The interior of the Great Willow Mini-Mart was a survivor’s paradise. The shelves were surprisingly well-stocked, not just with the usual junk food and sodas, but with crucial staples like rice, flour, and cooking oil on the bottom racks.

For a starving convoy, this was gold.

Chen Ye spotted a glass counter near the entrance filled with cigarettes and liquor. Without a second thought, he swept cartons of cigarettes into his bag. It wasn’t as big a haul as Apricot Blossom Town, but tobacco was currency in the apocalypse. He wouldn’t leave a single pack behind.

Next came the staples. Rice first, then flour. He ignored the potato chips and snacks—they took up too much space for too few calories.

He had brought two backpacks this time. One large hiking pack for his back, capable of holding over fifty pounds, and a smaller one for his chest to keep his hands free.

This was a village store, so while it lacked luxury goods, it was rich in local produce. Racks of cured meats and dried fish hung from the ceiling. Chen Ye reached for a large slab of smoked pork.

Suddenly, a withered hand shot out, grabbing the same piece of meat.

Chen Ye looked up. It was the old woman—the grandmother of the Brat he had kicked. She glared at him, her face twisted in a snarl of entitlement, clearly intending to fight for it.

Chen Ye’s eyes went cold. He didn’t hesitate. His hand blurred to his waist, and the Heavy Machete sang as it cleared its sheath.

Shing!

The blade stopped an inch from her wrist.

The old woman froze. She had expected an argument, maybe a shoving match. She hadn’t expected instant, lethal intent. Seeing the cold murder in Chen Ye’s eyes, her courage evaporated. She shrieked, yanked her hand back, and scrambled away to another aisle, shooting him a look of pure venom over her shoulder.

Chen Ye didn’t even watch her go. He sheathed the machete and tossed the meat into his bag. Every second counted.

Nana witnessed the exchange and flashed him a brief, approving nod before returning to her own looting. Others saw it too, and the circle of space around Chen Ye grew wider.

Nana wasn’t slacking off. She had found a backpack taller than she was and was filling it methodically. Despite the growing weight, she moved with the grace of a dancer, her strength clearly enhanced by her Sequence.

But the real marvel was Iron Lion.

The Titan was a vacuum cleaner. He held a custom-made sack the size of a small tent. “This bag’s volume could fit three Chen Yes with room to spare,” Chen Ye thought, awestruck.

Iron Lion didn’t discriminate. He swept entire shelves into the maw of his bag with one sweep of his massive arm. Twenty-pound bags of rice were tossed in like bags of chips. Cans, bottles, jars—everything went in.

The survivors were in a frenzy. Some had filled their bags to bursting but were still shoving food into their pockets, down their shirts, anywhere it would fit.

Chen Ye shook his head. Greed kills. If they had to run, half these people would be weighed down and slaughtered.

The old woman was a prime example. She had mimicked Chen Ye, strapping a bag to her front and back. Both were stuffed to capacity. Now, she was sitting on the floor, panting like a bellows, physically unable to stand up under the weight.

Zhou Lan and Zhou Xiaoxiao were more practical. The former celebrity had abandoned all pretense of elegance, filling her pack with grim efficiency.

Despite the store’s size, the locust swarm of survivors stripped it bare in minutes. Shelves were left empty, dust outlines marking where goods had been. Not even a bottle of soy sauce remained.

“That… that’s it?” a survivor complained, looking at his partially filled bag.

“Be grateful,” another snapped. “It’s a village store, not a Walmart.”

Iron Lion looked into his massive sack. It was only half full. “Not enough,” he grumbled.

Nana frowned, tapping her own pack. “I’m at seventy percent. We need more.”

Chen Ye felt the same. He had filled his packs, but his goal was Slaughter Points and vehicle upgrades. Food was just fuel.

“The radio mentioned the Village Chief’s house,” Iron Lion said. “It has a cellar. Should we go?”

“We came all this way,” Chen Ye said, his voice steady. “We can’t leave empty-handed. The house isn’t far. We saw that big villa on the way in.”

The three leaders made their decision quickly. But when they announced the plan, the other survivors balked.

“Don’t go!” one man pleaded, clutching his bag. “This village is wrong. The air feels wrong. We have enough, let’s just leave!”

“Yeah, look outside! Those bodies… it’s too dangerous!”

“You guys have enough, but we don’t!” another survivor argued. “If you want to leave, leave! We’re following them!”

Arguments broke out. Voices rose.

“Shut up!” Nana barked, her voice cutting through the noise. “Have you forgotten where we are?”

She pointed to the door. Through the glass, the Great Willow loomed. Hundreds of corpses swayed gently in the windless air, their dead eyes seemingly fixed on the store.

The argument died instantly.

“Those who want to leave, leave now,” Nana said coldly. “You know the way. Those who want more, follow us. But listen well: if you come with us, you obey orders. If you die because of stupidity, don’t expect us to save you.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Turning, she strode out of the store, her long legs carrying her fearlessly beneath the canopy of the dead.

Outside, the wind picked up. The corpses swung in unison, a silent, macabre audience watching the intruders step back onto their stage.