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As Wang Zhi watched his team approach becoming the first Level 4 squad in Lirun Tower, he felt no particular excitement. Even if they met the promotion requirements, he wouldn’t rush it—being too conspicuous invited trouble, and trouble led to unexpected dangers. Besides, his Level 3 team was still one member short. He figured he could wait for other teams to advance first, then quietly promote his own squad later.
Closing the information panel, Wang Zhi checked the latest announcements: food and water prices continued to rise, electricity costs remained stable, and there were seven days left in the ongoing arms and ammunition discount event. Meanwhile, fifteen days remained until the seventh recruitment period ended.
Given the current circumstances, luck played a significant role in missions outside Lirun Tower. A stroke of good fortune meant scavenging supplies, rescuing survivors, and earning survival points. But bad luck? That could mean encountering mutated creatures or a horde of zombies, situations that could easily lead to total annihilation.
Lirun Tower, of course, didn’t care about any of that. Whether the mission was completed or not, it never suffered losses. In fact, if a mission was completed, the tower profited even more.
“Brilliant,” Wang Zhi muttered as he read the announcement.
“Captain Wang, are you okay? What’s so brilliant about rising prices?” Fatty asked, puzzled.
“I mean Lirun Tower. Just think about what kind of person could have created all of this,” Wang Zhi sighed, leaning back on the sofa in amazement.
“Enough of that. Let’s hit the hot springs later and unwind,” Su Muying suggested.
“Long live Sister Ying!” Fatty cheered, springing up from the couch.
“Yeah, it’s been a while since we last went. Last time, Fatty was sunbathing in the solar room,” Wang Zhi teased.
Fatty, however, didn’t seem to mind. He simply sat there grinning lecherously, as if already picturing Su Muying and Jialiu Li in their bathrobes.
After gathering their belongings, the five of them headed to Tianrun Hot Springs. Wang Zhi once again booked a private VIP area.
As he stepped into the hot spring, a heated towel was placed over his face. He leaned comfortably against the stone ledge, the warmth soaking into his muscles. It reminded him of life before the apocalypse, when he often indulged in various luxuries. Back then, every cent he earned was spent on food, drinks, and entertainment. By the time he arrived at Lirun Tower, his total savings had never exceeded 50,000. But looking back, he had no regrets—at least he hadn’t wasted his time hoarding money for a future that no longer existed.
He realized he was starting to enjoy this post-apocalyptic world. Before, he had been lonely, his only companion a computer. He had struggled to make friends, lacking shared interests and common goals with others.
But here in Lirun Tower, he was surrounded by all kinds of people—mercenaries, soldiers, students, mechanics, archaeologists—people he would never have met in his old life. Now, they laughed together, fought together, and shared a singular goal: survival.
As he reminisced, he unknowingly drifted off to sleep.
In his dream, Wang Zhi was running through an underground parking lot. His vision was blurry—he could see his surroundings, yet at the same time, he couldn’t. Blood trickled down his arm, his gun empty. His teammates were nowhere in sight.
The more he struggled to see clearly, the murkier his vision became. He could only hear the distant screams and the low growls of zombies echoing through the lot.
Like a headless fly, he sprinted blindly forward—until he collided with something.
Lifting his head, he saw a familiar yet indistinct figure. Four people stood with their backs to him, their postures strangely twisted. Just as he felt a flicker of hope, they turned around.
Their faces were monstrous. They were no longer human.
Zombies.
Wang Zhi chuckled bitterly, collapsing onto the ground. He didn’t struggle, allowing them to devour him. His breathing grew weaker. He knew he was about to die, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember who those four people were.
Suddenly, the four zombies stopped. Something had drawn them away.
As his consciousness faded, he saw someone running toward him, kneeling beside him.
Zhang Hao?
Yes, he knew this person.
Zhang Hao was calling his name, shouting desperately.
“Wang Zhi? Wang Zhi!”
“Ah?”
Wang Zhi jolted awake, his eyes darting through the steam-filled air. Lao He was standing beside him, staring in concern.
“Did you fall asleep?” Lao He asked.
“Hah… Yeah, I dozed off.”
Wang Zhi exhaled deeply, removing the towel from his face. It had accidentally covered his nose, likely triggering the nightmare. He shuddered slightly, recalling the horrifying dream.
“Bad dream?” Su Muying asked, watching him intently.
“Yeah.” Wang Zhi nodded, not denying it.
“What kind of dream could scare you like that?” Fatty asked curiously.
“A dream is just a dream. No need to take it seriously,” Wang Zhi muttered, rubbing his temples. He had no intention of sharing its details.
“It’s getting late. We should head back,” he said, hopping out of the spring and heading toward the changing room.
As Wang Zhi and his group left, they crossed paths with Tang Qilin, who arrived with his usual entourage of five women. Neither of them made eye contact, yet they remained within each other’s peripheral vision as they brushed past one another.
“Ugh, I can’t stand that glasses-wearing prick. He struts around with those five women like he’s afraid people won’t notice,” Fatty grumbled once they were out of earshot.
“If you don’t like him, challenge him to a fight,” Wang Zhi replied.
“Please, don’t underestimate me. That guy? I could knock him out in two punches,” Fatty boasted.
Arriving at the Intelligence Hall, Wang Zhi prepared to upload information about mutated zombies. This intel could help other teams understand the creatures’ characteristics.
Sitting at a terminal, he entered the details and submitted them for review. The price? 100 survival points.
Technically, he could charge much more—many teams would be eager for this information. But considering that not all squads were well-off, he set it at a modest 100 points.
After claiming 500 survival points from previous intelligence sales—four purchases of his giant python report—Wang Zhi browsed the latest intel.
Having learned from past mistakes, he carefully examined the posting teams. If the information came from a Level 1 or 2 team, he ignored it—he only trusted Level 3 squads.
After a long search, his eyes landed on a report about mutated zombies.
But he didn’t celebrate just yet. He needed to confirm who had posted it.
Then, he saw the price.
1,000 survival points.
This was daylight robbery.
Clicking on the details, his heart skipped a beat.
The team that had posted it—was Reincarnation.