The world y withered and desote.
Weeds, lush and green, thrust their way up through cracked concrete; bleached bones y scattered across the ground.
Lin An’s legs felt like lead as he ran, each step an agony. His lungs burned, every breath yanking at fractured ribs.
Behind him, a horde of snarling, ravenous undead closed in, their twisted faces grotesque masks of hunger. He could not afford to falter—for if he did, they would tear him limb from limb and feast on his flesh.
December, 2035. The apocalypse had erupted three years ago, dragging the world into hell. Now, as the safehouse loomed ahead, Lin An felt a flicker of hope brighten his despairing heart.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”“Open the door! Hurry!”
He pounded on the heavy iron gate—only a hundred meters separated him from salvation, and the stench of rot clung to him like a shroud.
“I got the medicine back! Open up, Tang Wan!”
Inside that refuge waited his fiancée Tang Wan and her parents. A narrow slot cracked open in the gate, and a single eye peered out—filled with concern. Relief flooded Lin An: it was Tang Wan.
“Tang Wan, it’s me! Please, let me in!” he shrieked, even as the pull on his chest wound widened the tear in his flesh and fresh blood spurted free. The creatures behind him roared with renewed frenzy.
The eye shifted to the medicine box in his hand—antipyretics for Tang Wan’s feverish brother.
“Lin An, I’ll open it for you,” came her anxious voice.
He exhaled shakily; safety was just beyond that gate.
“Slide the meds through first, then I’ll drop the bolt,” Tang Wan called.
He forced the box through the narrow opening—but unease prickled at him. Why not simply open the door?
A hand shot out, snatched the box, and withdrew—yet the gate remained locked.
“Tang Wan?!”
His cry ruptured the night. Fear coiled in his gut. Behind him, the groaning horde was almost upon him.
“Lin An,” Tang Wan said calmly, almost dispassionately, “I see your chest wound. You may be infected. I can’t let you in.”
Ice bloomed in his veins as the undead leapt onto his back, tearing at his flesh. Their rancid cws scraped down his spine.
“By the way,” Tang Wan continued as if discussing the weather, “the commander of the safe zone promised me—if I sleep with him, he’ll let me in.”
Her voice was casual, ced with cruel amusement.
“And you… you’ll die out there.”
Inside, her mother took the blood-smeared medicine and turned away without a word. The three of them stood across the threshold, watching until Lin An was consumed entirely.
……
Lianjiang City, festooned with nterns and wedding banners.
“Lin An, why aren’t you calling your buddies to borrow some money? What are you waiting for?”
His fiancée’s voice snapped him to consciousness. He gasped for air, his mind reeling. Had that been a dream?
His body ached as if freshly mauled. He lunged for his phone: the date read November 9, 2032.
It wasn’t a dream—he had been reborn, three days before the apocalypse began. Three days before he’d proposed to Tang Wan.
“I’ll tell you what,” Tang Wan’s mother decred, brushing aside a strand of hair. “If you want to marry my daughter, you’ll add another two hundred thousand to the bride price. Your brother-in-w Tang Tian’s wedding is coming up—you can’t expect to contribute nothing.”
Tang Tian lounged on the couch, arms folded, scowling. “I heard discharged soldiers get plenty of severance. Just borrow a bit—what’s the big deal?”
Tang Wan frowned at Lin An’s mute gre. She’d thought a straight-arrow ex-soldier would have some savings—but he stood there empty-handed.
“Isn’t he close with his army buddies?” her mother snorted, raising her voice. “Can’t scrape together a few coins?”
“If you can’t pull out the money, forget this wedding,” she snapped. “No sincerity—what a miserly clown.”
Tang Tian piped up, unconcerned: “Sis, remember that rich guy who was chasing you? Why not go with him? Mr. Wang even asked what car you liked!”
Insults rained down—and in Lin An’s eyes, something dark stirred. In his past life, he’d done everything to honor his promise: car, house, full bride price—even borrow from comrades at the eleventh hour. Then the world colpsed.
Now, the memory of that iron door, that betrayal, ignited a cold fury.
Without warning, Lin An delivered a crushing kick to Tang Tian’s abdomen, hurling him three meters across the room. Tang Tian retched bile, crumled against the wall.
Tang Wan staggered back, aghast at his violence.
“Help! He’s killing my son!” shrieked her mother as Lin An strode toward her.
He spped her again and again—each blow a razor-edged sentence of vengeance—until her skull lolled, unconscious.
“Tang Wan!”
Her scream split the air. She fumbled for her phone, dialing emergency services with trembling fingers.
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance.
Lin An paused, head tilted, considering the locked door. Three days remained until the end. Entanglement here would squander the one chance he’d been given.
He turned away with a cruel smile. Let them scratch and scream behind their barricade—he had no time for their petty cruelties.
He kicked open the flimsy gate and strode outside. From inside, Tang Wan’s curses trailed after him, punctuated by frantic calls to anyone with power.
He didn’t care. If they sent hired muscle after him, he’d deal with them in passing.
Ahead y three days of gathering supplies, of preparing himself for the gift only the apocalypse could bring: awakening.
On Day One, the virus would spill forth. Day Two, beasts from another realm would emerge. Day Three, reality would fracture with unearthly phenomena—and the lucky few would manifest supernatural talents at the energy nodes.
Last time, he’d been too kind, too trusting—too human. This time, he’d seize his own fate.
He whispered his first command to the world he would conquer:
“Fengming Road, No. 97.”
At the gate of the housing complex, Lin An pulled out his phone and studied the map.
“Ping—You have a new text message.”
The familiar number belonged to his comrade, An Jingtian.
“Brother Lin, I hear you’re in need of cash. I still have plenty of my demobilization pay—just send me your account number.”
