashed straight into Fu Qing. She steadied herself in alarm, then received her mother’s signal to stall for time.

Song Rushuang: “……”

She said stiffly, “Principal, um…”

Before she could find a topic, Fu Qing sighed quietly and initiated the classic teacher-student small talk: “How’s your homework going?”

Song Rushuang: “……”

Yes, as a peculiar institution among universities, Fangzhou assigned winter break homework.

Besides the daily five-kilometer run check-in, students also had to practice combat movements on their own. Translated on Hololo novels. Their student wristbands monitored whether movements were performed correctly and uploaded attendance automatically.

In addition, there were review assignments for Supply Stockpiling, Zombie Characteristics, and First Aid classes, along with various home tasks such as checking household medical supplies and emergency stock, or practicing suturing on pigskin.

So Fu Qing’s question was perfectly reasonable.

“It’s… okay. I check in on time every day,” Song Rushuang said miserably, feeling as though she had never truly left high school.

Just as she finished speaking, someone rounded the shelf behind Fu Qing. “Why did you take so long to come back… oh, you ran into a student?”

Xu Mingyue saw Song Rushuang and immediately straightened up, abandoning her casual posture. Even off duty, she still carried some teacher dignity.

Seeing another teacher appear, Song Rushuang grew even more nervous. “Hello, Teacher Xu.”

“Hello, hello,” Xu Mingyue replied, surprised to see a student here. She looked Song Rushuang over, realizing she didn’t seem to be from her infrastructure class, and awkwardly asked, “Uh… how’s your stockpiling going?”

Song Rushuang: “…Pretty good. I bought several padded coats online yesterday…”

Then silence returned.

Before Xu Mingyue could desperately search for another topic, yet another person wandered around the same corner. “What are you all doing? Why are you standing here like you’re being punished?”

Lu Yan lowered his head and noticed someone standing in front of Fu Qing and Xu Mingyue.

She looked familiar. He had seen her during the Xishan incident when they fought the believer. A Fangzhou student.

Their eyes met, and Lu Yan suddenly asked with uncanny intuition, “Have you mastered mattress suturing yet?”

Song Rushuang: “……”

Her greeting of “Hello, Teacher Lu” stuck in her throat. At this moment, she only wanted to dig a tunnel and escape.

Why did it keep going?!

How many people had the principal brought along?!

…

Question: what could be more terrifying than running into your principal and teachers outside campus on a day off?

Answer: each teacher lining up to check whether you finished your homework in order to ease social awkwardness.

Some even started checking assignments from classes she hadn’t taken.

At that moment, Song Rushuang felt deep envy toward Shen Qingqing, who was far away in the countryside.

If she had a choice, she would rather be outsmarting a wild boar in a village.

Seeing Song Rushuang completely overwhelmed by the triple interrogation, Fu Qing suppressed a laugh and stepped forward to stop the chaos.

Lowering her voice, she said, “Teacher Zhao and Teacher Bai came along too. There are too many of us, so there’s no need for your mother to trouble herself.”

“?” Song Rushuang turned around just in time to see her mother standing sideways, furiously tapping her phone.

The screen displayed enormous middle-aged font, so large that the group chat messages were perfectly readable from two meters away:

[Mom: @Dad, two more teachers showed up. One box of sea cucumbers isn’t enough! Get two!]

[Mom: Also grab two boxes of nuts! Do they have lobster? Get an Australian lobster! Otherwise it won’t match the principal’s status!]

[Mom: Wait, I forgot to ask if the principal is allergic to seafood. Hold on, I’ll find a way to ask…]

Song Rushuang went completely numb.

With the principal’s eyesight, sharp enough to count the holes in a zombie two hundred meters away, she had probably understood Xu’s intentions from the moment Xu typed the first character.

So just now… the principal had been stalling along with her?

That made sense. If the principal left right away, Song Rushuang would probably get scolded by her mom the moment she got home.

Once she figured out the principal’s motive, Song Rushuang felt a little dazed.

After saying her piece, Fu Qing returned to a normal speaking volume and, impeccably polite, bid Xu Mingyu farewell. Xu tried to insist they stay, but Fu Qing only smiled.

“It’s getting late. We came out to buy supplies, and we still have to head back to campus. The students staying over the holiday are waiting.”

