Over the next few days, Qi Yue discovered that time inside the space was completely still. Food stayed exactly as it was when he put it in. No one could enter, and he had no idea what it looked like inside. He could only use his spiritual power to store and retrieve things. He went out several more times to buy ingredients and containers for food.
All his remaining time was spent eating, sleeping, and cooking. By Saturday night, Qi Yue’s back and waist were aching as he slumped against the sofa.
This really isn’t human work.
Thankfully, after surviving so many years in the apocalypse before, his body was strong, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to endure it.
He had made three barrels of noodles, two barrels of steamed buns, five barrels of stuffed buns, a bag of meat pies, six barrels of rice, and three barrels of stir-fried dishes, plus several pots of different soups and juices. He had no choice, the space couldn’t store raw materials, only cooked food and drinks like those made in restaurants.
After confirming everything was ready, he reviewed his thirty-seven previous deaths. The main reason for all of them had been rashness: leaving the city too early when the apocalypse began when crowds made everything even more dangerous and being too trusting of others.
In the apocalypse, one had to guard not only against zombies, but also against humans. Danger was everywhere.
This time, he was determined to stay home for a full month, until the various survivor bases had basically taken shape. Once people with abilities started going out to gather supplies, then he would leave. More importantly, in his past lives he’d died miserably, and he only had himself to blame for being too stupid to read people. Most of the time, he talked too stupidly, or he was too eager to please. And with his pretty face attracting women from all walks of life, he never managed to win over the boss. Honestly, how could someone who stayed home all day possibly handle social maneuvering on every front?
No, he resolved, this time I’ll stay far away from women. I’ll find a strong leader to follow, cling to their thigh, and secure a steady second-in-command position. If the boss doesn’t die, I’ll be a loyal underling; if the boss does, even better, I’ll seize the chance and take over myself.
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Why didn’t I think of that before?
At midnight, the city lights twinkled faintly. The apocalypse was about to begin.
At 2 a.m., chaos erupted outside. Meteorites fell from the sky, carrying alien bacteria to Earth. The end of the world had come.
Through the window, streaks of light like shooting stars could be seen landing in all directions.
Qi Yue lived in Yicheng, a city of 1.5 million in the border area of S Province. Later statistics would show that six meteorites had fallen there, at the city center and in the south just like in his previous lives. Knowing this, he felt slightly relieved.
Day 1 of the Apocalypse, overcast.
Electricity and water were still running. The news on TV mentioned an infectious disease, advising citizens to take precautions and avoid public places. Outside, curses, cries, and the sounds of fire engines and ambulances filled the air. Most people were still bewildered, unaware of how different this day truly was.
Qi Yue’s eyes stayed fixed on the street corner, a small breakfast shop. A middle-aged man who had just finished eating was suddenly bent over the table, vomiting. Several bystanders gathered, some arguing with the shopkeeper, some making phone calls. The man slid off the table, convulsing violently before falling still.
No one noticed.
Qi Yue leaned over his balcony railing and shouted, “Run! He’s turning into a zombie! Run!”
No one reacted. They were too far away, no one heard him.
The next moment, the man suddenly sprang up, grabbed the shopkeeper’s wife, and bit into her neck. As he chewed, the onlookers screamed. Some tried to pull him away, others crouched down vomiting, and still others pretended not to see and quickly took another route.
Qi Yue froze. Yes, in the apocalypse, the road ahead could only be found by feeling your way through danger yourself. No matter how much others reminded or helped you, it was only temporary. In the end, no one could protect you forever.
As long as it didn’t harm my own interests, I’ll help when I can, he thought. But this time, I’ll live low-key. (Little 77, with that face of yours, you think you can stay low-key? Heaven itself won’t allow it!)
He shut the windows, drew the curtains, and pushed the wardrobe and sofa against the door. While the power and water still worked, he went back to his cycle of eating, sleeping, and cooking.
Gradually, he realized that making different dishes replenished his spiritual power, while repeating the same dishes didn’t affect it. Could it be that cooking different recipes increases experience points?
And the longer he cooked, the more his spiritual power decreased.
Day 3 morning, clear skies.
Two days had passed, and things outside were growing more chaotic. More and more people, unable to stay indoors, began venturing out to scavenge for supplies.
Peeking through a gap in the curtain, Qi Yue saw people prying open the shops along the street with whatever tools they could find. If a store had no zombies inside, crowds swarmed in to grab what they could: fighting, shouting, arguing. If they encountered zombies, most people ran or hid, waiting for someone else to fight first.
Some took advantage of those battles to sneak in and loot while others fought for their lives. Only a small number stepped forward to help, mostly young people who looked like students or police officers.
Humans… always too selfish.
He’d been naive once too, rushing to help anyone in trouble, pitying the old, overflowing with compassion for children.
And what did that get him? Thirty-seven deaths.
Thirty-two of them from his own meddling, dying for others, dying for his so-called kindness. He had died all over the country, devoured by zombies and mutant beasts of every kind. And not once had he met someone willing to die for him.
Thinking of this, Qi Yue yanked the curtain shut and slapped himself hard across the face. “That’s what you get, saint. That’s what you get for your overflowing kindness.”
Day 4, clear skies.
Zombies still followed their usual pattern: hiding during the day, appearing at night.
Qi Yue looked at his watch and counted softly: “Three… two… one…”
Right on cue, there came a knocking on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Qi Yue, your Brother Li from the sixth floor.”
“What is it?”
“My son’s got a fever and a bad cold. I remember seeing you buy cold medicine before, give me a few pills, will you? Your nephew’s burning up! You’re not going to be so cold-blooded as to watch him die, are you?”
Qi Yue peered through the peephole. Sure enough, it was exactly like before, same words, same tone. He couldn’t help feeling smug. The same act, the same guilt-tripping hat, if I don’t open the door, I’m cold-hearted; if I don’t hand over medicine, I’m letting someone die.
In his 4th and 7th lives, he had fallen for this trick, opened the door, and discovered that his “sick son” was perfectly fine: healthy, lively, more energetic than he was.
He’d been knocked out, robbed of his supplies, and died miserably soon after, once on the road to a base, once while scavenging.
But this time was different. He wasn’t playing the saint anymore.
“Sorry, Brother Li,” he said sweetly through the door. “I moved all my things to the restaurant before this mess started. Didn’t expect people to start eating each other. I’ve got nothing left here.”
“Ah, come on, just go get some!” he coaxed from outside.
He went on for a while, but when Qi Yue didn’t open the door, he finally gave up. He seemed ready to kick it down but thought better of it, afraid of attracting zombies.
Cursing under his breath, he eventually left.
