Chapter 64: Promotional Video of God’s Supermarket, Released!
Song Yuqing was itching to track down Master Fu and grill him, but as usual, the old spirit was nowhere to be found.
Still, his warnings had jogged her memory about a back-burner project: shooting a promotional video for the God’s Supermarket. Before the apocalypse, commercial promos had mostly lost their edge, devolving into flashy, self-indulgent projects that brands used to amuse themselves. But in a bleak world completely starved of entertainment and reliable information, things were different. A well-placed promo could be an absolute bombshell—especially now that Nanjiao and his crew were successfully restoring network communications between the major bases.
Even if the larger bases had their own space-type hoarders with full stockpiles, there was no guarantee their residents wouldn’t be lured in by the supermarket’s footage and make a few impulse buys. If she played her cards right, the video might even convince the right kind of people to make the trek and visit the brick-and-mortar shop in person.
Using digital marketing to drive offline foot traffic—the long-dormant gears of her inner corporate worker finally snapped back into place. Song Yuqing felt a sudden, familiar rush of professional excitement.
Pre-apocalyptic commercials were always entirely too overproduced, making it easy to miss the actual point. This time, she was going to shoot it using the simplest, most brutal approach possible. Besides, she was the boss now; anyone who dared leave a bad review would find themselves permanently banned from buying her supplies.
With her newfound leverage giving her an extra boost of confidence, Song Yuqing went to work. First, she snapped clean photos of the various items lining the shelves to use as official product listings on the e-commerce platform. Then, she flipped her phone over to the video function.
“Gaha! I need a hand!” she called out.
Gaha scrambled out of the back room, her chest puffed out with pride as she eagerly accepted the assignment.
Song Yuqing held her phone as steadily as she could while Gaha hoisted her onto her back, darting around the property to showcase her lightning-fast zombie agility. For lighting, Gaha wore a massive tactical flashlight strapped to her forehead.
The promotional video opened with a wide, sweeping shot of a sleek, silver building standing defiant against the absolute blackness of the polar night. The camera slowly pushed forward, zeroing in on the God’s Supermarket sign as it cast a warm, gentle white glow into the dark. Bamboo groves and the towering tallow tree swayed softly in the quiet night. Nearby, the high-tech security gates crackled with defensive electricity, drawing a stark contrast against the dilapidated, desolate ruins surrounding the property.
The juxtaposition was breathtaking. The God’s Supermarket looked less like a retail shop and more like a sacred sanctuary—a beacon of pilgrimage and salvation.
Suddenly, the pacing quickened. The camera swept straight through the front doors, moving in a rapid, cinematic blur past rows of immaculately organized shelves. It smoothly transitioned from panoramic overviews to crisp, mouth-watering close-ups: racks of food, daily necessities, heavy-duty outdoor gear, and lethal weapons. It was a dazzling, endless array of wealth.
Satisfied with the footage, Song Yuqing saved the clip and headed upstairs to capture the café. She filmed the cozy ambiance, the vibrant colors of the attribute-boosting coffees, and the automated taps that projected translucent, sci-fi menus the moment a customer approached.
For the grand finale, Song Yuqing pointed her lens at the artificial window upstairs, capturing the hyper-realistic projection of a sparkling blue ocean basking under brilliant sunlight. Following her whispered directions, Gaha carefully adjusted her headlamp, angling the beam perfectly out of frame to cast a dramatic cinematic flare directly across the lens.
Song Yuqing smiled. She knew this specific shot would be the undisputed highlight of the entire video.
To wrap it all up, she coined a bold, punchy slogan: God’s Supermarket—The Ultimate Choice for Apocalypse Survival.
“Does it come off a bit too self-absorbed?” Song Yuqing asked later, playing the rough cut for her employees.
Liu Xiaona shook her head vigorously. “Not at all! It’s entirely accurate. That’s literally just what the shop looks like!”
Song Yuqing shrugged, pulling up an editing app on her phone to overlay text. She added brief callouts highlighting the magical properties of the shop’s inventory, threw in the standard trading guidelines and their exact coordinates, and capped the video off with an irresistible hook:
“The first ten offline customers will receive a free, one-size-fits-all anti-zombie suit.”
With everything polished, Song Yuqing exported the file and uploaded it directly to the platform’s homepage. Still feeling like she needed to expand her reach, she pinged Nanjiao and sent him a private copy.
Is there any way we can broadcast this to a wider audience? she messaged.
