Fang Yangyang sat by the canteen’s glass wall, resting her chin in her hand as she gazed outside.
The nearest dormitory building loomed nearby. All its doors and windows were sealed shut. Looking up, she could just make out the faint silhouettes of students moving past the windows.
Not everyone was like the original Fang Yangyang. The original owner had kept so many plants in her dorm that she was trapped inside when the apocalypse struck, eventually dying there.
Most students didn’t keep plants or pets, and their rooms were stocked with instant food. These advantages—essential and sufficient—allowed them to weather the current crisis in relative safety for a few days.
Fang Yangyang closed her eyes. A low male voice rumbled in her ear.
“Fang Yangyang.”
Yan Fengji had approached her so silently that her heart hammered against her ribs. She turned to face him.
To be honest, she never expected the original owner to have known Yan Fengji. Even more surprising—just two days ago, ten hours before the apocalypse—he had pinned her against a wall, demanding to know why she was dating Dou Qing.
For once, Fang Yangyang wasn’t with Dou Qing. He was busy with another student, analyzing data on the mutated stray cats and dogs around the canteen.
Yan Fengji seized the opportunity, slipping up beside her without a sound.
“Hmm?”
Her voice was soft, a gentle murmur that had, just hours earlier, acted as a spring of hope for the panicked and broken, reigniting their will to survive.
Yan Fengji, the original novel’s male lead, was strikingly handsome. He had phoenix-shaped eyes and a sharp, prominent nose.
He still wore his white lab coat, now stained with dust. There was an air of untamed freedom about him, yet his gaze held an unreadable emotion as he looked down at her.
Fang Yangyang dared not say much. She feared that if she spoke too much, Yan Fengji would notice the difference between her and the original owner of this body. If he suspected anything, it could lead to trouble.
Of course, she reasoned, a change in personality could be explained by the apocalypse. Many people change after such a trauma.
She met his gaze in silence. After a moment, Yan Fengji’s composure broke. He frowned.
“Were you in the canteen the whole time the night before last?”
He was referring to the day before the apocalypse.
From his perspective, Fang Yangyang’s eyes were as clear as pools of water. She had suppressed the smile she usually wore around Dou Qing, offering only a slight, sparing nod.
“…”
The tension in his brow smoothed. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, and Fang Yangyang didn’t miss the momentary flash of relief.
He’s glad I wasn’t in the dorm, she realized.
Clearly, Yan Fengji cared about her—or rather, the original Fang Yangyang—far more than she had imagined.
A thought struck her: Could she use the male lead’s feelings for the original owner to survive this apocalypse?
The idea vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no trace on her face. She glanced up and saw Dou Qing watching her from a short distance away. The handsome young man offered her a gentle smile, his eyes warm behind his glasses before they shifted casually to Yan Fengji.
Fang Yangyang immediately dismissed the thought.
According to the ending of the apocalyptic novel, only the third male lead, Dou Qing, ended up without a woman by his side. Both the male lead, Yan Fengji, and the second male lead, Meng Zizhao, would eventually have many women vying for their company.
If she were to rely on Yan Fengji, the return on her efforts would likely be meager.
The “Four Days of Darkness” had not yet passed. On the fifth day, survivors would begin to awaken their ability. The original novel had made it clear: she was incapable of awakening any.
This meant every step she took, every move she made, had to be calculated. Her ultimate goal was to survive in this world by ensuring any investment she made yielded a guaranteed return.
The girl, with her soft voice and beautiful face, ended the conversation curtly.
“Is there anything else?”
Yan Fengji had likely never been faced with such a blunt refusal to continue a conversation. He froze, his mouth opening to speak, but Fang Yangyang’s eyes were already bright with a sudden, brilliant smile. His heart stirred.
In the next moment, an arm reached out from behind him. Dou Qing gently and affectionately offered her a piece of bread.
“Yangyang, here, eat this.”
She broke the bread in half and handed a piece back to Dou Qing.
“Half is enough. I’m not very hungry.”
Yan Fengji’s expression darkened as he watched the two interact. He couldn’t fit into the atmosphere they’d created, nor did he know what to say. Ultimately, he could only watch in silence as Dou Qing moved to Fang Yangyang’s side, sat beside her, and began chatting softly.
