Chapter 28: Little Chicken — Your Next Apocalypse World.

“How…? What do we do now? We only locked the lower floors!” Skinny Monkey looked around in a panic—only to find every face grim.

In truth, even if the Black Tide came in through the windows, it wouldn’t matter: the hotel room doors all opened inward.

Even if the Black Tide’s strength grew and it forced through the room doors into the fire stairwells and climbed, it would still be fine—every floor’s fire door was an iron door opening outward. The Black Tide could jam itself against them all day and never get through.

But now, the Black Tide was climbing.

Like a human pyramid, the Black Tide had already swallowed the fifth floor and was creeping toward the sixth. If nothing stopped it, no one knew whether it would eventually climb all the way to the thirtieth.

At that point, everyone’s ending would be the same.

At the thought of that possible outcome, Ji Li’s expression sharpened. He raised the Window Breaker against the floor-to-ceiling glass.

“Get back!”

“What are you doing?!” Skinny Monkey’s eyes bulged, and Yang Haoran, who hadn’t dared approach anyway, retreated several steps to the sofa.

“We have to try to save ourselves!” Ji Li swept his gaze across them all. “The Black Tide just showed an unexplained change. We have to strike first and probe its limits—that’s the only way we survive!”

“But how is that any different from opening the door for it?!” Yu Shen shouted.

“Better than sitting on our hands and leaving it to fate!”

After a brief silence, Gao Lan stepped to Ji Li’s side. “Little Ji’s right. We can’t wait for death. Don’t you have a Climbing Rope?”

Ji Li produced the Climbing Rope from his bracelet and handed it over. Gao Lan took it, undid the end, and began strapping it around Ji Li’s waist.

Zhang Luyao bit her lip and stepped up to help. Lu Zihan grabbed Shen Shuyan’s wheelchair and pulled back. Chen Jianxin came forward, took the other end of the rope, and wound it around his own waist.

Once the ropes were secured and everyone else had cleared away from the window, Ji Li slammed the Window Breaker hard into the glass.

The report cracked out. The sealed pane spiderwebbed, then Ji Li punched it through himself, and the whole sheet fell away. The fierce high-altitude wind instantly flooded the room—anyone lighter would have staggered.

When the wind settled, Ji Li walked to Zhang Luyao’s side and produced three things from his bracelet: another Climbing Rope, a gasoline bottle, and a windproof lighter.

Zhang Luyao understood at once, efficiently strapping on the rope as she teased, “Do you just collect everything nobody else wants?”

Ji Li’s lips twitched. “Pick targets as far away as you can. I’ll give you the explosives after.”

Zhang Luyao nodded. Once the others had a grip on the ropes, she took a gasoline bottle and the lighter to the window and glanced down.

In just a few minutes, the Black Tide had climbed to the ninth floor.

Zhang Luyao drew a deep breath, looked to the cluster of buildings at the edge of her vision, and picked out one whose roof she could see. Then she lit the cloth wick on the gasoline bottle and activated her skill. Throw.

The bottle arced through the air—and where it should have dropped at the top of its curve, its trajectory inexplicably straightened, flying toward that impossible target.

A dozen seconds later, a small patch of flame bloomed on the target’s roof. Ji Li handed over several more gasoline bottles. Zhang Luyao found it odd, but threw them all.

Ji Li glanced down at the Black Tide—still climbing. His eyes darkened, and he switched to Explosive Charges.

A muffled boom. The fiercely burning roof belched black smoke. Ji Li gestured for silence behind him and stared hard at the Black Tide below.

After a wait, he handed Zhang Luyao another charge.

Zhang Luyao watched the Black Tide below, which had stopped rising, not understanding what Ji Li was waiting for—but threw it anyway.

Another muffled boom. Two minutes later, her eyes lit up. “The Black Tide’s dropping!”

Before anyone could cheer, a roar tore out of Ji Li. “Don’t move! Nobody moves until I say!”

Skinny Monkey had just raised both hands and froze mid-gesture, unsure whether to hold them up or put them down.

Zhang Luyao was also cowed by the shout, and only after a while asked in a small voice, “Is something wrong?”

Ji Li shook his head, watching the Black Tide sink to the sixth floor, and said in a normal voice, “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why—”

“Experiments require controlling variables,” came Shen Shuyan’s voice. “Right, Little Ji?”

Ji Li nodded. “Based on everything we’ve observed, the Black Tide responds mainly to sound and vibration—but both have perception limits. We’re on the thirtieth floor, which should be beyond their threshold, yet against all precedent they’re climbing. That tells us two things.”

He turned to the group. “Either their perception method has changed, or their threshold has risen. From what we’re seeing, it’s the vibration threshold that’s risen; sound is unchanged. They’ve retreated to the second floor.”

