The Apocalypse Solution Provider

Chapter 13: Entering the Fu Household

Four days until the apocalypse.

After a grueling day of prep, Su Jin’s fourth-floor apartment was already crammed with varying stacks of supplies.

He’d spent the morning running reconnaissance and the afternoon draining his wallet at the wholesale market.

His haul included ten heavy-duty water jugs, dozens of bags of milk powder, twenty bags of salt, bulk vitamins, over-the-counter painkillers, gauze, rubbing alcohol, and iodine. He’d also placed a massive order for grain and cooking oil at a distributor four miles out, dropping a deposit for a scheduled night delivery in two days.

On top of that, he bought out an industrial supply of heavy-duty trash bags, toilet paper, and a few portable camping toilets.

Out of all the supplies, the toilets were absolute, non-negotiable necessities.

Once the world ended, clean water would become a luxury asset.

Even if the municipal sewer lines somehow survived, flushing potable water down the drain was a rookie mistake.

He’d have to rely on the camp toilets lined with plastic bags.

Plus, what if the local zombie variants hunted by smell? A well-placed bag of human waste could make for a fantastic improvised biochemical decoy.

Sure, standard plastic buckets would function just fine, but on the off chance he died, he preferred to die with a shred of ergonomic dignity.

Furthermore, cross-referencing Fu Qingdai’s intel, he’d bulk-ordered a massive batch of sanitary pads.

While primarily intended for feminine hygiene, their tactical applications were endless—at the very least, they made phenomenal, moisture-wicking shoe inserts.

Two more days of grinding, and his procurement phase would be complete.

Su Jin ran the mental arithmetic. Just as he struck a line through the acquired goods on his clipboard, his stomach let out a hollow growl. He glanced toward the front door.

He had a dinner appointment at Fu Qingdai’s place tonight. He hadn’t physically met her parents yet, but his background check on them was thoroughly comprehensive.

This operational phase was critical. It wasn’t just about establishing a legitimate cover story to interact with the girl.

Securing the trust of the Fu couple would act as a massive force multiplier for his upcoming endgame.

Fu Qingdai’s father, Fu Hu, was military stock. Medical discharge or not, his baseline combat instincts would easily eclipse a civilian’s.

Even if years of civilian life had softened his physique, a brief crash course would violently reawaken his muscle memory.

And the mother, Zhang Wan, a textile factory worker… proficient needlework was a highly bankable survival skill.

He was penciling in a hardware store run tomorrow for aluminum flashing and heavy-duty canvas.

Sewing reinforced pockets into their jackets and sliding in pre-cut aluminum plates would create instant, lightweight plate carriers.

It was cheap, highly practical, and absolutely mandatory.

Tonight’s social engineering had to be flawless. With Fu Hu’s connections, he might even be able to source kinetic weapons like a compound bow!

…

Around six o’clock, the heavy thud of footsteps and low murmurs echoed from the corridor, punctuated by the scrape of a key in a lock.

A metallic click rang out as the apartment door across the hall swung shut.

Su Jin stretched his neck, stalking over to the cheap mirror to smooth out his expression.

Based on the audio cues, Fu Hu and his wife had arrived together. Perfect timing.

Consolidating the pitch to both of them simultaneously would save valuable time.

Checking his posture, Su Jin slid his phone into his pocket, grabbed a stack of three DVD cases and a notepad, and stepped out into the hall.

He paused before Fu Qingdai’s door, compartmentalizing his empathy, before rapping his knuckles sharply against the cheap wood.

The door cracked open seconds later, revealing a rugged, dark-skinned middle-aged man with a heavy brow and a naturally aggressive scowl.

Sizing up the unfamiliar face on his doormat, Fu Hu’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Who are you?”

“Fu Hu?” Su Jin engineered a micro-expression of mild surprise, before rapidly schooling his features into a mask of cold, bureaucratic indifference.

“Yeah? Who’s asking? Do I know you?” Fu Hu pulled the door wider, planting his broad shoulders squarely in the frame to block entry.

Su Jin ducked his head, offering a razor-thin, practiced smile. “My apologies. I’m the new tenant across the hall. The name is Li Haocheng.”

“Li Haocheng? How do you know my name? I ain’t ever seen you before. Did Old Li run his mouth?” Fu Hu was a blunt instrument, and his tone was already bleeding undisguised hostility.

