When the nausea finally passed, Ji Li wiped his mouth and glared at the Virtual Screen with reddened eyes, having completely forgotten the zombies wandering outside the car.
Copy? The copy he was thinking of?
If it was real, how was that any different from cheating?!
How did it copy? What were the limits? How did it level up? Where was the skill description?!
As if hearing his thoughts, the Virtual Screen updated again.
【For completing the Novice Quest, Player Ji Li has unlocked the Player System. Call a function’s name to open its interface】
【Congratulations, Player, on activating the Safe House function. Open the interface to view Safe House attributes】
【Congratulations, Player, on activating the Backpack function. The Backpack only holds items issued by the System】
【Congratulations, Player, on activating the Skills function. Confirm skill details on this interface】
【Congratulations, Player, on activating the Quests function. Main Quest issued: Survive thirty days in the Zombie Apocalypse】
【Quest Reward: Safe House Upgrade Module, System Points, Basic Medical Card】
After reading every pop-up, Ji Li silently recited the word “Skills” in his head without a second’s hesitation.
Several seconds passed. Nothing happened. Even the Virtual Screen had vanished, leaving nothing before his eyes but the half-worn car mat.
Where was the Skills interface? Weren’t you supposed to be able to open it?
Ji Li glared at the floor mat. After a moment, he cautiously lifted his head and looked outside.
Unexpectedly, there was nothing but cars in sight—not a single wandering zombie to be seen.
If not for the disgusting smear still on the windshield, the sweat not yet dried on his forehead, and the dull ache still in his lungs, Ji Li would have suspected the whole zombie chase had been a dream.
Even if zombies wandered after losing a target, there was no way they’d wandered hundreds of miles in a few minutes!
Ji Li looked front, back, left, and right—not one zombie anywhere. He was utterly dumbfounded.
The things chasing me earlier really were zombies, right? Not some Flying Jiangshi?
While he was still reeling, hunger suddenly gnawed at his stomach, and he realized something.
He hadn’t eaten lunch.
Before being kidnapped by the game, he’d been busy running deliveries—not a grain of food since breakfast, just one bottle of water. By now he was running on fumes, thirsty and starving.
Swallowing air to moisten his throat, Ji Li forced his vocal cords to work, rasping in a hoarse whisper: “Skills.”
As the words fell, a pale-blue Virtual Screen unfolded before him.
【Copy LV1 – Preparedness Averts Peril】
【This skill can duplicate items. Requires both hands touching the target item; speak the skill name to activate. Limited to 2 uses per day; uses reset at midnight】
【Uses remaining today: 2】
That’s it?
Where was the skill tree? How did it level up? What a half-assed description!
Refusing to accept it, Ji Li tried keywords like “Upgrade” and “Copy LV2” in his rasping voice. The System gave no response whatsoever.
Out of options, Ji Li shelved the skill-leveling question and opened his Backpack instead.
The same pale-blue translucent interface appeared, displaying images of the steamed bun and bottled water. Tap an item or speak its name, and it would appear in front of him the next second.
Holding the bottled water he’d just taken out, Ji Li tried to put it back—and found he couldn’t.
Ji Li: “…”
“What kind of broke-ass, stingy-ass game is this?!”
Which novel didn’t hand you a storage dimension right at the start? At the very least, the System should have come with one built in!
He wasn’t even asking for freshness preservation—just let players actually use the System Backpack!
Furious enough to twist the cap off and douse his anger, Ji Li barely caught himself in time.
What good would raging do? He was already here. One look at these supplies—barely enough to fill a gap in your teeth—and everything was clear.
This so-called Apocalypse Survival Game was designed to force people out of their Safe Houses, to make them fight and struggle. Otherwise the word “survival” would be a lie.
With scarce supplies and limited skill uses, he had to budget every last resource.
Licking his cracked, peeling lips, Ji Li set the bottled water on the center console and began searching the car.
From the glove box he fished out a charging cable, a folding umbrella, and a pack of face masks.
From the armrest box and the driver’s door pocket, he found a high-capacity power bank, sunglasses, sunscreen, hand cream, and a Window Breaker.
Laying everything on the center console, Ji Li turned toward the back seats—and froze.
A gift box sat on the back seat.
The box was about forty centimeters square, a pretty sky blue, tied with a pale-pink satin ribbon, a greeting card tucked beneath the bow.
Ji Li leaned over, picked up the box, set it on his lap, and drew out the card.
The card showed a little bear wearing a birthday crown, with “Happy Birthday” printed below. Inside, written in marker—
Happy 8th Birthday, Baby Jiang Jiang!
May you always be happy, always joyful, healthy and safe your whole life!
Love you most of all, Mommy
Opening the box, he found a familiar-looking robot nestled in pale-pink raffia.
A big square head wearing headphones, two stubby little legs beneath it—very similar to the desktop companion robots Ji Li had seen online, even the same ink-blue color, just with different details.
Ji Li picked up the robot, about to check whether it was broken, when a burst of music sounded.
