Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Siberian Tiger

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The aura was overwhelming. Yang Fan keenly sensed a strength that ordinary people could never possess—at least ten times the power of a normal human in all aspects. Guided by his instincts, Yang Fan immediately pinpointed the source…

He cast his gaze over his shoulder. There stood a man nearly two meters tall, bare-chested, muscles rippling over his entire body. His crew cut accentuated the stony hardness of his physique, each muscle block exuding explosive power and raw aggression. The kind of man, it could be said, that no one would dare provoke in a nightclub—not even the most drunken patron would risk it.

One look at Zhu Liang and his companions’ faces made it clear—this man was extremely dangerous.

“No guns. Do you dare try me?” The giant’s cold, menacing glare bore down on Yang Fan as he spoke. In that instant, Yang Fan sensed the muzzles of several guns trained on him, though their locations would take some time to discern.

Bullets flew fast, and Yang Fan was confident he could dodge them, but Zhu Liang and the others could not. So Yang Fan holstered his Desert Eagle and strode up to the beast-like man. “I’ll give you three chances to strike. If you make me move even a step, I’ll admit defeat.”

Yang Fan’s expression was one of utter contempt. This provoked the man’s fury instantly. Born with immense strength, his years of training had made him two or three times stronger than any ordinary person. After acquiring the apocalypse system, he’d pressed ever forward, and luck had granted him a silver-level chest, yielding third-tier enhancement serums for all his attributes.

Now, he could crush a man with ease—yet this scrawny youth before him dared treat him as nothing? To him, it was an intolerable humiliation.

Without hesitation, he charged forward like a leopard. His movements were solid and powerful, his speed astonishing—within the blink of an eye, he was upon Yang Fan. Yang Fan, draped in a pitch-black cloak, his messy hair not diminishing his elegance, his somewhat grimy face still retaining its delicate features, stood unmoved.

A sharp crack echoed.

The man, moving like a leopard, lunged, intent on tearing Yang Fan apart. But as he closed within a meter, he raised his fist—Yang Fan did the same. Their fists collided, and a crisp sound of bone breaking rang out. Most assumed it was Yang Fan’s hand that had broken.

But a few thought otherwise—the brute was the unlucky one.

On the supermarket’s second floor, a middle-aged man in a black Zhongshan suit watched from a window. Suddenly, he spotted the giant writhing on the ground below…

“Ah! It hurts! It hurts so much!”

Almost no one expected that the one rolling on the floor in agony would be the man who’d looked as fierce as a tiger, while the harmless-looking youth stood unscathed, his expression calm, free of pride or arrogance.

“In the north, they call the dragon Azure Dragon. In the south, there is a tiger—originally it should be the Southeast Tiger, but that didn’t sound imposing enough, so he named himself the Northeast Tiger. The Tiger Gang, one of the largest underground organizations in NC City—that must be you.”

Standing with hands clasped behind his back, Yang Fan swept his gaze over the group, then looked up at the man in the black suit who’d been standing at the second-floor window for some time.

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The man shifted, then descended the stairs. Outside, the goose-feather snow continued to fall. The bitter wind made everyone else shiver uncontrollably.

At that moment, the man in the Zhongshan suit emerged. He radiated a sense of wisdom rather than menace or intimidation. Yang Fan recognized him—he’d met him on the run in his previous life.

He was the Tiger Gang’s boss, known as the Northeast Tiger, with a brood of ruthless “tiger cubs” under his command. He bore himself with dignity. In Yang Fan’s previous life, he’d only brushed past him while fleeing with Qin Ziwen, but even then, this man had led hundreds of brothers, carving out his own territory. In a world overrun by mutant beasts, to keep so many men alive was no small feat.

Now, facing him again, Yang Fan felt no awe—only a measure of respect.

The Tiger Gang’s leader did not speak to Yang Fan at once. Instead, he went over to the fallen brute, fed him a healing serum, and had his subordinates carry him away.

