Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 120: Becoming an Elder

In the apocalypse, death often came faster than a goodbye.

Many people never got the chance to say a final farewell to their families or best friends. For some, the last words they ever spoke to a loved one were complaints, arguments, or curses.

Those who survived carried that weight. Everyone had psychological scars; usually, they just kept them hidden. But sometimes, the cracks showed. Chen Ye had seen survivors wander out of the convoy in the middle of the night, walking straight into the dark, monster-infested forest, never to return.

Despair was the norm.

So, when Wu Jianshan appeared, bringing with him the illusion of long-lost family and friendship, it was a sudden, overwhelming surprise. It was enough to make people overlook the glaring red flags.

For example: not a single person present seemed to think this sudden reunion was… Anomalous.

“Well, look at that,” Chen Ye said, breaking the emotional silence. “I never expected you to be this girl’s uncle. If we’re brothers, that makes me her uncle too, right? Hahaha…”

Sun Qianqian, whose eyes were still swimming with tears, froze.

“Come on, Niece,” Chen Ye teased, grinning. “Call me Uncle. Let’s hear it. Hahahaha…”

He turned to the massive giant. “And you, Iron Lion. From now on, I’m your Uncle Chen.”

“Ding Dong, you too… Oh my. I never thought I’d get promoted a generation so suddenly. Being an elder feels pretty good.”

Sun Qianqian’s face darkened instantly. Her hand snapped to the hilt of her sword.

Iron Lion, completely bought into the manipulation, scratched his head and boomed, “Uncle Chen!”

“Iron Lion!” Mad Lion roared from the other head. “Are you out of your mind? He tells you to bark, and you just bark?”

Ding Dong’s face turned as black as the bottom of a wok. She looked at Chen Ye with an expression that said she very much wanted to punch him.

Chen Ye, possessing a strong survival instinct, decided to quit while he was ahead. Sun Qianqian was a violent woman; if he pushed her too far, she would actually stab him, uncle or not.

Though… the dynamic between an uncle and a niece… doesn’t that count as…

Stop it. You filthy brain, stop right there!

“Old Wu, hold that thought. I’ll be right back,” Chen Ye said, waving his hand.

He turned and walked toward the spot where the octopus’s tentacles had been severed earlier. Those massive limbs might contain high-quality Artifact materials.

He searched through the snow and gore for a minute, kicking over chunks of flesh.

Nothing.

Chu Che had mentioned that killing an Anomaly didn’t guarantee a drop. Chen Ye searched again, unwilling to give up, but eventually returned empty-handed, looking a bit sheepish.

It wasn’t a total loss, though. The skirmish with the Eight-Limbed Human Face had netted him over six thousand Slaughter Points. It wasn’t a huge haul—the fight had been short, and his participation limited—but adding it to his savings, he now had over 10,000 points.

Not bad for a day’s work.

When he returned, the others were chattering around Wu Jianshan like eager children. Sun Qianqian was doing most of the talking, recounting their journey, while Wu Jianshan listened with a gentle, attentive smile.

“So,” Chen Ye interrupted, slipping back into his role as the ‘best friend.’ “How the hell are you living in Rong City? Right inside the city? Aren’t you afraid the Anomalies will eat you alive?”

Technically, ordinary humans couldn’t survive in the city ruins. Even Sequence Beyonders couldn’t stay long. Anomalies could sense the aura of the living and would swarm them like sharks to blood.

Wu Jianshan didn’t mind the question. He smiled and explained.

“I am a Worshipper of Gods. Our Sequence is different from the others…”

According to Wu Jianshan, his survival was tied directly to his patron.

The ‘Worship God’ Sequence was exactly what it sounded like: gaining power through faith. And the god Wu Jianshan worshipped was an Anomaly.

Specifically, the peerlessly enchanting woman in red sitting on the sedan chair.

He called her the ‘Death God.’

He had even established a cult around her—the Death God Church. The cloaked figures standing behind him were his congregation, numbering over seventy people. Under the Death God’s protection, their presence was masked, allowing them to live in the city without drawing the aggression of other Anomalies.

“Chen Ye, Qianqian, Ding Dong, Iron Lion,” Wu Jianshan said, his voice warm and inviting. “Why don’t you join the Death God Church? With your status as Sequence Beyonders, I can make you all Dharma Protectors immediately.”

