“Is there anything you want to eat? I’ll prepare it for you,” Bai Mei said with a bit more warmth toward the four members of the Wolf Head Squad, all because of Nan Muran.

The group was clearly stunned by her words. In the apocalypse, being able to fill their stomachs was already a luxury—who would still ask what they wanted to eat?

Right then, Chen Dong and Qiangzi’s stomachs grumbled loudly, causing everyone in the room to burst into laughter.

It was understandable. After escaping the underground lab, running all night, and fighting for their lives, being this hungry made sense.

“I’ll just make something simple. You all should rest for a bit,” Bai Mei said gently, her smile warm. Cooking and tidying up were the only things she could do now, so she was naturally willing to give her best.

“We’ll help,” Chen Dong, Qiangzi, and Lao Ying immediately stood up.

But Bai Mei frowned and refused, “You’ve all been through a rough night. You’re exhausted, and you just…” She trailed off, unable to accept the idea of people coming back from killing and going straight to cooking.

Nan Muran stepped forward and took over Bai Mei’s wheelchair. “Then we’ll trouble you, Sister Mei.”

Once they reached the kitchen, Nan Muran directly took out dish after dish from her space: sliced beef in chili oil, husband-and-wife lung slices, mapo tofu, braised pork in soy sauce… Over a dozen different dishes.

“After staying up all night, just steam some rice and boil a simple soup. Don’t overwork yourself.”

Bai Mei knew Nan Muran meant well, so she didn’t object.

Just then, Jiawu came in and saw Nan Muran’s actions. He quickly understood what she intended. “You go rest too. I’ll handle plating.”

Only then did Nan Muran return to the second-floor living room. After a night of tension and sleeplessness, she was really tired.

She curled up in the oversized beanbag sofa, not wanting to move at all.

Next to her, Tank and Da Fu were also sleepy. The two little ones snuggled against her, dozing off.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Tank and Da Fu, who had been drowsy, instantly sprang alert and stared at the second-floor entrance with vigilance.

But Nan Muran simply smiled, unfazed. She knew it had to be Si Ye.

“Tank, go open the door,” she said, rising and grabbing two bottles of water from a nearby cabinet.

When the door opened and Si Ye saw Tank, he paused for a second. This dog was… special.

The second floor of the villa had a similar layout to the third, but a completely different style.

No cold, hard walnut wood here—just light brown cloud-patterned sofas, soft and cozy, with meticulous design and craftsmanship. There was a small lounge area, a long bar counter, and a prep area. Along the wall stood a cabinet stocked entirely with drinks and alcohol.

A single glance revealed bottles from famous brands all over the world.

Through the huge north-facing floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, one could even see the fog-shrouded mountains below the cliffs—a living, breathtaking landscape like a giant ink painting.

One had to admit: the owner of this place clearly knew how to enjoy life.

“Not bad, right?” Nan Muran smiled at Si Ye as she handed him a bottle of water.

Si Ye’s lips curved slightly in response. “Mm.”

“Have a seat.” Nan Muran’s smile remained gentle as she looked at this man who was both familiar and unfamiliar.

“You knew I’d come looking for you?” Si Ye took the water and sat down.

Nan Muran leaned against the sofa, relaxed and comfortable. “If you hadn’t come, then you wouldn’t be you.”

Si Ye paused at her words. “Did we… know each other before?”

“You’re not sure?” Nan Muran couldn’t help but laugh. She hadn’t expected someone as resolute and stoic as Si Ye to doubt his own memory.

“At first, I was sure. Except for that time at Cuishan, I thought this was our first meeting. But now… I’m not so sure.” From the moment he saw her at the door, Si Ye had been certain that the girl in front of him hadn’t tried to deceive him.

This judgment came not only from his strict training as a special forces soldier but also from his sharp, instinctive sixth sense.

Nan Muran stood and retrieved a thick sketchbook from her bedroom, handing it to him.

Si Ye opened it with slight surprise. On the first page was a man curled up in a corner, bald, wearing a white hospital gown—tall, emaciated, and skeletal.

The person in the drawing looked eerie, almost terrifying because of how gaunt his features were.

But Si Ye still recognized him. It was himself.

“This…”

“Keep going,” Nan Muran said with a soft smile, her eyes encouraging.

On the next page, a girl appeared beside the man. She, too, had a shaved head, and a scar cut across her forehead, ruining her beautiful eyebrows.

But Si Ye recognized her deer-like, moist eyes—it was Nan Muran.

Page after page followed.

The man stood under sunlight, a hint of a smile in his eyes. Or he was cold as ice, numb and indifferent.

There were drawings of the girl, too—her gaze sharp at first, then gradually calm, and finally even a little blank.

Then came a picture of the man pulling the girl, both of them terrified, desperate to escape—but they failed.

In the final image, the man was covered in blood, standing in a sea of fire.

Everything around the girl had shattered—scattered into pieces, including the girl herself.

The following pages showed Si Ye as he was now—or more accurately, how he looked just before entering the underground lab.

“The moment I saw you today, I was so happy,” Nan Muran looked at the drawing of Si Ye in special forces uniform. “Because I finally drew you right.”

Si Ye stared at the sketchbook in his hands, then at Nan Muran, incredulous. “This… was us?”

“It was. Just not the us in this life,” Nan Muran said seriously, her eyes slowly turning red. “If nothing had changed, in the fourth year of the apocalypse, we would’ve met in that underground lab. At our most broken and miserable.”

Si Ye listened to every word she said. He could understand it all—but couldn’t wrap his head around it. His mind buzzed, overwhelmed by the surreal feeling.

It took a long time before he finally found his voice. “Then… what happened to me, in the end?”

Nan Muran looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Just like in the drawing. You died in battle.”

“And you…” Si Ye flipped to the picture of everything in ruins, his voice rising slightly with urgency. “What does this mean?”

“I came back. Back to when everything hadn’t happened yet,” Nan Muran said, her voice choked with emotion.

In his 26 years of life, Si Ye had never felt this helpless, this lost. “Then…”

“Do you believe me?” Nan Muran interrupted him softly, looking at him intently, seriously.