Chapter 2: Activating the Space

The family’s curses grew filthier, completely ignoring dignity or the setting.

But no matter how much they yelled, if they didn’t pay, the restaurant wasn’t going to let them leave.

After all, just that bottle of Lafite they mixed with Sprite was worth tens of thousands.

So her dad, aunt, and uncle huddled together, panicking as they scraped together money…

Meanwhile, after half a day of hard work, Mu Jiu finally managed to clean up the entire house.

She sternly reminded the property management that in the future, no guest claiming her name should be let into the building without her permission—otherwise, she would file a formal complaint.

With that resolved, Mu Jiu clapped the dust from her hands and shut her front door.

She looked around the house. Located in the city center, the home boasted top-tier location, facilities, school district access, and transportation—truly the best South City had to offer.

But in the apocalypse, danger lurked everywhere. In her previous life, this very area was one of the first to be looted and destroyed by desperate refugees—a juicy target too tempting to ignore.

Living here meant no chance of surviving a catastrophe.

Mu Jiu picked up her phone and contacted Manager Ma from a real estate agency.

She asked him to help her sell the house as soon as possible—full payment only, the money was urgently needed.

Manager Ma readily agreed. This kind of premium property was always in high demand and would sell easily.

He said several wealthy families were currently looking for homes in school districts, and he could bring people to view the place that very afternoon!

After the call, Mu Jiu’s gaze lingered on her phone.

—-

Today was July 1, 2048, in Huaguo (China), exactly one month before the apocalypse.

She turned and walked into the bedroom, opened the small door to the safe inside the wardrobe, and took out a rich, high-quality red jade (Fei Cui) bracelet.

This had been her grandmother’s dowry to her mother, a matrilineal heirloom passed down through several generations of the Mu family.

It was also her secret weapon in her past life—what allowed her to scrape by for five years in the post-apocalyptic world.

Mu Jiu slipped the red jade bracelet onto her right wrist, then took a clean blade from the drawer and sliced her fingertip.

Three drops of blood fell onto the bracelet, which instantly became scorching hot.

Then, the bracelet gradually shrank and disappeared entirely, leaving behind a thin red line fused into her skin.

At that moment, a spatial world opened up before Mu Jiu’s eyes.

Surrounded by white mist, a beautiful glass greenhouse stood alone in the center of the space.

Mu Jiu stepped inside. The greenhouse wasn’t large—on the left side, a spiritual spring bubbled continuously, emitting colorful bubbles.

Drinking this water could enhance one’s physical capabilities—including all five senses, strength, and speed.

Mu Jiu didn’t know what the upper limit was, but the more she drank, the stronger the effects became.

So she wasted no time—she plunged into the spring and drank her fill.

Next to the spring, on the right side of the greenhouse, was a staircase leading underground to an enormous, unlimited fresh-storage warehouse.

Anything placed in this space would remain unspoiled and uncorrupted, keeping its original state forever.

Moreover, the warehouse could be freely sectioned off according to Mu Jiu’s will.

Total storage space: 100 billion mu (roughly 6.7 billion hectares).

The space had both water and electricity. As long as she stockpiled enough supplies, it could sustain her basic needs during the apocalypse.

But one twisted restriction existed—

She could enter the space to move around, but not to sleep. If she fell asleep inside, she would be kicked out immediately.

This meant she couldn’t live in the space long-term—one of the true reasons she had died in her previous life, despite having this magical advantage.

In this life, she would be fully prepared to face the end of the world.

After exiting the space, Mu Jiu stuffed the 100,000 yuan hidden under the safe into her bag and drove off.

Since she planned to sell her city-center home, she needed to find a better place to live.

She headed straight to a mountain hot spring resort in the city’s outskirts—a popular winter vacation spot.

Her reborn self knew: the first disaster of the apocalypse would be a blizzard and extreme cold.

The entire world would be blanketed in snow, resembling a polar continent. All soil would freeze solid.

Temperatures would drop to over -100°C (minus 148°F) and stay that way from the poles to the equator—for three whole years.

Survival would depend on open flames for warmth to avoid freezing to death.

The resort sat in a mountain valley, surrounded by thick forest and three mountain faces—firewood wouldn’t be a problem.

It consisted of 50 standalone villas.

Each villa had natural hot spring water piped directly into indoor baths.

There were also outdoor hot spring pools—more than 100 in total from top to bottom of the mountain. The selling point: soak anywhere, anytime.

Each villa had two floors, a rooftop, and a small courtyard.

And the low population density of the suburban area made it a far safer and more comfortable apocalypse refuge compared to high-rise city apartments.

Mu Jiu planned to rent one villa and use it as her apocalypse base.

She chose the villa located in the north of the resort—closest to the mountain’s base, and farthest from the entrance—seeking isolation.

The villa’s total area was around 300 square meters (3,200 sqft), with two small courtyards totaling about 100 sqm.

She signed a three-year lease at the service center. Minimum rental term: six months. Her 100,000 yuan was just enough to pay that.

Not that she hated money—it was just that the villa’s security was too weak. She needed to renovate and reinforce it, and that required committing to a full-year lease.

Over the next two days, Mu Jiu hired a renovation team and had them start work.

According to her needs and plans, the designer estimated the renovation would cost about 6 million yuan.

This included strengthening all the walls, doubling insulation layers, installing fireplaces throughout, and adding a whole-house ventilation system.

All furniture would be replaced, with wall-to-wall carpeting, upgraded doors and windows, and added solid anti-theft grilles.

She planned to enclose both front and back courtyards in tempered glass, redesign the gardens—vegetable patch in the front, animal pen in the back.

Around the courtyard fence, she would install electric fencing. Beyond that, she’d dig a 2m-wide, 2m-deep moat, filled with hot spring water.

Inside the villa, she’d add independent water and electricity systems and a full security system.

Thankfully, the designer was a professional and didn’t question her motives too much.

After all, in recent years, homeowners with eccentric renovation requests were becoming more common.

Turning a villa into a prison-style fortress wasn’t that unusual anymore.

The renovation costs were steep, but having a secure place to live was absolutely vital.

Before her house sold, Mu Jiu took out 1 million yuan from the 1.5 million she got from her grandfather’s relocation compensation and paid it to the construction company upfront.

She required the work to be done within 25 days, on time and with quality, with formaldehyde levels under control. Final payment would be made only after inspection—otherwise, the contractor would bear all rework costs.

Though the designer felt pressured, the profit was too good to pass up. Once the contract was signed, they worked day and night without delay.

Meanwhile, her father’s side wasn’t sitting idle either.

After Mu Jiu blocked all their phone numbers, they began calling her using other people’s phones.