“So that’s how it is, yes, of course. We won’t hold you up, then. Don’t keep the kids waiting,” Xu Mingyu said, nodding.

Hearing there were students who couldn’t go home for the New Year, Xu Mingyu agreed at once, then glanced regretfully at her phone. Song Jianguo still hadn’t had time to buy anything.

It seemed she would have to wait for next time.

Fu Qing looked at Song Rushuang and, as a matter of routine, reminded her, “When break ends, make sure you return to school on time.”

Then she paused for two seconds. Just as Song Rushuang thought the principal was about to leave, Fu Qing added, neither too light nor too heavy, “Happy New Year.”

“Teacher Xu and the others were kidding. The homework can wait. Enjoy this New Year properly.”

Song Rushuang froze. By the time she reacted, the three of them were already pushing their carts away.

That “Happy New Year” never found a chance to be said back.

She rose onto her toes and watched Fu Qing and the others disappear into the shopping crowd, then quickly pulled out her phone.

She had to show off in the dorm group chat.

The first “Happy New Year” she received this year was from the principal.

*

Fu Qing hadn’t lied. This year, more than forty people were staying on campus for the New Year. Translated on Hololo novels. On New Year’s Eve, all of them would eat the reunion dinner together in the cafeteria.

Most of the dishes were made by robots. Only a few signature dishes were cooked by the teachers themselves as a special holiday perk, with Xu Mingyue as head chef and everyone else helping.

The students took the paper-cuts, couplets, and red lanterns Fu Qing had bought and decorated the cafeteria and the interior of the campus.

Both sides busied themselves in their own ways. The whole place ran hot and bright with activity.

Hao Zhenye took charge of the wok. With one hand he could lift the heavy iron pan, tossing the fried rice into a perfect half-moon arc, earning vigorous applause from Bai Tang and Zhao Yunxiao, two complete amateurs.

Fu Qing worked with two cleavers at once, chopping dumpling filling so fine and even it put a meat grinder to shame.

Lu Yan used his scalpel. In half an hour he had deboned a huge vat of chicken feet.

Granny Liu went to the fields and picked a few big cabbages. She peeled away the outer leaves, wilted from the cold, and the inside was still tender and crisp, perfect for pickling and for dumpling filling.

As for Xu Mingyue, the head chef, there was nothing to say. She moved between several large pots, spinning in circles from how busy she was.

When all the prep work was done, Xu Mingyue chased the idle bystanders out, leaving only Hao Zhenye and the robots to finish the final steps.

With nothing else to do, everyone sat around the cafeteria’s big round table and learned to wrap dumplings from Granny Liu.

The students came back at that moment and crowded in.

“Principal, is there anything we can do?”

They couldn’t let the teachers cook for everyone while they just stood there watching.

Catching the eager, pleading looks, Fu Qing thought for a moment, tore off several small lumps from the giant mound of dough, and generously handed them out one by one.

“Here. Go play with these.”

Everyone: “……”

The principal’s tone sounded like she was soothing little kids.

The students stared at the dough lumps in their palms, brows knotted.

They wanted to say more, but Fu Qing had already plunged back into her hard-fought battle with the dumplings and ignored them.

Left with no choice, the students shuffled away, sulking.

They found a few tables beside the teachers’ area, put their heads together to whisper about something, and soon started bustling about just as noisily.

Among the teachers, Fu Qing, Zhao Yunxiao, Lu Yan, and Bai Tang, all four young ones happened to be terrible at dumplings. The only two who knew how, Xu Mingyue and Hao Zhenye, were still in the back kitchen, so progress was painfully slow.

After working for ages, they produced only two boards of crooked, misshapen dumplings.

Low efficiency was one thing. Ugly was another.

Fu Qing studied the dumplings on the board, clearly dissatisfied. Just as she was about to speak, she felt someone carefully poke her shoulder.

A male student held out a tray, looking at her with bright, hopeful eyes. “Principal, is it okay if it turns out like this?”

Zhao Yunxiao and Granny Liu were drawn by the commotion. The boy set the tray gently in the center of the round table.

A dead silence fell.

Everyone stared at the exquisitely crafted rose on the tray.

Its petals were tender and softly unfurling. Beneath it were even a stem and leaves, dyed with vegetable juice. It looked lifelike.

Zhao Yunxiao blurted, “That’s way too real! How did you make it?”

