It was Fu Yinli.
Ruan Zhe quickly opened the door. A backpack was thrown in first, followed by a drenched man climbing in awkwardly.
Without hesitation, Ruan Zhe stepped on the accelerator. Those zombies had come out of the supermarket—there were far more of them than outside.
They clung to the RV, howling.
The door was shut, but Ruan Zhe still felt like the vehicle was about to be overturned by their force.
She shifted gears, first reversing sharply, then yanked the steering wheel and turned toward a direction with fewer zombies, completely ignoring the fact that Fu Yinli had just gotten in and hadn’t even steadied himself before falling again.
The RV repeatedly slammed into zombies until, suddenly, everything went dark—and then it came to a steady stop.
This time, Ruan Zhe had a firm grip on the steering wheel, her body even pressed tightly against the seat. When she opened her eyes again, through the dirty windshield, she saw the farm outside.
She quickly got up and helped him. “Fu Yinli, are you okay?”
He was completely soaked, his suit clinging wrinkled to his body, his hair dripping in strands. Yet this only made his cold, striking features more pronounced.
He glanced at her—who seemed to be holding back laughter—and said expressionlessly:
“I was fine originally.”
He stood up and took off his suit jacket, revealing the shirt underneath.
Heh. Trying to act all formal in the apocalypse just to go scavenging?
But when the jacket came off, the dark shirt clung to his body, outlining well-defined chest and arm muscles.
Even his trousers below were tightly fitted…
Ruan Zhe quickly looked away. Her mood improved a little.
Women really did need to look at some beauty to stay motivated in survival situations—this was the apocalypse; she might as well enjoy it while she could.
“I’ll organize things. You go take a shower,” she said.
The RV had water. She glanced at the countdown:
It had become 2 hours and 5 minutes.
Huh?
The countdown had increased?
What was going on?
Fu Yinli nodded. Before heading to the bathroom, he crouched down and rummaged through the backpack, taking out a set of clothes.
“Time was tight and it was dark inside. When we ran into zombies later, I could only grab this much,” he said.
“President Fu, you did great,” Ruan Zhe sincerely praised.
Fu Yinli stood up. “I’ll go shower first.”
A faint curve appeared at the corner of his lips. In the apocalypse, it seemed like they were talking more than ever.
The bathroom was at the back of the RV, about one square meter in size. There was barely room to turn around. The toilet was tiny, like a child’s version; the sink was shallow; the showerhead was installed above the toilet. You could sit on the closed toilet lid to shower.
Everything had rounded edges, giving it a slightly cute feel. The exhaust fan hummed softly. Once the door was closed and the hot water turned on, it was enough to bathe.
Warm water poured down, and Fu Yinli felt a brief sense of unreality.
In all their years of marriage, he had never been this physically close to her.
Before, they barely even saw each other in the large villa.
But now—he was showering inside, and she was organizing supplies outside.
He shook his head. Under normal circumstances, in the middle of an apocalypse, he shouldn’t be thinking about such things. Yet an inexplicable sense of satisfaction still rose in his chest.
Ruan Zhe, of course, had no idea that her usually cold-faced husband was overthinking even a shower. She was genuinely impressed—he had brought back so many supplies in such a short time.
The two large backpacks she had prepared were 60-liter hiking packs.
One of them alone contained eighteen 500ml bottles of water.
Then there were compressed biscuits and energy bars—20 in total—six cans of luncheon meat, and two jars of peanut butter.
Nine pairs of men’s underwear—though she suspected there were actually ten, since Fu Yinli had taken one earlier. Thick socks: three pairs for men, three for women.
Three long-sleeve cotton shirts and three loose trousers.
What surprised her was a pack of disposable sleeping pants and two packs of sanitary pads.
He didn’t need them—but she definitely would. Even though the RV already had some, she was satisfied.
Even if they weren’t specifically for her, they could also be used as emergency bandages later.
There were also two packs of tissues, five lighters, a kitchen cleaver, and two rolling pins tucked into the side net pocket of the bag.
The knife and rolling pins could be used as weapons.
The second bag was even more packed and miscellaneous.
A bottle of iodine cotton balls, two boxes of bandages, two rolls of gauze, one roll of tape.
Two high-powered flashlights, eight spare batteries, five glow sticks.
Two nylon ropes, twenty large zip ties—useful for traps and restraint.
Then two claw hammers, two utility knives, two cans of pepper spray, a roll of large garbage bags, four pairs of labor gloves, and six packs of salt.
Thinking about Fu Yinli’s build, Ruan Zhe figured he wasn’t someone who trained with protein powder—he was just naturally strong. Carrying all this in a zombie chase must have been exhausting.
Just then, the bathroom door opened.
He hadn’t been in long—time was tight, and water had to be conserved.
Ruan Zhe looked up—and immediately burst out laughing.
Fu Yinli was wearing a black silk long-sleeve top with red floral patterns on the chest, loose patterned pants on the bottom, and plastic slippers.
She suddenly remembered—the supermarket’s first floor was full of elderly-style clothing.
Yet with his sharp jawline and calm expression, he looked perfectly composed.
“Are you done organizing?” he asked.
“Mostly. We need to hurry and plant the vegetables.”
Fu Yinli checked the time. They were fast—it had taken fifteen minutes.
He rolled up his sleeves. “Do you know how to farm? Sorry, I don’t.”
Ruan Zhe didn’t expect him to know. He was born with a silver spoon—being able to tell garlic from daffodils would already be impressive.
The original Ruan Zhe didn’t know either—but before transmigrating, she actually liked growing vegetables and could be considered half a farmer.
“I think I do. Whether I can or not, we still have to plant.”
Fu Yinli nodded. “You tell me what to do, I’ll handle it.”
The field was already dug up. Fortunately, the soil was soft enough, or they wouldn’t have finished.
Fu Yinli’s strength made things easier. He re-tilled the soil and formed ridges as instructed, with small drainage ditches beside them.
“Too bad we don’t have fertilizer,” Ruan Zhe said. “Potatoes need deep plowing and base fertilizer before ridging.”
“But the soil here should be good. I trust it,” she comforted herself.
“So we plant potatoes first?” Fu Yinli asked.
“No. We start with chili peppers and eggplants.”
She had already cut the potatoes into pieces, each with one or two bud eyes, coated them in wood ash, and left them to heal in the shade to prevent rotting. Only a few hours had passed.
Fu Yinli nodded and started shaping the ridges again—until she stopped him.
“Eggplants and chilies need seedlings first!”
“How do you know so much?” Fu Yinli leaned on the hoe, looking down at her as she crouched and sorted seeds.
As the young miss of the Ruan family, she had grown up pampered, never touching farm work. She claimed she didn’t know—but she was clearly speaking with authority just moments ago.