Fang Yangyang beamed at Dou Qing, showing none of the cold distance she had maintained with him.
Yan Fengji turned away from them and walked to a corner of the canteen. He was about to discuss their next steps with his fellow students when Meng Zizhao asked with a smug grin, “Hey, what did you say to her?”
His own expression remained grim. He didn’t even bother to hide his sour mood when he replied to Meng Zizhao with a flat, “Nothing.”
Meng Zizhao raised an eyebrow, leaning back lazily in his chair. “She really is beautiful, isn’t she?”
Yan Fengji glanced at him, offering no comment.
“Her voice is so gentle, and she speaks so gracefully. No wonder people used to say she was the beauty of the foreign languages department—even the beauty of Xichi University.”
Xichi enrolled five thousand freshmen and three thousand graduate and doctoral students each year, bringing the total student population to around forty or fifty thousand. To be named “school beauty” among so many people was a testament to her looks.
Just a few hours earlier, her gentle voice had drawn everyone’s attention. Her words had soothed them, and seeing a girl so beautiful and delicate remain unafraid—even offering comfort to others—had given them the courage to stop despairing.
Meng Zizhao stuffed his hands into his pockets, his smile lingering as he waited for a response that never came. Instead, he followed Yan Fengji’s gaze and realized the other man was still staring at Dou Qing and Fang Yangyang.
Fang Yangyang was nibbling on a piece of bread the canteen staff had brought out from the back. It was a shelf-stable loaf with a seven-day expiration date, originally prepared by the breakfast cook for the morning rush.
Now, with the breakfast cook gone and everyone trapped in the canteen, the bread was about to expire. The staff decided to distribute it to avoid waste. There were only about thirty loaves, and some of the men stepped aside so the women could have them, while a few women declined, citing wheat allergies.
In the end, the staff let them divide the bread freely, suggesting they split each loaf in half. Among Meng Zizhao’s classmates, several pairs of students were already sharing.
Dou Qing claimed a loaf of bread for himself and Fang Yangyang, but he clearly had no intention of eating it. He tried to hand the entire loaf to his girlfriend.
Fang Yangyang, however, was stubborn. She tore the bread in half, her eyes fixed on him until he took his share. Only then did she begin to nibble on her own piece.
As she ate, the soft curve of her cheek bulged slightly, making her look like a dainty, snow-white rabbit. Her movements were slow and graceful.
Meng Zizhao found himself smiling.
He hadn’t intended to keep watching, but there was something inexplicably charming about the way she ate. He stole a few more glances before the canteen staff called him to help in the kitchen. He answered with a drawn-out “Coming!” and hurried back.
Earlier, Meng Zizhao and the staff had cleared out the canteen’s small storage room. He’d even borrowed a classmate’s pen and paper to make an inventory.
They listed everything—rice, noodles, condiments—and decided to cook the perishable meats immediately to avoid waste.
The canteen staff member slapped the table and declared, “We’re having meat tonight.”
On the first day of the apocalypse, everyone had only managed a meal and a half. The staff hadn’t cooked much, and the rice porridge they’d prepared was eaten in small, unenthusiastic bowls. People had forced the food down, their appetites crushed by despair and anxiety, silently weeping as they ate.
On the second day of the apocalypse, the heavy, suffocating tension that had gripped everyone finally broke. Fang Yangyang’s announcement—that they didn’t need to worry about water or electricity—brought an immediate wave of relief.
After all, a person could survive over twenty days without water, and electricity was the lifeblood of the infrastructure they still relied on.
Meng Zizhao stepped forward. “Auntie, I can make braised pork. Let me handle that dish.”
With his handsome face, clear voice, and easy smile, he was someone everyone liked talking to.
The canteen staff member beamed. “That’s wonderful! Come help me this evening. I’ll prepare the vegetables, and you can make the pork. We need to use all the meat today before it spoils.”
When Meng Zizhao was called to the kitchen, he checked his watch. It was just past four in the afternoon.
The faucets still worked. He rinsed the cutting board and knife under a stream of clear water before starting the pork.
Born into a wealthy family, Meng Zizhao had always been a minor celebrity on campus, much like Yan Fengji. His ability to cook came as a surprise to the other student helping in the kitchen.
“Meng Zizhao,” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “You actually know how to cook?”
