He died once.
He died in the winter of the fourth year of the apocalypse, in the mouths of a group of things that were once humans, in the air at minus fifteen degrees Celsius, with blood gushing out from his neck and white smoke rising.
Then he woke up.
Waking up in a clean hospital bed, waking up in the sunshine of June 15th, waking up to the ninetieth day before everything is still too late.
The nurse is laughing, the driver is complaining, and the old lady on the street is still worrying about the numbers in her bankbook. No one knew that ninety days later, the world would become a living tomb.
Guo Huai knows. He has seen what hell looks like and what humans can become in hell.
This time, he didn't plan to die again.
Seeds, soil, water sources, terraces. Agricultural tricycles, solar panels, antibiotics, weapons. A stronghold that was prepared before the virus broke out, and a system that could still function after the order collapsed.
And those people - those who survive to the end in the last days. Ji Feng, Sun Jianguo, Song Qingci, Lao Zhou. And an orange cat with a broken tail.
Ninety days is enough for a person to hoard supplies for several lifetimes.
It is enough for one person to turn himself into the doomsday before it comes.
——But this time, he chose to be a human being.
