Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 202: The People of Shenxiang Village

Captain Chu Che was plagued by a new, encroaching misery. Ever since he had claimed Silent Disappearance, his hair had begun to live up to the weapon’s name.

The follicular recession was progressing with clinical, terrifying efficiency. Based on the current rate of shedding, Chu Che estimated he had roughly fifteen days before his scalp achieved the same polished, reflective state as Old Li’s. He had anticipated a price for power, but this specific brand of cosmetic erosion was particularly soul-crushing.

He had expected to intercept the unknown convoy by mid-morning. Instead, noon had come and gone with nothing but empty road and a deepening sense of dread. It seemed as though nothing was destined to go smoothly today.

Suddenly, a familiar ripple in the air struck Chu Che—a resonance in the Pathfinder Sequence, accompanied by a paralyzing wave of trepidation.

“Captain! Captain, look… what the hell is that?”

The shout from a nearby survivor drew Chu Che’s eyes to the horizon. What he saw caused his pupils to contract violently. His entire body began to tremor, a visceral reaction to a scale of existence he couldn’t comprehend.

Chen Ye felt it too. He snapped into a combat-ready crouch, his frame coiled like a high-tension spring. His hand slammed onto the hilt of the Heavy Machete at his waist, ignoring his spilled lunch as the dirt claimed his fish.

The blade was ecstatic. Thin, arterial blood-threads began to snake out from the scabbard, wetly stroking Chen Ye’s hand. Hatred was screaming for a slaughter. It specifically pulsed with a competitive malice directed at Sun Qianqian’s longsword.

Sun Qianqian had already drawn her blade. The steel emitted a faint, cold white luminescence, humming in defiance of Chen Ye’s artifact. However, both she and Chen Ye were too occupied by the approaching horizon to notice the squabbling weapons.

Ding Dong stood like a statue, her one remaining arm clenched into a fist, her weight shifted into a defensive stance. Behind them, the survivors turned deathly pale. People who had survived months of the apocalypse were now feeling their legs turn to jelly.

A mountain was moving.

Beneath that moving mountain was a beast of impossible proportions—a Shenxiang, the Divine Elephant.

Every step the titan took sent a dull, rhythmic shockwave through the earth. From their distance, it was impossible to gauge its true height. It simply didn’t look like a creature that belonged to the biological world.

Shenxiang.

The word echoed in Chen Ye’s mind. He had heard it first from Mo Huairen, then again from that girl, Xiao Hua, in Fog City. Now, the legend was standing before him.

“Captain Chu,” Chen Ye whispered, licking his cracked, dry lips. “That ‘large convoy’ you mentioned… you didn’t mean this thing, did you?”

Chu Che’s voice was just as parched. “The report… it just said ‘large survivor group.’ It didn’t mention a mobile continent.”

The group remained tense. They could all sense it—the heavy, cloying scent of an Anomaly emanating from the beast. It was a high-level entity, yet it lacked the jagged, dissonant madness usually associated with the twisted creatures of the wasteland. That lack of immediate hostility was the only thing keeping the survivors from bolt-roping into the distance.

As the beast closed the distance, the panicked survivors began to scramble toward their vehicles. Chu Che, however, remained rooted. As a Pathfinder Sequence 2, he could now sense the signatures of others on his path. He realized the Divine Elephant was the convoy.

This was a high-level information exchange. When they had encountered the camel caravan, Mo Huairen had been the one to initiate contact. Now, despite Chu Che’s own advancement, the other side had signaled first.

There was only one logical conclusion: on the back of that beast sat a Pathfinder of a higher rank. Sequence 3 at minimum, perhaps even Sequence 4.

As the Shenxiang loomed closer, Chen Ye could finally see the details on its back. It wasn’t just a pack; it was an entire village, complete with wooden structures and stone foundations, resting on a plateau of flesh and earth. It reminded him of the Sky Whale he had seen in the desert, a living ecosystem drifting through the ruins of the world. He could see figures leaning over a wooden perimeter railing, looking down at them like gods observing insects.

The behemoth came to a halt. The ground gave a final, authoritative heave.

Chu Che and Chen Ye exchanged a glance. The Anomaly aura they had detected earlier had suddenly vanished, or rather, it had been perfectly suppressed. It felt identical to the aura of that old man who drove the Elderly Mobility Scooter—the one Chen Ye had fed to the headless sand snake.

While the ordinary survivors—including a deathly pale Xue Nan—trembled in their trucks, Zhou Xiaoxiao remained at Ding Dong’s side. She was biting her lip so hard it bled, her legs shaking, but she didn’t run.

The elephant’s trunk suddenly curled upward, extending toward the village on its back. In the bright sun, it looked as though the appendage had reached into the very clouds. Chen Ye instinctively stepped behind Chu Che. Chu Che, just as instinctively, used the massive frame of Iron Lion as a human shield.

The trunk descended moments later, carrying three figures.

At the front stood a man of diminutive stature with a disproportionately large head. He was barefoot, wearing a smile that radiated an unsettling, neighborly warmth. He looked to be in his late fifties.

Behind him stood a gaunt young man in his mid-twenties. He wore a voluminous, oversized Daoist robe paired with pristine white sneakers—a look that screamed “counterfeit priest.” His eyes were shifty, darting through the crowd with predatory intent. He glanced at Sun Qianqian; his eyes lit up for a microsecond before he twisted his face into a mask of disdain. He moved to Xu Lina, who tried to hide behind a truck, and gave her the same look of elitist contempt. When his gaze landed on Zhou Xiaoxiao, he paused, let out a theatrical sigh, and shook his head as if mourning a tragic waste of potential.

He swept over Chen Ye, Iron Lion, and Ding Dong, barely pausing on Chen Ye as if he were an uninteresting pebble. Finally, his eyes locked onto a target, and his entire countenance transformed. His eyes flared with the intensity of a starving wolf spotting a prime steak.

He began to drool. Literally.

Chen Ye followed the man’s gaze and realized he was staring at Zhang Yanping.

Zhang Yanping was in her mid-forties, a super-mature woman who had managed to maintain her looks despite the apocalypse. Aside from a few faint lines at the corners of her eyes, she was remarkably well-preserved. She had been the one “servicing” the old man with the scooter, a woman who had mastered the art of Carpe Diem to ensure her survival. Even now, she had volunteered as the camp’s “cooking auntie” to keep herself indispensable.

Sensing the fake Daoist’s lecherous stare, Zhang Yanping didn’t shy away. Instead, she boldly winked at him.

A glistening strand of saliva escaped the Daoist’s mouth.

Chen Ye: “…”

The third member of the trio was a young monk. He looked ordinary—almost plain—but possessed the quiet, focused gravity of a true ascetic. Simple and pure.

The trunk touched the dirt, and the trio stepped off. The big-headed man approached with a wide, friendly grin.

“Greetings,” he said. “We are of Shenxiang Village. I am the Village Chief—a Pathfinder Sequence 3: Blood Path Sacrificer. Most folks just call me Big Head Village Chief. You’re welcome to do the same.”

The Chief then stepped past the balding Chu Che and enthusiastically extended his hand to Iron Lion.

Iron Lion blinked, his simple mind struggling to process the interaction. “Uh… why are you talking to me? The Captain’s over there.”