At this moment, the blood-red countdown displayed prominently on the website’s homepage, long ignored by many, suddenly struck every netizen’s heart like a heavy alarm bell.

The end of the world. Countdown. Prophecy. Rescue.

Could it be… that the creator of this website wasn’t just trying to create hype, but was actually predicting the arrival of the apocalypse?

The thought chilled every user who had been idly browsing the site.

They finally turned their attention back to the “Doomsday Rescue” section. The function wasn’t yet open, only a pinned post from the site’s owner remained at the top—its title: an introduction to the apocalypse.

【The Next Three Years:】
【Stage One: Torrential rain, tornadoes, tsunamis】
【Stage Two: Acid rain, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, gray fog, insect plagues, crustal movement】
【Stage Three: Extreme cold, unknown】

Most of the listed disasters were natural in type—rainstorms, tornadoes, tsunamis, acid rain, earthquakes. Human history had recorded such calamities, some even fairly common.

Especially tornadoes and floods—every year at least one or two countries suffered catastrophic attacks from them.

As for “gray fog,” was it referring to air pollution?
And “insect plagues”—was that about the same kinds of epidemics humans had been fighting against for years?
Everyone’s hearts were unsettled.

They comforted themselves, thinking maybe the site owner was just fearmongering.

But… if this truly was the apocalypse, would the disasters be anything like the ordinary ones people had seen before?

Their attention soon shifted to the 100 “rescue slots” the site owner had announced.

The mini-program showed they were already full.

The earliest visitors to the site were now rejoicing. They had thought it was some company’s mysterious beta test for a new game and signed up early, out of curiosity.

And now… if the apocalypse really came, wouldn’t they actually have a chance at being rescued? A higher chance of survival?

Most others had joined the site later, never even looking carefully at the rescue section. Now they squatted there, hoping the owner would release more slots.

A few visitors, however, had their own missions. They only glanced at the rescue quota briefly—after all, with their identities, they would be guaranteed entry into national high-level shelters. Even if disasters struck, they could retreat to military bunkers buried hundreds of meters underground. Their safety was not a concern.

Meanwhile, proactive people had already started preparing survival supply lists, tailoring their plans to the disasters listed on the site.

They stockpiled supplies while keeping a close eye on the rescue section.

In the forums, users began discussing disaster strategies, material storage, and even inviting relatives and friends to join the site early—hoping to grab extra rescue slots.

Still, such stockpiling was mostly done by a minority of young people. The majority dismissed the “conspiracy theory,” couldn’t be bothered to click on some obscure site, and so the influence remained limited.

Even when bloggers discussed it, the matter drew no attention from authorities.

Inside Su You’s core fan group, however, excitement ran high.

They only knew about the site because Su You had mentioned it while streaming her apocalypse survival game. At the time, they thought it was promotional hype for a new game and eagerly rushed to grab beta test slots.

Now, those very slots turned out to be rescue qualifications.

For ordinary people, realizing that a random click might become a literal lifesaving chance was enough to make their hearts race with joy.

After the initial excitement, someone voiced a worry:

“I still want to get two slots for my parents… Do you think more rescue spots will open?”

“Probably. Judging by the site owner’s approach, those 100 slots were likely just a test run. More should be added later.”

“That’s good. If only we knew when the new slots would be released. I’d camp online the way I camp for concert tickets.”

“My guess? The next batch will come when the doomsday countdown hits zero. That’s a clear time marker, and I bet the site owner will show up then.”

“Yeah, makes sense. The pressure of predicting the apocalypse is huge. He probably doesn’t want to expose himself before the countdown ends.”

“Right? Honestly, the site owner’s a good guy (not sarcastic). He’s taken so much criticism—people accused him of clickbait and scare tactics. If it were me, I’d have quit long ago. But he still kept the server running, giving us a place to share information.”

“Exactly. If I knew the apocalypse was coming, I probably wouldn’t tell anyone. I’d just gather my family and quietly prepare.”

“Time’s running short. Those with money and time, go buy some emergency supplies now. I’ve got the e-books of the ‘Three Great Apocalypse Survival Guides.’ Here’s the link—take it if you need it.”

Reading this, Su You closed her phone.

In a way, this was her small, selfish gift to her friends—at least some people might be spared when the disasters arrived.

Though nothing seemed to have changed much online or in reality, undercurrents were already surging.

Certain governments, upon learning of the Snorre City infection incident, must have tightened defenses and begun urgent stockpiling.

After all, national power far surpassed that of individuals.

Ordinary people, kept in the dark, had no idea what had truly happened—so society hadn’t yet descended into panic or chaos.

Even when disasters began, state force could suppress unrest. Life wouldn’t immediately collapse, though food shortages and lower living standards might follow.

That would still buy governments enough time to relocate citizens into safe bases.

---

Shenzhen Airport.

Stepping off the plane, Su You immediately spotted Manager Wang waiting for her.

He was visibly excited to see her.

Once in the car, he quickly reported everything he’d been doing these past few days.

His main job was managing supermarket procurement staff, overseeing order lists, and ensuring product quality. With Sun Liancheng’s help, he had also kept warehouse operations running smoothly.

Following Su You’s instructions, he had even overseen the registration of a company and the acquisition of several food and raw material factories. Production lines were now running at full capacity.

So even while Su You was away, Manager Wang’s workload had hardly lessened—in fact, he had been running himself ragged, practically living on strong tea to stay awake.

Still, he voiced no complaints. After all, his salary had skyrocketed—doubled, and doubled again!

For a middle-aged man supporting a family, paying off a mortgage, and facing unemployment risks, who wouldn’t dream of being welded forever to such a high-paying job?