Zhang Yi stepped outside. The neighborhood was all smiles and sunshine—parents chasing their kids in the square, laughter drifting through the air. It looked like a perfect, ordinary day.
He knew better. In a month, all this would be dust.
He cut across the block toward a three-Michelin-star restaurant he'd never dared enter. A single fancy dish here could run five or six thousand yuan—and tonight, after ordering nearly everything, his bill came to roughly ¥50,000. Money didn't matter anymore. Reborn from the dead, he deserved to celebrate.
He took a window seat and ordered without checking prices—only the most expensive dishes and a bottle of Château Lafite. When the food arrived, he ate like a man who'd been given back his life. After months of freezing and hunger, every bite was revelation; the taste nearly moved him to tears. People whispered, but their judgement couldn't touch him.
Outside the window two women paused. One—long hair, perfect makeup, a designer bag—was Fang Yuqing. Beside her stood Lin Caining, her confidante. They lingered near luxury spots like this, the kind who hunted for rich men the way others hunted bargains.
Fang spotted him and froze. "Isn't that Zhang Yi? Since when can he afford this?" she mouthed.
"He must be loaded!" Lin Caining breathed, shooting Fang a meaning-filled look. "Yuqing, you're so lucky—the guy who's been simping for you all this time…" she trailed off, the rest implied.
"—is secretly rich?" Fang finished with a slow smile. She'd kept Zhang on a leash for two years: never making the first move, never refusing outright, never taking responsibility. He was a backup—car, apartment, reliable. But a ¥50,000 dinner? A new idea flashed through her: what if he'd been hiding money all along—one of those drama-types who pretended to be poor to find "true love"?
Her eyes lit up. If true, her ticket to a cushy life might be right here.
"Let's go talk to him," Lin urged, half for the food, half for the prize.
Fang shook her head. "No—too obvious. Wait outside and 'run into' him." She wouldn't lower herself; maintaining that untouchable goddess act was part of the plan.
They took positions nearby and waited.
An hour later Zhang Yi emerged, rubbing his belly. The meal had been slightly overrated, but after six months in an ice-bound hell, it felt like heaven. Next stop: the supermarket. He needed to test his pocket dimension before attempting anything bigger. Better to be careful.
As he stepped into the afternoon, a practiced voice chimed, "Zhang Yi! What a coincidence!"
Fang walked up, casually tucking hair behind her ear, deliberately exposing the curve of her neck and a pink earlobe—the classic faux-innocent move meant to look effortless.
Zhang Yi's stomach dropped. Memories slammed back: the mob, the beating, the moment she'd tricked him into opening the door. Rage flared—hot and immediate. For a breath he saw red; he pictured killing her right there—who would mourn her when the world ended?
Then cooler thought slid in. Killing her now would be messy and risky; there would be no real satisfaction. He wanted her alive to suffer, to watch the world close in on her. He had time, memory, and a hundred ways to make her pay later.
So he let the flash pass.
Fang's voice trembled. "Zhang Yi… you… are you okay?"
He met her, expression even. "Nothing. I mistook you for someone else."
He didn't kill her. He chose the long game instead.
Right now the priority was obvious: build a fortress. Create the safest, most comfortable refuge he could, somewhere to ride out the end in control.
He walked on, head full of plans—calm, composed, already a few moves ahead. The long game had begun.