Day eleven of the apocalypse.
Following the example of the Yinyue Stage in reaching out to the surviving staff and students across campus, other campus broadcast stations soon began transmitting messages from nearby survivors throughout the day.
“Chunhua Canteen currently has seventy-seven teachers and students…”
“Dormitory 819, Building A, Chaoyang Dormitory Area. Four of us are here, but food is running low. We walked over together to the broadcast center and have successfully met up with several professors.”
“This is Lin Shihe, a criminal law professor from the Law School of the Liberal Arts Building. I am with four students right now…”
“This is Communications Major Class 09, student ID 2657****. A classmate was bitten by a mutated dog and has a fever. We are asking nearby teachers and students for help.”
“The Administration Building is currently housing sixty-five teachers and students…”
Xichi University covered a vast area. During annual military training, when all freshmen were led on morning runs, the full route stretched over a dozen kilometers.
Even the drill instructors from the neighboring military barracks used to remark that Xichi’s campus was simply too massive, complaining about how exhausting it was to lead the new students on runs.
Because of the campus’s sheer size, as new buildings were gradually added over the years, the architectural plan ensured that broadcast equipment was installed in every corner of the grounds.
Inside Jiangpu Canteen, mixed emotions stirred among the crowd as they listened to the voice over the broadcast.
“Her predictions about the survivor gathering points were almost entirely spot on.”
“Wow, that’s incredible.”
Whispering about the analysis Fang Yangyang had shared over the airwaves yesterday, their gazes naturally drifted toward the corner, where she sat with pen and paper in hand.
The pretty young woman leaned against her boyfriend, draped in a loose denim-gray jacket. Her fair, delicate wrists caught the indoor light with a soft, jade-like sheen.
She remained engrossed in her sketching and writing, pausing only after a long while to glance out the glass wall at the mutated animals. After a brief moment of thought, she went back to her work.
A curious girl walked over for a look, returning to her seat a few seconds later with a dazed, astonished expression.
“What is Fang Yangyang writing?”
“She’s drawing a route map,” the girl answered.
“…What?”
“It looks like the path from the cafeteria to Yinyue Stage.”
In less than half an hour, Fang Yangyang’s map was updated with every foot route that Team Two had personally scouted. The paper clearly marked the obstacles they had encountered along the way, as well as the impassable areas.
Her map was remarkably precise. When members of Team Two came over to inspect it, none of them could find a single flaw.
For those who had never been to the Yinyue Stage, the details on the route map were invaluable.
No one could stay in the cafeteria forever.
With cell service and the internet still down, the campus broadcast system functioned much like an ancient beacon tower. Although it could not provide real-time responses and communication remained limited, it was a massive improvement over the helpless isolation of the first few days.
Fang Yangyang’s finished map was taped to the canteen’s small whiteboard. Her neat handwriting was clearly visible to anyone passing by, laying out all the details with precision. As long as the mutated plants did not undergo another wild surge of growth, the map should remain reliable for a long time to come.
=
On the twelfth day of the apocalypse, the boy from the physical education institute finally broke his fever. After a careful checkup, Wen Qing confirmed that he had fully recovered, bringing a collective sigh of relief to the group.
Full of energy once more, he began exploring his earth-type ability. Like the other earth-type ability users, he could summon gravel and earth mounds out of thin air. The earth users gathered together in high spirits, comparing variations of their abilities to see who could build a sturdier, larger castle.
….
The fire wielders produced flames that were largely the same. There was no way to measure the exact temperatures of their inner and outer flames right now, but to the naked eye, the canteen auntie’s fire burned the largest and fiercest. Meng Zizhao came in second.
Through his daily “practice,” his flame had somehow grown noticeably stronger.
Fang Yangyang’s attention, however, was fixed on Dou Qing.
Water abilities manifested in various ways. Some people produced solids, others liquids, and some even generated condensed vapor in the form of mist. Dou Qing belonged to the ice branch, a subset of water, and his power was clearly among the strongest of the eighty-plus people gathered in the cafeteria.
It was a male-oriented apocalyptic novel, after all. The male lead, along with the second and third leads, were all endowed with formidable abilities that would make them indispensable in the story ahead.
Fang Yangyang rested her chin in her hand, watching Dou Qing turn his palm over to reveal a smooth, crystal-clear block of ice.
Without a word, he dropped it into a bucket.
Nearby, a handful of other ice wielders were grimacing as they struggled to coax smaller chunks from their palms, working to supply ice for preserving food in the kitchen.
Compared to their strained efforts, Dou Qing made it look effortless.
The task of making ice for food preservation wrapped up quickly.
Her period had just ended, and an hour earlier, room-temperature boxed yogurt had been handed out. Dou Qing pulled out a box of yogurt and asked if she wanted a popsicle.
Fang Yangyang, naturally, was delighted to accept the treat from her boyfriend.
Dou Qing had wrapped his ice-type ability around the carton of yogurt, timing it with the second hand of his watch. Roughly half a minute was all it took to freeze it into a cool, refreshing yogurt pop.
Tapping the rock-hard yogurt with her spoon, Fang Yangyang had waited contentedly for it to melt just enough before feeding the first spoonful of yogurt slush to Dou Qing.
