The arrival of the [Elderly Mobility Scooter] turned every head in the camp.

In this convoy, the weak were usually the first to go.

The bitter grandmother and grandson duo who had antagonized Chen Ye? The grandmother had died in Longevity Village, and the seven-year-old [Brat] hadn’t been seen since the escape. He was likely dead, left behind in the rainstorm. Given their toxicity, nobody had bothered to look back for him.

Last night had been a culling. Even fit, able-bodied men had succumbed to the darkness.

Yet here was this withered old man, putting along in a glorified golf cart, alive and kicking.

It defied logic.

This geriatric had survived two [Forbidden Zones for Humanity]—Apricot Blossom Town and Longevity Village. While hundreds died around him, he just kept driving.

The scooter looked like it was held together by duct tape and prayers. The bodywork was battered and deformed, smeared with mud and unidentified slime. The roof rack wobbled precariously, burdened with plastic bags that threatened to slide off with every bump.

Clearly, his night hadn’t been peaceful. But he had survived.

The scooter rattled to a halt at the edge of the camp.

A skinny, sleazy-looking old man hopped out. His white hair fluttered in the breeze. He wore a stained white tank top, loose black boxers, and cheap flip-flops.

He scanned the faces of the survivors, his eyes lighting up.

“Finally made it! Damn, this old bag of bones almost died out there!”

He spat on the sand. “Damn it! You ungrateful bastards! No respect for the elderly! Can’t you see I’m struggling? Come give me a hand!”

He pointed a bony finger at a group of young men nearby. “Little Zhao! Little Zeng! Little Zhang! You see your Grandpa Zhang here and you don’t even move?”

The young men glanced at him, rolled their eyes, and ignored him completely.

The old man cursed a blue streak for a solid minute.

When no one moved to help, he grumbled and started unpacking himself. To Chen Ye’s surprise, the old man pulled a high-quality canopy tent from the tiny cabin and set it up with practiced ease.

He’s well-equipped, Chen Ye noted.

But the old man wasn’t done. He reached back into the scooter and dragged out several foldable solar charging panels, spreading them out over a large patch of sand.

Chen Ye stared. That’s absurd.

He had been eyeing Captain Chu Che’s solar setup with envy for days, and here was this random old man with a portable power station in his trunk.

Two hours later, the desert heat finally began to break.

As the temperature dropped, movement appeared on the horizon again.

Chen Ye looked up. Two figures were cycling slowly toward the camp.

They looked like they had crawled out of hell. Their clothes were shredded, their skin gray with dust, and they pedaled with the slow, agonizing rhythm of total exhaustion.

Chen Ye recognized one of them—the bespectacled college student who had found the village chief’s cellar. The other man was a stranger, but equally wrecked.

strapped to their rear racks were bulging bundles—loot from the village.

Survivors on bicycles, Chen Ye thought, impressed. Last night was a meat grinder, and they pedaled through it.

The two men reached the edge of the camp and simply stopped pedaling. They collapsed sideways, bikes and all, hitting the sand with a thud.

“Little Li, Little Zeng! You guys, get over there!”

Uncle Abao’s voice rang out. He directed the younger survivors with the authority of a seasoned quartermaster. While Captain Chu led the combat, Abao ran the logistics. His word carried weight.

The two cyclists were dragged into the shade.

Chen Ye watched the road for a while longer, but the horizon remained empty. These were likely the last stragglers.

A hundred people had entered Apricot Blossom Town. A fraction remained. Longevity Village had taken another bite. The convoy was shrinking, whittled down by the merciless nature of the apocalypse.

Chen Ye lit a cigarette. The ember glowed orange in the twilight.

He took a drag and exhaled.

The smoke didn’t disperse. It held together in a tight, snake-like stream, drifting far into the distance before fading.

Chen Ye blinked. He took another drag, trying to replicate the phenomenon.

This time, the smoke swirled and vanished normally.

“Chen Ye! Captain Chu is awake! He’s calling for you!”

Uncle Abao waved from the bus. “Old Li! Iron Lion is still out, so you represent him!”

It was time to split the pot.

Old Li climbed onto the roof of the bus and began unstrapping the mountain of loot.

According to their agreement: Chu Che and Nana took 30%. Chen Ye and Iron Lion took 20%. The rest went to the house.

Chen Ye grabbed the two backpacks from his tricycle and walked over to Chu Che’s modified off-roader.

When he arrived, he found the Captain squatting in the sand, barefoot. Chu Che grabbed a handful of sand and shoveled it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Chen Ye froze.

Chu Che noticed the stare. He swallowed, a faint smile warming his pale face.

“[Pathfinder Sequence] ability,” he explained, wiping grit from his lips. “We establish a connection with the earth to sense [Anomalies]. Sand is the best medium for resonance.”

Since the battle, Chu Che treated Chen Ye more like a peer than a subordinate.

“I get the logic,” Chen Ye said, eyeing the remaining sand in Chu Che’s hand. “But… what does it taste like?”

Chu Che didn’t look like he was suffering. He looked like he was eating popcorn.

“It tastes like sand,” Chu Che shrugged. “I’m a Pathfinder, not an alien. My taste buds are the same as yours.”

He stood up, dusted off his hands, and led Chen Ye under the canopy tent. A camping table and chairs were already waiting.

“So, what did the sand tell you?” Chen Ye asked, dropping his bags and pouring himself a cup of tea. He downed it in one go.

“We’re safe here until 09:00 tomorrow,” Chu Che said, refilling Chen Ye’s cup with a glass ‘fairness pitcher’.

Chen Ye didn’t know how the Pathfinder radar worked, but he trusted the results. It made him even more eager to see what his own Awakening would bring.

Moments later, the long-legged girl arrived. Nana looked anemic, her skin translucent from blood loss.

Two men followed her, carrying massive backpacks.

Compared to their haul, Chen Ye’s two bags looked pathetic. Then, Iron Lion’s loot mountain was dropped nearby with a heavy thud, drawing envious stares from the surrounding survivors.

Nana sat down next to Chen Ye, her long legs stretching out. She didn’t bother with a cup; she grabbed the teapot directly from Chu Che’s hand and tilted her head back.

She chugged the tea like water. Liquid spilled from the corner of her mouth, running down her neck and pooling in the hollow of her collarbone.

In the dying light, the sight possessed a raw, vibrant beauty.