The first thing I do after waking up back before the apocalypse is spend every last cent I have. I buy an underground mall that's been abandoned for ten years.
Everyone says I've lost my mind. Even the real estate agent laughs at me, calling me a fool. The construction foreman stands at the pitch-black entrance and can't help but ask, "Boss, not even rats want to live in this place. Why on earth would you buy it?"
I just smile and say nothing, because only I know the apocalypse is coming in seven days.
When it hits, a massive snowfall will cover the entire globe. And this is no ordinary snow. The snow carries an unknown spore. The moment it touches exposed skin or enters the body through a wound, the nose or the mouth, the mildest outcome is a raging fever and unconsciousness. The worst outcome is complete loss of reason, turning into one of the infected, driven only to attack the living.
And that's only the beginning of the end.
Once the great snowfall arrives, global temperatures will plunge to minus thirty degrees Celsius, then minus fifty, eventually settling below minus eighty. Power grids will collapse. Communications will go dark. City heating will shut down. Within just a few days, the once-thriving streets above ground will turn into a living hell.
By then, money will be worthless paper. Gold won't mean anything either. What actually keeps you alive is hot water, food, medicine, and fuel. A cup of hot water will be worth a gold ring. A single ration bar can make even the proudest person abandon every shred of their dignity. A single bag of coal is enough to turn an entire apartment building against each other.
And this underground mall that everyone despises will become the city's last shelter.
In my past life, I died six months after the great snowfall began. Back then, I threw everything I had into protecting my fiancée, Vivien Lane. I gave her my last thermal suit, my last bowl of hot soup. I even trekked three full kilometers through the storm just to find her a box of fever medicine.
But in the end, it was her own hands that opened the door of our safe house, telling Derek Kane everything about the supplies I'd hidden away for half a year. That night, Derek stormed my safe house with over a dozen survivors. They took my rice, took my medicine, took every last hope I had of surviving. And Vivien, wearing the very thermal suit I'd nearly died for, stood behind Derek and looked at me coldly.
"Ethan, don't blame me. There's only so much to go around. I can't exactly freeze to death right alongside you."
Then Derek shoved me out the door. Snow at eighty below fell against my face. I didn't lose consciousness right away. I heard the sound of a can being opened behind that door. I heard Derek laugh and say, "A piece of trash like him lasting this long was already lucky."
Vivien didn't say a word in my defense. She just gave a soft little laugh.
That was the moment I finally understood. In the apocalypse, the coldest thing was never the snow. It was the human heart.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back seven days before the great snowfall.
My phone screen still shows the message Vivien sent me. "Ethan, my mom says marriage needs security. Transfer the house into my name first. We're going to be a family sooner or later anyway. You wouldn't deny me even that much, would you?"
I stare at those words, then set the phone face down on the table.
In my past life, I signed my parents' house over to her name for exactly this so-called security. And after the apocalypse hit, she used that very house as her bargaining chip to buy Derek's protection.
This time around, she wants my house again.
Not a chance.
I grab the property deed and head straight for the bank. Three hours later, the mortgage goes through. Then I cash out my stocks and funds, sell off the few storefronts my parents left me, and even the car and a handful of valuable collectibles, all liquidated at a discount. By the end, I've pulled together over eighty million yuan.
Before the apocalypse, this kind of money would set me up for a comfortable life. But in seven days, it'll all be worthless paper.
I'm not in a rush to buy supplies yet, because I know all too well: no matter how much you stockpile, without a safe place to store it, it's just a gift for someone else to take.
So my very first move is to contact the owner of that abandoned underground mall on the outskirts of the city.
I already checked the property title in my past life. It's impossibly clean. No mortgages, no debt disputes, none of the messy ownership tangles. Its only problem is the location — too remote, vacant for far too long. Nobody wants to touch it.
The place was originally built ten years ago as an underground shopping street. After poor management, it sat empty ever since. The ground level entrance is run down. The space below is cold and damp, and there's barely any foot traffic. To everyone else, it's a dead deal nobody wanted.
But I know better. It has three underground levels, thick walls, and a fully intact ventilation system. There's even its own independent well. More importantly, it was originally converted from a civil defense structure. The main structure, ventilation ducts, drainage system, and part of the backup wiring are all still there. I don't need to build from scratch. Just seal, reinforce, and restore what's already in place.
With a little renovation, this becomes a natural doomsday bunker.
The moment the owner hears I want to buy it, his eyes light up. "Young man, you're sure you want that place?"
"I'm sure."
"Back when it was built, it cost over fifty million. If you're really serious, eight million. And I'll throw in the title and the underground parking with it."
"Five point eight million."
The owner freezes for a second.
I continue. "We sign the contract today. Payment goes through today, too."
He falls silent for a moment, then slaps his knee. "Deal."
To him, that underground mall has been dead weight for ten years. Every year, the upkeep and unpaid fees hang off him like a rotting limb. Now that someone's actually willing to take it off his hands, he practically wants to shove the keys into mine that same night.
The contract signed, I wire the 5.8 million immediately. He looks at me like I'm a complete fool.
What he doesn't know is that in seven days, forget 5.8 million — I wouldn't trade this underground mall for an entire downtown skyscraper.