The zombie apocalypse was fraught with dangers. Normal people banded together to survive; lone wolves rarely lasted long. Duan Heng was an exception.

The group before him numbered over a dozen. After a quick glance, Duan Heng noticed their average level hovered around four or five—they were elite zombie hunters, a formidable team.

Yet he paid them little mind. Calmly, he picked up a slice of meat with his chopsticks, dipped it in sauce, and replied coldly:

"I don’t know you. Why should I share my supplies?"

His voice was icy, his gaze frosty. An aura of "keep away" radiated from him, making Bai Ling nervously swallow.

Just as expected, a girl stepped forward from the crowd. Her brows furrowed, arrogance blazing, she pointed a finger at his face and shouted:

"How dare you speak like that? This hot pot shop was ours! You just got lucky and beat us to it. You can’t eat all that alone—sharing a bit is only fair!"

Her shrill voice echoed relentlessly through the restaurant.

Unfazed, Duan Heng merely raised an eyebrow and gave her a cold glance before replying casually:

"If you have no brain, just die. It’s your fault for annoying people."

"You!!!"

At his words, the girl’s face flushed red, teeth bared in anger. Some onlookers stifled giggles—she was clearly spoiled. The hot pot’s aroma filled the street, drawing them in with unbearable cravings. Who’d have thought this man could defy over a dozen people?

She claimed the shop was theirs because her group had searched it earlier that day, finding nothing. They assumed Duan Heng had gotten lucky by discovering a spot they’d missed.

"You! You won’t give it? Don’t blame me when I take action!"

Repeatedly rejected, the girl felt humiliated. In desperation, she blurted out threats:

"We have so many here—we fear no one! Brothers, there’s more food inside. Follow me—mmph mmph mmph..."

Her arrogance made Bai Ling frown. Just as she rolled up her sleeves to attack, the survivors’ leader raised a hand. Two burly men covered her mouth and dragged her out, preventing a clash.

"Mmph... why pull me... he’s in the wrong—"

Struggling on the street, she shouted while sweat beaded on the leader’s forehead.

"Brother, sorry about that..."

Apologizing with a forced smile, he approached Duan Heng and bowed slightly. Though he didn’t know Duan Heng, as the strongest in his group, he sensed formidable power. Provoking him would bring no good. Panicked, he’d ordered the girl dragged away. Now, he explained sincerely:

"I’m Zhao Mu, leader of this group. That was my sister, Zhao Yue. Ignore her nonsense—she’s been brainwashed by toxic self-help posts."

"Hmm, it’s fine."

Zhao Mu’s humble attitude softened Duan Heng’s tone slightly. But neither mentioned sharing supplies. Under the group’s stares, Bai Ling shrank awkwardly in her seat, too embarrassed to eat.

Meanwhile, Duan Heng calmly swirled lamb slices in the pot, twirling his chopsticks left and right. After cooking, he placed them on Bai Ling’s plate—just like any normal diner before the Apocalypse.

*Gurgle———*

Stomachs growled uncontrollably. Staring at the tender, glistening meat drizzled with fragrant sauce, they couldn’t imagine the taste. Eyes widened, drooling almost visibly.

Since the Apocalypse, people survived on hoarded supplies. Few cooked proper meals; most ate bread, instant noodles, or rice with pickles. Hot pot or grilled meat? Forget it! With resources so scarce, who could afford meat as a staple?

"Uh... brother..."

Unable to resist the aroma, Zhao Mu approached Duan Heng, almost pleading:

"My sister was rude, but we’ve run out of food. The nearby mall is swarming with zombies—we can’t clear it. Could you spare a little? Or we can trade. What do you say?"

Unlike Zhao Yue, Zhao Mu was humble. After speaking, he stretched his words tentatively, waiting quietly, posture low. Duan Heng sensed no malice—if Zhao Mu had thoughts like "kill him if he refuses," he’d have detected it.

But there was no ill intent. These were truly desperate survivors. This was downtown—zombies were everywhere. Malls and restaurants were packed; ordinary teams couldn’t get in.

"Trade with something, huh?"

Duan Heng reluctantly gave in, asking flatly.

Seeing hope, Zhao Mu eagerly replied:

"Yes! Anything!"

His teammates’ faces lit up with hope. They stared longingly at the hot pot, drooling from the feast. Ragged and worn, their high levels likely came from the dense zombie population, not comfort.

After a brief thought, Duan Heng raised an eyebrow slightly and commanded:

"Hold out your hand."

"Huh?"

The leader blinked in surprise but obeyed. Duan Heng grasped his wrist and continued:

"Silently think ‘transfer System Coins’ in your mind."

"Transfer... what?"

The leader blinked again, confused. Duan Heng repeated seriously:

"Transfer. System Coins. Just think it. It’s safe."

"Uh... okay."

Sensing no malice, the cautious leader complied. Seconds later, his expression shifted from confusion to shock. He gaped, exclaiming:

"Huh? What was transferred to you? It’s zero now!"

"I said, System Coins."