He spread his arms. “With the Death God’s protection, you won’t have to wander the wastes anymore. You can settle down right here in Rong City. It’s safer, warmer, and far better than living on the road.”

He pointed to his followers. “Look at them. In this blizzard, they only wear thin cloaks, yet they feel no cold. Their physical fitness has been enhanced by her blessing.”

“What do you say? Will you consider it?”

Wu Jianshan wasn’t wasting time. His first move was recruitment.

Chen Ye looked where Wu Jianshan pointed.

The cultists standing in the snow were indeed underdressed. The wind was howling, the temperature freezing, yet their cloaks hung loosely, revealing no bulky winter gear underneath. Despite this, none of them were shivering. They stood straight and calm.

It was impossible for all of them to be Sequence Beyonders. For ordinary humans to withstand this cold with just a cloak…

It was truly unbelievable.

But Chen Ye was naturally paranoid. He laughed it off, waving his hand dismissively. “Old Wu, let’s talk about that later. We’ve got urgent business right now.”

“Right! Uncle!” Sun Qianqian suddenly remembered her mission. “We have a lot of sick people back at our camp. Since you live in the city, you must know where the pharmacies are. Please, take us there quickly. We need to get back.”

Getting the medicine meant saving lives.

“Medicine?” Wu Jianshan asked.

“Yes, Uncle…” Sun Qianqian quickly explained the situation at the camp—the fever, the lack of supplies, the dying survivors.

She held nothing back. In her mind, this was her uncle; there was no need for secrets. The others nodded along, trusting him completely.

Chen Ye narrowed his eyes slightly. She’s telling him everything.

This was the apocalypse. Even if he was her uncle, people changed. Trusting someone this quickly was a good way to get killed. But given the current “intimate” atmosphere, Chen Ye couldn’t exactly voice his suspicions without blowing his cover.

Wu Jianshan listened, his smile widening. When he heard there were dozens of people at the camp, his eyes practically lit up.

The Worship God Sequence thrived on numbers. Faith was fuel.

The more people who joined the Death God Church, the stronger the Death God became. The stronger she became, the more power Wu Jianshan could wield, and the more benefits his followers received.

It was a perfect positive feedback loop.

And now, he learned there was a Pathfinder Sequence in their group?

The Death God would be very pleased. That was a crucial piece of the puzzle.

“Tell you what,” Wu Jianshan said, reaching into his robe. “I’ll give you a bottle of Death God’s Blood Tears. Take it back, dilute it in water, and give it to the sick. It will cure them instantly—far more effective than any old-world medicine.”

He pulled out a transparent glass vial. Inside, a small amount of crimson liquid swirled, looking disturbingly like fresh blood.

“This is…”

Wu Jianshan didn’t explain. Instead, he pulled out a second bottle, this one filled with a pale red solution. “This is the Blood Tears after dilution.”

He walked over to the survivors Chen Ye had brought along.

These people were in bad shape. The Eight-Limbed Human Face’s ‘Life Drain’ ability had sapped their vitality, leaving them pale, weak, and shivering violently.

A cloaked cultist stepped forward and took the pale red bottle from Wu Jianshan with trembling hands. His expression was one of absolute reverence, bordering on fanaticism, as if he were holding a holy relic rather than a bottle of glorified Gatorade.

He approached Zhou Xiaoxiao.

The girl was bundled in a short black down jacket and thick pants, looking bloated against the snow, but her face was paper-white. She had survived a freezing night and a life-draining attack; she was teetering on the edge of a severe illness.

In the apocalypse, a severe fever was often a death sentence.

The cultist carefully dripped a single drop of the red potion into her mouth.

The effect was instantaneous. Visible color rushed back into Zhou Xiaoxiao’s cheeks. Her breathing steadied, and the trembling stopped.

The cultist moved to the next survivor, administering another drop.

One by one, the drained survivors regained their vigor in seconds.

Sun Qianqian and the others watched in shock. It was a miracle.

“Take this bottle,” Wu Jianshan said, handing the concentrated blood to Sun Qianqian. “Dilute it and feed it to your people. They will recover before long.”

“Actually, forget it. Qianqian, Chen Ye, Iron Lion, Ding Dong… I’ll go back with you.”