“My grandpa used to do white-dough work,” the boy explained shyly, as if it were nothing. “When I was little, he taught me a lot of Chinese pastry styles with modeling clay. If the kitchen has things like date paste or black sesame, I can try making more patterns.”

Then, worried the teachers might not trust him, he added, “Don’t worry. It’s really simple.”

Fu Qing: “……”

Her gaze drifted to the edge of the table, to a hideous little rabbit she had casually pinched out herself. Translated on Hololo novels. She cleared her throat and said with perfect composure, “No date paste, but we should have red bean, black sesame, and purple sweet potato powder. Teacher Xu can help you look in the back.”

“That’s plenty. Thank you, Principal!”

Having permission to join the reunion dinner prep, the boy was clearly thrilled. He turned around and went straight to the back kitchen to find Xu Mingyue.

Even after he left, everyone still looked at the rose with pure admiration.

No one dared touch it, afraid of ruining a work of art.

Fu Qing calmly finished wrapping the dumpling in her hands. As if simply easing a sore wrist, she casually flicked her hand.

Then, in a blink, she slammed her fist down with a loud thunk, flattening the ugly rabbit into a pancake, kneaded it back into the giant mound of dough at lightning speed, erased all evidence, and immediately picked up a fresh wrapper.

The whole sequence happened so fast it was like a drama on triple speed.

By the time anyone at the table heard the sound and turned around, everything was tranquil again. Fu Qing was already spooning filling, lips slightly pressed, expression focused.

Zhao Yunxiao hesitated. “It feels like the table just shook?”

Bai Tang, sitting directly opposite Fu Qing, looked at her nose, then at the floor, then at her own heart. “Probably your imagination.”

Zhao Yunxiao looked even more puzzled. “But I swear there was a thunk…?”

Bai Tang said firmly, “Definitely your imagination.”

Zhao Yunxiao: “…Okay.”

Still baffled, he went back to struggling with dumpling wrappers.

*

At eight o’clock sharp, the small TV hung in the cafeteria started the Spring Festival Gala, and steaming dumplings came out of the pot.

The filling was Granny Liu’s secret recipe. And because the teachers put filling in without mercy, every bite burst with juice. The savory meat and crisp cabbage blended perfectly. The shrimp dumplings even held whole, sweet shrimp, along with crunchy bamboo shoots, tender mushrooms…

Everyone lowered their heads and ate with abandon. Xu Mingyue ate until she was deeply satisfied, then looked up and let out an unglamorous belch.

“I haven’t eaten dumplings this good in so long!”

That “so long” really meant so long.

It felt like at least three or four years.

Xu Mingyue continued, “But as good as they are, the shape is really…”

She couldn’t bear to look.

Some were the size of tiny wontons, some looked like buns, and others resembled twisted crawling creatures.

Who on earth made the bun?

Fu Qing was still devouring food at speed, and somehow found time to say four succinct words: “If you won’t eat, give it to me.”

Xu Mingyue shut up immediately.

After dinner, dozens of them gathered on the sports field to set off fireworks.

Fangzhou was in the far suburbs, outside the no-fireworks zone, so Fu Qing went all out and bought a whole vehicle’s worth. She spread a large oilcloth over the artificial turf, piled all the fireworks on it, and let everyone pick whatever they wanted.

Even the teachers joined in, weaving through the crowd, bending over with serious faces to choose their favorites, then grabbing a few sparklers or a more aggressive double-bang.

Bai Tang carried a small stool over for Granny Liu to sit and watch, then ran off to find Fu Qing and the others.

Hao Zhenye wasn’t interested in fireworks, so he stayed behind with Liu Yingchun.

When the first firework bloomed in the night sky, the crowd screamed and roared with excitement, loud enough to drown out the explosive crackle overhead.

Looking closely, you could even see the young teachers mixed in, hopping up and down in secret.

Liu Yingchun couldn’t help smiling. She pointed at them, her wrinkles deepening with laughter.

“They put on such a serious act every day… but they’re still just a bunch of kids.”

In Liu Yingchun’s eyes, the small age gap between Fu Qing’s group and the students hardly counted for anything.

Hao Zhenye watched them carefully too. When he spoke, a puff of white breath left his mouth and dissolved into the darkness along with the faint smile in his voice.

