Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Test

Around twenty people set out to surround and kill the zombies, one person for each monster; such an endeavor demanded not only courage, but also cunning. The first to finish were a man and a woman, both inheritors of the apocalypse system—this was within expectations. Then two sturdy men succeeded, but soon after, screams rang out. Yang Fan, accompanied by Liu Xue and two or three other girls, approached, his face expressionless.

As they arrived, he witnessed a zombie sinking its teeth into someone’s neck, mad with hunger, blood streaming down the victim’s chest and soaking his clothes. Yang Fan saw Bai Chen had already drawn his bow; he did not intervene. With a sharp whistle, the zombie’s skull shattered, and it collapsed to the ground. The wounded man clutched his neck, crying out in agony. Yang Fan knelt before him, producing a bottle of green potion and pouring it directly onto the wound.

The man writhed on the ground, but the green liquid soothed his suffering. The MZ Infection Antidote stimulated special cells, providing a preliminary resistance to zombie infection. Each bottle cost one hundred apocalypse coins, and Yang Fan purchased enough for every injured person. The man, racked with pain and terror—dreading his own transformation into a zombie, fearing he would be killed by his companions, haunted by thoughts of loved ones left behind, and the woman he cared for yet to be rescued—could only despair.

Yet suddenly, the pain abated. Warmth flowed through his body, and he mistakenly believed he was mutating, prompting tears to stream down his face. He glanced up, scrutinizing the young man before him—the one who had compelled him to fight the zombies.

“Have I turned into a zombie?” he wondered, then, summoning his strength, said, “Could you do me a favor?”

“Speak,” the young man replied coldly.

“Please take care of my girlfriend and my family. My girlfriend’s name is Chen Ke, my family…”

He did not resent Yang Fan; he merely struggled to voice his final wishes.

“You’ll be fine. In a few seconds, you’ll recover. Stop playing dead,” the young man said indifferently, then withdrew from view. After a moment’s confusion, the wounded man felt a surge of pain and itching. Within seconds, all exhaustion and discomfort vanished. In disbelief, he slowly stood, touching his neck—there was still blood, but no wound.

“This…” Excitement lit up his face.

Yang Fan watched as some people fled as soon as they encountered zombies, unable to overcome their fear, afraid of ridicule, but only a handful truly dared to fight. In the end, apart from three, the rest had run. Screams echoed around them. Yang Fan used six bottles of the MZ Infection Antidote; beyond that, there were no further complications. Zhu Liang, wielding a bone blade, became a streak of light, cutting down the remaining zombies.

Six survivors, rescued by the MZ Infection Antidote, now stood before him—five men and one woman, all ordinary people. Two inheritors of the apocalypse system joined them. Including Liu Xue, Zhu Liang, Chen Ming, Fang Na, Bai Chen, and the bespectacled student, there were twelve in total.

“You’ve all done well. Now I’ll give you an opportunity: attack me. If anyone manages to touch my chest, you’ll receive three thousand apocalypse coins and a wish—or I’ll move one step from where I stand,” Yang Fan declared confidently.

He intended to intimidate everyone with his strength.

The twelve exchanged glances. They knew Yang Fan was formidable, but could not believe he was capable of such a feat. Immediately, the two apocalypse inheritors—a man and a woman—launched their attack, moving swiftly and precisely.

Yang Fan, seventeen times stronger than an ordinary person, possessed reaction and attack abilities that allowed him to dispatch these challengers within thirty seconds. He remained motionless, his gaze sharp, watching their movements. Their attacks and speed, to him, were sluggish as snails; time seemed to stand still.

“Ha!”

The male inheritor, proud of his speed, struck when only half a meter away, but Yang Fan punched, sending him flying ten meters—no serious injuries, only pain.

The woman seized the chance, closing in, but Yang Fan shoved her aside. The others were astonished; Yang Fan’s movements were so rapid, they failed to see him act.

Zhu Liang stood aside, lighting a cigarette, watching the spectacle with amusement. Chen Ming sidled over, asking, “Why don’t you try, big brother?”

Zhu Liang, in his forties, had regained a decade’s youth through system and drugs, though his hair remained sparse. He spat on the ground and replied, “Competing with him? That’s asking for trouble. Three thousand coins is a lot, but I don’t want the pain.”

He understood Yang Fan’s prowess, so he refrained from humiliating himself. The others still hesitated, the two who had been struck got up and charged again, refusing to give up.

The rest steeled themselves and rushed forward, but none could withstand Yang Fan.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In half a minute, not only did no one touch Yang Fan’s clothes, they were soundly trounced.

Then, with a sharp whistle, a silver streak shot forth at astonishing speed. Zhu Liang’s face instantly hardened, about to speak, but fell silent as the silver light halted abruptly before Yang Fan—caught in his grasp. It was a beam, quickly dissipating, but its force was as great as a steel arrow.

Yang Fan gazed coldly at the archer—Bai Chen.

“Amazing,” Fang Na remarked in awe. She had prompted Bai Chen to test whether Yang Fan could catch an arrow as fast as a bullet.

She hadn’t expected him to succeed. Now, faced with Yang Fan’s icy stare, Fang Na hastily stepped forward. “I just wanted to try—please don’t misunderstand.”

Yang Fan sensed no murderous intent; after a brief pause, he swept his gaze across the group. “Now… I trust there are no further objections?”

“No objections,” they all replied.

Who would dare? None could even approach him. He was no mere mortal—he was a god.

Snowflakes drifted down. Yang Fan ordered them to stand once more. Among them, some would inherit the apocalypse system; even those who did not could use drugs to enhance their power.

They simply lacked a system, but could still level up, still purchase goods from apocalypse merchants, though at a higher price—whereas those with systems paid a hundred coins, they would pay one hundred twenty or one hundred fifty.

The world was fair; they enjoyed many advantages, such as not having to accept mandatory missions, acting entirely at their own discretion.

Thus, in the apocalypse, everyone possessed the hope and opportunity to survive. What mattered was not anything else, but whether you had courage.