“When you’re free, come visit—my sister keeps pestering me to bring you over.”
A warm flush spread through Lin An’s chest. An Jingtian wasn’t just a fellow soldier—he’d been Lin An’s friend and brother since childhood. They’d grown up together; when Lin An struggled to pay school fees, it had been An Jingtian’s parents who had quietly covered the cost.
Before Lin An could reply, a second message arrived:
“It’s been feeling wild weather tely—take care of yourself. Don’t end up feverish like me.”“My eyesight’s shot, too. Now I need gsses just to see. Don’t ugh when we meet.”
Lin An’s thumb hovered over the reply box—then his body froze.
Ctter.
His phone slipped from numbed fingers and hit the pavement. A cold dread snaked up his spine.
In the army, An Jingtian had been a recon scout—his physical conditioning and eyesight were legendary. Now the sudden fever and blurred vision he described were textbook early-stage infection symptoms for the zombie virus.
And it clicked. In the earliest wave of the outbreak, carriers incubated the pathogen silently: first a fever, then failing eyesight, then chills and weakness as the virus congregated around the heart.
Lin An’s vision brimmed with red. He and An Jingtian had arranged to meet outside the city on the day the world fell apart—but that day, his friend had never shown. No word, no trace. Lin An had bmed unforeseen dey. He never suspected the worst: that An Jingtian had succumbed, transformed into one of the undead—his best brother forever lost in torment.
Fury and grief coalesced. There had to be a way to save him this time. Lin An’s mind raced through recollections of his past life’s desperate measures.
Yes—there was one chance: injecting awakened blood directly into the heart before the virus solidified its core. In the old timeline, An Jingtian’s superior physique might have deyed the zombification for up to two hours at most. If Lin An could reach him within that window…
Three days. That was all the time he would have. First, gather supplies; then, grab equipment; and finally, race to his friend’s side.
With pn forming, Lin An set off at a brisk pace. Three days would be enough.
……
At Fortune Bridge Credit, the finance office was spacious and austere. Three loan officers sat across from Lin An.
“Mr. Lin, the ￥1.7 million must be repaid in three days,” the lead officer said.“The interest rate is seven percent per term.”“If you default, we’ll have to seize your house. Please don’t let it come to that.”
Lin An nodded calmly. In three days, paper money would be worthless. In the apocalypse, only food and strength truly held value.
He’d already tapped every online lender he knew, and now even mortgaged his car and apartment to a “bridge” financier—securing a total of ￥3.4 million in cash, including the original bride price. Enough to stockpile life’s essentials.
Leaving the credit office, he strode straight to the pharmaceutical company where he worked. Behind him, the loan officers exchanged uneasy whispers: “He mortgaged his wedding home… at seven percent. No payments yet. What a savage.” “Must’ve lost everything gambling.” “If he doesn’t pay in three days, the house is ours.”
Inside the company, Lin An calmly swiped his employee card at the lobby scanner. The guard barely caught sight of his ID before it fluttered to the floor:
Name: Lin AnGender: MaleAge: 24Position: Special Pharmaceuticals Escort
“Beep!” The elevator doors slid open. Lin An rode to the third floor, swiped again, and entered the b. It was a holiday, and everyone else was on break. Only a single bleary-eyed intern remained, hair disheveled.
“Brother Lin?” the young man mumbled, blinking sleep away.
With a decisive twist, Lin An locked the b door behind him. No preamble—he asked ftly, “Where are the giant monitor lizard extract and the purified serpent venom?”
The intern’s eyes widened. “Brother Lin, there’s no escort mission today… why do you need them?”
Each reagent Lin An named required special authorization—and cost a fortune. The intern hesitated under the harsh gre.
“You don’t need to know,” Lin An said icily.
After a heartbeat, the intern whispered, “I really… can’t.”
Lin An gnced at the wall clock. Time was running out. He opened his backpack and spilled thick bundles of cash across the floor.
“Here’s ￥700 thousand—consider it a purchase,” he said. “Skip the paperwork; the company won’t fuss over it.”
Seventy thousand yuan for each bottle. The intern gaped at the money, silent, torn, then acquiesced. He unlocked the cold-storage cabinet, and Lin An rifled through its contents until he held two vials of deep-blue serum aloft.
Giant Monitor Lizard Extract: a potent strength enhancer derived from North American lizard blood.Purified Serpent Venom: a cardiac and pulmonary stimunt that grants explosive power and endurance.
Dangerous side effects—but once he awakened, his body would regenerate fwlessly. Severed limbs would knit back, disease would vanish. Every awakened individual became a perfect warrior, their physique amplified.
He loaded the two vials—and then every other experimental ampoule—into his pack. As the intern scrambled to bag the cash at the other end of the b, Lin An’s voice stopped him: “This stays between us for three days. After that, do whatever you want.”
Their eyes met: the intern’s terror-stricken, Lin An’s cold and unwavering.
The elevator dinged; Lin An stepped aboard. As he descended, he reviewed his supply list:
High-calorie canned goods, chocote, energy bars—awakened bodies burn massive calories.
Water barrels, with grape-sugar packets mixed in.
Weapons: no need for bows or firearms—once awakened, he’d wield strength beyond steel. Instead, forged alloy bdes and blunt weapons that wouldn’t fail in the apocalypse.
Combat uniforms—several sets. Heavy fighting would shred ordinary clothes.
Body armor and ballistic shields—discard those: at several times normal human resilience, he would dodge projectiles by instinct, not bulk.
Back on the ground floor, Lin An checked the map one st time. His eyes bzed as he whispered, “If I remember right, there’s one more piece of gear that will make awakening inevitable…”
