Chapter Twenty-Five: Frightening Millions (2/5)

The episode with Ji Wu’s group was nothing but a minor interlude.

After Yang Fan and Zhu Liang cleared out a few zombies, they headed up to the seventh floor. Along the way, Zhu Liang grumbled with indignation, “Boss, why didn’t you finish off that Guo Yu? That guy still thinks this is the old world. If you ask me, he doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

Zhu Liang was fuming, feeling his goodwill had been thrown to the dogs. Not only was he misunderstood, but Guo Yu was so arrogant on top of it.

“Killing isn’t always the best solution,” Yang Fan replied. “It’s obvious Guo Yu is interested in that girl, Ji Wu, and she’s no fool. The water in the convenience store is gone, and I doubt there’s any left elsewhere. I deliberately brought out the water, knowing they wouldn’t dare drink it. Guo Yu is probably in a foul mood now, and he’s no saint himself. If we cross paths again, I won’t hold back.”

Yang Fan briefly explained his reasoning and strategy. As a seasoned leader, Zhu Liang instantly understood. Yang Fan had purposefully displayed the water, betting they wouldn’t touch it. Guo Yu was the first to step forward, only to discover there was no water in the store. This would lower his standing as a leader—his authority would diminish. After all, with no food or water, people’s lives hang by a thread. When death is imminent, who cares who’s in charge?

Otherwise, the world wouldn’t descend into chaos. People know that whether they riot or not, death awaits. So why not seize a bit of pleasure before the end?

Zhu Liang quickly grasped Yang Fan’s intent. On the surface, Yang Fan seemed to be suffering a loss, but in reality, it was Guo Yu who was in danger. Realizing this, Zhu Liang couldn’t help but laugh. At this point, there was nothing more to worry about—Yang Fan’s strength was more than enough to handle any zombie. There was no need for the caution of yesterday.

They opened the iron door to the seventh floor. Yang Fan carefully inspected the explosive charms he’d set up; none had been disturbed, clearly no zombies had gotten in. He breathed a slight sigh of relief, and after relocking the door, the two of them stepped inside.

“They’re here! They’re back!”

“They made it—alive!”

“They really came back!”

A few girls in the room spotted Yang Fan and Zhu Liang. Their clothes were drenched in blood, making them look terrifying, but at this moment, in the girls’ eyes, the two shone brighter than any star.

Yang Fan stooped to gather the explosive charms from the floor, then stepped further into the room.

Someone opened the door further, and Yang Fan saw Liu Qiaoqiao beaming at him. He glanced around at everyone—their eyes ringed with fatigue, spirits flagging—but upon seeing him, each one broke into a smile. His safe return meant their own survival was still possible.

“It’s good you’re back,” Liu Qiaoqiao said with a smile.

Yang Fan nodded, his own face lit with a broad grin. “Did any of you open a treasure chest?”

“No,” everyone shook their heads, but one girl pointed at Wu Yinmei. “They opened some chests. Two white chests appeared here earlier.”

The girl’s words sent Wu Yinmei into a panic, sensing Yang Fan’s displeasure. She hurriedly explained, “The chests just appeared before us, and I couldn’t help myself—I opened them out of curiosity.”

Yang Fan’s expression cooled, but he didn’t show the two of them any warmth. Clearly, Wu Yinmei had gotten something and immediately called Bai Su over—the two of them were in cahoots.

Bai Su, sensing Yang Fan’s suspicion, quickly said, “I got five hundred apocalypse coins from the chest and gave all of it to Liu Qiaoqiao, so she could buy food.”

She made her intentions clear—she didn’t want Yang Fan to misunderstand her.

“What does that have to do with me?” Yang Fan shot her a cold glance, then turned to Liu Qiaoqiao, “How many copies did you print?”

“A little over fourteen hundred,” Liu Qiaoqiao replied. Bai Su forced a smile and sat down in silence.

“Fourteen hundred,” Yang Fan murmured, nodding—this was more than he’d expected.

“Alright, Qiaoqiao, buy me a copy of the ‘Virtual Trading Contract’ and a ‘Terrain Bulletin Board.’ They should be priced at one hundred and two hundred apocalyptic coins. Is that enough?”

“It’s enough.” Without hesitation, Liu Qiaoqiao purchased both items for Yang Fan.

The so-called Virtual Trading Contract was a platform for players with the apocalypse system to trade—one hundred apocalyptic coins for one hour’s stall time, with a twenty percent transaction fee for all players. Generally, only hot commodities were traded here, otherwise it was a losing proposition.

Yang Fan used the contract and listed the “Apocalypse Survival Manual” at ten coins a copy. While not as useful as the real survival manual, it contained plenty of hard-won experience and insights absent from the virtual store’s version. Signed under Yang Fan’s name, it was a real bargain.

Once listed, Yang Fan immediately used the “Terrain Bulletin Board”—the equivalent of a broadcasting megaphone in a game, capable of reaching everyone within five hundred miles.

Yang Fan’s message rang out: “The apocalypse has begun. Don’t harbor any illusions of rescue. Zombies will sweep across the world, and even more powerful races will arrive. If you want to survive, buy a copy of the Apocalypse Survival Manual in the virtual trading space—one per group. Lastly, this is just a game arena. If anyone attempts anything despicable, they will face divine retribution: death by a thousand arrows, a thousand blades, never to know reincarnation.”

Yang Fan’s voice grew ever colder. In his previous life, he’d seen too many tragedies—rape, murder, arson—one after another, all because the law was gone and there was no punishment. That’s what made people so reckless.

Now, Yang Fan intended to terrify them, to keep them in check.

As his words echoed out, dozens of kilometers away, a brute was about to force himself on a woman. Just as he was about to act, Yang Fan’s voice froze him in his tracks. The men spat and cursed, “Damn bad luck,” before getting up and leaving.

Elsewhere, a group huddled in conflict over an item. As murderous thoughts arose, Yang Fan’s broadcast made them all pause for several seconds. Then one said, “Let’s sit down and talk.”

This was faith. This was order. Yang Fan’s words struck fear into hundreds of thousands of survivors. Save for a handful of madmen, most were truly cowed.

Meanwhile, Yang Fan’s name became legendary in the NC region, heralded as the embodiment of divinity.

Elsewhere on campus, as Guo Yu stared at the empty convenience store, his expression grew darker. Dissatisfied voices buzzed around him. Just as he was ready to kill, Yang Fan’s cold voice arrived, sending a chill through him.

“Was that Yang Fan?” someone whispered.

Ji Wu murmured as well, her mind conjuring the image of that clear-faced young man in a black cloak…

(Thanks to Rong’er Guai Guai for the tip—love you, Sunflower Seeds! Ha ha.)