When Chen Ye rolled into the campsite, heads turned.

The survivors stared at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Since the convoy had stopped to rest, he was the only straggler who had managed to catch up.

“I didn’t think he’d make it,” Zhou Xiaoxiao whispered, her eyes wide. “Is he even human?”

“A [Sequence Beyonder] is in a league of their own,” Zhou Lan murmured. The once-glamorous celebrity looked haggard, her face coated in a layer of grime. She watched Chen Ye with undisguised envy. “Give a Beyonder a rusted tricycle, and they’ll still outlive us all.”

“Sis… if only I could Awaken,” Xiaoxiao said, her voice small. “At least then I’d have a fighting chance.”

The climate of Yan Province was a physical assault.

Chen Ye estimated the temperature was pushing 36°C (97°F).

There was no transition, no mercy. Just an endless expanse of yellow sand baking under a ruthless sun. Not a single tree broke the horizon. It felt like standing inside a kiln.

It was hard to believe it was late November. By all rights, they should be wearing down jackets. But since the Anomalies arrived, the seasons seemed to have shattered. Winter was a memory; summer was a weapon.

Gulp. Gulp.

Chen Ye took two measured swallows of mineral water and immediately screwed the cap tight.

He had cases of water in his cargo bed, but he didn’t dare waste a drop. God knew when they would escape this desert. Out here, water was more valuable than gold.

His clothes, which had been soaked through only an hour ago, were now bone dry and stiff with salt.

He squinted at the convoy. His tricycle upgrade had a four-hour timer. Standing out here like an idiot would only result in heatstroke. He needed shade.

He glanced at the bus. It had a roof. It was better than baking alive.

He walked past the other vehicles first. He checked Chu Che’s modified off-roader—the Captain was asleep. He checked the long-legged girl’s SUV—she was awake but looked like a corpse, her lips gray and her energy drained from the battle with the Great Willow.

Chen Ye left them to recover and headed for the bus.

This vehicle belonged to Iron Lion. The gentle giant had been a bus driver before the world ended, and he had driven this behemoth through hell and high water to get here.

The bus was a warhorse. The exterior was a tapestry of scratches, dents, and dried blood. Patches of paint were peeling away in the heat.

The roof rack was piled high with supplies, including the mountain-sized backpack Iron Lion had hauled out of Longevity Village. In the old world, a load like that would have been illegal. Now, it was just good logistics.

A handful of survivors were huddled in the strip of shade cast by the bus. They barely lifted their eyelids as Chen Ye approached, too exhausted to care, before drifting back into fitful sleep.

The driver, a bespectacled man in his thirties named Old Li, stepped down to meet him.

Old Li knew the pecking order. He treated Chen Ye with the deference due a combatant.

“Mr. Chen. You made it.”

“This damn weather,” Chen Ye grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s brutal out here. Mind if I borrow some shade?”

Old Li smiled warmly. “Come on in.”

It was the first time Chen Ye had stepped into another survivor’s vehicle.

The interior had been gutted. The rows of seats were gone, replaced by an open living space. The air was still hot, but at least the sun wasn’t beating down on his skin.

At the very back, a massive custom bed occupied almost half the floor space.

A giant figure lay sprawled across it, snoring like a diesel engine.

Iron Lion.

[Titan Sequence] Beyonders were powerhouses, but their ability came with a cost. Transformation burned massive amounts of energy. After a fight, they entered a hibernation-like state to regenerate health and stamina.

Chen Ye noted the scabs forming over the giant’s wounds. The healing factor was impressive.

There were about seven or eight other survivors inside, sitting on makeshift mats or crates. When Chen Ye entered, they flinched. Some looked at him with fear, others with naked jealousy.

“Is this everyone?” Chen Ye asked, scanning the sparse group.

Old Li’s expression darkened. “Yeah. A lot of people didn’t make it out of the village. And some… some just refused to leave.”

The sorrow in the bus was palpable. Everyone here had lost someone.

“Go do your thing, Old Li. I’ll just find a corner,” Chen Ye said, dismissing the formalities.

Old Li handed him a bottle of water and returned to the driver’s seat.

Chen Ye found a reclining seat near the middle. The two survivors sitting nearby immediately scrambled to the back of the bus, giving him a wide berth.

He didn’t mind the isolation. He adjusted the seat back, lit a cigarette, and propped his legs up.

He watched the upgrade timer ticking down in his peripheral vision.

3 hours, 45 minutes.

He exhaled a plume of smoke, feeling his muscles loosen. He just needed to wait for Captain Chu Che to wake up. Then came the best part of the raid: the loot distribution.

Iron Lion’s backpack was massive. There had to be high-tier materials in there. Even if Chen Ye only got a cut, it would be substantial.

He stared out the windshield. The heat waves shimmering off the asphalt made the horizon look like liquid.

Suddenly, a shape emerged from the distortion.

It was small. It was slow. It was wobbling.

A red [Elderly Mobility Scooter].

It puttered along the highway, defying the laws of probability.

It was Old Man Zhang.

Dozens of young, fit survivors had died in the village or fallen behind in the rain. Yet this geriatric in a glorified golf cart was still here.

Chen Ye narrowed his eyes.

That scooter has a big secret.