The fresh gasoline hit the tank, and the motor tricycle seemed to come alive.

Chen Ye twisted the throttle. The engine responded with a rhythmic vibration that traveled up his arms, a mechanical purr that sounded better than any music.

Power.

Who said men didn’t need a sense of security?

In the apocalypse, security wasn’t a feeling. It wasn’t a hug or a promise. Security was a full tank of gas and a cargo bed stacked high with supplies.

Chen Ye took a deep drag of his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring into the dry air. He cranked the throttle again. The engine let out a slightly wheezy roar, and the vehicle slowly lurched forward.

Still underpowered, he noted critically.

Even with the throttle pinned to the limit, the heavy tricycle struggled to keep pace with the off-road vehicles and the bus at the head of the line.

The convoy was shrinking.

Nearly fifty survivors had entered Longevity Village. Only a dozen had made it out.

Over thirty people had been left behind—either dead, or trapped in a fate worse than death.

Many of the casualties were refugees from Deer City. They had entered with the fewest supplies and the highest desperation, taking risks that didn’t pay off.

At the village entrance, the scene was grim. The survivors who had waited outside, hoping for a reunion, now stared at the empty road. Their loved ones weren’t coming out. The realization crushed them. Some collapsed in the dust, their will to live evaporating along with their families.

But the rest of the convoy had no time for mourning.

Survivors scrambled to pack their gear. Panic was a powerful motivator.

Chen Ye glanced through the window of a passing sedan—one of the cars from Deer City. The driver was new. The original owner was likely fertilizer in the village soil now.

The convoy’s composition had shifted. They still had the two modified off-roaders, the bus, a sedan, three motorcycles, and Chen Ye’s tricycle.

And then there was the [Elderly Mobility Scooter].

It was a small, electric enclosed cabin on tiny wheels, painted a cheerful, fading red. It had been with them since the beginning, and somehow, against all laws of physics and probability, it hadn’t fallen behind.

Its owner was Old Man Zhang. He was a cheerful geriatric with a perpetual grin and a tongue sharp enough to cut glass. How he managed to charge the thing in the wasteland remained one of the convoy’s greatest mysteries.

The vehicles began to roll, stretching into a long, disjointed line under the blood-red setting sun.

Only one car remained stationary.

The Zhou sisters’ sedan.

Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. Zhou Lan and Zhou Xiaoxiao were battered, bruised, and covered in filth. Zhou Lan, once a pristine celebrity, now looked like a refugee, though her large, watery eyes still held a pitiable charm.

“Sis, what do we do?” Zhou Xiaoxiao’s voice trembled. “We’re out of gas. The car won’t start.”

The tomboyish arrogance she usually wore like armor had cracked after the horrors of the village.

Without gas, their car was just a steel coffin. Without the car, they were just two defenseless women with high-value loot.

“Sis… maybe I should go ask Chen Ye to borrow some?”

Zhou Xiaoxiao had seen Uncle Abao hand Chen Ye a jerry can earlier. She chewed her lip, desperation overriding her pride.

“Xiaoxiao,” Zhou Lan said softly, “do you really think he would lend it to us?”

The younger sister fell silent. She remembered begging Chen Ye in the village, and the cold indifference in his eyes. He hadn’t lifted a finger to help them then.

She glanced out the window at the tricycle putting along in the distance.

“I… I’ll just apologize to him,” Xiaoxiao stammered, her voice growing smaller with every word. “He’s a grown man. Surely he wouldn’t hold a grudge against a little girl like me, right?”

But even she didn’t believe it.

Chen Ye wasn’t like the simps and fans who used to fawn over them. She had watched him use an old woman as a human shield without blinking. He was ruthless. He was a calculator made of flesh and bone.

Zhou Lan didn’t answer. instead, she popped her door open and hurried to the trunk.

Other survivors were streaming past them now. Some on bicycles, some running on foot. They glanced at the stalled car but didn’t stop. In this world, stopping for others was a luxury nobody could afford.

“Sis, what are you doing?” Xiaoxiao hissed, wincing as her wounds stretched.

Zhou Lan rummaged through the clutter and pulled out a heavy plastic container.

A jerry can.

Xiaoxiao’s jaw dropped. “Sis! When did you hide that? You’re amazing!”

“I scavenged it on the last run,” Zhou Lan whispered, unscrewing the cap. She hadn’t even told her sister. In the apocalypse, a secret reserve was the only insurance policy that paid out.

The engine turned over. The sisters merged back into the line just as the convoy began to pick up speed.

For the survivors on foot, the acceleration was a death knell. They gritted their teeth, pumping their legs to keep up, their lungs burning. They couldn’t ask for a ride—every seat was full, and in the Fairness Convoy, charity was dead.

Captain Chu Che had chosen the route well. They were on an old National Highway. The asphalt was cracked but flat, and the open terrain minimized the risk of ambushes.

A cool breeze swept through the convoy. For a moment, it felt almost peaceful.

Abandoned cars littered the roadside like metal carcasses. Some survivors looked at them with greed, hoping for supplies, but the convoy was moving too fast to stop.

Chen Ye eyed the wrecks as he passed. Those tanks might still have fuel.

But momentum was life. He couldn’t risk stopping.

Suddenly, a cold drop hit his cheek.

Chen Ye wiped it away, staring at the moisture on his fingertips. His expression darkened.

Damn it.

Rain.

And he didn’t have a roof.

Up ahead, inside the lead vehicle, Captain Chu Che’s face was grim.

His [Pathfinder] senses were screaming. The radar in his mind was lighting up with dark, twisting auras. They were surrounded.

Front, back, left, right. Anomalies were everywhere.

The closest one was tracking them from behind—a massive signature closing the gap at terrifying speed. It was only seven or eight kilometers out.

“Accelerate!” Chu Che barked into the radio. “Pick up the pace!”

The convoy surged forward.

The engines roared, widening the gap between the vehicles and the desperate survivors running on foot. Chu Che had already made the calculation: the slow would be sacrificed to save the fast.

Chen Ye cursed under his breath.

He twisted the throttle until the grip wouldn’t turn any further. The engine whined in protest, pushing the heavy tricycle to its limit, but it wasn’t enough.

The gap between him and the four-wheeled vehicles was widening. Even the two-wheeled motorcycles were pulling away.

The rain intensified.

It wasn’t a drizzle; it was a deluge. Within seconds, the sky opened up.

Water soaked through his clothes, plastering his shirt to his skin. His pants, his shoes—everything was drenched. He felt like he was driving underwater.

The downpour blurred his vision. He wiped his face constantly, flicking away sheets of water just to see the road for a split second.

Splatter. Hiss. Roar.

The world turned gray. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning tore through the dark clouds, illuminating the desolate highway.

Between heaven and earth, amidst the curtain of pouring rain, there was only the solitary figure of Chen Ye, hunched over his handlebars.

He was cold. He was wet. He was alone.

But he couldn’t stop.

He knew Chu Che. The Captain wouldn’t accelerate for no reason. Something was hunting them.

Through the squall, he could just barely make out the faint red glow of the taillights ahead.

Don’t lose the lights, he told himself. Lose the lights, and you die.

Shivering in the cold rain, a checklist formed in his mind.

[Upgrade Priority List]

Cabin/Roof: Essential. Exposure to the elements drains stamina and focus.

Engine Power: Critical. Being the slowest vehicle is a liability.

Chassis: Upgrade to four wheels for stability and load capacity.

And above all that…

He needed 3,000 [Slaughter Points] to exchange for the [Sequence Beyonder Awakening Method].

He gripped the handlebars tighter, squinting into the storm.

I hope the harvest from Longevity Village was enough.