“True.”

₊˚.🎧📓✩

This was the first time the entire Fangzhou teaching staff had gone out together.

Fortunately, Fu Qing’s vehicle was large enough to seat all seven people, with extra storage space besides.

Aside from Grandma Liu, everyone in the car had a driver’s license. Fu Qing naturally assumed the airs of a principal and handed driving duties to Hao Zhenye. She settled into the back row, opened a social media app amid the teachers’ casual chatter, and began scrolling through the day’s news.

Since the second half of the year, unrest had begun occurring frequently not only in S City but across all of China and even around the world. Especially in smaller nations already plagued by conflict, shifting powers rose and fell one after another, with the situation changing almost weekly. Major countries still maintained an outward calm, yet anyone paying close attention could sense something ominous beneath the vague wording of official reports.

The sea still appeared calm, but the storm was already gathering.

Fu Qing had developed the habit of checking the news daily, starting with local updates, then national coverage, and finally using technical means to browse overseas reports from key regions.

She tried to sift through the rigid language of media reporting to determine whether the Believers were secretly driving these events, but found it nearly impossible.

They were far too cautious.

Moreover, according to the analysis she and Lu Yan had reached earlier that day, true core figures like the Hooded Woman and Skull, those who had directly encountered the Zombie King, received “Its favor,” and undergone mutation, likely made up only a small fraction of the Believers as a whole.

Aside from the two operations targeting Fu Qing and Fangzhou, she had never seen them act again.

Nor had similar news reports mentioned attackers with abnormal appearances or strange behavior. Fu Qing tentatively concluded that many violent incidents around the world were more likely carried out by people like Liu Yong, individuals who had learned of the Believers online and acted independently in hopes of joining them.

Of course, some incidents might genuinely stem from what experts described as “economic decline, rising unemployment, and growing social instability.”

In a sense, the Believers and the people of Fangzhou were alike. Both were quietly accumulating strength in the shadows, waiting for the virus outbreak to arrive.

The car beneath them came to a gentle stop with a soft creak. Hao Zhenye’s driving was solid, backing neatly into a parking space. Translated on Hololo novels. At the same moment, Fu Qing locked her phone screen. When she looked out the window, her expression turned slightly complicated.

“This Carrefour is close to us,” Zhao Yunxiao said while reading from the navigation app. “It’s large, and there’s an end-of-year sale. Some items are ten percent off.”

He had been guiding the route from the passenger seat the whole way. When Fu Qing got into the car, she had only said, “Find a supermarket with a wide selection,” before retreating into her own thoughts.

She had completely forgotten that neither the driver nor the navigator was local and that they were relying entirely on GPS.

Looking proudly at the supermarket ahead, Zhao Yunxiao felt he had completed his task well and turned to the principal expectantly. “This place should be okay, right?”

Fu Qing paused. “…It’s fine.”

She glanced at it twice more and took the lead in grabbing a shopping cart.

Noticing that Xu Mingyue and Bai Tang also wore oddly stiff expressions, Zhao Yunxiao felt confused. Lu Yan patted his shoulder and said earnestly, “You haven’t used the simulation pods much, have you?”

“…Yeah,” Zhao Yunxiao admitted awkwardly, rubbing his nose.

He had always been physically uncoordinated and terrible at sports, relying entirely on academics to get ahead. After finally entering a prestigious university, he had unexpectedly bonded with a system that only allowed him to level up by killing zombies. His life had been nothing if not dramatic.

Even after four years of killing zombies under government protection, he had made little improvement. After all that time, he was still a rookie, something he had long since accepted. So even though teachers could use the simulation pods, he rarely did.

“No wonder,” Xu Mingyue said. “If you’d used them more often, you’d know this Carrefour is a very famous mid-level dungeon.”

Zhao Yunxiao blinked. “???”

“On the seventeenth day after the virus outbreak,” Xu Mingyue continued, “a brutal struggle for supplies happened here. More than two hundred people were inside the supermarket at the time. Only seven walked out alive.”

She added quietly, “And there wasn’t a single zombie in the store that day. Everyone died at the hands of other humans.”

According to student forum descriptions, it was a scenario that exposed the darkest parts of human nature in full.

Zhao Yunxiao abruptly turned to stare at the bustling supermarket before him.

