[Ding-dong—]
[Welcome, players! You have triggered the “Post-Apocalyptic Escape” Battle Royale Instance! 167 players will now be deployed.]
[Survive for 30 days without dying to clear the instance.]
[You have 60 minutes of safe time. After 60 minutes, the game begins. Please prepare yourselves. We hope you have… a pleasant experience.]
A Battle Royale instance?!
Pleasant experience your ass, Fu Changxun grumbled internally—how is anyone supposed to enjoy this?! He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet and already wanted to cuss out the system.
This time, six of them had entered together, using up another one-time team card. But when Fu Changxun opened his eyes, he didn’t see his teammates.
He was standing in the middle of a city street.
“What kind of Battle Royale is this?” he muttered, looking around.
Everything seemed… peaceful. The NPC pedestrians bustled past, rushing to and fro. The city looked calm, orderly, normal.
The game gave no further clues.
Clearly, they were meant to figure it out themselves.
Fu Changxun scanned the area.
No teammates in sight.
He quickly opened his panel and sent a message:
[@Xiao Xiao, @Dong Zi, @Lulu — everyone okay?]
Dong Zi: [Safe.]
Xiao Xiao: [I’m with Uncle Qiu Yi. We’re both fine!]
Lulu: [Safe. I’m at the plaza and just spotted Song Zhenpeng. Heading to him now.]
Good. Everyone was accounted for.
Fu Changxun checked his gear and was pleasantly surprised to find that although weapons and ammo hadn’t carried over, all the compressed food and supplies were still in his bag. That also meant—food was allowed in this instance.
Which likely meant hunger would be one of the threats they’d face here.
That would explain why the game permitted players to bring in food items. It was a balancing mechanic—letting people prepare in advance for survival.
No time to waste.
He needed to hit the nearest mall and stock up.
They had a whole hour of safe time—plenty to gear up for a battle royale.
“‘Post-Apocalyptic Escape’… sounds like a doomsday scenario.”
He quickly messaged the team chat: [I recommend everyone buy daily necessities and food ASAP.]
Then made a beeline for the closest mall.
The point exchange rate was still 1:10. Fortunately, he had plenty to spare. He converted a few hundred points and began sweeping the shelves, loading up on food supplies.
Not long after, Dong Zi tracked him down in the fresh produce section, following the map location Fu Changxun had enabled.
Mr. Dong didn’t even need twenty minutes. Faster than any map app.
Fu Changxun was mid-checkout when he caught a glimpse of Dong Zi’s tall frame approaching. His heart skipped a beat. “You’re here already? A… Ah Zi, how’d you find me so fast?”
Dong Zi answered simply, “You had location sharing turned on. I just followed the direction and distance.”
Then he shifted the topic smoothly, “You’re stocking up on food? Why?”
“My whole inventory of edible items came through. That means the game allows us to bring food. There are two possibilities: one, food doesn’t matter in this instance. But that’s clearly impossible—no one can survive thirty days without eating or drinking.” Fu Changxun said as he paid. “So the second possibility is: food matters.”
Dong Zi wordlessly picked up all the bags Fu Changxun had just purchased.
“In other words,” Fu Changxun continued, “this apocalyptic instance probably revolves around survival. To keep us from dying of hunger right off the bat, the game’s letting us bring in our own supplies.”
Dong Zi nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”
They swept through the rest of the grocery section as fast as they could. Fu Changxun still felt it wasn’t enough, but with only fifteen minutes left before the instance began, they had to stop.
The group had already agreed on a meeting point and time. The two of them headed there at once.
On the way, Dong Zi pulled out his Lifetime-Bound Flyer again. “No text this time, but I did get an image. Look.”
Fu Changxun took it carefully. It was a black silhouette that looked… like a tree.
“…?”
What? What kind of cryptic clue was this? Was this how all Battle Royale hints worked—totally baffling?
“A tree… Don’t tell me this apocalypse involves trees? But come on—trees don’t run around killing people…”
That confusion stayed with him all the way to the plaza, where the team had agreed to regroup.
Lulu and Song Zhenpeng were already there. Qiu Yi arrived moments later, holding Xiao Xiao by the hand. All six were now together.
Five minutes remained until the game began.
Fu Changxun asked quickly, “Did everyone collect supplies like I suggested? There might not be time later.”
Qiu Yi looked puzzled, but he trusted the “Doctor”—high points, experienced, always had a plan—so he’d done as told. Now he unzipped his backpack and revealed…
Dozens of packets of instant noodles and canned food. It was honestly the best combo for survival—non-perishable and filling.
Qiu Yi had done well.
“Good. I’ve got two pieces of intel: one, the apocalypse may be food-related. Two, it may involve trees,” Fu Changxun said directly. “We need to find a temporary safe zone, wait for the game to start, and see what happens.”
