The crowd outside City Hall erupted into a riot. Some broke through chains and burst inside—just then, a broadcast blared over the city's speakers:
"Dear citizens, we deeply apologize. The reports you've seen are true."
"No one expected that a tiny mold could outpace top global researchers. In just days, it has spoiled 70% of the world's food."
"We hoped this season's harvest would sustain us, but before crops could mature, the mold had already destroyed them."
"We've distributed all food we could source within the city. We have nothing left to maintain order."
"City Hall may soon cease to exist. Our only remaining duty is to sustain electricity and gas."
"Please safeguard your food and preserve your water supplies."
The mayor's voice choked with emotion—an old man overcome with despair.
Tens of thousands fell silent, shock locking even the rowdy youth in place.
Then, a graying middle-aged man emerged from City Hall's doors. He looked broken and exhausted. His identity needed no announcement.
People stepped aside, some weeping. Watching his back, they finally understood: society was collapsing.
Meanwhile, some game Players exploited the chaos—Youche among them.
He'd unlocked the "Vehicle Manufacturer" skill: every two days, he could create a vehicle—bike, trike, car, truck, even trains. Each vehicle lasted two days before disappearing.
He was lucky and made a modern car. Since the game's theme was famine, he sold it for cash—around 10,000–20,000 yuan.
With that money, he bulk-stocked supplies... until the vehicle vanished two days later. Thieves who'd "borrowed" it turned on him. His stash was nearly emptied, and he was chased.
Desperate, he fled and found refuge in this gated wealthy community—an ideal hideout.
With most residents away at City Hall, he sneaked into the property office, found an empty unit, and moved in.
Back in her apartment, Chu Yian was absorbed in tracing the badge symbol when she heard a thud from next door.
Wait—there shouldn't be anyone there. Only two units on the floor, and the other was empty.
But the door across had swung open. A backpack left in the hallway confirmed it:
A Player—just by their signature game-issued backpack.
Her heart pounded.
This was the first other Player she'd ever encountered in-game.
Excitement surged—but she kept her composure.
NPCs and Players could be friends—or deadly enemies.
If she met them, would they welcome a fellow Player—or kill her for her food stash?
So she crouched low and whispered:
Only one person's footsteps—just one.
Then… the door closed with a bang.
Chu Yian frowned, unsure what to do next.
She decided it was too risky to introduce herself.
Safety first.
Noticing there was no surveillance, she rummaged through her kitchen.
She covered glass bowls and vases with towels and smashed them quietly.
She scattered shards near the hallway entrance—like a silent trap.
Then she tied empty cans filled with stones to the connecting corridor—makeshift alarms.
If anyone tried to cross, they'd first step on shards and rattle the cans—buying her time.
By now it was noon.
She looked out: the crowds returning from City Hall looked empty—lost, frightened, helpless. Still, many hadn't yet heeded the mayor's warning.
How much longer would water, gas, electricity last? Two days? Maybe three?
Chu Yian had already prepped.
With eight bottled waters and a water cooler jug, she had enough.
She'd also filled every container and even the bathtub with water—for drinking, washing, flushing.
Now… food.
She pulled out rice for lunch—planned carefully so her survival foods remained for emergencies.
She boiled half a frozen chicken, reserving the rest, added a stew packet, then ranged another portion of chicken as a salad with spices.
Soon, the aroma of savory broth and spicy chicken steamed through the apartment and drifted next door—reaching Youche, who was eating compressed biscuits.
He paused, sniffed the air multiple times.
"That smells amazing,"
he muttered through a mouthful.
Near starvation, the fragrance overwhelmed him. He dared not investigate, but even the tough biscuits he clutched lost their appeal.