Time moved slowly.
The smell of instant noodles had been thick enough to fill the whole store at first, but after a while it faded. Zhang Jun sat inside, nose long since adjusted, barely registering it anymore.
Outside, the street was as still as a city that had been dead for years.
The only constant was the Deadwalkers—tireless, clawing at the glass door without end. Nothing else changed.
Maybe I read this wrong.
Maybe there's no one left alive in this area.
Or maybe the survivors are too far away to catch the smell.
Zhang Jun looked at the bowl of noodles sitting under the exhaust fan. The broth had reduced, the noodles swelling into a soft, bloated mass.
His patience was running out too.
Half an hour more.
If nothing happened by then, he'd have to give up. He couldn't stake everything on a bowl of instant noodles.
Just as Zhang Jun was about to stand up and eat the thing himself, the street outside blazed white.
*Boom!*
A deep-red column of fire tore through the darkness, sweeping straight through the cluster of Deadwalkers pressed against the door.
The heat erupted in an instant. The Deadwalkers didn't even have time to shriek before the flames swallowed them whole—bodies charring black, collapsing onto the cracked asphalt like rotted timber.
The stench of burning flesh and putrid rot rolled outward, thick enough that just watching made Zhang Jun's throat clench.
Thanks to the Absolute Safe Zone, the heat couldn't reach inside the store.
Even the bowl of noodles under the fan was untouched.
But Zhang Jun didn't relax. Every muscle in his body went taut.
In a dead city like this, Deadwalkers weren't necessarily the most dangerous thing out there.
From the dark mouth of an alley, a figure stepped slowly into the open.
A woman.
Tall, lean, wearing a scuffed black leather jacket over a fitted top and loose-cut pants built for movement. Military boots crunched over broken concrete with a soft, deliberate *crunch-crunch*. Dark red hair was tied low at the nape of her neck; a few singed strands fell across her cheek, making her pale, cold face look sharper than it already was.
She didn't look like someone who'd been running for her life through the Collapse.
She looked like someone who'd gotten used to hunting in it.
The woman stopped in front of Dai Jun General Store.
Her gaze swept the faded sign, the glass door still lit from inside, the shelves packed with goods—then settled on Zhang Jun.
The corner of her mouth ticked upward.
"Someone actually running a shop in this godforsaken place. Gutsy."
Zhang Jun said nothing.
He watched her through the glass, mind moving fast.
That fire was hers.
One strike. More than ten Deadwalkers, gone.
This woman was strong.
"Hey, Shopkeeper." She tilted her head, voice lazy, eyes anything but. "Mind if I come in and take a look?"
She stepped toward the door as she said it.
One second later.
*Thud.*
Like walking into an invisible wall, her whole body jerked to a stop—a force soft but completely unyielding pushed her back half a step.
The smile dropped off her face.
She raised one gloved hand and pressed it slowly into the air in front of her. Her fingertips stopped mid-motion, as if resting against a pane of cold, perfectly smooth glass.
Her expression shifted.
"A Space Barrier?" She looked at Zhang Jun, voice dropping. "Or some kind of force field? Whatever your ability is, it's strange. I've never seen an Awakened build a shield like this."
Zhang Jun stayed quiet.
But that one sentence told him everything he needed to know.
She thought he was Awakened.
A very useful misunderstanding.
When he didn't answer, the woman didn't get angry. If anything, the curiosity in her eyes deepened.
"I'm Hong Van."
"Zhang Jun."
Hong Van glanced past his shoulder. Her gaze locked immediately onto the steaming bowl under the exhaust fan, then moved to the stacked cases of instant noodles on the shelves.
"What are you selling that for?"
Zhang Jun studied her for a moment, then said:
"Gold only."
"Gold?"
Hong Van blinked. Then she laughed.
The sound rang out across the dead street—half amused, half cold.
"Zhang Jun, have you been hiding in this shop so long you don't know what's going on out there? Nobody uses that metal anymore. Gold doesn't feed you. Doesn't hydrate you. Doesn't kill Deadwalkers."
"Here, I only take gold."
Zhang Jun's voice was even.
He wasn't in a hurry. He wasn't the one who wanted to buy.
Hong Van held his gaze for a long moment. The smile faded.
"Looks like I need to teach you how people talk to someone stronger than them in this world."
She lifted one finger.
A flame the color of embers appeared at its tip—no bigger than a grape—but the air around it immediately warped with heat. The firelight caught Hong Van's eyes, making her expression impossible to read.
She flicked her finger.