Skinny Monkey sagged in relief and finally lowered his hands. “So talking is fine?”

Ji Li nodded. “Sound doesn’t seem to be the trigger. You can move now. Better yet, jump a few times.”

Chen Jianxin carefully walked to a spot about two meters from the window. “Little Ji, you think it’s vibration? But we’re on the thirtieth floor. The Presidential Suite even has carpet.”

Ji Li kept his eyes on the Black Tide below. “It can only be vibration. Explosives produce sound, vibration, and heat. Heat is ruled out first—that building caught fire and the Black Tide didn’t react. As for sound, neither the blasts nor our voices provoked any response, so it’s not sound. Now we need to measure how long it takes them to sense vibrations from the thirtieth floor. Uncle Chen, mind walking a few more steps?”

Chen Jianxin looked a bit awkward, but paced in place a few times, and the others gathered around.

“Impressive, Little Ji! A college student for you—what a brain!”

“If it’s vibration, we’re in trouble. We don’t have much explosives.”

“Can we throw furniture out? The hotel’s full of it.”

“We could bring mattresses over and lay them on the floor—should dampen some vibration.”

“That’s a great idea! And the comforters too!”

Ten minutes later, when the Black Tide began climbing again, Ji Li returned to the group and unstrapped his rope.

“Vibrations from our movement take about ten minutes to reach the ground. The mattress idea is good—lay down several layers. And stop using the toilet; flushing vibrates the drainpipes.”

“Then let’s split up. Anyone with spare bracelet space goes down a few floors to collect mattresses. Everyone else clears the space over here.”

Gao Lan directed the operation while Ji Li turned into a bedroom, locked the door, and began duplicating Explosive Charges.

Two duplications later, Ji Li stowed 32 charges, collected the mattress from that room as well, and laid it out in the living area.

A dozen minutes later, the Presidential Suite’s living room was blanketed in mattresses—three layers deep, all the way to the shattered window.

Throughout, Ji Li and Zhang Luyao kept watch at the window. Whenever the Black Tide surged up to the tenth floor, she threw an Explosive Charge. Only when the mattresses were fully laid did the situation ease—and by then, Zhang Luyao had thrown ten charges.

Holding the eleventh, Zhang Luyao looked at Ji Li.

Ji Li pretended not to notice her gaze and waved the others off. “Free time. Let’s test how long three layers of mattress hold.”

Four hours later, dusk was falling. Zhang Luyao threw her twelfth charge and walked across the mattresses to sit beside Lu Zihan.

“It won’t do. These Black Tide are too sensitive to vibration. Unless we stay perfectly still, any sustained activity draws them toward the source.”

“At least we can hold for two or three hours now. I’m just worried about the explosives…” Shen Shuyan looked at Ji Li, hesitating to speak.

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s talk about what comes next.” Gao Lan steered past the topic directly. “Once tonight passes, three days remain until the Main Quest ends. Do we go, or do we stay?”

Yu Shen was taken aback. “Is there even a choice? Obviously we stay!”

But his words drew no agreement from anyone but Yang Haoran. Most people sank into silence.

Yu Shen grew more bewildered. “You can’t be serious? You’re still thinking of going back?”

Lu Zihan snorted coldly. “You don’t have a safe house—of course you don’t care!”

Yu Shen shut his mouth, and Chen Jianxin spoke up. “After working this hard, no one gives up gladly. But going back means enormous risk. These Black Tide are so sensitive to vibration that how we return needs careful thought.”

He glanced at Qin Xiaoxiao and added, “And we respect everyone’s wishes. No one who doesn’t want to go back should be forced.”

Gao Lan nodded. “Agreed. And once we return, we’ll almost certainly face a Black Tide assault. Everyone’s points are enough to buy Safe House Repair Cards, but the supply is finite. Best to hold out until the very last moment.”

“Sister Lan, you mean we move only at the end?” Zhang Luyao asked.

“Mm. It’s about a twenty-minute drive from here to the school. Factoring in the Black Tide’s speed, I think moving in the final hour is safest.”

“Agreed,” Shen Shuyan said, pushing up his glasses. “And on the day the Main Quest completes, we can see whether the Game gives any hint. If the Game helps recover safe houses, we won’t have to risk anything.”

“As if.” Lu Zihan laughed bitterly. “This rotten game would love nothing more than for us to die here.”

The room fell silent, the air turning heavy.

Ji Li looked left, looked right, and slapped his knees. “Chin up, everyone! We’ve made it this far—thousands of points in the System, bracelets full of supplies. We just need to hold out these three days, and we’ll all get Safe House Upgrade Modules!”

“The System sells those for a million! Even without a safe house, selling one would let you arm yourselves to the teeth from the shop. Hang in there—victory is three days away!”

