Chapter 131: Where Are the Zombies Going?
Master Fu’s suggestion made logical sense, but Song Yuqing felt that the timing was completely off.
First of all, neither she, Little Meat Bun, Gaha, nor Nanjiao had fully processed the shattering revelation that they were trapped inside a virtual doomsday simulation. Secondly, she didn’t believe the residents of God’s Community were remotely prepared to wage war against the undead at this stage.
For now, their best tactical play was to lie low and conserve their energy.
Master Fu let out a mocking snort. “Are you scared? What a coward! You’re a total coward!”
Song Yuqing nodded numbly inside her mind. She readily admitted it—she was absolutely terrified.
A massive, final showdown with the zombie horde was inevitable, but if they could successfully delay the collision, they could build up their defenses and significantly increase their statistical probability of survival.
“What is coming will eventually come,” Master Fu sighed, his tone uncharacteristically heavy.
Spurred by Master Fu’s warning, Song Yuqing frequently gathered Liu Xiaona, Little Meat Bun, and Gaha to consult with the brilliant research experts from Base Zero, desperately trying to map out a defensive strategy against the horde. To ensure all angles were covered, she expanded the huddle to include Nanjiao, the Xie brothers, Shen She, and the twenty newly appointed temporary subcontractors.
These thirty-odd individuals effectively formed the initial think tank of God’s Community.
Throughout every tactical discussion, Song Yuqing consistently spoke the least, matched only by Gaha and Little Meat Bun. She primarily focused on absorbing everyone’s theories, refusing to prematurely authorize any military plan until she unearthed the absolute best configuration.
During one of these strategy sessions, Song Yuqing decided to lay her cards on the table. In the calmest, most clinical tone she could muster, she informed the room that the universe they inhabited was almost certainly a virtual matrix running inside a doomsday simulation program.
An absolute, heavy silence instantly fell over the room. Some faces twisted with profound skepticism, while others wore expressions of sheer shock—mostly stunned that Song Yuqing would voice such an incredibly imaginative, wild theory during a serious military briefing.
But the skepticism shattered when Nanjiao quietly spoke up, solemnly validating every word of her statement.
So… is it actually true?
Before the world collapsed, most of them had encountered similar simulation theories online or in sci-fi media, but back then, such discussions were treated merely as existential jokes shared in moments of confusion.
Song Yuqing didn’t press the room to immediately accept the reality. Whether they embraced the data or rejected it, the impending execution of the script would not change.
It was during this briefing that the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked for Liu Xiaona. She had consistently sensed that Song Yuqing, Little Meat Bun, and Gaha were guarding a massive secret from her since their return from the portal. So this was it! Surprisingly, Liu Xiaona was the very first to fully believe the revelation, embracing the reality that they were merely programmed characters navigating a simulated apocalypse.
Yet, alongside her confusion, a wave of sharp anger flared in her chest. She was deeply hurt that Song Yuqing and the core staff had deliberately kept her in the dark for so long! To pettily express her profound dissatisfaction, Liu Xiaona intentionally made dinner that evening completely unpalatable, aggressively overloading the dishes until they were either violently spicy or blindingly sour.
Shen She, physically the oldest yet chronologically the youngest of the huddle, remained perfectly serene and unbothered, completely unfazed by the cosmic horror. When Song Yuqing quietly pulled him aside to ask for his perspective, the boy simply glanced down at his rough, calloused hands—skin weathered by his relentless work with heavy tools. He murmured that his rapid, artificial aging was likely the catalyst that allowed him to sense the boundaries of the program; after all, his temporal rewind had violently strained the local physics.
During his final frantic jump, he had literally sprinted to the absolute edge of the world. Right before his physical container could disintegrate into code, he had triggered his time manipulation to snap back to a temporarily stable coordinate.
That was the real reason he had abandoned Base Zero. That was why he had desperately fled back to the safety of God’s Supermarket. And that was why he was now obsessively forging weapons capable of withstanding every conceivable tier of danger.
Even if, in this specific iteration of the loop, countless variables had already deviated from his previous memories.
Because the thirty-odd core members of the think tank were trapped in a state of profound disillusionment and quiet despair, their low morale inevitably bled into the rest of the community. An invisible, suffocating haze settled over God’s Community, enveloping every resident in a cloud of unspoken dread.
Nevertheless, the daily labor continued without pause. Song Yuqing hyper-focused her observations on the psychological state of her people, realizing she had to continue keeping the simulation data restricted from the general census.
The core group of thirty had to act as the primary buffer. Those who processed the horror first could establish a psychological model for the rest of the population down the road. That way, if the data logs ever had to be leaked to the public, the community could rapidly regain its composure. Her greatest fear was that if Wan Youzhi’s prophetic mutation evolved to the point where he could also look past the matrix and glimpse the source code, humanity would be completely finished.
