Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chu Che did not sleep.

All night, his mind remained expanded, brushing against the cold, rotten auras of the [Anomalies] in the darkness. He dared not relax for a second.

He felt like a martial artist dancing on the edge of a blade—one wrong step, one lapse in focus, and he would be cut in half.

Outside the armored glass, the rain was relentless. It hammered against the convoy like gravel, a cacophony of pitter-patter that drowned out the engine noise.

Chu Che ran the numbers in his head. After this night, the convoy’s population would be cut by at least fifty percent. Maybe more.

In a torrential downpour like this, stragglers were inevitable. Those on foot, those without shelter, those too weak to keep pace—they were being left behind.

Even if Chu Che felt a pang of guilt, he couldn’t change the equation. Survival was a math problem, not a moral one.

In his sensory range, he felt several tracking auras suddenly stop. They peeled away from the main convoy, drifting backward into the dark.

Chu Che closed his eyes for a brief moment, a shadow of pain crossing his face.

He knew exactly what was happening.

The [Anomalies] had found the stragglers.

The creatures had discovered an easier meal. Why chase the hard, metal shells of the convoy when there were slow, soft targets lagging behind? It would be a slaughter. A feast.

But the screams of the dying would buy time for the living.

The stragglers were the bait. They would occupy the hunters, allowing the main fleet to slip away.

This was Chu Che’s hidden strategy. He always encouraged foot travelers to follow the convoy, not out of kindness, but out of calculation.

The gecko sacrifices its tail to save the body.

The survivors on foot were the tail.

It was a secret he kept buried deep. Perhaps Nana suspected it, but she was smart enough never to ask.

As the horizon turned the pale, sickly white of a fish’s belly, the tension in Chu Che’s shoulders finally eased.

The nearest Anomaly was now over twelve miles away. They were safe.

Adrenaline crashed, replaced by a wave of exhaustion so heavy he almost slumped over the wheel.

Then, headlights illuminated a rusted road sign. Two massive characters reflected in the high beams:

[YAN PROVINCE]

We made it?

Chu Che was startled. He hadn’t expected to cross the border so quickly.

The sun began to breach the horizon. But what he saw next made his blood run cold.

A rainbow.

A brilliant, vibrant rainbow arcing across the sky.

It’s November. It’s winter.

Before he could process the visual absurdity, the sensation hit him. Heat. A blast of scorching, suffocating heat, like opening the door to a furnace.

Chu Che checked the date. End of November.

This… this is impossible.

“Yan Province? I’m already in Yan Province?”

Chen Ye stared at the road sign, his brain sluggish. Beyond the sign, the world had opened up into an endless sea of yellow sand.

Dunes rolled out to the horizon, golden and vast.

I rode all the way from Jiang City to Yan Province in one night?

He vaguely remembered geography class. Yan Province was a land of extremes—mountains, river valleys, plateaus, and massive deserts.

But Chen Ye was in no state to admire the view.

He was running on fumes. After the high-intensity combat in Longevity Village and the grueling all-night ride through the storm, his body was at its limit.

He was freezing.

The rain had stopped, but he was soaked to the bone. His hair was plastered to his skull, water dripping continuously down his nose and eyelashes. His boots were heavy, sloshing with every movement.

He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering so hard his jaw ached. He gripped the handlebars just to stay upright.

Hypothermia, his logical mind noted. I’m going to get sick.

He forced the tricycle toward a cluster of vehicles parked near the roadside—a makeshift campsite.

Tents were already going up. Campfires flickered.

The smell of cooking food drifted through the air. Chen Ye inhaled greedily, his stomach cramping with hunger.

Then, he felt it.

A wave of dry heat washed over him, piercing through the damp cold of his clothes. It felt good. Too good.

He didn’t question it. He was too tired to question anything.

He pulled the tricycle to a halt, killed the engine, and practically fell off the seat. He collapsed onto the sand.

Hot.

The sand burned his palms.

“Huff… huff…”

Chen Ye panted, reaching into his jacket pocket for a cigarette.

He pulled out the pack. Water dribbled out of the bottom.

“Fuck.”

He tossed the sodden pack onto the dashboard to dry—tobacco was too precious to waste—and dug out his reserve pack.

He tore off the plastic film. Dry.

Thank god for waterproofing.

He pulled out a [Huazi] and lit it.

Hiss.

He took a massive drag, inhaling until his lungs burned. He smoked a third of the cigarette in one breath, letting the nicotine flood his system.

As the smoke settled his nerves, his brain finally rebooted.

Wait.

Why is it so hot?

It was late November. Even in the desert, winter mornings should be freezing.

This heat… this wasn’t just warm. It was tropical.

Chen Ye looked around.

The sky was a piercing, cloudless blue. A brutal sun hung overhead.

The survivors nearby had stripped down. Men were in boxer shorts; women had rolled up their sleeves and pant legs. They looked like they were at a beach resort, not an apocalypse.

Chen Ye looked down at himself.

His clothes were steaming. Literally steaming. The desert heat was evaporating the rainwater off him at a visible rate. His hair was already half-dry.

He peeled off his heavy jacket and hung it on the handlebars. Then the jeans.

He pulled off his boots and turned them upside down. Water poured out, sizzling as it hit the hot sand and vanishing in seconds.

Sweatshirt off. Thermal pants off.

It’s sweltering.

Chen Ye sat there in his underwear, sweat beading on his forehead.

This wasn’t normal weather. This was an extreme climate shift, likely another side effect of the world ending.

He finished his cigarette, feeling the sun bake his skin. He grabbed a couple of pieces of bread and wolfed them down, washing the dry crumbs away with a sip of water.

Now that he was warm, fed, and safe, there was only one thing left to do.

The harvest.

He opened his interface to check the logs from Longevity Village.

[System Notification]

When he saw the total balance, Chen Ye’s eyes widened.

[Total Slaughter Points: 7,450]

Jackpot.