After clearly explaining the shooting techniques, Jia Wu allowed her to shoot freely.

The result: ten rounds, all on target—Nan Muran scored an impressive 93 out of 100.

Having lived through the apocalypse once, Nan Muran wasn’t excited by this. She understood that results on a shooting range meant nothing in real combat.

But Jia Wu was surprised. For someone training at a civilian range, this level was exceptional. Clearly, she’d spent plenty of time (and money) practicing before.

Because of her consistent performance in the gun room, Jia Wu took her out of the villa that very afternoon.

Affected by the rain, her first round at 25 meters was a disaster—all ten bullets missed the target.

“At this distance, you can’t even hit the target. Do you think you’ll have a chance to shoot when facing a real expert?” Jia Wu’s voice was cold and stern. “Again. Focus. Concentrate.”

Nan Muran fired again, and the results were still terrible.

Jia Wu didn’t lose patience. Over and over, he drilled her on the fundamentals, taught her how to judge wind speed and air humidity, and how these factors affected both the gun and the bullets—until she could hit the target even in the rain.

In the days that followed, Nan Muran trained with firearms in the morning and learned close-quarters combat with a dagger in the afternoon.

Dagger combat with broken blades—this kind of life-or-death fighting required quick reflexes, speed, and precision. It also tested psychological endurance more than anything else.

For thirty-five days straight, Nan Muran was completely isolated from the outside world. Within her small corner of existence, she underwent a transformation—physically and mentally.

At last, Jia Wu nodded and agreed to let her leave the villa.

Nan Muran cheered in excitement, but Bai Mei on the side couldn’t help feeling worried.

“She can easily take down five or six strong adult men barehanded now,” Jia Wu quietly reassured his wife. “And with a dagger or gun, her odds only increase.”

“Take Tank with you. I’ve spent a lot of time training him. He can help when needed,” Jia Wu told Nan Muran.

Nan Muran was stunned. Training Tank?

These past 30+ days, from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., Jia Wu had been training her nonstop. Where did he find the time to train a dog?

“Brother Wu… have you even been sleeping properly?” Nan Muran’s nose stung with emotion. No wonder he’d spaced out and let her throw him to the ground—it wasn’t that she’d gotten strong, but that he was just too tired.

“Tank has worked hard too. He meets the standard of a top-tier military dog now—maybe even surpasses it. With him by your side, we’ll feel more at ease,” Jia Wu added.

Looking at the two of them, Nan Muran couldn’t bring herself to say no.

But she had to go down the mountain and settle things with her enemies.

Before leaving, she filled the kitchen’s refrigerators to the brim and stocked the basement with other supplies.

Then, she accelerated the growth of the willow trees and vines she had planted earlier.

The seven willows around the villa and the vines in the center began growing at a visibly rapid pace. Once they surpassed the height of the villa, their branches and tendrils wrapped around each other, completely covering the entire building without leaving a trace.

From afar, the villa blended perfectly with the mountain behind it. Even up close, it would be hard to find any flaws.

Even though they had already witnessed Nan Muran using the life force of weeds to save Bai Mei, this scene still left Jia Wu and Bai Mei speechless.

“I’m a wood-type ability user. In the apocalypse, many people will awaken abilities. You just haven’t met any others yet,” Nan Muran said with a calm smile. “Too many people were involved in building and renovating this villa. When the city becomes truly unlivable, some of them might come looking.”

Jia Wu nodded. He understood human nature all too well. “I get what you mean.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. You two take care of yourselves.” The internet had long since gone out. Once they parted, it would be difficult to communicate again.

When Nan Muran reached the city, she found that despite the heavy rain, small groups of survivors were still floating on the water, using makeshift rafts to scavenge supplies.

Unfortunately, the rain had already ruined all grain and flour. At best, they could find some packaged instant food.

At this point, instant noodles, all kinds of sealed ready-to-eat meals, even packaged rice and flour, bread, snacks—these had become hot commodities.

Nan Muran had enough food and didn’t care to fight others for survival essentials. But others weren’t as kind-hearted as she was.

When they saw Nan Muran’s sleek two-seater kart-boat and the muscular dog beside her, many eyes lit up with greed.

It had been a month and a half since the apocalypse began. Starving people lay everywhere, and meat had become a distant dream. That dog looked so well-fed—just thinking about boiling it for soup made some of them drool.

Driven by greed for the boat and the dog meat, many began approaching.

Once they got closer and got a good look at Nan Muran, her beauty stunned them. Dressed in a black raincoat, she looked like a fairy untouched by the horrors of this apocalyptic world.

The chaos hadn’t dulled her shine—it had only sharpened it. Seeing her, many harbored even filthier thoughts.

Nan Muran was fully aware of their intentions. As long as they didn’t make a move, she wouldn’t act rashly. But if any idiot crossed the line—she wouldn’t hesitate.

In a lawless world like this, she wasn’t going to tolerate a single ounce of disrespect.

Soon, a slightly larger group approached. Leading them was a tall, burly man.

“Hey girl, how about coming with me? I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about food again,” he said, his eyes full of undisguised greed as he stared at her.

He was sick of the few dry, withered women back home. This girl in front of him—before the apocalypse, he wouldn’t have even dared look at her. But now? Power meant everything.

Tank sensed the man’s hostility and fixed a deadly stare on him, muscles tensing as he prepared to strike.

Nan Muran reached out to gently pat Tank’s head and slowly stood up, eyes cold as if she were looking at a corpse. “I’ll give you one chance. Take back what you just said.”

“Ooh, got a temper, huh?” the man laughed wildly. “I like that. I want you—and if I want it, I take it. What can you do about it?”

The people behind him laughed too, not taking the slim girl—or even her dog—seriously.

They didn’t stop to wonder how she managed to stay so put-together in a collapsed world, or how she had the resources to keep a dog that healthy.

As their laughter echoed across the water—

Nan Muran suddenly produced a military dagger, leaped onto their raft in a single bound, and in one fluid motion, slashed the man’s throat wide open. Blood sprayed.

In the blink of an eye, she was back on her own boat, steady as ever.

Her cold and ruthless strike terrified everyone nearby.

The arrogant, vulgar brute who’d just been showing off now lay face-down in the water, his blood turning the surface crimson. Everyone’s heart trembled in fear.