The moment Qi Li came rushing up, Nan Muran unhesitatingly raised her foot and kicked him hard in the stomach.
“Get lost, trash.”

Qi Li couldn’t dodge in time and stumbled straight to the floor. A sharp pain shot from his tailbone, draining all color from his face as cold sweat poured down.

Fortunately, there was a wall just a few steps behind him. If he’d gone tumbling down the stairs in this weather and environment, he might not have made it out alive.

“You’re disgusting,” Nan Muran spat, turning to leave without sparing him another glance.

Qi Li stared after her retreating figure at the end of the stairs, overwhelmed by an intense wave of hatred for the first time.

The two of them had been betrothed since childhood. Even though he had gotten involved with Nan Muting, he had since realized his mistake. Yet not only did Nan Muran ignore the many ways he had once treated her kindly, she even attacked him so ruthlessly.

Unforgivable.

Nan Muran didn’t care what Qi Li thought. Even if she knew, she wouldn’t be surprised.

Qi Li—and the entire Qi family, for that matter—were selfish to the core. While they might still cling to the value of the child Nan Muting carried, they’d always known that Nan Muran herself was far more valuable.

By the time she reached the thirty-sixth floor, it was just as she expected: the fire safety door she’d locked when she left the penthouse had already been pried open.

The elevator lobby, about twenty square meters in size, had been turned into a makeshift camp—there were sofas, bedding, clothes, and various daily supplies strewn about. The stench from lack of ventilation was overwhelming.

Her own front door showed signs of attempted forced entry. If the lock and door hadn’t been sturdy enough, her home would’ve been ransacked by the other residents long ago.

The most infuriating part was that someone had piled a disgusting heap of trash right in front of her door, blocking her way in. Clearly, when they couldn’t break in, they decided to vent their frustration by dumping garbage there.

After checking to make sure no one was around, Nan Muran simply waved her hand, using her psychic power to sweep all the trash—and everything else in front of her door—into the stairwell.

She then pulled out a new lock and secured the fire safety door from the inside.

It had been raining for over a month and a half now, and the building’s water, electricity, and gas had long since failed.

Inside the apartment, everything was damp, and condensation beaded heavily on the walls. Even indoors, it was bitterly cold.

Nan Muran headed for the storage room and fired up the backup generator to restore power. She turned the air conditioner up to thirty degrees and set it to dehumidify. Then she switched on the robot vacuum, air purifier, and every other electric appliance.

Finally, she stepped into the bathroom. Thankfully, being on the top floor meant it only smelled a bit stale, not intolerably foul. Lower floors might have had sewage backing up by now.

She opened the bathroom window for ventilation and pulled the blinds shut.

Then, she drew piping hot water into the bathtub—pulled from the hot springs she’d collected halfway up the mountain—and sank into a relaxing soak.

After her bath, she changed into comfy loungewear and tossed all the damp bedding and sofa cushions into the dryer.

In this life, Nan Muran hadn’t done these things before, but in her previous life, when she hid in the apartment for over two months, she’d done them more times than she could count.

“Tank, time to get you dressed,” Nan Muran said, pulling out a red hoodie she’d bought for her dog. It looked great on him.

She also put on a thick sweater herself and finally started to feel warm.

“Tank, I want hot pot.” On a rainy day like this, nothing hit the spot like a super spicy beef tallow broth.

Hearing the word “hot pot,” Tank barked in delight.

Ever since joining Bai Mei and Jiawu and tasting freshly cooked meals and meats made just for him, Tank had never touched his stockpiled dog food again.

“Hot pot’s easy. I can make it,” Nan Muran said confidently as she pulled out a portable gas stove, a yin-yang hot pot, two soup bases—three delicacies and spicy beef tallow—and a five-liter bottle of mineral water.

Then she started pulling out ingredients from her storage space.

Three trays of marinated spicy beef, three trays of sliced raw beef, two trays of shrimp paste, lamb rolls, beef rolls, fish balls, duck intestines, ox tripe, congealed duck blood, aged tofu, crystal noodles, bean curd skin, broccoli, a platter of braised snacks, assorted vegetables…

She didn’t forget the sides either—crispy pork bites, fennel mini fried dough sticks, fried rice, a fruit platter…

The two-meter dining table was completely packed.

Last came the drinks—orange juice, cola, Sprite, and tea, one of each. Since they were all small cans, there was no fear of waste.

Since she started training with Jiawu, Nan Muran had become slimmer, but her appetite had more than doubled.

And she didn’t just eat a lot—she got hungry fast. Sometimes she had to eat five meals a day. If she hadn’t stockpiled enough food early on, she wouldn’t even be able to feed herself.

Plus, Tank had a big appetite too, so there was never any risk of wasting food.

She poured the two types of broth into the pot—three delicacies for Tank, spicy for herself—and pulled out the pre-mixed dipping sauces her staff had made.

She liked them all—sesame, garlic, and seafood—so she brought them all out and set them neatly.

Once everything was ready, she placed her portable TV on the table, plugged in a hard drive, and continued watching Empresses in the Palace.

Woman and dog sat at the table, watching TV while waiting for the water to boil.

Nan Muran loved spicy food. Tank couldn’t eat it at all. So they ate in perfect harmony.

The only downside was that Nan Muran had to play server, handling all the ingredients and fishing out food for Tank.
“Tank, can you eat a little slower?” she asked.

Tank bit into a thick slice of beef without a sound, making his disinterest obvious. Nan Muran sighed and obediently added more food to his bowl.

After eating their fill, they curled up together on the couch. Watching the final episode, Nan Muran spoke with a trace of regret,
“That’s it? It’s over already.”

Tank didn’t even bother responding—this was already the second time through the series. Couldn’t she pick something else?

Nan Muran got the hint and switched to Detective Dee. As she watched, she used her psychic powers to clean up the table and toss everything into the trash bin in her space.

Tank, who used to be stunned every time she pulled something out of thin air, was now completely unfazed by her strange powers.

Unfortunately, the peaceful moment didn’t last long. A loud pounding came from the fire escape door. Just from the sound, she could tell the person outside was furious.

Still drowsy, Nan Muran figured it must be the person who had been squatting outside her door. She couldn’t be bothered and decided to ignore it. Surely they’d get tired eventually and leave.

But she underestimated their persistence. Half an hour later, the knocking hadn’t stopped—in fact, it was getting louder, and now a small crowd had gathered in the hallway to watch.

With no other choice, she finally got up to open the door.

The moment the safety door swung open, everyone in the stairwell froze in shock.