Chapter 20

Chapter 20

After running errands, treating his blistered feet, changing Baby Yan's diaper to let his bottom breathe, and all the hassle, it was already five o’clock.

The sun hung low in the west, and the sweltering heat finally began to ease…

In the tiny cargo bed, Baby Yan sat in his stroller, his small feet in sandals occasionally kicking the cart’s railing.

He clutched a small bottle in his hands—filled with water.

Baby Yan took a sip from the bottle, then beamed a toothy grin at his daddy.

He chirped “da-da” a few times…

His chubby little hand shook the toy bell attached to the stroller.

Qi Mo clenched the handlebars, his feet pressing down on the pedals as he put his weight into it.

The tricycle moved forward along the highway, driven by the steady rhythm of pedaling.

Earlier, every step had sent a dull ache through his feet, which had already developed blisters.

Qi Mo didn’t dare pop them. Fortunately, the sanitary pads he used as insoles provided a soft layer, nearly eliminating the pain.

Five in the afternoon was prime traveling time.

Qi Mo had already decided to rest at noon and make better time in the mornings and evenings.

This stretch of road had plenty of housing clusters and nearby villages, so more people were out by evening.

On previously deserted sections, many corpses had been left unattended. Here, though the road was littered with wrecked cars and stained with blood, the bodies had already been cleared away—no grotesque corpses visible.

The injured had also been taken away, leaving no pleas for mercy…

Earlier, many had cried out for help along the way, but Qi Mo wasn’t equipped to assist them. His only priority was protecting himself and Baby Yan.

In his past life, he hadn’t realized how terrifying the world had become until he left home much later.

He never knew the early days of the apocalypse were already a pure hellscape.

In the cities, waves of firefighters and military personnel kept pouring in for rescue ops.

Without transportation, they carried stretchers and pushed carts to save those hit by cars, trapped in crashes, or fallen from elevators.

Police were deployed to maintain order.

In the capital, officials were convening for crisis talks in the conference room.

Qi Mo’s earlier warning had been just a general outline. Now, Chou Yun, dressed in a white shirt, sat on the left side and spoke up: “The information he provided you was correct. We must immediately instruct everyone to start storing water.”

“When power is restored tomorrow, notify the entire population at once—hoard water. The disappearance of electricity, as he described it, can be framed as the vanishing of electrical elements—but not entirely. Because later, electric-based powers will emerge. So a more precise explanation is that the laws of technology have been rewritten. Remember that giant corpse? It’s likely the reason the world has turned out this way.”

“Wait, you’re supposed to be dead. How do you know all this?” Bai Cheng asked skeptically. According to the reincarnator’s intel, Chou Yun should have died trapped in the basement—supposedly butchered and eaten by Chou Hu.

Literally eaten. Cooked. Consumed.

Chou Yun replied, “I did die. But that doesn’t mean I was gone for good. My soul—or ghost—stayed with Bai Bin.”

“That kid thought Bai Bin had been eaten. In truth, Bai Bin survived, so I know a bit more. There will be no rain for the next eight months. By the fifth month, the cold will set in. After the sixth month, a deep freeze will take hold, lasting until the eighth month when snow finally falls. Then comes the rainy season. Bai Bin didn’t survive it—once he was gone, so was I. Beyond that, I don’t know. But if you want to grow crops, your only shot is during the rainy season. Conditions will be right, though I can’t say how long the window will stay open.”

Bai Cheng’s brow furrowed deeply. “Why were you following Bai Bin?”

Chou Yun pursed his lips and stayed silent.

Someone cleared their throat quietly. “This isn’t the time for that, Elder Bai.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the personal stuff for later,” another voice urged. “Right now, we’re dealing with national matters.”

The Minister of Security spoke up upon hearing this: “Then let’s act. Handling rescues in the city should go to the police, firefighters, and communities—let them take the lead. All engineers and troops are to focus on building water reservoirs and indoor farming bases.”

Soon, the order was issued.

Next came a discussion about large-scale water storage. If no announcement was made, countless people would die of thirst as the water evaporated. But if the news was released, chaos would inevitably erupt tomorrow—no one could tell how bad things would get.

“Better to rip the band-aid off now. The announcement has to go out. The chaos won’t last. If the capital holds, we can keep things under control. Being prepared is always better than being caught off guard,” said the Minister of Defense.

Chou Yun nodded. “We’ve got roughly four hours. The power stays on till 5 p.m., so we need to notify city officials first, then have them release the water storage notice at the last possible moment. Without electricity or convenient transport, any issues will stay local and won’t spread easily.”

Qi Mo looked ahead at the tangled wreck of cars, a chaotic mess still billowing black smoke. He got off the tricycle and pushed it through the gaps.

By six o’clock, roadside villages lay abandoned, bodies left where they fell—survivors must have already fled. He seemed to be the only one still pushing ahead while others had likely found shelter.

A weak voice whimpered, “Help… help… save me…”

Qi Mo glanced back. A person was pinned under a car, lower body crushed, blood pooling around them.

Nothing I could do.

He turned away and sped up.

Then he remembered—the power’d be back by tomorrow afternoon. So in four or five hours, he could drive back.

But the highway was a parking lot—no way to drive. No road.

An e-bike could do the trick, but he didn’t have one stashed in his space. He had to get one tonight—he’d been moving too fast.

Three hundred klicks. Even at thirty klicks an hour, he could cover a hundred.

If he cut through backroads by car, he wasn’t sure if navigation would work tomorrow. But if he planned carefully, maybe he could make it.

By car, three hundred kilometers in four or five hours—doable.

Qi Mo’s spirits lifted.

He’d trekked this far in his past life, but now he was exhausted, his feet aching badly.

After passing through another stretch of wreckage, Qi Mo kept pedaling the tricycle forward.

