In her previous life, after the apocalypse began, Wen Chen's wealthy in-laws finally dropped their pretenses.
They stole her supplies, forced her to brave the deadly cold in search of food, and even traded her for a pack of instant noodles.
By the time she dragged her ravaged body home, her three-year-old daughter had frozen to death in a corner, her lips purple and her little hands clutching a photo of Wen Chen.
Wen Chen died on the way to the hospital. Her last sight was a blizzard stretching across the sky and utter despair.
When she opened her eyes again, she was back three months before the apocalypse.
Her in-laws were still putting on a show of affection, and her scumbag husband was still gaslighting her, telling her she was being unreasonable.
Wen Chen smiled.
She signed the divorce papers without hesitation, took ten million yuan, then maxed out her husband's credit cards to clear out the supermarkets.
She brought her parents home, rented an entire warehouse, and started stockpiling like crazy: everything from hardtack to self-heating hot pot, from generators to bulletproof glass. She even got her hands on a small solar power station.
Scorching heat? Extreme cold? Zombies? Acid rain?
What did any of that have to do with her?
All she wanted was to hole up with her parents in their refurbished apocalypse fortress, eating barbecue and hot pot, and living the carefree life of a happy couch potato.
Then one day, someone knocked at the fortress door.
On the security monitor stood a man covered in blood: the cold, ruthless apocalypse war god who, in her previous life, had built a human survivor base single-handedly.
He looked up, meeting the camera's gaze with uncanny precision. His voice was low and hoarse:
“I know you have food in there. Name your price.”
Wen Chen chewed on a chicken drumstick, deep in thought.
...Wait, big shot, weren't you the one who hated me most in my previous life?