The chill bloomed on his tongue, carrying a subtle sweetness that yogurt alone could never provide. For several moments, Dou Qing could not form a complete sentence.
He adjusted his glasses, managing only an awkward, delayed cough.
By the time his shyness faded, Fang Yangyang was already happily digging in, eating with the pure, joyful innocence of a kindergartener who had just received a gold star.
A tender smile touched the handsome young man’s face. Turning slightly, he did not miss the complicated look in Yan Fengji’s eyes.
Dou Qing let the corners of his lips curl, casting his gaze downward in a quiet, secret smile.
Meng Zizhao had not noticed the little scene with the yogurt. He was busy seeking advice from the canteen worker, asking how she managed to control her flames for cooking.
Despite being a wealthy young master, he paid no mind to the messy kitchen. Squatting beside a traditional stove, he listened intently as the cafeteria worker shared her tips on controlling fire-type ability, mimicking her technique with surprising skill.
Naturally talented and sharp, it did not take him long to grasp the trick.
Proud as a peacock, he immediately looked for someone to show off to. Holding up a small flame, Meng Zizhao glanced around until his eyes lit on Fang Yangyang. His face brightened, and he strode over to her.
“Yangyang!”
His voice was always bright and cheerful, sunny as ever.
Fang Yangyang looked up blankly, the spoon still between her lips. “Huh?”
Thinking it rude to speak with food in her mouth, she set the spoon down, held her yogurt cup, and asked, “What’s wrong? Did you need something?”
Meng Zizhao had been focused on his fingertips, but when she put down her spoon and looked at him so earnestly, his gaze drifted to her moist, crimson lips.
He froze for a moment before instinctively showing off the temperature-control technique he had just learned. As the flame grew hotter, it shifted away from red and orange.
He knew nothing about gaseous states, plasma, or visible spectrums, he simply thought the shifting colors of the fire looked pretty.
A stream of fire flickered to life between his calloused, distinct fingers.
Fang Yangyang looked up at him, her neck aching slightly from the angle. A second later, Meng Zizhao crouched halfway down and gave his hand a showy wave. The pale orange flame shifted to bright yellow, turned cyan blue, and finally settled into a soft violet.
It swirled deftly across his knuckles like a little rainbow dragon.
Dou Qing’s expression, calm a moment ago, soured at once. He watched silently as the other man showed off. Meng Zizhao seemed to have mastered both shape and color control; tiny horns formed on the flame as it twisted and danced between his index and middle fingers.
Dou Qing opened his mouth, ready to drop a sarcastic remark about this desperate need for attention, but a glance sideways at Fang Yangyang stopped him.
Her eyes sparkled as she stared at the rainbow fire dragon, completely captivated by how cute it was, having forgotten all about her yogurt.
Dou Qing swallowed his words, struck dumb.
Gritting his teeth, he endured the performance until it was over.
Meng Zizhao finally took his leave, looking reluctant to go.
Dou Qing refroze Fang Yangyang’s yogurt. She gave him an apologetic look and mumbled softly, “Meng Zizhao is actually pretty amazing. His little flame was so cute.”
“It even had two tiny horns, just like a little dragon!”
Dou Qing kept his silence, glaring patiently at the smug Meng Zizhao in the distance.
Seeing the jacket Fang Yangyang wore only fueled his annoyance, but he had no intention of taking it out on her. Meng Zizhao was frivolous, and Fang Yangyang was simply too innocent to realize his true motives for approaching her.
Keeping his voice gentle, he asked, “Do you like little dragons?”
Scooping up a spoonful of the newly hardened yogurt, Fang Yangyang mumbled around her spoon, “They’re cute.”
Dou Qing quietly took note of it.
That evening, after everyone finished washing up, Fang Yangyang walked out of the communal restroom, drying her damp hair with a towel. She found Dou Qing waiting for her, holding out his open palm like he was presenting a precious treasure.
Resting in his broad, warm hand was a crystal-clear, chubby little dragon.
It was adorably clumsy and utterly charming.
As if it were nothing at all, he said with warm gentleness, “A little dragon, for you.”
Carved from ice, the small dragon would melt before long, but the sincerity behind the gesture was unmistakable. Flattered and overwhelmed, Fang Yangyang cradled the chubby little creature in her hands.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered.
“You’re welcome.”
Dou Qing picked up a dry cloth and rested a hand on her shoulder, guiding her back to the corner where they had been spending their time lately, and began gently drying her wet hair.
Nearby, Wen Qing was busy recording the expiration dates on the medicine supply.
After working for a while, she glanced over at Yan Fengji, only to see her junior brother absentmindedly weaving his ability like thread. A vivid green vine curled and twisted in his palm, tangling into a knot like a ball of yarn with no end in sight.
“What are you doing?” Wen Qing asked abruptly.
Startled, Yan Fengji snapped his hand shut, and the vine shot back into his palm.
Wen Qing watched him with uncertainty.
His face was blank as he met her gaze, his voice steady as ever. “Nothing.”
Wen Qing frowned and shook her head, unable to fathom what was wrong with him. “Bizarre.”