Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 130: No One Is a Fool, Except Iron Lion

Chu Che placed the small white pouch on the desk, loosened the drawstring, and tipped the bloody, mangled eyeball onto the polished wood.

Wu Jianshan’s face darkened instantly. “Where did this come from?”

Chu Che recounted the morning’s gruesome discovery.

Wu Jianshan listened in silence, then took a long, deep breath, as if trying to physically inhale his rising anger and stress.

His eyes snapped open. He reached out, grabbed the eyeball, and squeezed.

Squelch.

The eyeball burst in his grip, spraying vitreous fluid and blood across his palm. Wu Jianshan looked at the mess with undisguised disgust, pulled a tissue from his pocket, and meticulously wiped his hand clean.

“In Changwang District, besides the Death God, there are two more…”

He stopped himself before saying “Anomalies.”

“Two more entities. One you’ve met—the Eight-Limbed Human Face. The other is called the Abyssal Blood Eye.”

He tossed the bloody tissue into a bin.

“This thing was a ‘Sub-Eye.’ The Abyssal Blood Eye can see everything through them. Think of them as biological surveillance cameras.”

“This one was likely harvested from that boy, Xiao Chao.”

A chill ran down everyone’s spine.

The presence of a Sub-Eye meant the school had been marked. The Abyssal Blood Eye was watching them.

“The entities in Changwang District are not to be trifled with,” Wu Jianshan warned, his voice grave. “The only safe place is inside the school.”

“But do not worry. I will pray to the Death God. She will cleanse these evil heretics from our lands.”

“May the Death God protect us!”

To the general population of the school, the morning’s death was just a ripple in a vast ocean of misery.

Only a few survivors who knew Xiao Chao were truly grieving. The rest? They had seen too much death to care about one more corpse. Besides being warned to stay indoors, life went on as usual.

In the makeshift infirmary of Class 2, Grade 3:

“Xiao Chao… how are you feeling?”

The young man lay on the bed, staring blindly at the ceiling with empty, bandaged sockets. Someone had fed him a dose of diluted Death God’s Blood Tears, stabilizing his condition and bringing him back to consciousness.

“I’m fine, Sister Xiaoxiao,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “Sorry for troubling you.”

Zhou Xiaoxiao sat by his bedside. In the convoy, she kept to herself, trusting no one since her sister vanished in the sandstorm. But she knew Xiao Chao and his girlfriend were fans of her sister, the actress Zhou Lan. That connection had breached her defenses.

Now, looking at him, she felt helpless.

She wanted to encourage him, but the words felt like ash in her mouth. In this world, a blind man was a dead man walking.

“Yuanyuan wouldn’t want to see you give up,” she said softly, invoking his missing girlfriend. “Live for her. Everything will pass.”

“Mm. Thank you, Sister Xiaoxiao. Is it breakfast time?”

“Wait here. I’ll go get food for you. Don’t move.”

Zhou Xiaoxiao grabbed a lunchbox and headed for the cafeteria on the first floor.

The cafeteria was crowded. Survivors lined up with their bowls, eyes dull and hungry.

Suddenly, a small figure in an oversized down jacket shoved into the line, cutting in front of everyone. It was Little Yu, clutching two lunchboxes.

The survivors glared but said nothing. Little Yu was Sun Qianqian’s protégée. Even Iron Lion, a Sequence 2 tank, couldn’t beat Sun Qianqian. No one dared to offend the convoy’s top fighter.

Sequence Beyonders didn’t wait in line. They had proxies.

For Chen Ye, that proxy was Xue Nan.

The Beyonders ate differently, too. Their meals were prepared by a former five-star chef who now served exclusively as the Death God Church’s personal cook.

Balcony, Fourth Grade, Class Three

Chen Ye leaned against the railing, wolfing down the gourmet breakfast Xue Nan had delivered. His eyes were fixed on the teacher’s office down the hall—Wu Jianshan’s quarters.

Xue Nan stood beside him, shifting his weight nervously. He clearly wanted to say something but was struggling with the courage.

Chen Ye ignored him, his mind busy with calculations.

