In the dead of night, sleep came fitfully to the survivors. The room stirred constantly with shifting bodies and rustling blankets. Beyond the glass walls, mutated animals prowled in packs, their eyes glowing red as terrifying roars shattered the dark.
Several people woke up, stared out the windows with heavy sighs, and wiped away quiet tears, taking hours to drift back to sleep.
At five in the morning, Yan Fengji rose quietly. He folded his blanket and walked over to the cafeteria windows.
His phone battery sat at sixty-four percent.
When he unlocked it, there was still no signal.
He swiped through the screen in silence, leaning back against the wall with a slight furrow in his brow.
“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Meng Zizhao’s voice suddenly came from beside him.
The two exchanged a look. Traces of exhaustion still lingered on Meng Zizhao’s face as he shook the water droplets from his hands and casually glanced across the room.
Yan Fengji followed his gaze and, sure enough, saw Fang Yangyang curled up under her quilt, fast asleep.
She was fast asleep. Ever since the apocalypse began, Yan Fengji had kept a close eye on her. She had never broken down, always keeping a bright, sunny smile on her face. Being around her seemed to naturally lift everyone’s spirits.
Lowering his gaze, he said mildly, “Checking for a cell signal.”
Coming from a prominent military family, with an older brother serving in the armed forces, Yan Fengji understood the nation’s infrastructure well.
“People began awakening superpowers nearly ten days ago.” Today marked the fourteenth day of the apocalypse. “Given how the government and military operate, signal coverage should start coming back soon.”
“Probably just local area networks at first,” Meng Zizhao said with a lazy yawn. Sitting down cross-legged beside him, he casually checked his own phone.
His battery sat at ninety percent. On the second squad’s way back from Yinyue Stage, he had stopped by his dorm room to pack useful supplies, stuffing power banks, charging cables, and spare phones into his backpack.
“Restoring nationwide coverage won’t be easy,” Meng Zizhao added.
“Yes.”
Yan Fengji closed his eyes. While he and Meng Zizhao did not always get along, setting their personal differences aside made it easy enough to exchange vital information in a crisis like this.
“The government and the military will probably prioritize restoring the signal in Jia City.”
Xichi University was located in Jia City, which housed Huaguo’s largest bio-gene bank. Once the apocalypse began, any surviving leaders who understood the threat of mutating flora and fauna would immediately deploy emergency rescue operations there.
Jia City had once been called Huaguo’s premier talent market for a simple reason: it boasted the country’s top universities. Every year, it recruited the brightest minds from all over the nation, sending exceptional graduates into every industry to build and advance the country.
“Even once it’s restored,” Meng Zizhao pondered for a moment, “they might not choose to rescue Xichi first.”
According to international rescue principles, all lives were equal, whether someone was an elite talent or an ordinary citizen.
When conducting rescue operations, the state never prioritized one life over another based on societal value. Whatever other nations did, Huaguo had never determined the order of emergency rescue by a person’s worth.
Having a soldier for an older brother, Yan Fengji understood this deeply and nodded calmly.
“That means we need to organize and settle the current survivors first, setting everything up so that when the military arrives, we can evacuate everyone as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
With his hands in his pockets, Yan Fengji spoke calmly.
“Under the same rescue conditions, the faster and more efficiently survivors can be moved…”
Any decision-maker coordinating the rescue would naturally choose to evacuate groups that were already fully prepared and gathered in one place. It was not a matter of choosing one person over another, but simply making the most practical decision for the situation.
Yan Fengji knew that by now, the human population must have plummeted. Countless people kept pets and livestock across cities and rural areas alike. The animal mutations had occurred at four in the morning, meaning death had crept in while most were sound asleep.
The mutated animals seemed to have lost all their former sanity and affection. On their way to the campus clinic, their senior sister had run into a stray cat she used to feed.
The creature that once pranced up with its tail held high, adorably rubbing against human legs to beg for affection and food, now looked at Wen Qing with feral, bloodthirsty eyes, baring saliva-dripping fangs in a terrifying display.
With humanity’s numbers dwindling, keeping the spark of life alive was without question the most urgent priority. The decision-makers would do everything in their power to protect the surviving humans and prevent further loss of life.
Meng Zizhao caught on instantly. Flicking a small flame from his fingertips, he understood Yan Fengji’s intent. “So, you’re planning to head to the Yinyue Stage again today?”
“Yeah.” Yan Fengji had woken up early precisely because the matter weighed on his mind.
He glanced at the route map posted on the cafeteria whiteboard nearby, his expression softening. “We’ll follow the route she drew.”
Meng Zizhao chuckled. “Her memory is incredible.”