Fortunately, Nanjiao threw a lifeline of brilliant news to the camp. Over the past few days, he had systematically cultivated dozens of mutated communication trees, engineering their roots to burrow deep through the earth until they successfully spliced into the defunct grid lines of the separate surviving bases. He had successfully resurrected their network infrastructure, establishing direct contact with long-lost outposts across the continent.
The automated security gates inside the distant supermarkets were still operational, allowing scattered survivors to trade their stockpiled zombie crystal cores for vital resources. Song Yuqing naturally authorized massive bonus provisions for these orders. Thanks to the towering crates of real estate and supplies she had secured from the Dark World hypermarket, their baseline inventory was incredibly robust, granting God’s Supermarket more than enough leverage to execute acts of charity.
But just as Song Yuqing began to hope this quiet peace would endure a fraction longer, a lethal threat stealthily materialized from the wastes.
While Zhang Yimiao and Xiaoyi were auditing a future screening inside the Predictive Future Cinema, a terrifying vision suddenly flashed across the screen. They witnessed Chen Ke, Lin Han, Wan Youzhi, and the high-tier zombie couple mobilizing a roaring legion of tens of thousands of lower-class mutants, marching out from the ruins of Base Zero before fanning out in completely separate trajectories.
This cinematic vision was the most concrete, highly detailed projection they had ever intercepted.
“Where exactly are the zombie legions marching?” “What on earth is their primary strategic objective?”
These questions instantly became the supreme crisis of the colony.
Under the weight of an imminent military siege, the existential question of whether their universe was virtual or material instantly lost its urgency. The administrative leaders of Base Zero shifted 100% of their analytical cognitive power toward dissecting the horde’s movements.
Their collective hypothesis was grim: the mutant legions were deploying to launch a simultaneous, coordinated assault against every remaining human bastion on the continent.
Far out across the desert wastes, Lin Han and Wan Youzhi, escorted by a select vanguard of elite, human-skinned mutants, quietly broke away from the main column, covertly charting a direct course toward God’s Supermarket. Lin Han had successfully integrated into the high-tier zombie hierarchy, and the monsters largely executed his tactical commands. Of course, every directive he issued required Chen Ke’s explicit authorization. Structurally, she remained the supreme alpha of the legion. Lin Han and Wan Youzhi harbored an intense dissatisfaction with her oversight, but given her raw power, they were entirely helpless to challenge her.
To mask their transit, Lin Han systematically stored the strike force inside his personal spatial void in batches, allowing him and Wan Youzhi to advance rapidly on foot without leaving a massive physical footprint.
It had been nearly a year since the initial meteorite shower triggered the end of the world, and the overland highways were completely desolate. Even the automated surveillance pigeons Base Zero used to deploy had long since been captured, roasted, and eaten by their squad. Furthermore, even if they accidentally blundered into a wandering caravan of survivors, Lin Han could flawlessly utilize his devouring void mutation to erase their presence from the grid.
They harbored zero anxiety about their coordinates being intercepted.
This synchronized deployment was designed to let the undead fully experience the intoxicating rush of absolute, supreme sovereignty over the planet before the curtain finally dropped on their world.
Ever since his catastrophic collapse in the desert, Wan Youzhi had been trapped in a severe psychological daze. He had refused food and water for days, locking himself in a cycle of manic, frantic self-muttering as if his mind had completely fractured. Under intense, aggressive interrogation from Chen Ke and Lin Han, the prophet finally unlatched his jaws to reveal the horror of his visions.
During that specific faint, his mutation had malfunctioned in a spectacular, unprecedented anomaly: he had simultaneously foreseen the absolute past and the absolute future of their universe. He had no idea whether the breakthrough made him incredibly blessed or fundamentally cursed.
In the historical archive Wan Youzhi witnessed, the universe they called home was nothing more than a synthesized program manufactured by a higher tier of humanity. Decades prior, advanced scientists in the real world had calculated that a devastating, world-ending meteorite shower was mathematically locked to strike their actual planet in the near future. To engineer a survival matrix for their race, they had developed a hyper-advanced doomsday simulation program. By running thousands of automated, brutal iterations of this simulation, the scientists were working to isolate the single most effective methodology to ensure the salvation of human life.
And in the catastrophic future Wan Youzhi had glimpsed, the very program they inhabited was scheduled to be permanently terminated by those same real-world scientists.
That specific visual sequence had transformed into a relentless nightmare, invading his mind every time he closed his eyes, rendering him entirely unable to eat or sleep.
Through his prophetic lens, Wan Youzhi had watched a weary man with white hair and thick glasses standing sorrowfully before a massive computer terminal. With a trembling hand, the scientist had slowly guided his mouse across the screen, clicking the cursor to permanently pause the doomsday simulation program.
Wan Youzhi’s soul was entirely dead, his resolve crushed by the absolute futility of their lives. But Chen Ke and Lin Han refused to surrender. Their monstrous, ambitious natures were far more inclined to draw their weapons and fiercely wage war against the heavens themselves.