On the big display screen, the thing had actually booted up. Two little hands extended from beneath its bean eyes, holding up an electronic cake.
Amid the music, three candles appeared on the cake. The bean eyes looked at the cake, then at Ji Li, and tiny sparkles appeared around them.
It was… asking him to blow out the candles?
Ji Li was a bit surprised.
He’d watched videos of these robots. Their main function was companionship and interaction; they understood simple commands and displayed random idle animations on standby. He’d never heard of preset programs.
But maybe he simply didn’t know much about it—neither he nor anyone around him owned one.
Please. Four thousand yuan. What kind of family buys their kid a toy that expensive?
Ji Li hesitated a moment, then blew at the robot’s big head.
The candles went out. The little robot clapped happily, then pulled out a knife to cut the cake.
Suddenly, a low-battery symbol appeared above the bean eyes. The cake and knife vanished, the little robot let out a warped, distorted sound effect, its bean eyes turned into Mosquito Coils, its stubby legs twitched once, and it toppled sideways into Ji Li’s hand.
Vividly communicating: charge me now or I die.
Ji Li’s lips curved despite himself. He found the matching wireless Charging Dock in the gift box, charged the dock with the power bank, and set the robot on the center console.
Soon a charging indicator appeared in the bean eyes, and the little guy even wiggled its legs, emitting a contented sound.
Logically, in an environment this dangerous, he shouldn’t keep something that could expose him. Yet for some reason, hearing the little robot’s sounds, Ji Li felt only a deep calm.
A sense of order—as if nothing had yet collapsed.
Leaving the robot charging on the console, Ji Li looked down at the gift box.
He roughly understood why the car had been unlocked.
The robot was a birthday gift but had no retail packaging—presumably the mother had bought it, unboxed and tested it herself, wrapped it, and then placed the gift box on the back seat specially.
That way, the child would see the present the moment they got in the car, and picking up the robot would deliver the birthday wishes.
The gift plan had clearly excited the owner so much that she’d set down the box and walked off, completely forgetting to lock the doors.
Then disaster struck. The giver and the receiver were both gone—and instead, it had saved his life.
Tucking the card and ribbon back into the box and setting it on the passenger seat, Ji Li continued checking the back.
Aside from a tissue box hanging on the passenger seatback and a throw pillow on the rear bench, the back seat held nothing else—unusually clean and tidy.
Ji Li considered a moment, folded down the driver’s seatback, and climbed into the back to examine the rear seats.
After a look, he pressed a button on the seatback and pushed it down. The right seatback folded flat, forming a platform level with the armrest box and exposing the trunk space.
A look of just as I thought crossed Ji Li’s face.
His parents’ old car had been the same—the rear seatbacks folded completely flat, connecting with the trunk, expanding cargo space, and with a mat laid down, doubling as a bed.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was what was in the trunk.
Eyes gleaming, Ji Li dragged out half a case of 600ml mineral water, a storage bin, a case of tissues, and an insulated cooler.
The storage bin held blankets, a folding thin mat, and a small pillow—clearly prepared for a child resting in the back seat.
Having found water, Ji Li turned, picked up the System’s pitiful 300ml reward, viciously twisted off the cap, and drained it in one go.
His throat temporarily soothed, Ji Li looked around with the empty bottle, then dropped it into the cooler.
The cooler was empty, but it kept things hot or cold—with ice, it worked as a refrigerator.
Sorting the scavenged supplies into categories, then folding down the other seatback, laying out the thin mat and blanket—that would be his bed from now on.
In a space this small, the legs of a 180cm-tall Ji Li would never stretch out straight. But he could lie down and rest—what more could you ask for?
Done, Ji Li pressed his aching, hungry stomach, climbed back into the driver’s seat, picked up the Window Breaker, and looked at the surrounding cars.
These were all blind boxes!
But before opening them, one thing needed confirming.
Ji Li cleared his throat and quietly spoke the words “Safe House.” As the interface unfolded, he frowned slightly.
The interface was as minimalist as ever. Across the top of the Virtual Screen, large characters read: “Ji Li’s Safe House.”
Below, on the left, was a floor plan of the sedan’s interior—the engine, center console, two rows of seats, and trunk all clearly visible.
Beside the diagram, the details:
【Area: 3.5 square meters】
【Trait: Mobile】
【Defense Value: 70/70】
At the last line, Ji Li frowned and tentatively read out “Defense Value.”
A new Virtual Screen popped up with the explanation.
【A value assessed from each Safe House’s actual strength. When Defense Value reaches zero, the Safe House disappears and cannot be regained】
Cannot be regained… why did it feel like this game couldn’t stand to see players do well?
Ji Li was helpless and disappointed.
He’d assumed that with the quest complete, maybe he could trade up for a better Safe House. Instead, not only could he not switch, there was this “cannot be regained” rule, binding him to this car for good.
His only hope now was the Main Quest’s reward.
Sighing, Ji Li fished his helmet out from under the seat, put it on, took the Window Breaker, opened the door, and stepped out.
Blind box time!
