Chapter 7 – Injected with Chicken Blood

Jiang Yan only planned to stockpile supplies for one or two months. After that, she was ready to dive into some other, more exciting endeavors.

“Miss Yan, about the high-rise apartments you wanted—one of the landlords can only hand over the keys tonight. For the other one, I already have the keys on hand, so I can take you to see it tomorrow.”
When Du Zitong said this, his face was full of exhaustion.

He had always considered himself physically strong, and after working as a real estate agent for so many years, his endurance was better than most.

But after running around under the blazing sun all afternoon, even he felt drained.

By contrast, Jiang Yan was still radiant and full of energy—nothing like someone who had just flown a ten-hour international flight back “for a funeral” and then walked around the entire afternoon.

In fact, she wasn’t just energetic—she felt light, powerful, and practically brimming with vitality.

Like she’d been injected with chicken blood.

Thinking back, this change in her condition seemed to start right after she came out of the space.

At the time she was too busy acting alongside that fake reporter to notice.

But now it was obvious—her weakness from earlier was completely gone.

Could it really be the effect of the space?

She decided to test it out when she got home later.

“Alright. You’ve worked hard today. Let’s head back.” Jiang Yan glanced at her watch—it was already 7:30.

“Miss Yan, then I’ll head back too. Please get some rest once you’re home. And be careful on the road.” Du Zitong said goodbye and was just about to get into his SUV when Jiang Yan called out:

“Old Du, keep today’s warehouse, buying, and renting business a secret.”

“Of course, Miss Yan, you can count on me.” Du Zitong smiled sincerely, and only left once Jiang Yan waved him off.

Back home, Jiang Yan stepped into the space first.

Sure enough—the space really did have a cleansing, marrow-washing effect.

And the longer she stayed inside, the stronger the effect became.

She could even feel impurities in her body transforming into a faint gray mist, slowly drifting out of her.

On top of that, after a full afternoon of “nourishment,” the withered rose she had planted in the black soil had turned lush and green, almost as if reborn.

The tender shoots had grown noticeably taller.

Even the other roses still left in pots, though not planted in the soil, had shed their withered yellow leaves and begun turning green again.

It wasn’t just the fertile black soil that had miraculous properties—the very air inside seemed capable of nurturing all living things.

She also noticed:

• In the black [Planting Area], time clearly flowed faster than in the outside world.
• In the gray [Storage Area], time stood still.
• She guessed that in the white [Living Area], time flowed at the same rate as reality.

Satisfied with these conclusions, Jiang Yan stayed inside for a while longer before returning to her room.

Glancing at the bank’s text notifications on her phone, she saw that just today—buying bottled and barreled mineral water, renting warehouses, purchasing storage tanks, second-hand shelving, and so on—she had spent close to 30 million.

Not bad at all. After all, she had just secured enough drinking water for her entire lifetime.

That night was her mother’s seventh-day memorial. After setting out the prepared offerings and eating a little herself, she carried her laptop into the bedroom.

She was determined to draft a prep plan for the three months leading up to the apocalypse, and to organize a rough supplies checklist.

Money wasn’t her problem—but blindly throwing cash at random purchases wasn’t the way either.

As for supermarkets—best to avoid them for now.

Not only did they have cameras, but the sheer quantity of goods on their shelves couldn’t possibly keep up with her stockpiling plans. Worse, if her buying spree was caught on surveillance or leaked online by someone malicious, it could cause a public uproar.

Later, when she needed miscellaneous odds and ends, she could go casually browse.

But for now, the less attention she drew, the better.

She also planned to research things like how much grain, meat, and oil an average person consumed in a lifetime.

She wasn’t familiar with those figures, but the internet was a useful reference.

Maybe she hadn’t raised pigs, but she’d at least seen them run.

Despite her reputation as a pampered heiress, Jiang Yan had actually grown up frugal.

Back then, online shopping wasn’t nearly as convenient.

Her parents had started out delivering parcels, but in the beginning, they also worked odd jobs—her father carrying bricks at construction sites, hauling sacks in logistics yards, her mother working as a waitress in restaurants.

It was true what they said: poor kids matured early.

By the age of six, Jiang Yan was already standing on a stool, helping with cooking.

Sure, her first few meals were disasters—the stir-fry undercooked, way too salty, rice burnt—but instead of scolding her, her parents encouraged her.

That encouragement sparked her love for cooking.

After school, whenever she had time, she’d cook meals for the family.

Later, once the family grew wealthy, they naturally hired housekeepers, and Jiang Yan stopped cooking.

After graduating from university, instead of pursuing further studies, she became a food and travel blogger.

But she wasn’t the type of blogger who just ate, took photos, and posted reviews.

Whenever she could, she would recreate the dishes herself—sometimes even experimenting with ancient recipes from old texts.

She had even secretly apprenticed under a Michelin three-star chef and an executive chef at a five-star hotel.

If not for family…

But that was a memory from her past life.

With a soft sigh, Jiang Yan shook herself out of her thoughts and focused back on drafting her stockpiling checklist.

---

The next day.

Early in the morning, the used-car dealer she contacted came to collect her vehicles.

Luxury cars depreciated quickly anyway, and since she offered a good deal, her top-tier RVs and sports cars were soon towed away.

While waiting for the paperwork at the used-car market, she casually bought a second-hand, box-style light truck the dealer had just taken in.

It hadn’t even been repainted yet.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford new cars—

But she intended to stash this truck away for later.

When the apocalypse hit, she could pull it out and use it as needed.

A second-hand domestic truck would blend in far better in the ruined world than a flashy new ride.

And for now—who would ever suspect that a billionaire heiress, known for her love of luxury cars, would be driving a beat-up little freight truck around every day?

It was the perfect cover for her constant supply runs.

Besides, she already had an A1 license from back when she bought an RV for road trip vlogs.

Handling a small truck like this? Easy.