The flame shot straight at Zhang Jun's face.
It was fast.
Fast enough that without the barrier, he wouldn't have had time to dodge.
But the moment it touched the Absolute Safe Zone, it vanished.
No explosion.
No shockwave.
Not even a scorch mark.
It was as if something had swallowed it whole, without a sound.
Through all of it, Zhang Jun stood behind the glass door without moving. He didn't even blink.
Hong Van's pupils contracted.
This time, the amusement left her face for real.
She'd known the barrier was unusual. She hadn't expected it to neutralize her fire that completely—not a trace left behind.
This wasn't any ordinary defensive ability.
Zhang Jun watched the shock register in her eyes.
Something settled in his chest.
This store was stronger than he'd given it credit for.
"So," he said, steering things back on track, "are we ready to talk business?"
He was here to make money. Not to fight.
Hong Van was quiet for a moment.
Then she exhaled, and the smile came back—but this time it carried something careful underneath it.
"Fine, Shopkeeper." The way she addressed him shifted naturally. "Name your price. What's the bowl going for?"
"A hundred grams of gold."
Zhang Jun said it straight.
"A hundred grams?"
Hong Van's voice jumped.
She looked at the bowl, then at Zhang Jun, expression like she'd just heard a joke that went too far.
"Are you out of your mind? A bowl of instant noodles for a hundred grams of gold. Why not just rob me and get it over with?"
The anger she'd been holding down threatened to flare back up.
Even in the Collapse, even if gold was practically useless metal now, that didn't mean she had to stand here and get gouged.
Zhang Jun just looked at her. His expression didn't change.
"You don't have to buy it."
Hong Van felt a hot knot of frustration lodge in her throat.
She'd been grinding through these ruins long enough. With her fire ability, wherever she went, survivors gave her a wide berth. Some were wary, some tried to flatter her—some took one look at the flames on her hand and stepped aside without a word.
And yet the man standing in front of her, who looked for all the world like an ordinary shopkeeper, was talking to her like this.
What made it worse was that she genuinely couldn't do anything to him.
The invisible barrier in front of the door was like a bucket of cold water dumped on every spark of anger before it could catch.
Hong Van pressed her lips together.
"You—"
She got one word out before she stopped, because she couldn't figure out what move to make next.
Zhang Jun didn't bother arguing. He turned and walked back to the bowl of noodles.
The noodles had bloated past their prime—not as good as when he'd first poured the water—but the smell was still there. In a world that reeked of rot and rust, that cheap seasoning scent cut straight through to the stomach.
Zhang Jun picked up a fork and pulled out a large mouthful.
The slurp of noodles was very clear in the dead-quiet street.
Salty broth, rich and faintly spicy, mixed with soft noodles and the familiar oiliness of the braised beef packet. On any normal day, this would've been a broke shopkeeper's dinner.
Right now, Zhang Jun found it surprisingly good.
Hong Van stood outside the door. Her eyes drifted, without meaning to, to the bowl.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten a hot meal. Since the Collapse, she'd survived mostly on dented cans, hardtack, energy bars, and whatever she could scavenge from old stockpiles. Edible, filling, not dead—that was the bar.
The feeling of actually wanting food had become a luxury a long time ago.
Her stomach gave a quiet growl.
A small sound.
But in the silence, it was loud enough to make Hong Van's face go rigid.
Zhang Jun acted like he hadn't heard it. He slowly forked up a tiny scrap of meat from the noodles, chewed it carefully, expression so unbothered it was infuriating.
Hong Van looked at him. Then at the bowl.
Finally, she gritted her teeth.
"Fine. You win."
She pulled in a breath, fighting to keep her voice from sounding too much like a loss.
"I don't have enough gold on me right now. Can I run a tab?"
The moment she said it, Hong Van felt her own face heat up.
In these ruins, people came to her. She'd never once stood outside a convenience store begging to buy a bowl of noodles on credit.
Zhang Jun swallowed his mouthful and looked up at her.
"This store doesn't do credit."
He said it calmly.
Hong Van's brow furrowed.
"I'll pay you back."
"Out there, nobody can guarantee they'll make it through the night." Zhang Jun set down his fork, voice quiet but clear. "If you don't come back, who do I collect from?"
Hong Van had no answer.
She knew he was right.
Knowing he was right didn't make it easier to hear.
If a look could set someone on fire, Zhang Jun would've been ash several times over by now.
He paid no attention to that look. He bent his head and finished the rest of the noodles, which had gone fully soft in the bowl. By the end, he drank the broth too.
