This trip had been wildly successful. Their van was now packed to the brim with supplies, and they were ready to head back to C City.
They had seen people in the city—but the moment the NPCs spotted them, they bolted like frightened birds. Not one of them stuck around long enough to talk. They couldn’t even give chase.
The dangers and paranoia of the apocalypse must’ve made them too afraid to interact with outsiders. The team could only give up on making contact.
They returned to the outskirts and found their van still intact, then set off for C City.
On the way back, they once again passed the tomato fields—but this time, no one panicked.
Qiu Yi leaned over to the window. “Doctor Fu, did that dandelion really beat the mutated tomato? Could you let it out again? I swear I can feel it watching us from the shadows.”
“I’ll ask.”
Fu Changxun muttered a few words to Dandelion, then looked up. “It says okay.”
The van came to a stop at the same place as before, and they headed back into the field.
Tomato seedlings were arranged in neat rows, with trellises still standing. Clearly, before the apocalypse, this farmland had been carefully maintained—probably by some now-vanished family.
“That’s the big tomato?” Fu Changxun eyed the innocent-looking seedlings on the ground, skeptical. “Can it really grow big in an instant?”
Last time, he’d wondered if it was just a hallucination—but their eyes hadn’t lied. And Zhang Wei had definitely been drawn toward those ripe, crimson tomatoes.
“It can,” said Dandelion. “I’ll call it out.”
For once, the chatterbox dandelion didn’t ramble. It hopped down from its pot and bounced over to one of the seedlings, where sharp spines emerged from its leaves. Then, it stabbed forcefully into the seedling’s tender green shoots.
The plant exploded in size in an instant, ballooning into the same grotesque, clawing tomato monster as before.
Its luscious, blood-red tomatoes were just as temptingly ripe as they’d been a few hours ago.
“Holy crap.” Lulu jumped, darting behind Qiu Yi in two quick steps. “I’m scared I’ll accidentally pick one. Director Qiu, be a dear and block me!”
Qiu Yi stood there like a human lamppost. “Your willpower’s holding up pretty well.”
Last time Zhang Wei had approached, Lulu hadn’t even flinched.
She retorted in a raspy Zhang Fei impersonation: “I’m a girl, dammit!”
Qiu Yi: “…You really could’ve fooled me.”
While they were over there doing their weird sibling bit, on the other side of the field, Dong Zi was having his own drama moment—nearly wrapping Fu Changxun in a full embrace.
“Okay, okay—you don’t have to go that far, Ah Zi. Dandelion’s got our backs,” Fu Changxun murmured.
Sure enough, when he looked up, Dandelion was already staring down the enemy. The tomato had just begun to swell one of its fruits, about to launch it at the humans. But the moment Dandelion made a move, it froze, deflating on the spot.
“It says, ‘Please don’t hit me again. I’ll stay right here and behave. I won’t bother anyone. Please don’t bully me,’” Dandelion translated solemnly. “Even though I already beat it up, it’s still super salty about it…”
As it spoke, Dandelion’s petals flared wide with visible irritation. “Still not over it, huh? Want another round? How about you hand over this whole field while you’re at it! Hmph! I didn’t even insult your ugly-ass tomatoes, and you’ve got the nerve to sulk?!”
With that, it launched itself at the tomato, jabbing with its thorny, hardened roots. The two plants clashed in a flurry of violent flailing.
The players finally understood how they had fought the first time—though to be honest…
It looked a bit like a slap fight. With nails.
Fu Changxun shook his head, banishing the absurd imagery, and called Dandelion back.
But the outcome was clear. Dandelion had completely dominated the tomato—it wasn’t even close.
So, bigger didn’t always mean stronger.
The best things really did come in small packages.
Cough—anyway, back to the instance.
Through Dandelion’s narration, Fu Changxun finally learned the truth about this bizarre tomato’s powers and background.
It had mutated soon after the apocalypse began. With a sliver of self-awareness, it began forcibly driving out other mutated plants. The ones who refused to leave had to submit. And it had succeeded.
The hallucination effect? That was one of its evolved skills—something very similar to a player’s ability.
This also meant that over the next ten-plus days, they might encounter more highly mutated plants—and it wouldn’t just be a matter of avoiding them. Conflict was inevitable. Maybe even full-on battles.
“That’s gonna be a problem,” Dong Zi muttered. “We’re clearly nowhere near the level of those players in C City.”
Mutated plants always targeted the weak—and right now, they were prime prey.
That tomato might’ve been beaten into submission, but if it decided to lash out in desperation, even Dandelion might not be able to hold it off. In the end, the group chose to make peace with it: coexist without interfering in each other’s business.
As the van left the boundary of S City and dusk began to fall, the shadows of the roadside plants seemed to grow longer, darker, more menacing—enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.
Xiao Xiao didn’t dare press against the window anymore. She curled up in Lulu’s arms, trembling slightly.
Fu Changxun leaned back in his seat, looking carsick.