“What a remarkable way to command loyalty,” Yang Fan thought admiringly. This man understood how to win hearts. He knew Yang Fan would not act rashly, so he treated him as a potential ally. Instead of immediately apologizing or laughing things off, he first took care of his own brother, then turned to Yang Fan.

In this way, he neither damaged his relationship with Yang Fan nor chilled the hearts of his own men—his actions were flawless, a mark of true wisdom.

“Truly, heroes emerge from youth. I am Chen Hu, leader of the Tiger Gang. My brothers offended you just now—I hope you’ll forgive them.”

He spoke loudly, apologizing for the earlier offense without hesitation, showing that he could let go of pride—a true man.

Yang Fan exhaled a plume of white breath and, seeing the others shivering in the cold, said, “It’s nothing. But this weather is bitter, and my friends can’t take much more. Let’s go inside, change, bathe, and rest. Tomorrow, we can sit down and talk properly.”

Unlike what others might have imagined, Yang Fan was neither arrogant nor overbearing. His tone was calm and steady.

“Very well,” Chen Hu replied, glancing at Yang Fan’s companions and agreeing without hesitation. In truth, Chen Hu was a little surprised by Yang Fan’s attitude, and began to reevaluate him. Then he led everyone into the Baisheng Supermarket, instructing his subordinates to prepare warm clothing.

Inside, a wave of warmth greeted them—far more comfortable than the cold outside. Many sighed in relief.

“The seventh floor of Baisheng Supermarket is a hotel. Please go upstairs to bathe and rest. I’ll have food sent up shortly.”

Having said this, Chen Hu left, wasting no words. Zhu Liang and Chen Ming looked to Yang Fan, uncertain, but Yang Fan shook the snow from his cloak. “Don’t worry. Let’s rest upstairs.”

Since he’d saved his progress, Yang Fan had no fear of tricks. If anything went wrong, he could always go back and seek revenge. Calm and confident, he headed upstairs, and the others followed.

The first floor of the supermarket was for groceries. Some areas were stained with blood but remained remarkably clean. Everywhere, armed militia posed as guards, but with Chen Hu’s orders, none dared trouble Yang Fan.

Throughout the building, wherever there was space, civilians sat—some chatting, some playing cards. They no longer seemed anxious, believing the worst was behind them and stronger forces would soon come to protect them. Unbeknownst to them, these so-called protectors were impostors.

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There were men and women here, but far fewer men. Most were children or elderly, with only a handful of young adults. Yang Fan estimated that there were over a thousand people on the first floor alone.

The second and third floors also sold food; the fourth and fifth were for jewelry and sundries; the sixth sold clothing.

Amid the curious stares of the others, Yang Fan and his group took the elevator straight to the seventh floor.

There, two neatly dressed women greeted them, leading each to their rooms. Zhu Liang and Chen Ming shared one, Yang Fan and Liu Xue another, while the rest found their own.

Once settled, everyone began to bathe and rest…

…

Elsewhere, Chen Hu sat in a room, smoking in silence, two men in their thirties standing behind him, equally quiet.

“What do you think of this young man?” Chen Hu suddenly broke the silence.

“He’s strong.”

“Very strong.”

Each gave his honest opinion.

Chen Hu nodded, exhaling smoke. “With the world in ruins, our third brother led us to take the nearby garrison. Of our eight hundred brothers, only a little over four hundred remain—I don’t know if any of us will survive. But I have a hunch that this young man may be able to help us. Da Tie, go instruct the men to look after them well—not a hair on their heads is to be harmed, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the man behind him, then left.

(Brothers, all is well. Our book is doing much better than last week… Guazi takes a deep breath, steadies his heart, and shouts a thank you! But Guazi has noticed something: we’ve been overtaken in the sci-fi rankings. Last week, that person wasn’t even in the top twelve, so how did they surpass Guazi today? Someone told me they might be using bots… but since there’s no proof, I won’t dwell on it. Still, let me say this: First place is mine—ours. As long as I’m here, first place in sci-fi will be ours! Brothers, for the sake of reclaiming our honor, can you cast your votes for Guazi? The next chapter will be a steamy one!)