Meng Zizhao glanced up at the girl, his smile never wavering. He sliced the meat with practiced skill.
“Yeah,” he said. “Gotta learn to cook if I want to find a wife one day.”
The handsome young man’s eyes crinkled as he spoke, his expression so charming that the girl blushed, unable to meet his gaze.
Humming a tune, he reached for the sugar, preparing to caramelize it for the sauce.
After more than an hour in the kitchen, the canteen worker had steamed rice for dozens of people and brewed a massive pot of seaweed and egg drop soup.
The canteen relied on daily deliveries from the market, but fortunately, September’s harvest included hardy vegetables like eggplant, green peppers, potatoes, and radishes. The worker selected a few potatoes and stir-fried a large batch of shredded potato.
She also cooked all the remaining meat—several pounds of it—to prevent it from spoiling.
On the second day of the apocalypse, seventy-nine people shared the best meal they had eaten in days.
The mood remained stable. After Fang Yangyang’s reassuring words, everyone had returned to their respective tasks, keeping busy and focused.
A few doctoral and master’s medical students, including Yan Fengji and his upperclassmen, finished tending to the wounded. They checked on the patients periodically, and only after confirming no one had a fever did they join the others in a discussion about the number and physical changes of the stray cats and dogs outside the cafeteria.
Dou Qing, a bioinformatics student from the Institute of Information Security and Big Data, was a consistent National Scholarship winner with a stellar academic record. His insights into the data on the mutated animals outside proved highly valuable.
Meanwhile, students from more hands-on majors, including Meng Zizhao and other men from the Aviation Academy, found themselves with little to do. They eventually organized the other able-bodied young people into a team, scavenging the canteen for anything that could be used as a weapon.
Those with a knack for mechanics even sharpened the metal heads of the kitchen brooms.
Everyone kept busy. When mealtime arrived, the canteen workers and several student volunteers served the crowd of dozens.
By unspoken agreement, those who had cooked got larger portions—a privilege everyone now accepted without question.
Each person received a bowl of rice, a generous scoop of shredded potatoes, and a serving of braised pork on top.
Meng Zizhao noticed Fang Yangyang in his line. When she reached him, his face broke into a sudden, bright smile.
“Yangyang, I’ll give you a few extra pieces.”
“…Huh?”
She looked up at him, dazed. His smile was so intense it felt like a hot coal pressed against her chest, and she nearly dropped her bowl. Meng Zizhao steadied the rim with his free hand, then flicked his wrist, scooping a few extra pieces of braised pork onto her rice.
“I’m giving you some of my portion.”
“Wait—”
“Next student, please!” Meng Zizhao called out, sounding every bit the professional cafeteria server.
Fang Yangyang stared blankly at her bowl, which now held noticeably more meat than everyone else’s.
Dou Qing approached from another line, carrying his own bowl and chopsticks. He paused, his gaze falling on her and the contents of her bowl.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“…Nothing. It’s just… he gave me extra.”
The beautiful girl looked distressedly at the meat atop her rice, whispering to her boyfriend, “Is this okay?”
She had no intention of eating it right away—she seemed to be planning to set it aside and come back for it later.
Dou Qing’s gaze turned cold as he looked at Meng Zizhao.
Meng Zizhao seemed to sense Dou Qing’s gaze. He met it with a casual nod and a smile, humming a cheerful tune as he served the rest of their group. Each portion was exact—no more, no less.
Meng Zizhao had sliced the pork himself, so he knew exactly how to control the sizes to avoid any disputes.
“Eat mine first,” Dou Qing said, pushing his own bowl toward Fang Yangyang.
She shook her head quickly. “You eat. I’m not hungry. Once everyone’s served, I have to return the extra pork to him.”
In a place like this, a few extra pieces of meat were a significant favor.
Fang Yangyang was utterly bewildered. She wasn’t even close with Meng Zizhao, so why would he give her extra? The original owner of her body shouldn’t have known him either.
She had seen how Yan Fengji, someone who was actually close to the original owner, looked at her. She knew the subtle cues of familiarity.
Last night at seven o’clock, when Yan Fengji and his group of a dozen had arrived at the Jiangpu Canteen, she had opened the door for them. The moment Yan Fengji saw her, his expression had changed completely, his gaze setting him apart from the rest.