Red lanterns hung from the parking lot lights, their golden tassels swaying in the winter wind. Even from a distance, loudspeakers broadcast year-end sale announcements alongside cheerful New Year songs.

Men and women, young and old, pushed shopping carts filled with holiday goods, smiling as they walked.

Who could have imagined that only a few months later, most of these people would become zombies or die by the hands of fellow survivors, and that this festive supermarket would become the site of tragedy?

A heavy weight settled in Zhao Yunxiao’s chest.

He truly had not expected this. “I… joined the research institute not long after the apocalypse began,” he said quietly. “I never experienced anything like this.”

There was even a trace of guilt in his voice.

Guilt for standing among these people while never having suffered the same fate.

Xu Mingyue suddenly slapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking him forward and almost forcing a mouthful of blood up his throat.

Xu Mingyue waved her hand carelessly. “Not experiencing it is a good thing. Otherwise you’d really lose faith in humanity. I’ve played that dungeon before. This supermarket had huge foot traffic, so a lot of people mutated on the first day of the apocalypse. Before that day, it was basically surrounded by zombies the whole time, and there were still plenty of supplies left inside.”

“In fact, if the people inside that day hadn’t been greedy, the remaining supplies would’ve been enough for everyone. There was no need to fight at all. But two groups couldn’t reach an agreement while taking supplies and started fighting. That eventually escalated into a full-scale melee. Everyone had been starving for days and was physically weak, which is why so many people died. Many of them were dragged into it for no reason.”

“The ones who started the conflict lost control and tried to monopolize all the supplies. If others didn’t fight back, the little they’d managed to secure would’ve been taken from them, so they were forced to join in.”

Grandma Liu, who had never used a simulation pod either, leaned closer to listen and sighed. “How could things turn out like that?”

Zhao Yunxiao added, “That’s terrible luck. What happened to the supplies in the end? Did the bad people take them?”

To Zhao Yunxiao, those who attacked their fellow humans first were naturally villains. Like a child listening to a story, he instinctively hoped for an ending where wrongdoers were punished.

“They didn’t,” Xu Mingyue replied, satisfying his expectation. “They died in the fighting too.”

Zhao Yunxiao finally let out a relieved sigh. “That’s good. Otherwise I wouldn’t even feel like shopping today.”

“Yeah…”

A strangely resentful voice drifted over. Lu Yan said gloomily, “If your principal and I hadn’t happened to be two of the unlucky people trapped inside that day, the story would sound even better.”

Zhao Yunxiao: “………………”

As they spoke, they reached the supermarket entrance. Fu Qing, who had already grabbed a shopping cart, overheard the conversation and let out a cold laugh, her expression darkening.

Clearly, the incident had left her with considerable psychological trauma. She had no interest in joining the discussion.

Grandma Liu and Zhao Yunxiao looked confused. “What exactly happened?”

Xu Mingyue finally couldn’t hold back and covered her face as she laughed. “It’s a little dark, but actually…”

Actually, the zombies inside the supermarket that day had been painstakingly cleared out by Fu Qing herself.

Just as Xu Mingyue had said, after the apocalypse began, the supermarket remained surrounded by zombies. Translated on Hololo novels. Everyone nearby knew about this Carrefour, yet almost no one dared enter.

After escaping from school, Fu Qing had hidden in a nearby residence and eyed the supermarket for a long time.

Eventually, when everyone was nearly out of food, she, Lu Yan, and several companions discussed it and decided to break in and gather supplies.

They even devised a detailed plan. Some drove vehicles to lure zombies away from the parking lot. Others stayed outside as backup. Fu Qing, confident in her abilities, infiltrated the supermarket with Lu Yan to clear the interior.

Who would have thought that after a group of college students worked themselves to exhaustion clearing out the zombies, others would swoop in at the critical moment and reap the benefits?

By then Fu Qing’s group had no strength left. Seeing that the newcomers were human, starving, and included the elderly and children, and knowing they couldn’t carry all the supplies anyway, they decided to share.

They never expected greed to spiral out of control into a massive brawl that left over a hundred people dead.

Standing in a supermarket flooded with blood, no one could even describe what they felt.

…

“They were just too young,” Xu Mingyue sighed.

Thinking back to nineteen-year-old Fu Qing, barely two weeks out of school and still clinging to naïve faith in human nature before reality taught her a brutal lesson, she felt both pity and a faintly dark amusement.

