Hoarding to Survive: A Heroine's Journey in the Apocalypse

**Past Life** Ivy Thompson was dead. She had died at the hands of those she trusted and depended on the most. Her fiancé sneered as he climbed off her, leaving her bruised and battered. Ignoring the chaotic scene stained with betrayal, he carelessly adjusted his tie, signaling his cohorts that they could do as they pleased. Under the effects of the drug, Ivy could barely move, her body a captive of immobility. All she could do was stare with wide eyes, filled with disbelief and rage, at the people around her and the events unfolding before her. Why? How could it come to this? Was everything beautiful just an illusion? Everything changed when a woman, with luscious wavy hair and dressed in a low-cut, strapless dress, sauntered over to her, looking down with a disdainful smile that curled her lips as if she were looking at an insignificant insect. Cold and mocking, she said, “Oh, the young woman from the Thompson family has fallen to such depths today. Truly, the tides of fortune turn.” Tears streamed down Ivy's face, yet she lay on the ground like a discarded rag, unable to move. She didn't want to be looked down upon by this woman; she didn’t want to see the pitiful state she had become reflected in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Who are you putting on this act for? What value do you have left that deserves pity? Your face is really quite bothersome!” The woman pulled a dagger from its sheath, its cold glint flashing dangerously. In an instant, it slashed across Ivy's exquisite yet disheveled face, carving dozens of intersecting wounds that gushed blood, flesh peeling back in a horrific display. Ivy's body convulsed in pain, forcing a soft groan from her lips. She wanted to escape, but how could she evade the blade when her body was under the drug's control? She could only watch helplessly as the knife descended, the pain awakening her senses in an agonizingly real way. “Hahahahaha! This is how you should look—ugly and disgusting,” the woman laughed wildly, as if unaware of the deep hatred between them. At that moment, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair entered the room, dressed in a tailored suit that exuded gentlemanly charm, a stark contrast to the hellish environment around them. He casually wrapped his arm around the woman’s slender waist and said nonchalantly, “What’s a dying young woman to you? Is she worth your effort? You’ve dirtied the dress I specially prepared for you. How will you compensate me?” Ivy felt her soul crash back into her body with a heavy thud, using every ounce of strength to glare at the middle-aged man, unable to accept how casually he dismissed her impending death. Just the day before, he had spoken to her with warmth and kindness. How could someone change so quickly? The woman giggled, playing coy, and sensing Ivy's fierce gaze, she arrogantly said, “You’re such a fool, naive till the end. It’s almost laughable! Mr. Smith, why don’t you let her become a clear ghost? After all, she’s called you ‘godfather’ for years! I want to see if her expression would be amusing.” The man, referred to as Mr. Smith, shrugged indifferently. “If you’re happy, then I suppose I should be entertained too.” The woman snuggled against him, twirling and laughing, blushing as she said, “Mr. Smith has everything he desires now; it’s my turn to be happy.” Mr. Smith nodded, guiding her to sit on a nearby single couch. With eyes full of admiration and obsession, the woman gazed at Mr. Smith. Each word she uttered pierced Ivy’s heart like daggers, tightening pain within her chest. It was then she realized—the so-called godfather and fiancé were nothing but hollow pretenses, scheming to seize her family’s resources and connections. This man was the very one responsible for her parents' death, and her fiancé was merely a tool to gain her trust and gather connections for his own gain. All the while, she had naively handed over her family heirlooms, transferring her grandfather’s connections to these heartless demons. A surge of bitterness, anger, and suppressed emotions erupted within Ivy, granting her a flicker of strength. She grasped Mr. Smith's pant leg, holding on tightly, staining it with her blood, which made him frown. One of the subordinates moved to pry her hand away, but the woman coldly snorted and swiftly severed Ivy's wrist with her dagger, sneering, “You already know everything. It’s time for you to reunite with your dead family. No need to thank me!” Mr. Smith flicked away Ivy’s severed limb and rose elegantly, saying to the woman, “I’ll go change. After you’re done playing, hurry back to the room, alright?” The woman sweetly replied, “Thank you for indulging me, Mr. Smith. Today is my happiest day. Let’s drink together later!” Mr. Smith chuckled as he exited, not even glancing back at Ivy, who lay on the floor like a broken doll. The woman contemptuously kicked the severed limb aside, squatting in front of Ivy, toying with the dagger in her hand. “Once, you had everything—high and mighty, the whole world revolving around you, the young lady of the Thompson family. Now? You can’t even scream. Despairing, are you? Hehe.” As she spoke, she dragged the dagger's tip teasingly along Ivy's chest and neck, taunting her. “What are you staring at me for? Want revenge? You can’t do it while you’re alive, but perhaps you can give it a shot after you turn into a ghost.” Leaning in closer, she studied Ivy’s expression, relishing the torment. Suddenly, a white jade pendant shaped like a dragon slipped from her neck, swaying gently in front of Ivy. Seeing the jade dragon, Ivy’s pupils contracted. The woman noticed and laughed, “Why are you so shocked? What’s so great about the Thompson family heirloom? It’s just an invaluable treasure that’s been passed down for hundreds of years. I want it, and Mr. Smith will give it to me, hahahaha! What can you do? No matter how unwilling you are, today is your death day.” As if losing interest in the game, the woman suddenly lifted the dagger and plunged it into Ivy’s heart. The sharp blade pierced through, and Ivy arched her back in agony. Blood gushed out as the blade was swiftly withdrawn, splattering the woman’s head and face. The woman jumped back in shock, not expecting Ivy to seize the jade dragon pendant in that moment. The pain of the tugging rope enraged her. “You witch, how dare you hurt me? Seeking death!” Without caring for her image, the woman lunged at Ivy, stabbing wildly. As the blood flowed, Ivy’s pupils started to dilate. In the moment her heart was pierced, she regained control of her body, but it was too late. Clutching tightly to the last and only possession of the Thompson family—a treasured item her grandfather had entrusted to her after her parents’ death—she felt helpless and foolish in her final moments. Endless sorrow, anger, and despair enveloped Ivy’s mind and heart. If she could start over, she would never be so naïve and gullible again. But alas, there were no second chances. In the final moment before her pupils completely dilated, her senses began to fade, leaving only a faint, static-like sound, akin to the snow on an old television screen. Ivy Thompson was dead. The horrific spectacle of her death was enough to make even the seasoned agents who were accustomed to seeing corpses and severed limbs turn away in pity, though it changed nothing. Silently, they followed orders to clean up the scene, tossing tattered rags and remnants out of the base. Who could ever recognize this horrifying corpse as the once-beautiful young lady of the Thompson family, whose grace had once captivated the entire community?