Yan Fengji remained silent, his gaze drifting back toward Fang Yangyang, who was curled up beneath the blankets, her cheeks flushed pink in deep sleep.
Even in dire circumstances like these, a beautiful girl lost none of her charm.
Fang Yangyang looked adorable as she slept, bundled up in her quilt with fair, tender skin and shiny, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was sound asleep, peaceful and innocent as a child.
Yan Fengji completely ignored the young man beside her, his gaze fixed solely on her.
Meng Zizhao also looked toward Fang Yangyang. Resting his chin on his hand with a beaming smile, he flicked his fingers, making the little flame dancing between them change shape. It twinkled and flared, shifting colors like lights on a Christmas tree.
Yan Fengji noticed the flashy display. His palm twitched, but he refrained from trying to compete in front of him.
Only after Meng Zizhao left did the handsome young man quietly open his hand. He stared at his palm for a long time, watching a tiny vine sprout curl its tip ostentatiously, utterly failing to look anything resembling charming or cute.
Expressionless, Yan Fengji closed his fist, and the vine instantly retracted.
He then cast a subtle glance at the chubby little ice-blue dragon resting beside Fang Yangyang’s backpack. Whatever trick Dou Qing had used, the tiny dragon still had not melted even after several hours.
=
The second trek from Jiangpu Canteen to Yinyue Stage took a third less time than their initial attempt. With a route mapped out, they avoided all the dead ends and detours that had previously forced them to double back.
This time, the journey took Yan Fengji and his group only about forty-five minutes.
Back at the canteen, they had copied the map onto a piece of paper. Guided by these precise directions, protected by their ability and self-defense weapons, the team of ten reached Yinyue Stage without a hitch.
Once again, the lightning-type ability user was conscripted for power duty, while the companions with electrical backgrounds went back to work. After confirming the broadcast equipment was functional, they had the lightning user hold the power plug.
Static crackled through the campus speakers.
“This is Yinyue Stage, near Jiangpu Canteen.”
Yan Fengji’s voice rang across the grounds, cool and composed, startling a flock of mutated birds into flight. He glanced down at the map in his hand, a faint smile flickering across his lips before he spoke into the microphone once more: “I am Yan Fengji, a fourth-year medical student.”
Yan Fengji was something of a celebrity at Xichi University. Handsome and well-off, he came from a political family, and his older brother was in the military, as anyone who knew him was well aware.
Everyone still conscious pricked up their ears, hanging on his every word.
“Based on theories developed by myself and fellow students from my department—Wen Qing, Yu Zhi, Sun Ya, and Lin Yu—and using eighty-four people in Jiangpu Canteen as our sample group,” Yan Fengji explained, breaking down their observations of ability manifestation into terms that listeners from any major could understand, “the night a ability awakens, the person almost invariably experiences fever, subcutaneous pain, and headaches.”
“Following awakening, our sample analysis suggests they can tentatively be categorized as elemental ability.”
Though he was using concepts straight out of online web novels, he delivered the information with the calm, steady cadence of an academic presentation, reassuring everyone listening.
“These fall roughly into five types: Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth.”
“Of course, there are also special abilities, such as lightning and wind.”
“These manifestations are all normal.”
“As for ability classification, we’ll need professionals to analyze it in detail later,” Yan Fengji continued. “For now, the campus water supply remains undamaged, so daily water is still guaranteed.”
Food was the only immediate problem.
With campus transit virtually paralyzed, transportation outside was undoubtedly down as well.
Xichi University’s food supply relied on outside vendors. Taking the Jiangpu Canteen as an example, daily fresh produce came from a contracted market.
The administration prioritized hygiene and health, never keeping food overnight to prevent spoilage, and deliveries usually arrived at five in the morning.
Fourteen days had passed since the apocalypse began.
No one knew the exact amount of food stored across campus, though it might be enough to hold out a little longer.
The dead consumed no food. Those still alive scattered across the campus, scraping by on whatever they could find: vending machines on teaching building floors, leftover scraps in cafeterias, and remaining goods in convenience stores or mini-marts.
Gathering accurate data was impossible. It would require restoring the campus network to broadcast notices, locate survivors, and tally nearby supplies, a massive undertaking that could not be solved anytime soon.
Yan Fengji finished with his final remarks over the broadcast. “To all survivors, when leaving your shelter to search for food, stay in groups if possible. The roaming animals on campus are more wary of humans traveling together.”
“Please stay safe.”
“I hope we can meet again soon.”
He clicked the broadcast switch off. His teammates looked at him, and one girl spoke up with a teasing smile. “That last line is straight out of Yangyang’s Quotes, isn’t it?”
The corner of Yan Fengji’s mouth curved upward, a faint smile softening his cool, handsome features.
“When she said it, it gave a lot of people hope.”