The experience had been so humiliating that after teaming up later, neither Fu Qing nor Lu Yan ever mentioned it again. If Xu Mingyue hadn’t happened to play the dungeon, she would never have known.

Seizing the rare opportunity, she draped an arm over Fu Qing’s shoulder, preparing to interview her about her feelings at the time. “Young lady, you—”

She had barely begun when Fu Qing suddenly raised one finger.

Xu Mingyue blinked. “?”

Fu Qing clearly disapproved of Xu Mingyue’s habit of acting senior despite being only a few years older. Calmly, she said, “Allow me to remind you. The young person is currently your superior.”

Xu Mingyue: “?”

“Discussing your superior casually results in a deduction of one hundred from your holiday shopping allowance,” Fu Qing said leisurely, pressing that finger against Xu Mingyue’s nonstop mouth with the elegance of a refined villain from a drama, as if she might whisper shh at any moment.

“Any objections, another hundred.”

Xu Mingyue: “……”

The once naïve college student had long since been tempered by society into a cold, merciless overlord who docked employee benefits without hesitation.

Clutching her chest, Xu Mingyue retreated gloomily to mourn the loss of her hundred yuan.

*

No matter how turbulent the year had been, past unhappiness and pain seemed to wash away with the arrival of the New Year.

Except for Grandma Liu, none of them had experienced such a strong festive atmosphere in a long time.

As they pushed carts through the aisles, their attention lingered less on the products and more on the people passing by, smiling faces, glittering banners hanging from the ceiling, bold calligraphy dusted with gold powder, and the looping chorus of “Wishing You Prosperity.”

There was nostalgia, and also a faint sadness.

Because they knew all of this would vanish in less than a year.

If not for the stares of nearby shoppers, Xu Mingyue might have hugged the supermarket mascot and cried. Translated on Hololo novels. Once the apocalypse arrived, who would still dress like that just to make people smile?

Lost in her melancholy, she startled Bai Tang, who stared at her wide-eyed. “Teacher Xu, I didn’t know you were so… sensual. I mean, sentimental.”

Xu Mingyue wiped the corner of her eye, choosing not to admit that most of her sorrow actually came from having her benefits docked by a ruthless boss.

Everyone drifted into a daze under the festive atmosphere except for two people who remained completely unaffected.

Holding a box of pork belly, Fu Qing returned seriously to consult Xu Mingyue. “Can we have braised pork tonight?”

Xu Mingyue: “……”

Facing that hopeful gaze, she reluctantly nodded.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Three boxes of pork belly landed in the cart. Fu Qing immediately moved on in search of her next target, her departing figure radiating an inexplicable satisfaction.

Before Xu Mingyue could recover her earlier mood, someone else approached.

Lu Yan appeared holding a lively carp. “For New Year’s Eve dinner, can we stew a fish?”

Xu Mingyue sighed. “…I’m not killing it.”

“No problem. I’ll ask the staff to handle it,” Lu Yan replied cheerfully, walking off with the still-flapping fish.

Xu Mingyue turned back only to find the mascot gone and Bai Tang staring at her with newfound admiration. “Teacher Xu, are you really that good at cooking?”

She considered and answered honestly. “Actually, I’m average.”

Before the apocalypse, no one had ever praised her cooking. At best, it was edible. After years of work and health checkups revealing various problems, cooking for herself had simply been healthier than takeout.

Yet for some reason, Fu Qing and Lu Yan loved her food.

Over time, wanting to live up to their enthusiasm, she learned to make the most of scarce seasonings and whatever strange ingredients they scavenged, cooking them as deliciously as possible.

Bai Tang nodded, then looked at her shyly. “Then… for this year’s New Year’s Eve dinner, could you make one of my favorite dishes too? I’ll help.”

“Of course,” Xu Mingyue said.

She had already promised on the ride over that she would be the head chef for the New Year’s Eve meal.

Bai Tang’s request reminded her. She began seeking out the others, asking what dishes they wanted.

A long-awaited reunion dinner should fulfill wishes and mend regrets.

Soon she was moving between teachers, collecting their favorite dishes, then searching the supermarket for ingredients. As the cart gradually filled, her earlier sadness faded away.