“Mr. Chen…” Xue Nan finally stammered. “I need to tell you something important…”

Chen Ye shoveled the last bite of food into his mouth, shoved the empty box into Xue Nan’s chest, and walked away without a word. He headed straight for the teacher’s office.

Xue Nan stood there, mouth open, the words dying in his throat.

Just then, Chu Che appeared in the doorway of the next classroom, smiling like a benevolent fox.

“Alright, save it for later. Mr. Chen is busy with big business.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Xue Nan obediently took Chu Che’s empty lunchbox and went to wash the dishes. In this freezing weather, it was a miserable chore, but it was a chance to be useful to the leaders. At least they knew his name.

“Uncle A Bao,” Chu Che said quietly, turning to the old man beside him. “You said people want to join the Church today?”

Uncle A Bao was wrapped in layers of down, but he still shivered. The cold was killing him slowly.

“Yes, A’Che. People see the stability here. They’re tired of running. They’re starting to get ideas.”

“Stall them,” Chu Che ordered. “Tell them to observe for a few more days.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“A’Che… when are we leaving?”

Chu Che looked at him. “Everyone wants to stay. You want to leave?”

“This place feels wrong,” Uncle A Bao whispered, looking around the snowy courtyard. “I feel like something bad is about to happen.”

Chu Che stared out at the white void.

“The snow is getting heavier. It’s colder than yesterday.”

In his sensory perception, the Changwang District was no longer just housing three Anomalies. The edges of the district were teeming with them. A dense, suffocating ring of monsters was closing in.

One hundred and fifty fresh souls were a dinner bell the Anomalies couldn’t ignore. The “Death God” wouldn’t be able to hold them back forever.

The day the dam broke would be the day they had to run.

And when that day came… many people in this school were destined to be left behind as bait. The gecko severing its tail to survive.

“Uncle A Bao,” Chu Che said, his voice low. “Gather supplies quietly. Find out where the nearest gas station is. We’re low on fuel.”

“And remember: do not cause panic.”

A sharp glint flashed in Uncle A Bao’s cloudy eyes. He nodded and left to prepare.

Chen Ye pushed open the door to the teacher’s office without knocking.

The room had been converted into a luxurious office-bedroom suite. Wu Jianshan sat behind a large mahogany desk, writing.

When he saw Chen Ye, a flicker of genuine rage crossed his face, quickly suppressed.

Not yet, Wu Jianshan told himself. Don’t flip the table yet.

“What, the five-star steak not to your liking?” Wu Jianshan asked dryly.

Chen Ye flopped onto the leather sofa, grinning.

On the desk sat a plate with a perfectly seared steak—a luxury item that was virtually extinct. It sat untouched.

“You came here for the steak?” Wu Jianshan asked.

“Nah. Look, seeing as we’re brothers… you really want our people to join the Church, don’t you?”

Wu Jianshan raised an eyebrow. “You still remember we’re brothers? Then why do you keep interrupting my recruitment speeches?”

Chen Ye laughed, unbothered. “From the moment you met us, you’ve been pushing the Church. Any idiot can see you have an agenda.”

“We’re brothers, sure. But Chu Che isn’t. That guy is cunning. If you push too hard, he gets suspicious.”

“My relationship with him is just as deep as yours,” Wu Jianshan countered, relying on the cognitive implant.

“Then why didn’t he agree immediately?”

Wu Jianshan fell silent.

“Look,” Chen Ye said, leaning forward. “I won’t play games. I don’t know why you want them. And I don’t care.”

“For the sake of our brotherhood, I’ll handle it for you.”

“Not just me. My team, the survivors—I’ll make them all join the Death God Church. How about that?”

“But,” Chen Ye added, his grin widening, “you have to remember your promise. I want a Vice Bishop position.”

Wu Jianshan scrutinized him. “What do you really want?”

Chen Ye’s smile became predatory.

“Death God’s Blood Tears.”

“Give me a bottle. No—one hundred drops. And I’ll deliver the entire convoy to you on a silver platter.”

One hundred drops. Wu Jianshan’s daily harvest was barely a few drops.

Chen Ye didn’t bother hiding his greed. He operated on the principle that no one was a fool—except Iron Lion, whose brain was shrinking by the day.

Trying to trick a cult leader in his own lair was hard.

But buying him? That was just business.