The sun dipped lower.

The world was a nightmare, but the sunset burned on, indifferent…

“You getting sleepy, kiddo?” Qi Mo asked, as the kid drooped against the stroller.

Baby Yan heard his papa’s voice. His eyelids flickered open slightly before closing again, clearly worn out.

Qi Mo laid the child down and covered his little belly with a small blanket. “Sleep, baby, sleep. When you wake up, the sky will be bright. Daddy’s here, Papa’s here. Daddy’ll hold you, Papa’ll hold you…”

The lullaby faded into the sunset as Baby Yan drifted off to the familiar melody.

As the last traces of twilight vanished, the stretch of road plunged into darkness. The few travelers who had been hurrying along had either gone home or found shelter. The highway grew eerily silent, like some lurking predator waiting in the night.

He checked his glowing mechanical watch—7 p.m.

Qi Mo didn’t want to stop. He had to put as much distance behind him as he could. Once tomorrow afternoon’s news broke, no one knew how chaotic things would become.

He pulled out a lantern and struck a match to light it, then hung it on the baby cart.

The road was too rough to ride on.

He folded up the tricycle and pushed the cart forward.

The lantern swayed, throwing a small pool of light that pushed back the surrounding darkness.

A village appeared nearby. Shadowy figures moved through it, holding candles and torches. Soon, Qi Mo realized they were breaking into cars, rifling through them for loot.

Qi Mo frowned but kept moving.

Suddenly, someone lunged and blocked his path: “Hand over that lantern.”

Qi Mo, now cornered.

“You’ve got a torch—back off my lantern,” Qi Mo refused.

When Qi Mo wouldn’t give in, the man threatened, “No lantern, no passage.”

Wanting to avoid trouble, Qi Mo relented. “Fine. Give me your torch.”

The man took the lantern and handed over the torch.

As soon as Qi Mo grabbed it, a group of punk youths with wild hair and nose rings approached, smirking. “Well, well, look what we got here. Let’s drag him back for a good time—I just scored some nice stuff.”

Their lackeys carried bloodstained gold bracelets and necklaces, along with cigarettes, alcohol, and snacks.

They’d been stripping the dead.

Villagers watched silently from a distance. Qi Mo balled his fists but held back—this wasn’t the place.

“Boss, we can’t pull this here in the open,” one thug muttered.

The leader glanced around. “There’s a shed up ahead—the melon shack. Let’s go there.”

Two goons moved in on Qi Mo.

“I can walk on my own,” Qi Mo said.

Prodded forward, Qi Mo pushed the cart off the road.

After crossing the roadside ditch, a few minutes later, a ramshackle shed loomed in the torchlight.

He looked back—now a distant blur, over a hundred meters away.

They shoved the cart inside.

In a flash, Qi Mo struck. The knife sliced across the thug’s throat, then he kicked the one in front, sending him sprawling. Twisting around, he lunged forward—before the nose-ringed punk could react, the blade pierced his heart.

The last thug, clutching a bag, tried to flee, but his legs turned to jelly—no way he could outrun Qi Mo.

The knife plunged through his back and burst from his chest.

Stone-faced, Qi Mo strode into the shed. The thug he’d kicked crashed into a rickety plank bed, struggling to rise.

In an instant, the blade slit his throat beneath his terrified gaze.

Having taken out these thugs, Qi Mo was breathing hard. He hadn’t fought like this in ages—he was exhausted.

He reached out and scooped up the baby. Just as he was about to fold the stroller, light cut through the darkness—the young man who wanted the lantern earlier appeared.

They stared at each other.

“You can’t go on the highway anymore,” the youth said. “I thought you’d make it through without the lamp. That guy was the village chief’s grandson. He’s got a big family. Once they find out he’s dead, they’ll come gunning for you. Follow this irrigation ditch for two kilometers—you’ll hit a road. Keep going until you reach Lin County. Hurry.”

He blew out the lantern.

Without hesitation, Qi Mo placed the baby back in the stroller, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and pushed off.

Clouds parted. Moonlight bathed the path—it was barely visible, but enough to make out the field ridges.

As he pressed on, Qi Mo had no idea when the villagers might discover the bodies. He needed to put miles between himself and this place.

After Qi Mo vanished, the young man pulled on gloves, dragged the corpses into the shed, and tossed them inside.

Then he shut the broken door tight.

As long as no one opened it, no one would find the bodies.

Two hours of fast marching carried Qi Mo over ten kilometers. He was beat—his feet were throbbing, his gut cramping.

He couldn’t go further. He took out another lantern.

No villages in sight. The night was silent.

Fields lined the roadside—not a good spot to pitch a tent. He needed cover, to avoid being caught.

He sprayed scent-masking spray to throw off any trackers, then kept moving, searching for a safe campsite.

Soon, an expansive nursery came into view—sprawling grounds filled with tall trees.

He pulled out another stroller, hung the lantern, and used a hiking stick to beat back the grass as he pushed the baby into the woods.

Beyond the trees stretched a wasteland—a sea of reeds.

Inside the clearing, Qi Mo set up an army-green tent, folded the stroller away, then ducked inside with the lantern.

He laid the baby on the sleeping pad and tucked a small blanket around him.

Removing his shoes, Qi Mo saw the blisters on his feet and wanted to cry—they were killing him.

He gave them a spray of medicine…

God damn it—Qi Huai really deserved to die.

Otherwise, Qi Mo zipped up the tent—he should have been lying in a proper bed by now.

Just breaking one hand let that bastard off too easy.

Qi Mo felt a pang of regret.

Unfolding a map, Qi Mo started plotting the route for tomorrow afternoon.

The SUV was still in his storage. Four hours would get him three hundred kilometers—he aimed to make it in a single push.