Having some random kid drop his full name at his own doorstep was a blatant breach of etiquette.

Su Jin held his gaze, his voice deadpan and authoritative. “Of course I know you. Private Fu Hu. 2nd Squad, 3rd Platoon, 7th Company, 3rd Battalion, 571st Regiment, 191st Division, 12th Army Group. Your CO was Huang Chongwen, callsign Huang Cannon. Your squadmate was Yang Huai…”

As Su Jin recited his classified service record like a grocery list, Fu Hu abruptly stepped out into the hallway, pulling his door shut behind him.

Every muscle in his body was coiled tight. “Who the hell are you?!”

Su Jin dropped the polite neighbor facade instantly. His posture straightened into a rigid, commanding stance. “Allow me to formally reintroduce myself. I am Director Li Haocheng, National Key Risk Intervention and Execution Bureau.”

“The National… what?” Fu Hu’s hostility flatlined into sheer confusion.

It sounded like alphabet-soup nonsense. He had never heard of such a department in his life.

“Colloquially known as the National Bureau. Given your previous pay grade, it is standard protocol that you remain unaware of our existence. We report exclusively to the executive echelon.” Su Jin retrieved his Xiaomi 6, tapping the screen with clinical precision.

With a few deliberate swipes, a high-resolution scan of Fu Hu’s official military dossier materialized on the display.

Su Jin tilted the screen to present the undeniable proof. “I possess your complete service matrix. As for why you’re on my radar, the logistics are quite simple. Years ago, the National Bureau was headhunting a demographic of soldiers for a classified black-box operation. You made the shortlist. I wasn’t an operative back then, but upon reviewing the archived files, your internal metrics scored phenomenally high. Your name stuck.”

“Uh… you… this…” Fu Hu stammered, completely derailed.

His mind was scrambling to verify if he was being played, but the sheer confidence was suffocating!

A ghost agency should have triggered his bullshit detector immediately.

But the kid had recited his platoon structure flawlessly, and that dossier was unforgeable.

Most importantly, that handheld device… the bezel-less screen, the terrifyingly crisp resolution—it was cutting-edge black-budget tech!

No civilian could possibly own hardware like that.

Fu Hu swallowed hard, his brain doing backflips.

Whatever, he thought. De-escalate the situation. Find out what the Fed wants… I haven’t committed any federal crimes, have I?

“Sir… Director Haocheng.” Fu Hu adjusted his stance, his tone pivoting to cautious respect. “You came to my…”

“Director Li.”

“Ah, yes, Director Li. What official business brings the Bureau to my door?”

Upon securing submission, the grim bureaucratic mask melted off Su Jin’s face, instantly replaced by the warm, sycophantic smile of a middle-manager. “Old Fu, relax! Pure coincidence. We really are just neighbors now.”

“I’m currently dealing with a minor operational hiccup and need to commandeer your television for a brief screening. I certainly didn’t expect to run into an old prospect. Permission to come aboard?”

“Ah… yes… please, step inside.” Fu Hu, thoroughly shell-shocked by the emotional whiplash, stepped aside and gestured inward.

Su Jin strolled through the threshold with the relaxed confidence of an auditor inspecting a branch office.

The cramped living room bled directly into the dining space. Fu Qingdai, clad in oversized pajamas, was hunched over the table scribbling in a workbook.

At the sight of Su Jin, a jolt of electricity lit up her eyes, but she instantly snapped her head down, violently pretending to be engrossed in her algebra.

“Up, up, Qingdai. We have official company. Take the homework to your room!” Fu Hu barked, before turning back to Su Jin with an awkward, apologetic smile. “My daughter.”

“Ugh, fine!” Fu Qingdai grumbled with perfect teenage angst, snatching her books and retreating to her bedroom.

Just then, Zhang Wan emerged from the cramped kitchen, wiping soapy hands on her apron.

Seeing the impeccably calm stranger standing in her living room, her brow furrowed as she looked to her husband.

“Who is this…?”

“A relative of an old commanding officer. It’s classified, don’t worry about it! Keep working on dinner. The Director and I need to have a private chat.” Fu Hu shot his wife a frantic, wide-eyed look. Zhang Wan pursed her lips, clearly annoyed, but wisely retreated to the kitchen.

“Director Li, please, take a seat.” Fu Hu gestured respectfully toward the faded synthetic leather sofa.