“That’s right! The Main Quest reward comes whether you have a safe house or not! And the Basic Medical Card—both are treasures!” Yang Haoran was practically bouncing.

“Exactly. Three more days, and even if we ultimately give up the safe houses, it’ll have been worth it.” Shen Shuyan touched his numb, feelingless legs.

He leaned against the mound of blankets his companions had built for him, barely holding a sitting posture—and in three days, he would escape this wretched state and stand again.

Ji Li’s words not only steadied those at risk of losing their safe houses, but gave the safe-houseless a dose of reassurance. Everyone’s expressions eased—except Gao Lan and Chen Jianxin, who exchanged a glance and each saw in the other’s eyes a measure of buried gravity and resolve.

If, before this, the safe house had been something they could abandon in a crisis, then Ji Li’s words were a wake-up call: the safe house must not be lost!

The two shrewd, calculating middle-aged veterans silently swallowed the danger they’d just recognized and, by unspoken agreement, changed the subject.

Gao Lan coughed lightly, signaling to Chen Jianxin that she’d go first. “Little Ji’s right—it’s too early to discuss all that. Let’s plan the night watch.”

Chen Jianxin picked up seamlessly. “Right, the watch matters. The moment the Black Tide climbs to the tenth floor, wake Luyao. Thanks for the hard work ahead.”

Zhang Luyao waved a hand. “Uncle Chen, what’s this talk? It’s my own neck I’m saving—what’s hard about it?”

“Three shifts, then. It’s… seven now. Four hours per rotation. First shift, seven to eleven. Second, eleven to three. Third, three to seven.” Gao Lan looked around. “Nine of us besides Luyao. Sign up for whichever shift you want.”

Ji Li’s hand shot up. “Second shift for me!”

Gao Lan gave him a look and nodded. The others gave the easy first shift to the three women and sorted themselves behind.

Before Ji Li’s shift at midnight, Zhang Luyao threw out a few more gasoline bottles and an Explosive Charge. The moment midnight passed, Ji Li slipped into the bathroom and used his skill, netting 84 Explosive Charges.

It looked like a lot, but if they wanted to blast open a breach on the final day, it was far from enough.

Two days left. Four duplications.

Ji Li stowed the charges, left the bathroom, and walked to the shattered floor-to-ceiling window, laying out ten Explosive Charges and ten gasoline bottles on the floor.

Zhang Luyao sat on the mattress by the window, looked at the pile of explosives, then at Ji Li—and couldn’t help reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“Little Chicken, how are you this sweet?!”

Ji Li’s face went a little red as he climbed onto the mattress, muttering, “I’m doing this for myself.”

Then something registered, and he whipped around to glare at her. “Did you just call me Little Chicken?”

Zhang Luyao arched a brow. “I did. Got a problem?”

Ji Li: “…No.”

Over the next two days, thanks to Ji Li’s endless supply of Explosive Charges, everyone passed the time without serious incident. The only real nuisance was the bathroom situation—especially for Shen Shuyan.

To lighten the others’ burden, he barely ate or drank, his lips cracking and peeling from dryness. It hurt to watch.

As for Zhang Luyao, she hadn’t slept a single full night in two days. The price of entirely fragmented rest: two massive dark circles.

“Wonder if the Basic Medical Card treats dark circles,” she joked through the misery.

Ji Li sat beside her, scanning the surroundings through night-vision binoculars, and chuckled at that. “Sister Luyao, by the description, your case would need the Intermediate Medical Card.”

“The Intermediate Medical Card, huh…” Zhang Luyao leaned against the window frame, gazing through the empty pane opening at a sky full of stars. “If we’d had this thing back then, my mom wouldn’t have died.”

Ji Li’s hands stilled. “Sister Luyao…”

“It’s fine. Almost ten years ago now.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your family’s gone too, isn’t it?”

When Ji Li nodded, she laughed softly. “I’ll say this—the Game certainly knows how to pick its players. Nothing but people with no one. No one to raise hell over our disappearances. In the end we’re just another number in a news report on missing persons.”

Ji Li set down the binoculars, thought for a moment, then turned to Skinny Monkey, who was on watch with them. “Brother Monkey, have you ever tried sending a Paper Note to people you knew before?”

Skinny Monkey, in the middle of a homemade poker game with Shen Shuyan, lifted a face plastered with paper notes. “Huh?”

Shen Shuyan slapped down a card and rasped, “Little Ji’s asking whether you’ve used your skill to send messages to old friends.”

“Oh—yeah, but it failed.” Skinny Monkey glanced at Shen Shuyan’s discard and followed suit with a sigh. “Not just people I knew. Boss Chen’s, Little Shen’s, Luyao’s… I tried everyone’s friends. Nothing goes through.”

Ji Li nodded slowly. “Then tomorrow, try sending one to me.”