When he was done, Zhang Jun let out a quiet breath and set the bowl on the counter.
Then he reached to the shelf, grabbed a packaged sausage stick, tore the wrapper, and walked to the glass door.
"Sample."
He flicked his wrist.
The sausage stick passed through the invisible barrier, traced a small arc through the air, and landed on the cracked concrete in front of Hong Van's boots.
She went still.
Her eyes went cold immediately.
The gesture was too casual—like tossing a taste to a customer, but also like a quiet reminder that the choices here were his to make.
Hong Van's pride took a direct hit.
But the smell of savory, slightly sweet meat from the freshly opened sausage slipped straight into her nose.
It wasn't anything fancy. Just starch, artificial flavoring, and a hint of processed meat. But in the middle of the Collapse, that smell was enough to drag memories of before flooding back: convenience stores, snack counters, meals eaten in a hurry that no one had thought to appreciate.
Her rational mind told her to walk away.
Her body didn't listen.
Zhang Jun leaned against the doorframe and waited.
He had plenty of patience.
One second.
Two seconds.
Hong Van bent down and picked up the sausage stick.
She peeled off the rest of the wrapper and took a bite.
Salt, sweetness, and artificial pepper spread across her tongue.
Cheap.
Familiar.
Annoyingly good.
Hong Van ate fast. A few bites and it was gone. She looked up, face not quite flushed, but the look she gave Zhang Jun was a lot more complicated than before.
"That's a gesture of goodwill," Zhang Jun said, right on cue. "A hundred grams of gold for a bowl of noodles. Posted price. Non-negotiable."
Hong Van looked at him without answering right away.
That small sausage stick hadn't come close to filling her up. If anything, it was like a match thrown into a stomach that had learned to live with hunger—the craving it lit was worse than before.
The bowl of hot noodles she'd watched him eat looked more appealing to her now than any piece of jewelry.
Hong Van breathed in slowly, forcing herself to stay level.
"Wait for me."
She turned to go.
With her ability, if she was willing to spend the time, she could hit a few old collection points—pre-Collapse banks, the neighborhoods where the wealthy used to live. Scraping together a hundred grams of gold wasn't impossible.
"One more thing."
Zhang Jun's voice came from behind her.
Hong Van stopped. She turned her head and looked back at him, a new edge of wariness in her eyes.
Zhang Jun didn't rush. He walked to the old cooler beside the counter, opened it, and pulled out a cold can of Coca-Cola, red and beaded with condensation.
*Psst.*
The tab cracked open with a clean, crisp sound.
Bubbles rose gently. Cold moisture clung to the outside of the can, beading into small drops under the store's light.
Zhang Jun tilted his head back and took a long sip.
The cold sweetness and bite of carbonation slid down his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, satisfied.
Hong Van's pupils dilated slightly.
She recognized it.
Coca-Cola.
Before the Collapse, you could buy it at any corner store.
But that was then.
In a world where clean water was something people fought and died over, a cold can of Coke was a luxury so absurd it almost didn't feel real.
Hong Van felt her own throat go dry.
"Noodles are the main course. Might as well have something to wash it down."
Zhang Jun gave the can a light swirl. The drops on the outside rolled down, catching the light.
"This one's fifty grams of gold a can."
Hong Van's breath came a little heavier.
But Zhang Jun wasn't done.
He set the can down and reached to the shelf again, this time pulling out a bag of spicy snack sticks.
The moment the bag tore open, the sharp, tangy, chili-oil smell cut straight through the lingering char still drifting in from outside.
Zhang Jun pulled one out and bit off a piece, unhurried.
"A little something to snack on after the meal isn't bad either."
He looked at Hong Van.
"This one's cheaper. Thirty grams of gold a bag."
Instant noodles, hot.
Coca-Cola, cold.
Spicy snack sticks.
Before the Collapse, these three things were the cheap snacks of students, office workers pulling late nights, people staying up to game or watch a stall. But right now, together, they formed an invitation that was almost impossible to resist—pulling people back toward the ordinary days they'd lost.
Hong Van's hand tightened.
She looked at the man standing behind the glass door, and for the first time felt that he wasn't anything like an ordinary shopkeeper.
He knew exactly what to use to hit the weakest point in every survivor.
"You'd better make sure you're stocked up."
She threw the words back at him, voice coming out almost through clenched teeth.
Then Hong Van didn't look at Zhang Jun again. Her lean figure, trailing a faint edge of violence that hadn't quite settled, disappeared around the dark corner of the street.
She had gold to find.
Right now.