Chen Jianjun exhaled in relief when Ye Shu and Pang Pangzi emerged unscathed, hurrying forward with a smile. “Miss Ye… this way, please. You’ll be staying in Zone A—I’ll show you the way.”

Ye Shu nodded in acknowledgment.

While no one was looking, she discreetly took a small sample of building material from the shelter. Only after safely stashing several boxes of samples in her storage did she let it rest. If Huaxia were ever to fall to this world’s game-like calamity, perhaps these small things would one day prove useful.

Ever since Lin Qingyue had revealed that the game would never stop once begun, Ye Shu could no longer think of herself as braving challenges alone. This survival game—sooner or later, all of Blue Star would be forced to take part. It was like brewing a vat of poison, where the weak would be picked off round after round. She wasn’t sure she'd make it to the end.

Perhaps, from the very start, humanity had stepped onto a one-way street from which there was no return.

Chen Jianjun led them to a gray building, gesturing grandly. “Here’s your new home.” He dug out a brand-new walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. “Miss Ye, I need to go report back. Here’s your house key. If you need anything, just call me on the radio.”

“Alright,” Ye Shu replied with a calm nod, as if this was all perfectly ordinary.

Behind her, Pang Pangzi kept his face just as icy, like a knight sworn to silent vigil.

The moment they entered their new quarters, Pang Pangzi’s taut posture dissolved—he went limp, sprawling on the floor. Had his shirt been lifted, the cold sweat on his back would've told the whole story. Gasping, he moaned, “Heroine Ye, that scared me half to death… I honestly thought they were going to kill me in there.”

Ye Shu made no reply, letting her gaze roam the room until it settled on the plum blossoms painted across a faux porcelain vase in the corner. At the sight, the corners of her lips curled in cool amusement. Clearly, there was little trust in her abilities—there were more cameras hidden in here than even she’d expected.

After two games like these, Pang Pangzi was well accustomed to brushes with death. He followed her gaze, instantly understanding her meaning. There were eyes all over this place… They were still trapped under someone else’s scrutiny.

“Heroine Ye…”

“Pang Pangzi, tidy up first. Then we’ll eat and rest.”

Ye Shu gave no indication she noticed the hidden surveillance. Drawing out a few boxes of self-heating meals from her storage, she set them out in the living room. Seeing her so composed, Pang Pangzi dropped his nerves, tucking in greedily. The food never tasted so heavenly.

“These pickles that come with the meal… too salty, honestly. Not as good as the communal stew.”

“Want more? Soda?”

She passed him a bottle of orange soda. Pang Pangzi gulped it down in a few mighty swigs. He hadn’t had a sip of water since entering the shelter—he’d practically been dying of thirst.

On the other end of the cameras, the staff watched the two eat and sleep in plain view—the silence among them so thick it felt deafening.

Old Yu: “…”

Others: “…”

For all the world, Comrade Xiao Ye just materialized food out of thin air before their very eyes…and ate with such unruffled grace…

She looked no different from anyone else, but everyone they’d discovered in the shelter with powers like hers claimed to be from another world. Torture, interrogation—none of it had yielded answers. All they could do was watch and wait. None of the higher-ups realized it wasn’t that the ‘players’ didn’t want to talk, but that the game itself wouldn’t allow it; any attempt to speak directly about the game was blocked.

As they watched, Ye Shu casually walked right up to the wall—her face centered perfectly before the camera, skin so flawless that even the fine peach-fuzz was visible in HD. “Stop staring. If you invited us here, at least act with sincerity. What’s with all this covert peeping? Haven’t you already dug up my entire background?”

Everyone: “…” Comrade Xiao Ye’s words were like needles—sharp and unerring.

Ye Shu felt no malice from these people. If she had, she wouldn’t dare provoke the shelter, no matter how bold she was.

Chen Jianjun sent over supplies—a few limp vegetables, some bundles of noodles, bags of rice and flour. Not enough to brag about under normal circumstances, but after half a month of torrential rain, they might as well have been gold. Survivors received little more than half a bowl of thin porridge and a scrap of coarse bread a day—those living in Zone D had it worst; tent space was scarce, plastic sheets salvaged from the water barely covered the ground, and most just slept wherever they could.

Ye Shu accepted the supplies without any pretense, storing them away instantly.

……

Day Twenty-Four inside the game.

The rainfall showed no sign of stopping—water levels had surged up another two meters. High on the mountain, the shelters seemed untouched by the flood, but for those clinging to fishing boats, mid-lake, with no food or water, it was a waking nightmare.

The surface rocked endlessly, rain drumming through the night. None on the water could sleep well—if at all. Truth was, they hardly dared close their eyes.

Within a dozen kilometers around the shelter, thousands had come in search of safety. Many believed that the state would take them all in, no questions asked. But the sheer scale of Dragon Country, the crush of its population—staff and volunteers simply couldn’t keep up. The shelters were packed tighter than sardines; Zones B, C, D were so overrun you couldn’t find a place to stand. Hundreds of thousands crammed in together, and the food rations had long since dwindled from full meals to nothing but crusts.

“Let us in!”

“Why do they get the shelter, while we’re stuck on boats—forced to keep to the mountains in this damn rain? We’re Dragon Country citizens too! How can you turn us away…?”

“Aren’t shelters meant to save the people? We trekked here from a thousand miles away, and now you tell us there’s no place for us…”

At the shelter’s gate, angry cries rose from a crowd of survivors, pushing against the military cordon, desperate to break through.

Ye Shu watched, her face unreadable. Beside her, Pang Tong stood stony-faced as ever, but at the sight of children and elders amidst the crowd, a flicker of pity flashed in his eyes. That compassion was, after all, why the Scarred Man’s gang had once kept him alive as livestock.

Chen Jianjun could not read the girl before him—imagining her too soft-hearted to bear such suffering, he hurried to explain. “This happens every day… It’s not that we don’t want to help. The shelter was designed for half a million, and now we’re up another hundred thousand. If we let more in…”

“Captain Chen—this is your officials’ problem. What could I possibly say?”

Ye Shu wasn’t of this world anyway. Even if she’d cared, when push comes to shove, the smart thing was always to save yourself, to make the tough cut while you still can—as history had proven time and again.

Shelter at over-capacity meant those inside wouldn’t survive, and those left out would die regardless.

Qixia Mountain was vast, ringed with caves for miles. Yet, those outside, refusing to adapt or help themselves, still tried to guilt-trip the shelter with words. Did they really think surviving this endless rain came down to rhetoric and kindness? If only they bothered searching for caves, they’d at least have some cover from the storm.

“It’s not fair! Why does she get in, but I can’t?”

Suddenly, a shrill woman’s voice cut through the rain-lashed chaos, clear as a bell amid the storm.

Ye Shu felt a chill prickle her spine—an ominous sense foreboding settling cold and heavy in her chest.