Apocalypse 04

"Are you going home for the New Year this year?"

"Are you happy?"

"How do you feel?"

Watching the host randomly stop pedestrians on the street to ask these questions, the employees seated below were baffled. Had they been gathered here just to watch a live TV broadcast?

But soon, the abrupt turn of events on screen left them stunned.

A commotion broke out not far from the host.

"Looks like a fight over there. Let’s check it out," the host said, quickly striding forward. What they saw was a blood-covered person gnawing on another, while a circle of onlookers stood frozen, too afraid to intervene.

"Something’s not right," the cameraman muttered.

Just then, the person being bitten suddenly convulsed. Within seconds, they rose again—but in a grotesque, unnatural posture.

The camera jerked backward as the host chased after it. "What? What’s happening?"

A trembling hand reached into the frame, pointing elsewhere. Several figures with twisted, savage expressions were lunging at passersby. Those knocked down soon stood back up—joining the attackers.

"What is this—?" The host barely had time to process the situation before a figure missing half its face charged toward them. The camera was flung aside, the host’s scream cut short as the live feed went dead.

"Movie scene?" someone asked.

"No way. That woman’s a real host—she does interviews every day."

"So… it’s real?"

The room erupted into chaos. Fang Zhiyi stepped forward again. "An unknown virus has broken out. Those infected turn into what you just saw. Now do you understand?"

Some pulled out their phones to search. Soon, shouts rang out:

"Damn it—it’s happening overseas too!"

"My hometown’s reporting cases!"

"The military’s mobilizing!"

Fang's Father moved beside Fang Zhiyi, patting his shoulder before clearing his throat. "Everyone, my son has returned from the future!"

Fang Zhiyi craned his neck, shooting his cheap old man a bewildered look. Seriously? Just blurt it out like that?

Turns out, Fang Zhiyi underestimated his father. The man’s impassioned speech gradually steadied the panicked crowd. In his telling, Fang Zhiyi became a time-traveling savior destined to rescue them all.

"Enough, enough," Fang Zhiyi interjected, desperate to rein him in.

Fang's Father, undeterred, boomed: "The world wasn’t meant to be this way. But today, we can change it!"

Fang Zhiyi snatched the microphone.

"Ahem. I’ve redirected your wages to stockpile food, supplies, and medicine. Beyond that, we’ll provide daily necessities—but they’ll require points to redeem."

He rushed to refocus the crowd before his father crowned him Emperor of Earth.

While rules were explained, Lin Nuan’s situation took a turn.

Her constant companionship with Zhou Yue had long irked her boyfriend, Yang Tian. After tailing them, he uncovered Lin Nuan’s stockpiling secret. She figured his family was well-off too, so she warned him of impending disaster. Yang Tian dismissed it—until she revealed she and Zhou Yue had mortgaged their homes.

Not to be outdone by a "simp," Yang Tian emptied his savings (a mere few grand) into supplies. Needing manpower, Lin Nuan sweet-talked both boys into fortifying her remote courtyard.

Then, disaster struck. Lin Nuan, glued to her phone, leaped up excitedly to show the bickering pair. Yang Tian panicked, bolting to find his parents. Lin Nuan didn’t stop him—she just locked the gate behind him.

This time, without Fang Zhiyi’s funds or a safe haven, Lin Nuan and Zhou Yue hunkered down in their shabby hideout. When Zhou Yue called to guide his parents there, Lin Nuan scoffed. Parents would just slow them down. Silently, she wished hers would drop dead.

Chaos gripped the city overnight. By dawn, an eerie silence fell, broken only by sporadic, manic laughter—the sound of infected. The virus spread too fast; doubters became casualties before realizing the truth.

Perched on Beishan Manor’s wall, Old Li shielded his eyes against the smoke-choked city. "What a sin," he murmured.

A guard shouted, "Director Li! Your wife collected rations—she’s looking for you!"

Old Li chuckled at the title. "Still calling me that?"

The young guard stood firm. "As long as the company exists, you’re Director Li. Rules matter. Without them, chaos reigns."

Old Li paused, then nodded. "Right… The company stands. President Fang and Young Master Fang are still here."

Manor life settled into a rhythm. Confined but content, folks ate well under order. At Young Master Fang’s direction, former office workers traded suits for plows, tilling the hillside. When guards led out livestock, laughter erupted. Having a time-traveling boss was like cheating the apocalypse!

"President Fang—trouble!" A breathless report came. "Two vehicles at the gate!"

Fang's Father looked to his son. Fang Zhiyi sprinted downhill.

Before reaching the entrance, vile curses pierced the air. Fang Zhiyi climbed the wall where a dozen tense guards stood.

"Young Master Fang, they’re no survivors," the captain warned.

Fang Zhiyi eyed the bloodied mob below. "Time for target practice."

The guards hesitated.

"With bows," he clarified.

As they wavered, Fang Zhiyi snatched a crossbow, nocked, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion. A twang—and an infected dropped, an arrow through its skull.

Tossing the bow back, Fang Zhiyi sighed. Nostalgic. In wartime, he’d favored these. Safety first.

The guards gaped.

"What’re you waiting for? Fire!" the captain barked.

"About damn time!"

"That one cursing parents—mine!"

Volleys later, silence returned. Fang Zhiyi frowned. Their aim was atrocious. Such wasted arrows.

By next dawn, archery training commenced. Fang Zhiyi led drills while combat-savvy guards taught hand-to-hand.