Chapter Sixty-Three: Shadows Within the Heart (Part Two)

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Fu Gaobin sprawled contentedly on the soft sofa, stretching lazily. The others settled onto the couches as well, savoring a rare moment of peace. But just then, everyone’s stomachs rumbled in unison. The three women blushed and glanced around; Wu Liang, slightly embarrassed, rose to check the kitchen, only to return quickly with a disappointed face. “There’s nothing to eat.”

Though dismayed, the group had expected as much. It had been ten days since the apocalypse began; who knew how many people and zombies had passed through this place? There was no way any food would remain. Without further ado, Yang Fan pulled out the corpse of the Rampaging Demon Rat. Its dark hide gleamed, and its massive body—about the size of a small sedan—appeared before them.

The three women cried out in terror, and Wu Liang shrank back, their hearts pounding with fear, much less composed than Fu Gaobin. If Yang Fan hadn’t shown them once before, even he would have been frightened.

“You’re not telling me we’re going to eat this rat now, are you?” Fu Gaobin guessed Yang Fan’s intentions, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Don’t underestimate this demon rat’s meat—it's more tender than chicken, and it’s good for your health. Fu Gaobin, go check if the gas stove in this house still works. We’ll have a barbecue,” Yang Fan replied without hesitation, drawing his Thunderblade. This sudden display of conjuring a weapon out of thin air left Wu Liang and the others astonished. Fu Gaobin, seeing the weapon, couldn’t help but say enviously, “So you’ve got gear too. Why didn’t you bring it out earlier?”

He wasn’t surprised Yang Fan had a weapon, just puzzled. “If I’d brought it out, wouldn’t you have made me do all the work? I don’t want to kill zombies and get myself drenched in blood. It’s unpleasant,” Yang Fan replied with disdain, earning a crude retort from Fu Gaobin.

With that, Fu Gaobin stomped into the kitchen. Yang Fan dragged the Rampaging Demon Rat’s corpse closer and told Wu Liang—still standing dumbly—to find some large containers for water, or buckets. Wu Liang snapped out of his daze and hastily fetched four or five plastic buckets, handing them over while keeping his distance from the monstrous rat.

Wu Liang stood aside, lost in his own thoughts. Yang Fan used the Thunderblade to slit the rat’s throat, and a torrent of blood gushed out. He quickly caught it with the buckets, which filled rapidly, one after another. In total, five buckets were needed before the bleeding stopped; to collect more, he’d have to cut elsewhere.

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This rat’s blood could be refined into life elixirs that restored stamina and healed injuries. With five buckets, Yang Fan could probably make five vials, given the fifty percent failure rate. He immediately stored the rat blood in the Lady’s Portrait, letting Liu Qiaoqiao, his portable merchant, refine it.

Soon, five vials of life elixir appeared in his hand—small bottles filled with deep red liquid, capable of healing minor wounds. After stowing these in his backpack, Yang Fan continued collecting rat blood. In his inventory space, nothing would spoil or rot, so the blood was well preserved. After about an hour, a single Rampaging Demon Rat yielded twenty vials of life elixir. According to the apocalyptic marketplace, each vial was worth ten Apocalypse Coins. Thus, one rat brought in a base profit of 100 coins, plus 200 more for the elixirs, and with the meat and other parts, a perfect harvest could reach 500 coins in value.

Following this, Yang Fan took out Fu Gaobin’s rat and began drawing its blood as well. As for the elite-class rat, he decided not to bring it out here, lest he frighten everyone, and there wasn’t enough space anyway. From the two demon rats, he produced thirty-eight vials of life elixir, giving Fu Gaobin thirty and keeping eight for himself.

Of course, Yang Fan didn’t tell the whole truth. If Fu Gaobin knew Yang Fan had only kept eight vials, he would never have accepted so many.

With the blood dealt with, Yang Fan began skinning and gutting the rats, a process he performed with practiced skill. He removed the stomach and internal organs, then tossed them all to Liu Qiaoqiao to sell at the marketplace—even if they were worth only a few dozen coins, every bit counted.

Others might have been willing to eat such things, but given the chance, Yang Fan wouldn’t. After a simple cleaning, a massive slab of rat meat lay before him. All the bones were sold off to the system. Each chunk of tender meat weighed over four hundred pounds—eight hundred total from two rats. Yang Fan began slicing and dividing the meat, then found a packet of salt in the kitchen to begin curing some into jerky. More than an hour passed before he finally finished, exhaling deeply with relief.

He had Fu Gaobin store four hundred pounds of meat, kept three hundred for himself, and left ten pounds for immediate use. After washing his hands, he set about preparing the meal.

Fortunately, the house used gas rather than electric stoves. Yang Fan tossed the rat meat into the pot, added oil and seasonings, and began frying. He also started a meat broth in a pressure cooker. The kitchen was well soundproofed, a thoughtful detail from the former owners that would help avoid unnecessary trouble.

While the others grew hungrier by the minute, Yang Fan cooked the meat. The delicious aroma drifted through the air, making everyone’s mouths water. He simply sliced the meat, stir-fried it, and added some salt, MSG, and chili.

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About ten minutes later, the stir-fried meat was ready—three pounds of meat heaped onto a large platter, exuding an enticing scent. Wu Liang was the first to rush over, snatching the platter from Yang Fan and grabbing at the meat, ignoring the heat. He gorged himself without restraint, shoveling the food into his mouth, juices dripping everywhere.

The rat meat was incredibly tender, not tough at all—delicious in its own right, but to the starving, it was a feast beyond compare, a taste that would never be forgotten. Wu Liang chewed and devoured without pause, finishing off the three pounds of meat in no time, without leaving a scrap for anyone else.

Stuffed, he waddled to the doorway, patted his stomach, and shouted, “Make some more! And hurry up with that soup. I’m almost full.” He swaggered back to the sofa, setting the platter on the floor with an air of entitlement.

The three women glared at him with undisguised loathing, their eyes filled with resentment. Wu Liang’s behavior was utterly despicable—he’d eaten all the food without leaving anyone else a bite.

Even Fu Gaobin felt a surge of anger. Watching Wu Liang strut back to the sofa, acting like he was in charge, was infuriating.

“Forget it,” Fu Gaobin finally sighed, lowering his voice. “We might need him later, after all. There’s plenty of meat, let’s just fry some more.”

“Mm,” the others agreed.

Yang Fan took a deep breath. He’d felt a momentary urge to kill the man just now, but restrained himself. If Wu Liang really could get the military to rescue them, he was worth keeping alive. Otherwise, who would care?

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