Chen Mo pressed the last strip of tape firmly onto the sealed cardboard box, then flicked his wrist and tore it off cleanly.
There was no moon outside the window.
Only an emergency light illuminated the living room, its stark white glow sharply outlining the mountain of cardboard boxes. Self-heating rice, compressed biscuits, bottled water, medical alcohol, antibiotics... He had spent three months turning all his savings into these supplies, then three nights sorting them into forty-three cardboard boxes.
His phone screen lit up. The numbers on the countdown app were red:
![Doomsday [Hear My Voice] cover](https://p3-novel.byteimg.com/novel-pic/3677409547edd28d27f269c85fa6fc74~tplv-resize:480:0.jpeg)