Her mind now held only cooking methods and the schedule for New Year’s Eve.

Looking at the long menu in her phone’s notes app, with “Braised Pork” boldly highlighted at the top under someone’s persistent hints, she suddenly laughed, put her phone away, and murmured to herself,

“I knew it. With those two around, it’s impossible to stay sentimental.”

She had a feeling that as long as she stayed with them, even in the apocalypse, next year’s New Year would still be lively and joyful.

₊˚.🎧📓✩

Fu Qing and Zhao Yunxiao quietly processed the newly obtained information.

The fact that the severed limbs carried no consciousness from the Zombie King at least meant things would not turn into a typical horror-movie scenario. No severed tentacle suddenly coming alive, crawling out through ventilation shafts or sewer pipes in the middle of the night, then reappearing to slaughter the protagonists.

Also, Lu Yan’s comparison of infection to “spitting” was honestly disgusting.

Fu Qing could not help imagining the hooded woman, Skull, and the others lined up in reverent rows, devoutly waiting to be spat on one by one.

The absurd image flashed through her mind and disappeared. Then she suddenly frowned.

“If it can sense remains… then it should already have located Fangzhou.”

Lu Yan nodded.

Along with the hooded woman’s severed limbs, several infected corpses had also been transported back to Fangzhou. There had been too many students present that night at West Mountain to completely erase all traces, and with firefighters about to arrive, time had been short. Fu Qing had no choice but to bring the bodies back.

Fortunately, the infected had always operated secretly. Their disappearance over several days had attracted no attention.

Zhao Yunxiao and Lu Yan both looked at Fu Qing, waiting for her decision. Instead, she began communicating silently with the system.

“Will this cause trouble?”

[No.] The system answered without hesitation. [Before the apocalypse begins, infected individuals cannot enter the campus boundary.]

After the apocalypse started, the campus would transform into a shelter. Only then would danger appear.

And shelters, by definition, could fall.

Fu Qing considered the system’s certainty with a strange feeling. Translated on Hololo novels. It sounded less like analysis and more like a fixed rule.

She thought again of Zhao Yunxiao’s “failed protagonist theory.”

Perhaps this world truly was a story written by someone else, and she herself merely a creation of a higher-dimensional author.

But there was no meaning in dwelling on that now.

The system changing hosts had already proven that no matter how many times events restarted, as long as she chose to act, her fate remained in her own hands.

She dismissed the vague speculation and, reassured about safety, casually relayed the system’s explanation to Lu Yan and Zhao Yunxiao so they would not continue worrying.

Zhao Yunxiao, who knew about the system, visibly relaxed.

Lu Yan, trusting Fu Qing completely, did not even think to question it. Or perhaps his attention remained fixed on the corpses he had dissected. He showed little concern about safety and instead continued expanding on his earlier conclusion.

“Later on, once zombies can infect each other, the Zombie King’s control over those not directly infected by it should weaken.”

In other words, ordinary zombies in the apocalypse would not necessarily become the Zombie King’s surveillance network.

Otherwise, survival would become nearly impossible.

Fu Qing nodded, understanding the limits of the Zombie King’s abilities.

The only thing she could not figure out was this: Fangzhou’s location had only been exposed after this incident. So during the West Mountain assessment, how had the believers found the students?

That was clearly not a question dissection could answer. She pondered for two seconds, found no clue, and moved on.

“And the second point?”

Someone had very proudly raised two fingers earlier.

“Oh, the second point…” Lu Yan suddenly lost the enthusiasm he had shown while explaining the first. He paused, seeming briefly distracted, then smiled. “Figuring out how the believers are infected isn’t important enough to count as the second discovery?”

Fu Qing expressionlessly stepped forward to grab his collar. Lu Yan yelped and bent away to dodge.

“Alright, alright. I do have another hypothesis. But remember, this is only a guess.”

He casually smoothed the wrinkles in his lab coat.

“After you cut off several of the hooded woman’s limbs that day, although they regenerated quickly, her body weight noticeably decreased. That means her regeneration ability is not limitless. And we now know that ability comes from the Zombie King.”

Fu Qing said, “You mean the Zombie King’s power also has limits.”

“Exactly. This creature isn’t invincible,” Lu Yan confirmed. “At the same time, we know it’s the source of zombie abilities. So I’ll make a bold hypothesis: if we kill the Zombie King, zombies across Blue Star will stop evolving.”

