The survivors couldn’t understand the sudden urgency. Forty minutes had been promised, yet in the blink of an eye, the order to scatter was given.

But no one voiced an objection.

Even Chen Ye didn’t question Captain Chu Che’s judgment. If the Pathfinder said move, you moved.

The lead vehicles rammed a path through the wreckage, and the convoy sped away from the pileup. Many survivors craned their necks, looking back at the metal graveyard with longing eyes. Chen Ye wasn’t the only one who had dreamed of upgrading his ride; plenty of others had hoped to scavenge a better vehicle.

But the heat was a cruel distraction.

The sun was a physical weight, hammering down on the desert floor. The perceived temperature soared past forty degrees Celsius, and the asphalt was hot enough to fry an egg.

It wasn’t until Chen Ye settled into his driver’s seat that he realized the damage. The soles of his sneakers had partially melted, fusing with the hot tarmac before tearing away.

He grimaced. A perfectly good pair of shoes, ruined. In the apocalypse, footwear was a luxury, and losing durability points on gear stung.

The wind rushing against his face offered no relief; it was like standing in front of an open oven. Sweat evaporated the instant it beaded on his skin, leaving gritty white streaks of salt on his temples. His exposed arms turned a raw, angry red.

The only mercy was the tricycle’s canopy, offering a sliver of shade.

He slid on the sunglasses he’d looted from the ‘Chili Fish Head’ Mini EV. The polarized lenses cut the glare, instantly relieving the strain on his eyes.

Comfort aside, his situation was precarious. The convoy was pulling away, becoming small dots on the horizon.

Chen Ye’s tricycle was groaning under the abuse. The cargo bed was stacked high with supplies and four massive off-road tires.

But the real anchor was dragging behind him.

Tethered by a heavy-duty rope, the ‘Chili Fish Head’ Mini EV rolled along in his wake.

He hadn’t been able to let it go. It was the only vehicle with high structural integrity. His plan was ambitious: cannibalize it to upgrade the tricycle. If he could strip its electric motor and battery system, and maybe scavenge a solar panel later, he could build a hybrid drive.

Fuel was scarce. Sunlight was abundant. An electric backup system would eliminate his range anxiety.

But ambition came at a cost. The Mini EV was light for a car, but for a tricycle powered by a motorcycle engine? It was an anchor.

Before, his tricycle was a small horse pulling a heavy cart.

Now, it was a pony trying to drag a tank.

Chen Ye had the throttle twisted to the stop, the engine screaming in protest, yet he was barely moving faster than a bicycle.

“Sis, look at him. Talk about a snake trying to swallow an elephant.”

In the car ahead, Zhou Xiaoxiao watched the rearview mirror, her lip curling in disdain. “His tricycle is already overloaded. He’s just asking to get caught by an Anomaly.”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t know when to cut his losses.”

Despite her scorn, Zhou Xiaoxiao couldn’t look away. Since the incident at Longevity Village, her perception of Chen Ye had shifted.

She had learned the hard way that ordinary people were just fodder in this new world. To survive—to truly survive, not just get lucky—you needed power.

She and her sister had survived on sheer luck so far. That luck would run out.

She needed a patron. She needed protection.

But asking for help was bitter medicine. Before the world ended, she was a rising starlet, the center of gravity in any room—’The Moon surrounded by stars.’ Now, she had to consider trading her dignity for safety.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

Whenever she looked at Chen Ye, she felt a mix of attraction to his strength and fear of his nature.

He was a survivor. A solo player.

That made him the perfect target. Captain Chu, Iron Lion, Nana—they all had tight-knit circles, established bonds. Breaking into their groups was impossible.

But Chen Ye was alone.

The fear, however, was real. She remembered the old woman in the village. Chen Ye had used her as bait without a flicker of hesitation. If danger came, Zhou Xiaoxiao knew he would toss her into the fire just as easily if it meant saving his own skin.

“Xiaoxiao,” Zhou Lan said softly, glancing at her sister. “You’ve been watching him a lot lately. You aren’t…”

“Sis! Don’t be gross,” Xiaoxiao snapped, though her cheeks colored slightly. “I just want to repair our relationship. I want to use him. It’s purely transactional. Not as sordid as you think.”

“Use him?” Zhou Lan sighed. “Be careful. That man is fire. You play with him, you’ll get burned.”

“I can handle it.”

“Should we slow down and offer him a tow?” Zhou Lan asked, checking the mirror. “He’s falling way behind.”

Chen Ye was indeed becoming a speck in the distance.

Yet, he didn’t look panicked. In fact, he was lighting a cigarette.

“Unbelievable,” Zhou Lan muttered. “He’s practically stationary, and he’s taking a smoke break?”

Then, her eyes widened.

The smoke didn’t disperse.

Thick, gray plumes poured from the man, swirling and coalescing in the air. It wasn’t drifting; it was building.

“Sis… what is he doing?”

The smoke churned, twisting into solid forms. Muscles defined by gray vapor, hooves of compressed gas.

“Is that…”

A horse. A stallion made entirely of smoke galloped out of the haze.

“A Sequence Beyonder ability!” Zhou Lan gasped.

The smoke-horse looked a bit stiff, its proportions slightly off—like a sketch brought to life by a shaky hand—but the power radiating from it was real.

Chen Ye leaned back, satisfied. He’d only seen horses on TV or at petting zoos, so the anatomy wasn’t perfect, but the function was what mattered.

Two ropes of condensed smoke extended from the beast, latching onto the tricycle’s frame.

The smoke-horse reared up and charged forward.

The tricycle jerked, then surged. The speed difference was instant. The distance between Chen Ye and the convoy began to shrink rapidly.

Up ahead, Nana watched from her off-roader, a grin tugging at her lips. “Interesting. Who knew the Smoke Apostle Sequence had utility applications?”

In the yellow school bus, Iron Lion peered out the window, his eyelids heavy. “Yezi… strong,” he mumbled.

Then, the giant slumped over, snoring instantly. His transformation earlier had drained his stamina; he needed sleep to recharge.

Captain Chu Che, watching from the lead vehicle, frowned.

Wasteful.

To him, Sequence energy was ammunition. It should be hoarded for combat, not burned on logistics.

Fortunately, Chen Ye seemed to realize the cost. After ten minutes of high-speed towing, the smoke horse dissipated.

Chen Ye rubbed his temples, a wave of dizziness hitting him. Maintaining a solid construct like that was a massive drain on his mental energy.

The desert turned to gold as the sun dipped below the horizon. The temperature plummeted, and the convoy finally ground to a halt.

Migrating at night was suicide.

As the Blood Moon rose, casting its eerie red glow over the dunes, Chen Ye’s tricycle finally trundled into camp.

He had used the smoke-horse twice more to close the gap, but he still arrived dead last. Even the old man in the Elderly Mobility Scooter had beaten him by a solid margin—though, to be fair, the geezer wasn’t towing a literal car.

Chen Ye parked, exhausted but grinning.

He looked at his haul. The tires. The engine parts. The ‘Chili Fish Head’.

It was worth the headache.

Tonight, he would spend every last Slaughter Point he had. He would upgrade his vehicle until it was a fortress.

Once the transport issue was solved, he could finally turn his attention to the real goal: upgrading his own power.

Specifically, the Artifact. He still hadn’t forgotten the 5,000-point price tag to unlock its potential.