Upon seeing that familiar face, a single thought sparked in Ye Shu’s mind: Kill Lin Qingyue! If she could kill him, no one would ever threaten her again… Threaten what? She couldn’t quite remember. All she knew was that for one of them to live, the other had to die.
“Ye Xiaoshu!”
“Hey, your old man’s right here!”
Lin Qingyue couldn’t dodge in time and took a hit from the peachwood sword, which left a wound on his body. He looked at the woman across from him—her madness growing with every passing second—his gaze weighed down by a tangle of emotions.
Seeing those eyes, wild with unnatural excitement, he decided it was better to beat a hasty retreat. This woman was crazed! All she wanted to do was kill, kill, kill! Just like last time, out on the sea—one word out of line and she’d swing her sword at him. Yet when it came to those damn Fu family players, she was all softness and compromise.
It wasn’t until Lin Qingyue’s figure vanished that the red light faded from Ye Shu’s eyes.
She realized something was deeply wrong… Her hatred for Lin Qingyue ran bone-deep, but she hadn’t held back in previous run-ins either. She’d killed him more than once, yet her hatred had begun to lessen. What had overtaken her just now—it was out of control. Obviously, she had lost her grip on her own heart.
With feigned calm, she strode out of that old Western-style mansion and returned to her room for a night’s rest.
The key to surviving this game was oxygen. Food was plentiful, and the authorities were providing oxygen tanks in time, which had kept things relatively peaceful so far.
On the sixth day, Ye Shu’s routine was simple: eat and drink, hoard oxygen with her personal generator, then collect her issued oxygen bottle. She stashed away whatever she could.
But on the seventh day of this hypoxia game, at the stroke of midnight, that suffocating sensation returned—64 seconds this time. All the oxygen in the air was sucked away. Children and the elderly survived only by donning their respirators in advance. For the adults, the few available oxygen bags had to be shared amongst many.
Those who had bragged about their ability to hold their breath were now in a panic. Sure, they could last for two minutes now, but what about when the time increased tomorrow? Or the day after that? What about the future? Would they be forced to live out the rest of their days in an airless world? No human could accept that fate.
After that endless night, everything looked unchanged, as if nothing had happened—except for the masses of dead fish floating on the river, and the streets strewn with dead insects and rats. As grim as any omen, these were proof that the oxygen loss was real.
Thankfully, the power grid still held. Ye Shu could still charge her oxygen generator.
On the eighth day, the hypoxia period doubled—128 seconds, more than two minutes now. The city was on the brink of chaos.
Ye Shu hurried through G City, gathering up gasoline wherever she could. She packed her most important oxygen generator into her space and loaded up with as many oxygen bags as would fit.
The night before, she’d seen news stories of people getting hurt in brawls over oxygen bottles. What had once seemed trivial—an easily acquired necessity—was now solid gold.
The markets crashed. Oxygen machines were their sole winners, until the government seized even those companies.
“Half a tank of oxygen,” she offered, passing some cash across the counter, only to have it refused.
“Half a tank of oxygen—in exchange for gasoline.”
At that instant, Ye Shu realized what everyone else was discovering: money was losing its value on Planet E. Oxygen was now the true currency. She fished a nearly empty oxygen bottle from the back seat and handed it over.
Two days without going out, and already the private markets and eateries were demanding payment in oxygen bags. The government kept up its daily distribution: every resident got one bottle per day. At first, most thought one bottle was too much, some even filling plastic bags as makeshift reserves—only to regret it later. They discovered, to their horror, that the homemade oxygen bags ran dry in less than two minutes.
With the supply of oxygen bottles so limited, G City saw another significant riot. Ye Shu, caught in the middle, witnessed the event firsthand.
Desperate citizens gathered, pleading with the authorities to issue extra bottles daily—for their children, for their elderly parents who couldn't venture outside. Their appeals were, of course, refused.
The standoff nearly turned violent, only suppressed with force. Otherwise, that truckload of oxygen would have been looted in an instant.
Even on her way home, clutching her precious oxygen, Ye Shu intercepted a would-be thief and dealt with them swiftly, sending them off for punishment.
Shortages didn’t touch her, though—she ate better than most. A claypot squid rice, crispy cola chicken wings, rich braised pork, sweet-and-sour ribs, and a huge cauldron of peppery soup—cooked, naturally, by Pang Pangzi, with Ye Shu providing half the ingredients.
For once, everyone sat down together to share a meal. Da Piaoliang, the big, beautiful cat, stared hungrily at the fish chunks in the soup, mewling nonstop. Ye Shu filled up a bowl for her furry friend.
Fu Jingchuan couldn’t shake the feeling he'd seen this little cat somewhere before. "Miaow… Master, why does that man keep staring at me? Is he after my body?"
The bowl nearly slipped from Ye Shu’s hand. "..."
Fu Shiyi, amused, stroked Da Piaoliang’s sleek fur. “Sis Ye, is this your spirit pet? It’s so lovely and cute.” She gazed thoughtfully at the cat’s glossy pelt. If she turned it into a fur coat… would Ye Xiaoshu like it even more?
"Her name’s Da Piaoliang!"
“Da… Piaoliang. Nice name!”
A subtle glint passed through Fu Shiyi’s luminous eyes.
Pang Pangzi eyed Fu Shiyi warily. If you knew that cat’s true form, he thought, you wouldn’t find it so adorable.
Ye Shu, oblivious to all this, kept on eating. The news droned ceaselessly from the living room TV:
“Citizens of Planet E, after much consultation among experts, we are officially declaring this as the Hypoxia Crisis. Hypoxia always begins at midnight—everyone must don their oxygen bottles in advance to avoid suffocation. This is not a crisis for our nation alone; the Cherry Blossom Country, the Kimchi Country, and even the Eagle Country across the ocean are suffering too! We are all in this together. Hundreds of millions of oxygen bottles are being distributed; trust us, we will unearth the truth and return life to normal!”
Despite the reassuring promises, Ye Shu’s heart felt heavier than ever. A hundred million bottles sounded plentiful, but divided among the population, each person barely received ten. Her worries, though, were soon overtaken by measures: the government added a new option—oxygen refills. If you had an empty tank and ID, you could refill it, though still only a limited amount each day.
The ninth day of the crisis. Four minutes—256 seconds—without air. Without an oxygen bottle, humans wouldn’t survive.
Once, neighbors had helped each other; now, competition was fierce. The queues for oxygen stretched on and on. Someone would receive their bottle, step out of the guard’s sight, and be robbed almost immediately. The numbers overwhelmed the security teams. For her own safety, Ye Shu decided to pause her daily pickup for now.
Fu Jingchuan had uncovered crucial information about the hypoxia: On the very first day of the game, the authorities had concealed news of a crashed spacecraft.