The blood moon hung high, casting an eerie crimson pallor over the desert.

Beneath the sand dunes, however, the camp was alive with noise—though the festivity was confined to a very small, exclusive circle.

Surrounding them, the other survivors could only swallow their saliva, tormented by the rich aroma of meat wafting from the bonfire.

The “feast” bubbling in the meter-wide iron pot was nothing special—just canned meat and dehydrated vegetables boiled into a stew. Before the end, picky eaters wouldn’t have touched such processed garbage.

Now, it was ambrosia. A single bite was worth a human life.

Beside the fire, a battered tape recorder played tinny, upbeat music. Seven or eight people sat in a circle, their shadows dancing against the sand.

The massive pot had been unloaded from a camel’s back. By tacit agreement, both teams had contributed half the ingredients. In the apocalypse, feeding eight people to satiety was an act of reckless extravagance.

Bottles of baijiu were cracked open.

Captain Mo Huairen held a brimming cup. He sipped it slowly, savoring the burn as if it were divine nectar.

It was actually cheap, bottom-shelf liquor Chen Ye had scavenged from a village supermarket in Longevity Village. It tasted like gasoline and regrets. But to Mo, it was vintage.

“Ah…” Mo Huairen sighed contentedly, wiping his mouth. “Back in the day, I was just a village official. Had a family of seven or eight.”

“Our village wasn’t rich, mind you, but we got by. Aside from the water shortage, life was good!”

He took another sip, his eyes glazing over.

“Then strangers started showing up. Said there were ghosts outside. Said the cities were gone.”

“I thought they were crazy! How could I believe that?”

“But more kept coming. Little Chu, you have no idea. Every single one of them said the same thing: The cities are gone. The people are gone.”

“I was terrified, I tell you. Shaking in my boots!”

Captain Chu Che forced a smile, though his jaw muscles were twitching.

From “Captain Chu” to “Little Chu.” The demotion stung.

I’m a Captain. You’re a Captain. We are equals, Chu Che thought, mentally grinding his teeth in frustration. And you call me ‘Little Chu’ in front of my subordinates?

It was a blatant power move.

But for the sake of intelligence, Chu Che swallowed his pride.

“Old Brother,” Chu Che said warmly, pouring his own untouched share of liquor into the old man’s cup. “Take your time. Drink up.”

Mo Huairen’s eyes narrowed into delighted slits. He was a man of vices—tobacco, alcohol, he refused nothing.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly… this is too much!”

His mouth said no, but his hand steadied the cup to ensure not a drop was spilled.

“Little Chu, you don’t know,” Mo leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Those refugees… they were bad seeds.”

“At first, we fed them. Gave them water. Treated them like guests.”

“But it wasn’t enough. They got greedy. Started robbing us!”

“Mother of God, those bastards… they really weren’t human…”

The old man talked with his mouth full, fishing chunks of meat from the pot with his chopsticks, grease running down his chin.

The story was a familiar tragedy. Cities fell to Anomalies. Survivors fled to the countryside. Resources ran out. Conflicts erupted. Then the Anomalies followed the food source, forcing everyone to flee into the desert.

“Old Brother,” Chu Che pressed, “What about the government? The military? We have millions of troops. Surely they didn’t just vanish?”

“I heard Shanghu fell,” Chu Che continued, his voice heavy. “That’s a megacity of twenty million people. How could it… just end?”

“How could it not?” Mo Huairen snorted.

He grabbed a piece of meat with his chopsticks and flung it into the darkness behind him.

“Hey! Get the Fat Guy over here!”

Out of the shadows, a man as thin as a monkey scrambled forward. He snatched the meat from the sand and shoved it into his mouth, not caring about the grit or the heat, chewing frantically before running back to the huddle of “slaves.”

Moments later, a tall, skeletal man shuffled into the firelight.

“Hehe…” Mo chuckled. “Little Chu, this guy used to be fat. A government official, apparently. Now look at him. Starvation is a hell of a diet.”

“He ran out of Shanghu. Let him tell you.”

Chu Che sat up straighter.

The tall man trembled under the scrutiny of the Beyonders, struggling to stay upright.

“You,” Mo barked. “Tell Brother Chu what you saw.”

The man swallowed dryly, composed himself, and began to speak. His voice was a hollow rattle.

Shanghu. The jewel of the nation. A global metropolis.

When the Anomalies first appeared, the government did respond. They had protocols. But the outbreak was too fast, too violent. It defied logic.

According to the man, Shanghu fell overnight.

As darkness fell, the city went silent. The denser the population, the worse the outbreak. It became a living hell.

The military moved in. Tanks, infantry, heavy weapons. But bullets didn’t stop ghosts. Explosions didn’t kill shadows.

In days, humanity was routed. They retreated step by step, until there was nowhere left to run.

Shanghu became a Humanity Forbidden Zone.

Later, search teams were sent in. Special forces. Researchers. Countless brave souls entered the city to find answers.

Not one returned.

“Shanghu is dead,” the man whispered, tears streaming down his gaunt face. “It’s the most dangerous place on earth.”

Seeing the man on the verge of a breakdown, Chu Che signaled him to stop. He had heard enough to piece together the nightmare.

“Are there no bases?” Chu Che asked desperately. “Did the government establish any safe zones?”

“I know this one!” Mo Huairen waved his hand, dismissing the skeletal official back to the slave pen.

“I heard there was a massive survivor base in the south,” Mo said, his eyes glassy with drink. “Hundreds of thousands of people.”

“But too many people attracts… Things.”

“Infiltrated by Anomalies. Slaughtered. Scattered.”

“There was a guy in my camel train from there. Died a few days ago. Otherwise, I’d have him tell you.”

Mo sighed, a sound of genuine weariness.

“Big bases, small bases… they all fall eventually. Hundreds of thousands, or just a few hundred… all gone.”

“Ah…”

“This apocalypse… it’s a real motherfucker.”

“We just live one day at a time. Muddle through. Don’t think too much.”

Mo downed his cup in one gulp, a flush rising on his weathered cheeks.

Chen Ye silently poured his own ration into the old man’s cup, then lit a cigarette, leaning back into the shadows.

Mo didn’t even acknowledge Chen Ye. His focus was entirely on Chu Che.

“Forget the sad stuff,” Mo grinned, revealing yellow teeth. “Hey, Little Chu. You want to see something special?”

“You want to see an internet celebrity?”

“My ‘Little Wife’ is a big star. Tens of millions of fans back in the old world.”

“She used to make more money in a day than we would in ten lifetimes.”

Mo licked his lips, his expression turning lecherous.

“If not for the apocalypse, a piece of premium meat like her? I wouldn’t even dare to dream of it!”

“Hehe… she dances beautifully. Want to see?”

Chen Ye felt a wave of revulsion but kept his face impassive.

He checked the System interface.

[Deduction Remaining: 10 Hours.]

It would be finished by morning.

Just have to survive the night, Chen Ye thought. This camel train is a powder keg.

If a fight broke out, he would stick close to Sun Qianqian. A Sword Immortal at the Opening Edge stage was the safest place to be.

Chen Ye had already made up his mind.

If we can win, we fight.

If we can’t, we run.