He pinched his ear and muttered tiredly, “We gathered a lot of supplies this time, but that just makes us a target. Compared to other players with all sorts of powers, we’re still way too weak. If they think we’re just NPCs, we’re not hiding our strength—we’re handing them a reason to kill us.”
Players didn’t care whether NPCs could eat or survive. Some would even rob NPCs of food. Some would kill them.
There were no restrictions in this instance.
Carrying valuable goods was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. The more you had, the more likely someone would try to take it.
“Doctor Fu, so should we—” Lulu began, then slapped a hand over her mouth mid-sentence.
She realized, too late, that she’d slipped. Her eyes flew to her personal game panel in panic.
Because earlier, someone had reopened the livestream—and now the bullet comments were scrolling fast:
[Why does “Doctor Fu” sound kinda familiar…?]
[His tone sounds familiar too…]
[Even that gesture…]
[What are you guys talking about? I don’t get it—someone explain!]
[It’s from a previous stream. In a hospital instance, the second-ranked player on the leaderboard—“Doctor”—showed up. I think his surname was Fu, but he used a concealment item, so…]
The barrage of comments grew hesitant, still uncertain.
After all, this battle royale instance wasn’t being streamed continuously. Players toggled their broadcasts on and off at will, so the audience only saw fragmented scenes.
Most people didn’t even know how the team had gotten from Shangdu to C City, let alone why they were now out gathering supplies. Some viewers were still stuck back at the escape from Shangdu.
If not for this accidental slip, Fu Changxun might’ve kept his cover as a frail, useless NPC.
“No big deal. So they figured it out—whatever,” Fu Changxun muttered, already resigned. He closed his eyes. “This concealment item was a scam anyway. Burned a ton of my points. I wonder if Customer Service will ever fix it…”
[Haha, I knew it! I’m the best at recognizing people.]
[Doctor?! That Doctor?!]
[Whoa, front-row seat to a legend! Doctor, carry me!]
[Doctor, look this way! What was your ability in the last instance? Can you tell us?]
[I thought Doctor cleared instances with A+ stamina and intelligence, but now he looks like some pretty boy—kinda annoying.]
[His last instances were puzzle-focused. Can he even handle a survival one like this?]
[Ugh, you guys are so annoying. Doctor cleared multiple instances. How many have you cleared? Got the guts to say it?]
[Oh wow, y’all are already fighting.]
[Fight all you want. I’m just here to eat melons.]
[Every time I see low-dimensional creatures argue, it’s entertaining. Keep going.]
[Oh, so other higher-dimensional beings are watching this stream too? Wonderful. I’ll keep an eye on this human.]
[Same. He’s smart. I might even gift him something useful later.]
[…]
The chat had been pure chaos—until those few messages from higher-dimensional beings appeared. The moment they did, everyone else fell silent. The only messages left were clearly not from humans.
Fu Changxun cracked one eye open and turned off the bullet comments.
Even if those beings were watching, his SAN value was relatively stable now.
“You dizzy? If you are, try to get some sleep.”
Dong Zi reached out instinctively and pressed a hand gently against his temple, massaging in slow circles. “Lean on me. It’ll be at least another hour before we reach C City. Plenty of time for a nap.”
He didn’t expect much, but Fu Changxun glanced at him, eyes curved in a faint smile. “Alright.”
Dong Zi: “!”
Fu Changxun had already dozed off, leaning lightly against his shoulder—while in the stream, the comment section exploded:
[Why do I detect vibes here? What’s going on between these two?!]
[You’re just noticing? Didn’t Doctor have an ex-boyfriend in a past instance? He’s definitely gay. That tall guy’s giving “pining love interest” energy.]
[Screaming. These two just yanked me out of lurker mode. It’s kinda sweet!]
[LMAO. Y’all scattered the moment things got scary, but the second there’s gossip, you’re all back.]
[LMAO. Humanity’s true nature is eating melons (gossip) hahaha!]
[…]
By 8 PM, the van finally rolled back into C City. After a routine checkpoint inspection, they pulled up in front of the hotel.
“We’re back!” Xiao Xiao waved cheerfully at the boss. “Uncle, good evening!”
The hotel owner stared at them in shock.
“I… I thought you were dead,” he stammered. “Someone said you all died out there…”
“Who said that?” Qiu Yi’s heart skipped a beat. “What about our teammates? Where are they—did something happen to them?”
The boss fidgeted, guilt written all over his face. “I-I couldn’t stop them. Some people came and robbed your companions. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were just a robbery, but… a fight broke out. Someone got hurt.”
Dong Zi and Fu Changxun bolted upstairs in unison, one on each side of the hallway, shoving the doors open.
Inside, Lin Shu was sitting on the bed.
And in the wheelchair sat Song Zhenpeng.
Xiao Song, upon seeing his teammates return, burst into tears—this strapping man of over 1.8 meters tall was utterly overcome.
“You’re finally back! I knew you were still alive!”
