“Beep—beep—”
“Mom, the apocalypse is coming soon.”
“If you don’t take this step, you might never see them again.”
The sound of the phone ringing echoed in the small space of the car. Mo Yuwan looked seriously at her mother as she spoke these words.
Seeing her daughter’s earnest expression, Mo Siying knew she was telling the truth.
The apocalypse was about to arrive. When that happened, everyone would be focused on survival, and her parents were already elderly. If they went back now, relying on her daughter’s rebirth, there might still be a sliver of hope. But if she let small grievances keep her from contacting them, she might truly never get another chance.
Realizing this, she took a deep breath. Her hand, which had been about to hang up, paused. She forced herself to wait, listening to the ringing, hoping her parents would pick up.
She still loved her parents.
But fate had other plans. When the cold, mechanical voice finally said, “The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable…,” the tension drained away, replaced by deep anxiety.
In the past, whenever she called, her parents would always answer right away. But today, no one picked up. What was going on?
She wasn’t good at hiding her emotions; her panic was written all over her face.
Mo Yuwan saw her mother’s expression and, while driving, comforted her, “It’s okay. There’s still half a month before the apocalypse. There’s no danger yet. Maybe they’re just busy. We can try again tomorrow.”
“Don’t they always like to go next door to chat and relax with Grandma Yang and the others around this time every year?”
“Maybe they just went to bed early.”
Mo Yuwan wasn’t just saying this to comfort her—when she’d lived with her grandparents, sometimes they really did go to bed as early as six in the evening.
Maybe her words helped, because Mo Siying finally relaxed a little and smiled at her daughter.
“Okay, we’ll try calling again later.”
“You just said your dad… Ye Gaoyuan has money. What do you mean?”
“Even if he has money, he’d never spend it on us.”
Mo Yuwan completely agreed with her mother’s view—Ye Gaoyuan was a selfish scumbag who would never give them a cent, and was always scheming to take their house.
By now, the two had arrived at their apartment building.
Since the apocalypse hadn’t started yet, and she hadn’t seen her mother in so long, Mo Yuwan wanted to take a rare break and not pack her schedule too tightly.
She didn’t answer her mother’s question right away, but took her upstairs. Once the door was closed, she smiled and said, “I was going to use this house to trick him out of some money, but now I’ve changed my mind.”
“Even if he can’t use a single cent, I don’t want him to get any benefit.”
“Mom, from now on, just let me handle things. No matter what happens, just remember one thing: don’t go soft.”
Mo Yuwan looked at her mother and reminded her seriously.
She knew very well that her mother was a kind woman. Unless she was truly pushed to the edge, she would never attack anyone, and could easily forgive things that others would find unforgivable.
So she needed to set the tone early, to prevent her mother from softening.
Mo Yuwan’s gaze was firm. Meeting her daughter’s eyes, Mo Siying realized that whatever happened in the apocalypse must have been truly unforgivable, or her daughter wouldn’t look at her like this.
She hadn’t experienced it herself, but from her daughter’s words, she could tell how hateful the man was.
Thinking of how he’d thrown her into a zombie horde while she was pregnant, any lingering feelings vanished.
She nodded.
“I understand. Go ahead and do what you need to. I won’t interfere! Since he never treated me as a person, I won’t hold onto any feelings either!”
It was rare for Mo Yuwan to see her mother change like this. She must have truly given up on that relationship. Seeing her like this, Mo Yuwan felt more at ease.
With that relief, exhaustion washed over her.
After so many years of fear and vigilance in the apocalypse, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages—especially since her mother had died so early in her last life. Now, seeing her again, with the apocalypse not yet begun, she felt a wave of tiredness.
That night, she didn’t let her mother cook, but ordered a big takeout barbecue feast for them to enjoy at home.
Seeing her daughter like this, Mo Siying didn’t object.
She could imagine what life would be like after the apocalypse—these foods would be impossible to find.
While waiting for the food, Mo Yuwan helped her mother treat her wounds.
Her experience in the apocalypse made her skilled at this, and fortunately, they were all superficial injuries, not on any vital areas.
Even so, Mo Yuwan still hated that scumbag—if not for him, her mother wouldn’t have suffered so much.
While she felt sorry for her mother, Mo Siying also felt sorry for her daughter.
Her daughter was just a college freshman—how could she have known how to treat wounds before? Seeing her so skilled now, her heart ached.
But neither of them said anything, just quietly looked at each other.
When the food arrived, the smell of barbecue made Mo Yuwan feel as if she were in another world, and her stomach rumbled.
Mo Siying couldn’t help but laugh.
Mo Yuwan grinned back, unashamed.
“Mom, you have no idea—after the apocalypse, you can’t even find this stuff. Forget barbecue or hotpot—even a bucket of expired instant noodles is something people would fight to the death over.”
Mo Siying felt a pang of sadness.
What kind of life would that be?
She couldn’t even imagine it.
During dinner, neither of them brought up heavy topics. Instead, they chatted and laughed, enjoying a rare moment of lightness.
After dinner, Mo Yuwan asked to sleep with her mother.
Normally, Mo Siying would have refused, but this time she agreed happily.
That night, Mo Yuwan snuggled into her mother’s bed and had the first good sleep she’d had in over a decade.
No mental vigilance, no defenses—just a peaceful, restful sleep.
It was so easy now, but in the apocalypse, it was a luxury.
Everyone had to guard not just against zombies, but against other people.
Mo Yuwan savored this rare relaxation.
When she woke up the next day, it was already noon.
Hearing the sounds from outside, she knew her mother was making lunch. She didn’t get up right away, but picked up her phone and, from memory, sent a text to a certain number.
[When you were a kid in training, you needed to pee but didn’t dare say so, so you wet your pants. The coach came over and asked why there was a puddle on the floor, and you were punished to run ten laps in your wet pants.]
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