Fu Qing had been listening while idly observing an eyeball soaking in formalin. At those words, she suddenly looked up.

She thought of Skull, whom she had killed months earlier.

Compared to the believers they encountered this time, Skull’s abilities were clearly different. In comparison, Skull had been little more than an ordinary mid-level zombie with enhanced senses and physical strength. The believers now each possessed distinct supernatural abilities.

That was undeniably a form of evolution.

Just like during the five years after the apocalypse first broke out, when zombies had continued evolving without pause.

Back then, humanity believed the progression from low-level to mid-level to high-level zombies was simply the natural evolution of a new species. But now it seemed clear that those abilities actually originated from the Zombie King behind them.

As the Zombie King grew stronger, the zombies grew with it.

Considering that Skull’s power had also come from the Zombie King, yet he possessed no special abilities, Fu Qing even began to suspect that the evolution from low-level to mid-level zombies had likewise been granted by the Zombie King.

“If we find a way to kill the Zombie King the moment the apocalypse begins,” Fu Qing said, her thoughts racing, “would we be able to limit all zombies on Blue Star to only mid-level ones?”

Zhao Yunxiao blurted out, “If that happens, zombies won’t be an unbeatable threat anymore! Back then, we were already on the verge of successfully creating the serum!”

He could not remember the formula. Even with a second chance, humanity would still have to repeat the same research steps as in the previous life.

But compared to endlessly chasing zombie evolution only to remain one step behind forever, this time felt filled with hope.

Zhao Yunxiao’s eyes quickly reddened with emotion.

No one understood better than he did how much humanity had sacrificed on the road to developing the serum, nor the crushing despair they had faced just as dawn finally seemed within reach. Remembering that moment alone made his breathing grow heavy.

Lu Yan nodded solemnly. “Exactly. But we need to note something important. In this life, infected individuals appeared even before the apocalypse began, and some have already developed specialized evolutionary paths. That puts the timeline nearly two years ahead of the previous world.”

“Once the apocalypse starts and the virus gains transmissibility, anyone bitten by these special zombies may inherit their abilities and become far stronger than ordinary low-level zombies…”

Fu Qing immediately followed his reasoning. “In other words, mid-level zombies might appear right at the beginning this time.”

“We have to eliminate the Zombie King as soon as possible. The earlier, the better. Only then can we halt zombie evolution.”

“On the other hand, based on our earlier conclusions, current infected individuals can only be created through direct infection by the Zombie King, meaning their numbers are extremely limited. We must gather forces and eliminate these believers as quickly as possible, so that even after the Zombie King dies, the virus cannot continue spreading through them.”

Lu Yan inclined his head in agreement.

Fu Qing took a deep breath. Everything seemed to be moving, invisibly yet inevitably, toward a predetermined outcome.

“So,” she said slowly, “we need an elite squad capable of killing the Zombie King, and another team dedicated to confronting the secret organization known as the Believers. They must be capable, trust one another, and coordinate seamlessly during coordinated hunts.”

“The group cannot be too large, or information about the operation may leak and alert the Believers. But it also cannot be too small, or they won’t stand a chance against powerful enemies. Two thousand people… is an appropriate number.”

As for the elite squad…

There was no one in the world more suited than Fu Qing to lead it.

Fangzhou itself seemed as though it had been created for this very day.

Lu Yan stared at her, half suspicious, half astonished. “I think I need to get to know you all over again. Be honest. Did you arrange all of this on purpose?”

Fu Qing tugged at the corner of her mouth, unable to produce a real smile.

If anything, she was the one who had been meticulously arranged by the system.

Still, finally having a clear direction for confronting the apocalypse was undeniably uplifting.

The system had remained silent throughout the discussion. Fu Qing interpreted that silence as avoidance after being seen through, and after a moment’s thought, generously chose to forgive it.

On this important day, when humanity had gained hope while preparing to leave the old year behind, the principal decided to personally fund a year-end bonus for all faculty.

With a wave of her hand, Fu Qing said, “Call Mingyue and Bai Tang. Let’s all go to the supermarket together.”

For a principal burdened with massive infrastructure expenses, spending the points required for so many people to leave campus at once was already an extravagantly generous reward.

₊˚.🎧📓✩