Meng Zizhao looked at her, his gaze no different from that of the other strangers accompanying him.
“Be good, eat my portion first,” Dou Qing urged.
“No, just eat yours,” Fang Yangyang replied, wrinkling her nose. The tip of it turned a delicate pink, her earnest expression undeniably cute and charming. “I’ll go ask him in a moment. You just stay here and eat.”
Dou Qing started to protest, but Fang Yangyang’s feigned anger stopped him.
“How can you protect me if you aren’t full?”
She looked at him with wet, heartbreaking eyes, her soft voice dripping with feigned dependence. “You’re the only one I have left by my side.”
Dou Qing felt a pang in his chest, his resolve crumbling instantly. He muttered a low agreement and buried his head in his bowl, shoveling down the rice. But he only ate one piece of the braised pork, setting the rest aside to save for Fang Yangyang.
As he lowered his head to eat, the line of people waiting for their food finally cleared.
Fang Yangyang carried her untouched bowl and chopsticks to Meng Zizhao, who was just taking off his apron. As she came to a stop before him, her eyes fell on the bowl he had set for himself.
Snow-white rice, a generous scoop of stir-fried potato shreds—the same portion as everyone else’s.
And just a single piece of braised pork.
Fang Yangyang fell silent. Using her own untouched chopsticks, she quietly tried to return the meat to his bowl.
Meng Zizhao blocked her hand, the smile in his eyes deepening. “What’s wrong?”
“You shouldn’t have given me your meat,” she said, her tone earnest, her delicate brows furrowed as if she were struggling to contain her emotions.
“I…”
“I’m happy to let you eat it,” Meng Zizhao countered, his tone a bit roguish. He covered his bowl with his hand, preventing her from putting the meat back.
“…”
“…”
They stared at each other. The beautiful girl seemed completely flustered by his words, her cheeks flushing crimson. After a long moment, she finally managed, “You… you’re being completely unreasonable.”
Meng Zizhao’s heart suddenly thudded, as if dragged by a heavy stone. A strange sensation—like the flutter of butterfly wings—stirred deep in his gut.
He hid his reaction, continuing to smile with easy nonchalance. “Alright, I’m unreasonable. But the longer we argue, the colder your food gets.”
He gave her a little wink. “Be good. Go back to your boyfriend and eat.”
Fang Yangyang sank back to Dou Qing’s side, her expression sullen. Dou Qing noticed her mood but said nothing more than, “If he wants to give it to you, just eat it.”
She took a frustrated bite of the braised pork. As she chewed, her eyes lit up. “It’s actually pretty good,” she admitted softly, a touch of embarrassment in her voice.
Dou Qing didn’t want to praise Meng Zizhao’s cooking, even though it was delicious. “It’s just okay,” he managed.
As Fang Yangyang scooped up a mouthful of rice, Dou Qing used her chopsticks to pick up the piece of braised pork he had set aside in his own bowl and placed it next to her rice.
“I didn’t touch it,” he added. “It was right on the edge.”
Fang Yangyang went rigid, like a bunny with its ears held tight. A bead of sweat formed on her nose. She stared at him, her eyes wide with exasperation. “Weren’t you telling me to eat it?”
“I think his cooking is just average,” Dou Qing lied through his teeth. “We can’t let it go to waste. You eat it.”
“…”
“I’m not eating it.”
“Then I can’t finish it. I don’t want to, I’ve lost my appetite,” Dou Qing said with a sigh.
Fang Yangyang watched him place the braised pork on the edge of her bowl, feeling a surge of annoyance. She was practically the one eating the most meat in the entire canteen.
First Meng Zizhao gave her some, then Dou Qing.
She pressed her lips together and stared at Dou Qing for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her threat was soft and airy. “If you do this again next time, I’ll really be angry!”
The beautiful girl frowned, slowly eating the meat he had given her. By the time she finished, she was stuffed.
Dou Qing took their bowls and utensils to the sink to wash them. When he returned, she kept her back to him, refusing to speak for a long time. Only after he coaxed her for a while did she finally grant him a gesture of forgiveness. She reached out, grabbed his hand, and pressed it against her stomach.
“Rub it for me,” she commanded.
As he gently massaged her stomach, the girl’s sweet fragrance and soft touch filled him with warmth.