Chapter 01

"Qin Yue, let's break up."

The grayish-white, bloody maw in front of me vanished instantly, replaced by Shen Han's constipated face.

My mind buzzed with emptiness, still reeling from the terror of nearly being bitten to death by a zombie, tremors wracking my body.

"You know my family is the richest in the city. The gap between us is just too wide."

Listening to Shen Han’s confident pronouncement, I suddenly burst out laughing. I was alive. Not only alive, but back—six whole months before the zombie outbreak.

Faced with life and death, being dumped by a scumbag suddenly didn't matter anymore.

So, under Shen Han’s stunned gaze, I spread out my palm. "Compensation for my wasted youth. Two million."

Six months later, the zombie virus exploded. Cities, crammed with people, would become the first battlegrounds. Not just humans versus zombies—human interactions themselves became a massive safety hazard.

This time, I had half a year. I wouldn’t be cold, hungry, and terrified like my last life, ending up dead in the jaws of a zombie.

The most ridiculous part? The moment I died, the radio crackled with victory announcements.

I shook my head, a wry smile touching my lips. No energy for reminiscing now.

I had six months. Six months to prepare everything for the disaster’s sudden arrival.

With Shen Han’s two million, I bought back the orchard—the one my father had mortgaged after his death.

Vast tracts of fruit trees. At least I wouldn’t starve.

The day I signed the contract with the previous owners, I immediately hired a construction crew. They tore down the old wooden hut originally used for beekeeping, replacing it with a five-story concrete villa: two levels above ground, and three below—my insistence.

"Little girl," the foreman asked, scratching his head, "this big a house for just you? Ain't two floors above ground enough?"

"Uncle," I replied, "the heat upstairs ruins freshly picked fruit too quick. I figure, pick 'em, store 'em cool down below, sell better later."

"Wouldn't a cellar do?"

No. Not even close.

After I held firm, the foreman finally called in an excavator from far away. They dug down nearly six meters, pouring concrete for two underground levels, even drilling a deep well right there.

I insisted on the absolute best materials—for everything. Walls twice as thick as standard, double-layered tempered glass for the windows, a perimeter wall soaring five meters high.

My demands were probably too exacting. The house took five solid months to complete. When the crew finally packed up, only 29 days remained before the outbreak.

Looking at the finished fortress, the workers muttered amongst themselves.

"Look at this place. Tiny windows, walls thicker than a bunker. Doesn’t feel like a young woman’s home at all."

My heart clenched. I swallowed the words on my tongue. Softening now could lead me straight into disaster.

Two days later, on October 7th, a catastrophic pileup would happen on the Yuncheng expressway. A construction team from the suburbs—all 57 of them—gone. No survivors.

That was why I’d paid extra to specifically hire this crew.

Fifty-seven men. I had confidentiality agreements, sure. But when the undead surged, someone would remember this place. Someone would come.

My heart thumped like a drum, a mix of dread and guilt churning inside.

The morning they were set to leave, the foreman showed up holding a tiny, squirming puppy—barely a month old—and placed it gently in my hands.

"Little girl," he said gruffly, though his eyes held a kindness, "seems to me you could use something to make you feel safer. A pup'll help guard the homestead."

Part of me recoiled immediately. A barking dog? An invitation to the undead. But the little creature whimpered softly, a warm, rough tongue darted out and licked my finger.

Instantly, my resistance melted away.

A whole decade. Humanity would struggle against the undead for a whole decade. Staying alone… that was too bleak.

I gave the little furball a practical name—Fugui.