By the time Nanjiao’s phone buzzed, a crowd had already gathered around his terminal at Base No. 35, staring at the newly uploaded video on the platform’s homepage.
A group of local volunteers had assembled to help study the e-commerce network’s interface. When the fresh video thumbnail popped up, someone instinctively clicked play.
Within seconds, the entire room was transfixed by the sight of the mysterious, glowing supermarket standing proud against the apocalyptic void. For three full minutes, the promotional video held the room in a chokehold. When the screen finally faded to black, everyone burst into frantic chatter.
“Holy crap, this God’s Supermarket looks insane!”
“Right? No wonder they were able to launch an online shopping network out of nowhere.”
“Man, I want to see this place in person so badly! Did you see the end? The first ten walk-in customers get a free anti-zombie suit!”
“Why is it even called ‘God’s Supermarket’ anyway?”
“Maybe God literally opened it to save us!” someone joked.
It started as a lighthearted laugh, but as the rumor trickled out into the rest of Base No. 35, it solidified into a widely accepted fact. Most of the residents genuinely began to believe the shop had divine origins.
As the chatter rippled through the room, Nanjiao stared at his phone, looking slightly overwhelmed. Song Yuqing wanted him to blast this video out to the entire world? She really had too much faith in his technical capabilities.
Then again, he did have a workaround.
Nanjiao dug through a pile of salvaged electronics and pulled out a bulky, boxy communicator. The vintage piece of hardware contained a localized directory for every functional mobile device remaining in the territory—most of which belonged to elite personnel at Base Zero and Base One. While the infrastructure at those premier strongholds had regressed severely since the fall of civilization, a dying camel was still bigger than a horse; they still maintained a massive network.
Nanjiao imported the video file into the console and hit broadcast.
Almost simultaneously, hundreds of kilometers away, residents across Base Zero and Base One looked down as their phones vibrated with a text message link.
“So this is the famous God’s Supermarket…” Those who had only heard whispers of the place stared at their screens, their eyes lighting up.
“Wow. I mean, the camera work is a little rough around the edges, but it’s actually giving me goosebumps. I’m strangely emotional right now.”
“It honestly looks like a fairy tale.”
“Can’t we just convince this manager to relocate the entire building to our base?”
“Calm down. I heard they’re rolling out an online ordering platform for us pretty soon.”
“Screw waiting for shipping! Don’t you want to see what a place like that actually looks like in person?”
“But the journey is so long…”
The impact of the promotional video snowballed rapidly. Out on the streets, total strangers began stopping one another, completely consumed by discussions about the mysterious supermarket.
Nanjiao was just about to set his communicator down when a barrage of incoming notifications nearly crashed the device.
“Forming an expedition party! Anyone want to trek out and scout the God’s Supermarket?”
“Count me in! Sign me up!”
Nanjiao laughed, thoroughly amused. Normally, these high-level psychics wouldn’t dream of stepping foot outside their defensive walls unless they were forced to clear a zombie horde. Yet here they were, throwing caution to the wind and clamoring to venture into the wild all because of a three-minute video clip.
Nearby, Xie Hao, Xie Zetian, and Shen She—who didn’t own personal phones—had effectively hijacked Nanjiao’s main computer, rewatching the promo on a continuous loop.
“Yep, that’s our God’s Supermarket, alright,” Xie Hao sighed, a wave of homesickness washing over him.
A female volunteer walked past, pausing to look at them in surprise. “Wait, you guys actually came from there?”
Xie Hao puffed out his chest proudly. “We sure did! We’re practically family with the manager!”
“Is the supermarket in the clip really that incredible? Does that coffee actually boost your abilities?”
“Every single word of it is true,” Xie Hao promised. “No false advertising here!”
Back at the shop, Song Yuqing sat glued to her monitor, anxiously refreshing the e-commerce backend.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
The platform was suddenly drowning in a massive influx of messages from Base No. 35, with a staggering number of users declaring their intentions to visit the shop in person.
Song Yuqing leaned back in her chair, a wide, triumphant grin breaking across her face. The sheer satisfaction of a successful campaign was unmatched.
Noticing her grinning foolishly at the screen, Little Meat Bun waddled over, propping his paws up on her knee to peek at the monitor.
What are you smiling at? Let me see!
Song Yuqing froze as she looked down at the chubby creature, a sudden realization hitting her like a truck.
Oh no… how on earth did I manage to completely leave out our official mascot?!
