Chapter 38 | The Apocalypse Landlady

Someone immediately dropped their club, let out a shrill scream, and fled for their life alongside A Biao and the other man.

Panic spread like a plague.

The rest of the group lost all will to fight. Wishing they had been born with extra legs, they scrambled and crawled, fleeing toward their vehicles.

In an instant, the menacing crowd had vanished completely.

The construction site was left in shambles—discarded clubs, overturned buckets of red paint, and a chaotic mess of footprints.

Li Bao stood alone, his mouth covered in blood. Su Wan remained standing calmly on the steps, unmoving.

Realizing his subordinates had all fled, a wave of immense terror and isolation instantly swallowed him.

The sky seemed to darken in an instant. He felt the cold, dismal air grow heavier, as if invisible eyes were watching him from the shadows.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his mouth and his internal trembling, he roared at Su Wan with forced bravado:

“Su... Su Wan! You just wait! This isn't over! You have one day left... if you can't produce the money...”

“I... I won’t let you off!”

After forcing out those parting words, Li Bao couldn't hold his ground any longer.

He spun around and marched toward the exit. At first, he tried to maintain a semblance of a boss's dignity, but his pace quickened with every step.

Eventually, he was practically stumbling and sprinting out of the construction site in a panic. He didn't dare look back, fearing he might see something even more terrifying if he did.

Su Wan let out a slow breath, a thoughtful glint in her eyes.

The effect of “Consciousness Interference” on those with weak wills was even better than she had anticipated.

The precise application of “Psychokinesis” could also play an unexpected role at critical moments.

Most importantly, these abilities didn't attract unwanted attention.

This was good.

...

The Apocalyptic Plane.

The grey mist of the Death Tide finally began to recede from the ruins like an ebbing tide.

Ah-Lan tightened her tracksuit, donned a crude protective mask, and pushed open the heavy fire door.

She remembered a relatively “stable” refugee gathering point near the ruins of a large, partially collapsed shopping mall to the southeast.

There was a family there she had encountered a few times while scavenging. The man was named Old Zhao—a silent but honest man who lived with his wife and two half-grown children, struggling to survive in the crevices of the ruins.

Following her memory, Ah-Lan navigated through the rubble. About half an hour later, she found the family's “home” tucked into a corner formed by a leaning concrete wall and a mass of twisted rebar.

It couldn't even be called a shelter.

It was merely a low, cramped triangular space cobbled together from old tarps, shattered plastic sheets, and rusted iron plates.

The entrance was partially covered by a dented metal plate. A damp, musty smell, mixed with a faint scent of blood and char, wafted from the gaps.

Ah-Lan looked around warily before lightly tapping on the metal plate.

A frantic rustling and a muffled cough came from inside, followed by Old Zhao’s hoarse, guarded voice: “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Ah-Lan,” she whispered.

The metal plate shifted slightly, revealing Old Zhao’s weathered face. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with exhaustion and suspicion.

Seeing it was Ah-Lan, he relaxed slightly but didn't move the barrier entirely.

“Ah-Lan? What are you doing here? The Death Tide just receded; it’s not safe out there yet.”

“Old Zhao, I’ve found a place. It might be able to save Little Stone,” Ah-Lan said, getting straight to the point as she glanced toward the dark corner behind him.

At the mention of “Little Stone,” Old Zhao’s body visibly stiffened. A wave of heavy sorrow and helplessness flashed in his eyes.

From behind him came the sound of a woman’s suppressed sobbing.

“Save him? With what?” Old Zhao’s voice was raspy with despair. “We can’t even afford the cheapest black market herbs...”

“It’s not herbs; it’s a place,” Ah-Lan took a deep breath and described it as concisely as possible.

“A building called the ‘Terminal Station Shelter.’ You can’t feel the Death Tide at all there. The air is clean, and there’s uncontaminated food and water. If you stay there, you won’t have to worry about radiation or the Death Tide’s erosion.”

Her words were like a stone thrown into stagnant water, but instead of hope, they stirred deep suspicion.

Old Zhao stared at her, his brow furrowed. “Ah-Lan, do you know what you’re saying? Completely blocking the Death Tide? Zero-contamination food and water? Not even the Inner City is that extravagant! Have you... met some kind of scammer? Or are you hallucinating?”

He had heard of people losing their minds and having unrealistic fantasies after staying in the ruins for too long.

Ah-Lan didn't argue. She simply pointed at their makeshift hovel. “Old Zhao, look at Little Stone. How much longer can he hold on? Can this ‘home’ of yours withstand the next Death Tide?”

Her words struck Old Zhao’s deepest pain.

Behind him, his wife emerged carrying a scrawny boy of about five or six.

The boy’s face was an ominous ashen grey, his lips were parched and purple, and his eyes were tightly shut as he breathed weakly.

Even more horrifying were the visible patches of greyish-white rot on his exposed shins and arms, with tissue fluid slowly seeping from the edges.

These were wounds from the previous Death Tide that hadn't been properly treated and were now festering.

Another older girl, around eight or nine, clung tightly to her mother. Her small face was filthy, her eyes were filled with terror, and she was so thin she looked skeletal.

The family of four were all dressed in rags, gaunt and sallow-faced. They all bore traces of old injuries and radiation sickness, looking like withered grass struggling to survive in the ruins, liable to be blown over by a single gust of wind.

Looking at his dying son and his terrified, helpless wife and daughter, the silent man’s eyes instantly reddened.

He knew better than anyone that his son didn't have much time left.

“That place... does it really exist?” Old Zhao’s voice trembled, clinging to a final shred of struggle and disbelief.

“My brother Ah-Hao is inside. His legs were in worse shape than Little Stone’s before, but now his life is saved and the wounds have stopped worsening,” Ah-Lan said seriously. “Why not come and see for yourselves? What if?”