Chapter 118: Eerie (Seeking Subscriptions)

When Yang Fan first met Li Qiang, Li had claimed that there were originally ten vehicles, but two had been stolen along the way. Yang Fan had noticed this discrepancy from the start, and after cross-examining Li, he realized Li was lying. The buses hadn't been stolen days ago; they had been taken only about five hours before Li encountered Yang Fan.

Stealing two massive buses right under Li Qiang’s nose was no small feat; it was clearly the work of someone extraordinary. Ordinarily, Yang Fan would not have cared, but before his last "save-file" reset, he had encountered three groups of people who were deeply unsettling. The first group consisted of three individuals wearing golden masks. They radiated an indescribable, terrifying aura. Yang Fan could never forget the gruesome and bizarre way those seven or eight people had died at their hands.

If those three hadn't been careless—allowing Chen Hu’s group to use some form of necromancy to awaken the mutated beasts covering the ground—that black stone would likely have been stolen by them. The consequences would have been catastrophic. Yang Fan felt incredibly fortunate to possess the ability to reset his timeline; otherwise, the future would have been unimaginably cruel, and humanity would have faced total devastation.

The wind and snow howled as Yang Fan and Fu Gaobin trekked forward, covering nearly seven or eight hundred meters. Yang Fan calculated the time to be around 3:30 AM. He recalled that in his previous life, he had met Li Qiang between 8:00 and 9:00 AM. Having spent time in Li’s convoy, he knew their speed was roughly thirty meters per minute—a crawl caused by the harsh weather and the need for the ten military buses to move in careful, synchronized formation. If they hit something or got surrounded by mutated beasts, it would be the end. Based on this, Yang Fan deduced that Li Qiang’s convoy was currently 1,700 to 1,800 meters away, with a margin of error of less than a hundred meters.

Looking north, Yang Fan began to map out his next moves, calculating what he should do if he encountered Li Qiang or discovered the perpetrators. Realizing his daydreams offered little practical value, he signaled to the grumbling Fu Gaobin to continue northward. Along the way, Fu sang lewd, nonsensical songs he had improvised, showing a complete lack of shame. He was a spineless, sniveling character, complaining incessantly—the quintessential survivor of this post-apocalyptic world.

The snow was nearly three feet deep; every step buried half their legs. While Yang Fan maintained a steady pace, Fu Gaobin was dragging his feet. Yang Fan briefly regretted bringing him along, though Fu remained oblivious, boasting, "Look at how fast I move in this snow! If it weren't for the apocalypse, I’d be in the Olympics, beating the Americans and the Japanese to win gold!"

Yang Fan shot him a look of disdain. If this weren't the end of the world, perhaps Fu would have had such potential, but Yang Fan didn't bother arguing. It took them nearly half an hour to cover the distance. Yang Fan kept his ears tuned to the wind, listening for any sign of explosions, ready to rush over if necessary. So far, everything was proceeding according to history. He was a butterfly that had yet to stir up a storm, though he believed his own strength would eventually create a gale powerful enough to overturn the wheel of history. History would be rewritten by his own hand, a thought that filled him with a surge of ambition.

After forty minutes of trekking from Wang Cheng’s location, Yang Fan finally spotted Li Qiang’s convoy. He lay flat on a low ridge, and when Fu Gaobin caught up, he followed suit, crawling forward ten meters until he was beside Yang Fan. One look, and the military buses came into view.

"Holy—Yang Fan, look at that!" Fu whispered, his excitement palpable. He didn't recognize the military insignia, but the sheer size of the convoy—each vehicle capable of holding hundreds—suggested a massive organization. He immediately thought of what Wu Liang had said: Was this the military? A rescue team? He felt a wave of relief, thinking he had finally found his people.

Yang Fan gripped his shoulder, his expression calm but firm. "Be careful," he hissed. "Don't say a word. We don't need unnecessary trouble. Let’s observe for now."

Fu Gaobin immediately sobered up, realizing that had he shouted, they might have been interrogated or, worse, shot on sight. In this apocalyptic world, everyone was on edge. Fu’s previous carefree attitude vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp fear for his own life.

Yang Fan didn't concern himself with Fu’s internal state. He watched the convoy pass. Once the last vehicle cleared, he muttered to himself, "The timing is perfect, the numbers are right. Ten vehicles. Li Qiang wasn't lying, and my guess was correct."

As he watched the final bus disappear, he lowered his profile, noticing a few scouts scanning the perimeter. Discovery would not only cause trouble but might alert the mysterious thieves. He turned to Fu. "Stay close, follow my lead, and no games. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Fu replied, nodding firmly.

They crawled forward, moving in short bursts of three or four meters before pausing. After ten minutes, Yang Fan signaled for silence. The ten buses were still there, nothing out of the ordinary.

"It’s nearly 5:00 AM. In three and a half hours, the buses will reach me," Yang Fan thought, piecing the timeline together. "If they said the theft happened five hours ago, maybe that was just hearsay. They probably stopped to search for an hour before continuing, which is why they hit me later."

Just as he was finalizing his theory, he noticed something eerie. A faint, dark glow began to emerge from behind the last bus. It was bizarre, and a chill raced down Yang Fan’s spine. Ghosts? He quickly dismissed the idea; the apocalypse was filled with strange phenomena. Perhaps it was a dark mage?