“Hungry?” Cheng Lin asked with a smile. “I’ll go cook.”
Zhou Yu quickly waved his hands, a look of disgust on his face. “No, no, no! Sister-in-law, I’m afraid if I eat your cooking, I’ll get diarrhea.”
Cheng Lin’s face flushed. Her culinary skills were indeed not the best.
Jiang Feng and Jiang Xuan exchanged a glance and, almost simultaneously, stood up.
“Let us do it,” Jiang Feng said, rolling up his sleeves, a smile in his eyes. “It’s perfect timing—let’s celebrate surviving the ordeal.”
Jiang Xuan nodded and, leaning on one another, limped toward the kitchen.
It wasn’t that Cheng Lin was bullying the injured—Zhou Yu’s cooking was truly questionable. In the villa, there was only one Westerner dog, and it didn’t like the taste of the automatic cooking machine. Passing the kitchen duties to the two “culinary culprits” seemed the only reasonable choice, since they couldn’t expect the dog to become a master chef.
Cheng Lin and Zhou Yu were sent out of the kitchen, sitting in the living room and watching the two busily working inside. Their hearts warmed at the sight.
Before long, the aroma of the meal drifted through the villa: sweet-and-sour pork ribs, stir-fried pork with green peppers, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, a steaming pot of pork rib soup, and a small bowl of ribs steamed separately for Mo Yang.
The Westerner dog sat obediently under the table, gnawing on its special bowl of ribs.
The food was delicious. Everyone ate greedily, as if trying to swallow all the exhaustion and fear from the past two days.
After the meal, Cheng Lin leaned back on the sofa, her thoughts drifting to Jiang Yi.
Since the internet had gone down, it had been two days without contact.
How was he now? Had he set off? Had he encountered danger?
A faint worry rose in her chest, and she sighed softly.
Another day of missing the “golden thigh.”
By the evening of the fifth day of the apocalypse, the acid rain had finally ceased, though a light drizzle continued outside. The world, corroded by the acid rain, bore the scars of decay: uneven roads, yellowed and fallen grass in the green belts, and rust-streaked utility poles leaning at odd angles in the distance.
The sixth morning of the apocalypse arrived. In the villa’s gym, rhythmic sounds of heavy breathing and clattering equipment filled the air.
Over the past few days, the villa’s Westerner dog had fallen into a steady survival routine.
Jiang Feng and Jiang Xuan, while tending their injuries, experimented with training their newly awakened abilities.
Jiang Feng’s metal-type ability had evolved from merely levitating a fruit knife to forming thin sheets of metal.
Jiang Xuan’s wind-type ability had strengthened from a faint breeze into a small whirlwind capable of lifting fallen leaves off the ground.
Their wounds, carefully treated, were slowly scabbing over, and their complexions regained some color. Yet each ability-training session left them physically drained, cold sweat forming on their temples.
Cheng Lin, benefiting from the ongoing effect of her fitness pills and Jiang Feng’s customized training plan, saw her physical strength grow rapidly.
Once winded after running 800 meters, she could now complete three kilometers in one breath, barely breaking a sweat. The weights she could lift increased steadily each day. Each session of exhaustion left her acutely aware of a constant, awakening power within her body.
Zhou Yu described his stamina as evolving “from gasping after a 100-meter sprint to gasping after 700 meters.”
Though Zhou Yu’s physical improvement was considerable for an ordinary person, it paled in comparison to Cheng Lin. Watching her complete training tasks with ease, he often wailed, lamenting his “innate laziness” but being born into an apocalypse.
Mo Yang became an unofficial gym member, tail wagging at Cheng Lin’s feet, occasionally nudging her hand as if cheering her on. The little one’s appetite grew, fur shone with health, and its black, grape-like eyes sparkled brilliantly.
That morning, Zhou Yu collapsed on a yoga mat, moaning weakly, while Cheng Lin practiced rapid punches under Jiang Feng’s guidance. Suddenly, a flurry of urgent barking erupted from the living room, breaking the rhythm of the gym.
Mo Yang’s voice!
Everyone froze.
Mo Yang, usually docile, rarely barked so loudly. Something was wrong.
“It’s trouble!” Jiang Feng’s expression changed, and he sprinted toward the gym door, with Jiang Xuan following closely. Cheng Lin, ignoring her sweat, hurried after them, and Zhou Yu struggled to his feet, stumbling behind.
They rushed into the third-floor living room, where Mo Yang crouched by the window, back tense, tail raised high, growling low, eyes fixed on the outside.
Following Mo Yang’s gaze, Cheng Lin’s heart sank.
Several cars had appeared at the villa entrance. The vehicles looked battered; some scratched, others with flat tires, all haphazardly parked along the road.
Doors opened, and a dozen or so people of all ages, disheveled and exhausted, emerged. Their eyes, wary and uneasy, scanned the villa as they whispered among themselves, looking for a place to stay.
Even though the gate guard had long closed the main iron gate, they gathered in small groups, occasionally peering into the villa.
With more people came more trouble—a thought that struck Cheng Lin instantly.
The Yunjin Residential Area was in the suburbs, remote, and now suddenly overrun with strangers who clearly didn’t mean well.
The atmosphere in the living room thickened.
Zhou Yu clung to the window frame, swallowing nervously, his voice trembling. “Where did these people come from? Are they targeting our villa?”
Jiang Xuan’s brows furrowed tightly, a spark of vigilance in her eyes. “Judging by their appearance, they escaped from the city. Surviving here in the apocalypse isn’t easy.”
Jiang Feng’s gaze, sharp as an eagle, swept over the crowd. “Observe first. Don’t act rashly.”
Cheng Lin sensed that the villa’s calm would soon be completely shattered. These outsiders, whether friend or foe, could bring unexpected trouble. If Jiang Feng and Jiang Xuan’s abilities were strong enough, at least they had a better chance of self-protection.
Turning to Jiang Feng and Jiang Xuan, she asked with urgency and worry, “Brother Feng, Sister Xuan, after these days of training, has the offensive power of your abilities increased?”
Jiang Feng didn’t speak. He extended his right hand, palm up. A faint golden light shimmered at his fingertips, gradually intensifying, compressing in his palm. Seconds later, a half-centimeter-thick, hand-sized metal plate appeared, its edges sharp, gleaming coldly in the sunlight—clearly lethal.
“For now, this is the thickest plate I can form. It lasts about ten minutes and consumes considerable energy,” Jiang Feng said calmly, yet with a reassuring force.
Jiang Xuan stepped forward and waved her hand. A small whirlwind, much stronger than before, formed instantly in her palm, lifting a piece of paper from the table and hurling it against the wall with a sharp “smack.”
“The wind blade isn’t fully formed yet, but speed and power are much improved,” she said, confidence flickering in her eyes.
Zhou Yu’s eyes lit up. Clapping his hands, he cheered, “Whoa! Brother Feng, Sister Xuan, you’re too awesome! You’re my idols! Bowing in worship!”
Cheng Lin couldn’t help but smile slightly, her tense heart easing a little.
However, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly echoed in her mind without warning…