Stockpiling a Hundred Billion in the Apocalypse

Lin Feng suddenly sat up on the hard bed, his back slamming against the cold wall. His ragged breaths echoed through the cramped rented room. Sweat ran down his temple and dripped onto the glowing phone screen. His vision came into focus. The screen showed the date and time: June 18, 2025, 2:03 p.m. There was no stench of rotting corpses in the air, no howls of mutant beasts outside the window, only the noisy calls of the breakfast vendors downstairs and the honking of cars in the distance. “I’m back.” Lin Feng stared at the date on the screen, his pupils contracting sharply. A moment ago, he’d been torn apart by a tide of corpses. The pain of flesh being ripped from bone still seemed to linger in his nerves. Then, in the next instant, he had returned to forty-eight hours before the apocalypse began. Ding dong. His phone vibrated, and a text message popped up.