Apocalypse Showdown: Carrier Conquest

Chapter 31: Sun Chenghao’s Ambition

Snow fell unceasingly through the night.

Not only in Jiazhou, not only in Asharan, but across the globe, the world was blanketed in snow—flakes larger than goose feathers, burying everything in a single night.

Higher ground fared better. In lower-lying neighborhoods, some families were buried in their slumber, only to claw their way out of the drifts and perish in the wind and ice. Those who slept through it might have fared slightly better.

Lanshan Estates stood on elevated terrain—after all, it was a neighborhood for the wealthy, built to command views. Had Zhou Lin not insisted on moving here, his family’s old suburban home would now lie buried under four or five meters of snow.

The deep burial had its advantages. Under immense weight, the lower layers of snow would freeze into an unbreakable sheet of ice, offering protection in its own strange way—much like the ancient remains preserved in glacial tombs, unchanged for millennia.

The sun would never rise again. With the power out and temperatures plummeting, most electronics had become worthless scrap. Even mechanical or quartz watches failed in the cold; only instruments designed for extreme environments still ticked on.

Tang Yili and Sun Chenghao, each lugging jerrycans of fuel, followed the security guard through the underground garage. Almost every car had already been stripped of its contents, much like the desperate days of old.

Their haul had been impressive. After tallying the spoils, Shao Hang rewarded everyone with a cup of instant noodles.

Instant noodles—again!

Sun Chenghao leaned toward Tang Yili. “Old Tang, surviving on noodles won’t do. We can’t keep working for others.”

Despite his hulking frame from years of training, Tang Yili was no intellectual; at best, he was simple-minded. The old adage, “brawns over brains,” fit him perfectly.

Sun Chenghao, on the other hand, was sharper. He hadn’t worried about the disaster—he knew where food and fuel might still be found. But with society in chaos, a solo raid risked running into rivals. With Tang Yili’s strength and his own cunning, they made a perfect team—and could even serve as each other’s shield in a crisis.

“It’s freezing out here,” Tang Yili complained, tucking his chin into his collar. His low body fat burned calories rapidly, and now, idle or not, his muscles consumed heat that only food could restore.

In peacetime, food was no problem. With money, one could always buy. But now?

From childhood, Tang Yili had never been much of a thinker, else he wouldn’t have ended up as a fitness coach. So any talk of future prospects or power went right over his head, leaving Sun Chenghao frustrated.

To conserve heat, the group had gathered inside the office, and Sun Chenghao dared not speak of his ambitions lest Shao Hang catch wind—someone could die over such talk.

In peacetime, a few deaths were commonplace; now, he feared Shao Hang would not hesitate.

For now, Shao Hang remained pleased with his recruits.

They had nearly two thousand liters of gasoline. At this point, brand distinctions no longer mattered. Combined with the barrels Shao Hang had stockpiled under the guise of emergency reserves, he estimated it would last one to two years if rationed.

As many apocalypse novels described, the weather would cycle—cold, then warm, then cold again. Shao Hang believed the cold couldn’t last forever; nature demanded balance.

“Right now, our biggest issue is food,” Shao Hang declared. “We must send teams out to forage. Also, we need to clear the snow from our entry and exit routes.”

The property office sat on the third floor, but outside, the snow lay level with the windows. If snow could accumulate this deeply here, what of other areas? Many shops lay a floor underground—likely buried twenty meters deep now. Retrieving supplies from there would be a monumental task. Yet Shao Hang couldn’t help but think it was a blessing in disguise; the snow would keep scavengers at bay.

He glanced at Tang Yili and the others, then opened his notebook and began jotting down more plans. Everything needed a plan, and every good idea deserved to be recorded before it slipped away.

In this, Shao Hang was much like Zhou Li, who had meticulously recorded every detail, even the two chicken eggs, one duck egg, and the small bowl of quail eggs Zhou Lin had collected on the platform.

“Is that really necessary?” Zhou Lin asked.

Zhou Li nodded earnestly. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. With these records, I can estimate our egg production. A dam fails at the first and hole—we can’t let anyone steal from us.”

Beyond praising her, Zhou Lin had no reply.

“That woman?” Wu Xue walked over and asked casually, but she was quickly ignored.

“I got word from my parents!” Wu Xue announced, her face lighting up as if she glowed in the dim room.

Last night—well, while Wu Xue slept—her phone had received several messages, most from her parents.

“How are they?” Zhou Lin asked.

“They said they’re safe. They were selected for the ‘Olympus Salvation Program.’ By the time they messaged me, they were already in an underground shelter with their own room—though they’re required to work for the shelter’s upkeep...”

Thus, those with genuine expertise and knowledge would never be overlooked. If Wu Xue and her parents had been merely wealthy merchants or politicians, they would not have been prioritized for Olympus, and likely would have been excluded in the first round—destined for a far worse fate.

When Wu Xue’s parents learned she hadn’t gone to the national shelters, they were astonished. They urged her to reconsider; no individual could compare to the state’s protection.

“So, Xue Jie, are you planning to leave? People move toward safety, just as water flows downhill. Though I think the state’s shelters are good, I still believe our home might suit you better,” Zhou Li said, her eyes brimming with tears.