“Tomorrow?” Skinny Monkey’s head came up in surprise. “Isn’t tomorrow when we change maps?”

“Right. Failing to reach the old world doesn’t mean it won’t work within an apocalypse world. Try it. If it succeeds, we can confirm everyone’s safety from now on.”

At midnight that night, a Virtual Screen popped up before every player simultaneously.

【Congratulations, Player Ji Li, on surviving thirty days. We now preview your next apocalypse world. Please prepare for survival in advance.】

【Your next apocalypse world: Extreme Cold Apocalypse】

Those still awake woke the sleepers, and everyone quickly cross-referenced the information. Five different apocalypse worlds appeared in total.

Gao Lan and Chen Jianxin drew the Insect Plague Apocalypse. Zhang Luyao, Yang Haoran, and Skinny Monkey drew the Polar Day Apocalypse. Shen Shuyan, Yu Shen, and Lu Zihan drew the Famine Apocalypse. Qin Xiaoxiao drew the Mutation Apocalypse. Ji Li drew the Extreme Cold Apocalypse.

At the sight of the Virtual Screen, Qin Xiaoxiao burst into tears—partly because she alone would enter her world, and partly because its very name reeked of misfortune.

“For one, we don’t know what caused the mutation. For two, we don’t know what mutated. For three, we don’t know how to prevent it. Genuinely difficult,” Shen Shuyan murmured.

“If it’s mutation, it’s definitely biological,” Ji Li reasoned, drawing on all the web novels he’d read. “Plants, animals—both possible. The extreme case would be organic matter fusing with inorganic, but that’s very unlikely. Protect yourself: don’t touch the sap or fluids of other organisms, observe much and wander little. Worst case, hole up in your safe house and don’t go out.”

Chen Jianxin nodded. “Same for us. With an insect plague, the priority is sealing every crack in the safe house ahead of time. Shame I left all that insect repellent we found—didn’t want it taking up space…”

“I took it. Here.” Ji Li pulled a stack of Insect Repellent Spray from his bracelet, plus several Mosquito Coils.

Chen Jianxin: “…”

Gao Lan: “…”

Zhang Luyao: “See? Told you Little Chicken collects everything we toss. So, Little Chicken—thoughts on our Polar Day Apocalypse?”

Ji Li did his best to ignore the nickname and answered thoughtfully. “Polar Day means high temperatures. Likely drought and water scarcity, with famine and fires as complications.”

Before Shen Shuyan could ask, he continued, “That famine would differ from the Famine Apocalypse—it should be localized. A Famine Apocalypse means nothing can be grown at all, like in 《Interstellar》—a worldwide famine where human evil outweighs natural disaster. Brother Shen, you’ll need to disguise how well-fed you are.”

Shen Shuyan touched his own hollow cheeks and smiled wryly. “So I’ve been starving myself right these past two days?”

Ji Li chuckled, then turned serious. “Everything I’ve said is speculation. Use it as reference—but don’t rely on it alone.”

“Little Chicken’s right,” Gao Lan said, pointedly, under Ji Li’s resentful stare. “Observe more, think more, ask less. Pack away your kindness and don’t expect anyone’s help. Don’t carelessly expose yourselves. And you especially!”

Ji Li wanted to protest that he wasn’t that naive, but on reflection, wisely shut his mouth.

After discussing their respective upcoming worlds, the off-duty players lay down to rest, while Ji Li, Skinny Monkey, and Shen Shuyan kept the night watch. It was only when Zhang Luyao reminded him that Ji Li recalled Skinny Monkey’s skill.

At that, Skinny Monkey’s face lit with understanding, and he thumped his chest. “Relax. The moment we’re settled, I’ll send you a note.”

“Good.” Ji Li rose, excused himself to the bathroom, and duplicated Explosive Charges.

Constrained by containers, he managed only 220 Explosive Charges—far short of his target.

If it came to it, he’d make up the difference with bombs from the System Shop.

Ji Li pressed his lips together and stowed the charges, eyes hardening with resolve.

He had once doubted himself—wondered if he’d placed too much weight on the safe houses, pressured everyone too much. But after seeing what the Virtual Screen displayed, his conviction had hardened.

Now, he wanted only for everyone to keep their safe houses, and to survive, through all the countless apocalypse worlds to come.

“When will they announce the Main Quest’s end… I hope it’s soon…”

Ji Li muttered as he walked out of the bathroom, gazing at everyone asleep on the mattresses, and drew a deep breath.

Twenty-four hours left.

At six in the morning, the Daily Quest popup that should have appeared was gone—replaced by the Main Quest’s Virtual Screen.

【Congratulations, Player Ji Li, on completing the Main Quest: Survive Thirty Days in the Zombie Apocalypse. Rewards are now being distributed】