Chapter Twenty: Yang Zhiying’s Request

At this moment, Yang Zhiying was starting to regret her choices. Since childhood, she’d known her family was utterly absurd; yet, now that the apocalypse had arrived, nothing seemed to have changed. In fact, things were even more outrageous than before.

And yet, the bonds of blood were hard to sever.

“Sis, don’t take Grandma’s words to heart. All the food we have is with me. If you’re really hungry, just let me know,”

A cocky young man, not even one meter seventy tall, spoke with smug satisfaction as he pulled a piece of bread from his backpack and offered it to her. Behind him trailed a servant, who eyed the bread with barely concealed longing, swallowing hard.

“No need. You keep it. We should be reaching the grain storage base soon,” Yang Zhiying politely declined his kindness.

Seeing her refuse, the young man took a big bite for himself and stuffed the remainder back into his bag.

The crimson mist continued to spread, and their group was drawing ever closer to Mu Chen and the others.

...

Four servings of steak, seared and tender, lay on the workbench, their aroma stirring the appetite. Once everyone had received their share, Mu Chen took a piece for himself, holding it between his teeth as he chewed thoughtfully. Delicious food always had a way of soothing both body and spirit.

He pondered, quietly, the shifting tone of the notes and prompts.

Since his sanity had risen to one point and his personality had become integrated, he’d sensed an undeniable change within himself.

His intuition told him these notes were more than they appeared.

The previous prompts had at least seemed normal, but how to describe the ones now? Yes, it was as if the style had shifted entirely—what once was proper now bordered on irreverent, and there was no going back.

“Could the notes’ tone reflect my hidden personality traits? Am I really this shameless beneath the surface?”

Thinking of those mischievous comments, Mu Chen’s heart recoiled in denial—I’m not, I haven’t, don’t talk nonsense.

He was halfway through the delicious steak when another message appeared.

[Oh, my old friend, look at this damned good deed gone awry. Time to pay for what you’ve done before. This whole family—kids and all—are about to reach you. Their attitude will have you itching to boot someone’s backside; I swear, if it were me, I’d do just that.]

Mu Chen: “...”

The churning red mist couldn’t block his vision. He turned his gaze toward the toll station, his black eyes unusually deep and still.

Yang Zhiying’s family was now less than a hundred meters away.

“Jiu’er, get ready. Someone’s coming—Yang Zhiying is with them.”

Mu Jiuer rolled her eyes but kept gnawing on her steak. With her mouth full, her words were muffled and indistinct.

“If they want trouble, let them come. What’s it got to do with me?”

Had the notes and his sister coordinated this response?

...

“My name is Yang Zhijie. You can call me Brother Jie.”

“All right, shorty.”

“...”

Yang Zhijie’s face turned dark as he glanced at Yang Zhiying and the old woman behind him.

“I’d like to invite you to join us. From now on, if our family has a single mouthful of food, you’ll have a share too.”

He looked proudly at his large family; numbers in themselves were an advantage. So what if there were elders and children? They were all arms and legs, weren’t they?

Mu Chen calmly set his chicken wing aside, prompting Yang Zhijie to swallow nervously.

In that endless terror, just when I thought I was certain to die and had already given up struggling, she appeared once more. Straining to recall: it was just like when I was young—she saved me at the brink of death, entered the depths of my nightmares, and pulled me from despair.

PS: To be revised after posting.