Chapter Fifty-Five: Is He Really That Hard to Kill?

The delivery van was relatively quiet, and since they had a clear destination, they arrived at International Golden City nearly fifteen minutes earlier than expected. The vehicle stopped in a discreet corner. After scanning their surroundings, the group proceeded toward the residential complex.

Old Zhang led the way.

"An old classmate of mine once worked security here. The cars in the underground garage are all high-end; I’ve never seen anything under three hundred thousand," Old Zhang explained, guiding the group through a side entrance. Just a dozen or so meters ahead was the downward ramp to the garage.

Each of them carried a weapon. As they entered the complex, some of the few remaining households caught sight of them.

In a lavishly decorated penthouse, someone stood by the window with a wine glass, observing the scene below.

“How many groups have come to the complex so far?” a voice asked.

“This is the second group this month,” another replied.

“Heh, losers will always be losers. Even in the apocalypse, they’re still coveting the possessions in wealthy neighborhoods.” Mo Yuanda took a disdainful sip from his glass. “I paid you a decent salary, yet your household stockpiles are nothing but low-end goods.”

Assistant Zhu, who earned twenty thousand a month but with a nine-thousand mortgage and miscellaneous expenses was always left with nothing, forced a smile. “Yes, my tastes aren't very refined.”

Before the catastrophe, his boss was paranoid, installing reinforced glass, heat and soundproof doors, high-security alarms, and even claiming to hear the wind before the rain fell. He’d stockpiled some food and fuel more as a hobby, never expecting to face an icebound disaster.

Thanks to various subsidies and loans, Assistant Zhu had managed to buy a small two-bedroom apartment. He’d followed his boss’s lead in stockpiling, but focused on practical basics like rice and oil—good value for the money. Both of them were single, which made it easier to look out for each other.

But while Assistant Zhu’s stash remained plentiful, his boss had already turned his nose up at military rations, insisting on eating Zhu’s self-heating meals and even dismantling his wooden furniture for firewood. Everything Zhu owned was at his boss’s disposal, down to tending to his every need, even at the end of the world.

If not for his satellite phone...

Pushing his glasses up, Assistant Zhu once again hid his dissatisfaction. “Should we warn the people downstairs?”

“Go ahead. Look at the energy those people have—they’re clearly getting by just fine. If they still want to break into homes, they need to be taught a lesson,” Mo Yuanda replied.

It was the apocalypse, after all. Assistant Zhu took a deep breath, reminding himself not to get upset by those who were out of touch with reality.

After the group entered, they quickly realized that while there were plenty of nice cars, none were suitable for post-apocalyptic conversion into survival vehicles.

“Maybe we should take a detour to the auto market?” someone suggested.

Despite a garage full of vehicles, none fit their needs. They chose another route and left the complex.

Almost as soon as they left, another group stormed into the garage, glancing around but finding no one.

“Didn’t that little eunuch upstairs say someone came down here? There’s not a soul in sight. Is he messing with us?” Like the rest of the property management, the security team had banded together to survive—and to exploit the residents.

They had long wanted to deal with the CEO and his assistant upstairs. Every time they tried to confront him, the CEO would bribe them with something good, always one step ahead, always suggesting ways to fend off looters. It was always his idea.

Having come up empty this time, they decided to head upstairs and demand more.

Meanwhile, Jiang Huan and her group had no idea they’d just avoided a major conflict. Taking a detour, they exited through another side gate and cautiously approached a local pawn shop specializing in used cars.

Despite being called a “workshop,” everyone knew its true nature. Outside, cars on the verge of being scrapped were lined up, and the place had clearly been looted—locks and windows smashed.

Jiang Huan stopped her companions, who were about to barge in. “Even if it’s quiet in there, you can’t expect to find anyone naive enough to let their guard down these days. Be careful.” She tossed a few stones inside, but nothing stirred.

After a brief pause, Wang Ping was first to enter, scanning the room with his eyes. When he confirmed there was no danger, he signaled for the others to follow.

The four of them entered, grins spreading across their faces.

There were still four or five sizable vehicles left inside, all with high chassis.

Old Zhang couldn’t help but fixate on a Maserati Levante. “Before the apocalypse, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of owning a car like this.”

Jiang Huan’s gaze landed on a Navigator.

Old Zhang nodded approvingly. “Good eye. With its reputation and barely any wear, even pawned this would be worth over half a million.”

There were also a BMW, an Audi, and a Phaeton—three highly desirable cars. Old Zhang looked as if he wanted to drive every single one home.

But with only four drivers, they could only take four vehicles. Old Zhang began with everyone’s first choices for inspection.

Once they’d settled on their four cars, they made the necessary adjustments and unlocked them.

Fortunately, the pawn shop was on the first floor, with only thin glass and ordinary walls. No one had stayed there before the ice disaster, so all the keys were left behind. After a quick search, they found them easily.

Jiang Huan even found a few bottles of oil tucked away in the staff room. The others were delighted. “Miss Jiang, your luck really lives up to your reputation. We just checked the staff room ourselves and didn’t see any of this.”

“Oh, it was covered with cardboard boxes. I just looked a little more carefully.”

“As expected, women are more meticulous,” someone remarked lightly, not slowing their preparations.

One by one, each drove a vehicle out of the pawn shop.

“What about the delivery van? Just leave it here?”

Of course—who would choose a stone over a priceless gem?

The four cars left, spaced a few meters apart, heading back toward the complex.

They’d hoped to use the extra time to scavenge more supplies, but with one vehicle per person, it was hard enough to keep watch as it was. They decided to return first.

Even if the vehicles were for the complex, they’d be able to collect rental fees in the form of supplies.

Jiang Huan drove last, trailing behind the group at a leisurely pace. Suddenly, she spotted a familiar car parked not far ahead.

She froze, almost stomping on the accelerator instead of the brake, and swerved to a sharp stop.

The noise was loud enough to catch Wang Ping’s attention—he was in the car ahead. He immediately looked back and even got out to shout.

Seeing Jiang Huan unresponsive, he jogged toward her.

Jiang Huan leaned out the window and waved him off. “Go ahead, I have something personal to take care of.”

Wang Ping assumed she meant a bathroom break and got back in the car. “Hurry up, we’ll wait for you a bit further ahead.”

Jiang Huan didn’t object. Once the others drove on, she got out, and with a flick of her sleeve, a cold handgun slid smoothly into her palm.

The car she’d spotted was a Mon-Audi, with a certain seafood company’s logo on it.

She’d personally sought out a popular designer to create this logo, as a gift for Fang Jun, whose family ran a fish stall.

Back then, Fang Jun had gone out of his way to help her brother celebrate his birthday at school. Jiang Huan had been touched by his gesture and wanted to return the favor—she didn’t like owing people. Fang Jun had immediately registered the trademark, so there was no way it was a knockoff. With the make and the logo, it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

Could it be that Fang Jun survived after all?