Director Qiu and his two teammates were stunned. Where the hell had this intel come from? The game hadn’t even started yet.
But they were all seasoned players. They figured the good doctor had some secret source of information he couldn’t share, so they didn’t press. They just nodded.
There was no such thing as a truly safe place inside an instance. So they settled for second-best: a quiet, tucked-away café.
The place was beautifully green—vines and hanging plants draped across the walls, a few thriving cacti in corners. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to have many customers.
For a moment, Fu Changxun was struck with déjà vu. It reminded him of that café before the very first rookie instance.
In the real world, right after he’d walked into that café, the “Low-Dimensional Selection Game” had begun. That was his apocalypse. And now, in this world, their new apocalypse was only minutes away.
Without needing to discuss it, everyone opened their livestreams.
Just days ago, the new “bullet comment overlay” feature had taken the player community by storm.
It all started with one cute girl who, during a ghost chase, was on the verge of death when she saw a high-dimensional being commenting on how pretty she was. In desperation, she responded the way a livestream host might—expressing gratitude, interacting, and begging them for help.
Usually, high-dimensionals couldn’t be bothered.
But this one? It actually was.
Touched by her direct plea and tear-streaked face, it gifted her an item.
She survived. And afterward, she thanked her “Top Fan #1” profusely.
The story spread fast.
Many high-dimensional beings took notice and began “donating” to humans in livestreams they found interesting.
Now, nearly every player entering an instance would turn their livestream on.
Because hey, what if you were the lucky one?
Fu Changxun wasn’t particularly banking on that, though.
He spent the last minute tinkering with the feature, tested the bullet comment visibility setting, and activated the overlay.
One by one, transparent comments began to float across his view—thankfully, they didn’t block his sight.
[New instance?]
[What kind is it—puzzle-based or a battle royale? That last battle royale almost made me throw up.]
[Whoa, six players? Must’ve entered as a team. That definitely improves survival odds.]
[Wait, is it really a battle royale? This must be the pre-game safe period, right?]
[Huh? The game hasn’t even started yet, but they’re all acting so tense…]
Of course they were tense.
Xiao Xiao even started counting aloud: “Five… four… three… two… one.”
[Ding-dong! The instance has officially begun!]
The six of them immediately tensed up, eyes scanning their surroundings in alert—but everything looked exactly the same. Not a single thing had changed.
And that was the scariest part.
No changes meant they had no idea when or how something might go wrong.
Just then, an NPC customer stood up from his seat, having finished his coffee, and walked over to the register. He glanced at the cactus by the counter, pinching one of its thick, plump segments with interest.
“This cactus for sale? Looks great. I’d like to take it home—”
He didn’t even finish his sentence before all hell broke loose.
Without warning, a spine on the cactus shot forward like a dart—impaling his eyeball.
The NPC froze for a second, then screamed, “AAAH! MY EYE!”
He shrieked in agony, clutching his face. Blood streamed down his cheek, the pain evidently unbearable.
But the cactus wasn’t done. All of its spines launched at once, stabbing furiously toward the man’s face.
It happened too fast. None of the nearby NPCs had time to react before the man was turned into a human pincushion.
Each spine embedded itself nearly half a centimeter deep. His howls of pain were gut-wrenching.
The cactus eventually toppled to the floor from his thrashing, shattering its pot. But strangely, the plant itself remained unscathed—not a single pad broken.
When everyone finally snapped out of their shock, they rushed to pull him away and restrain him.
They called for an ambulance—only to find out their incident wasn’t isolated. All across the city, people were suddenly being attacked by plants. Medical resources were stretched thin.
Someone switched on the news.
The normally smiling anchorwoman looked grave.
“According to investigations… plants are experiencing uncontrolled growth and may have evolved consciousness…”
“Please remain calm…”
“If you keep plants at home, dispose of them immediately—destroy them if you have to.”
“We will do our best to ensure your safety…”
The café erupted in chaos. Some NPCs didn’t believe it and bolted outside—only to be whipped bloody by a mutated willow tree. They staggered back inside, covered in gashes.
One of them stumbled in, eyes wild. “The trees—the trees outside… they’re everywhere. Street trees, hedges, even weeds are growing like crazy! Some of them are taller than me now! Don’t go out there. Just stay in here and wait for rescue…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because his eyes had landed on something horrifying: every single plant in the café—ferns, vines, potted shrubs—had begun to stir.
Branches and leaves twitched, slowly rising as if preparing to strike.
So that was what the flyer’s silhouette meant—“Plant Mutation.”
Fu Changxun let out a dry laugh.
They’d walked right into a café full of greenery. Had they just handed themselves over to the enemy HQ?
Could they be any more unlucky?
But there was no time to regret anything.
Dong Zi grabbed his hand, scooped up Xiao Xiao, and bolted.
“Run!”
And with Qiu Yi’s booming voice ringing out, the battle royale began in earnest.
