Fan Ningyue sat in silence across from him.

These were things she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But the man opposite her had his legs crossed, casually holding a glass of red wine from God-knows-where, speaking about all of this as if it were nothing.

“Your sister… like this, what happens if the Survivor Alliance finds out?” Fan Ningyue glanced toward the room.

“They won’t find out.” An Muning said indifferently, holding the goblet he had just found. “I’m very confident in you.”

“…I’m not talking about me.” Fan Ningyue pressed a hand to her forehead. “I mean the Survivor Alliance…”

“If you’re not around, even if they know I’m still alive, they won’t dare come looking for me.” An Muning shrugged. “Of course, if they had a nuclear bomb and dropped it on my head while I’m asleep, then there’d be nothing I could do.”

“Here, try this rich bastard’s stash.” An Muning glanced at the wide white label covering half the wine bottle, frowning at the English text. “What the hell is this?”

The label was mostly white; aside from the number “1947” in the center, he couldn’t understand anything else.

“Château Cheval Blanc wine… oh, from 1947.” Fan Ningyue leaned in to look.

Right—serving a regular branded dry red in a place like this would be too low-class.

“Is it expensive?” An Muning raised an eyebrow.

“Not too bad.” Fan Ningyue nodded. “Back in 2010, a six-liter bottle of the same vintage was auctioned at a Geneva auction house.”

“How much?” It was the first time An Muning had heard of a six-liter wine bottle.

“Three hundred… forty-something thousand dollars?”

“Dollars?” the uncultured An Muning clearly couldn’t convert that.

“Nearly two million Xia currency.”

“Tsk…” An Muning clicked his tongue. “Two million just for wine?”

“There really are people like that in this world,” Fan Ningyue nodded.

But that bottle later became known as one of the world’s most expensive flawed wines.

Fan Ningyue used to drink red wine quite often—but she never had any interest in tasting it properly.

An Muning only wanted to drink it because he had never tried it before.

He awkwardly pulled out the cork and poured her a full glass.

Fan Ningyue smiled faintly. “You’re not supposed to fill red wine glasses like that.”

“Why?”

“Hmm…” she tilted her head. “You’ve probably seen it on TV—sniffing it, looking at the way it clings to the glass.”

“…Is that really necessary?”

“I don’t think so either.” She laughed.

It was the first time she had ever seen someone drink a full glass of red wine in one go.

An Muning raised his glass and downed it instantly, looking like he was preparing for execution. Fan Ningyue was stunned.

“Damn…” he grimaced. “Who the hell spends two million on this stuff?”

It tasted nothing like what he had imagined.

Fan Ningyue couldn’t hold back her laughter.

Right—this wine was later infamous as the “world’s most expensive flawed wine.”

“Not even as good as beer.”

She chuckled. “Do you know what I remember most about you at first?”

“Your mood swings, your tendency to kill people… what else could there be?”

“Wrong.” She shook a finger. “I always thought high-level people like you would drink red wine during negotiations. Only you drank beer.”

Back then, even if An Muning had sat there refusing to drink anything, no one would have dared say a word.

If he said beer was high-class, everyone drank beer.

If he wanted steak well-done, even the chef would have to deliver it well-done.

If he wanted it raw, they’d have to drag a live cow over.

High status defined taste; everything submitted to the person.

“I just can’t get used to it.” An Muning frowned. “It tastes nothing like what I imagined wine would be.”

“What did you think it would taste like?”

“At least… melt-in-the-mouth.”

“That’s not wine…”

“Imagination.” An Muning waved his hand. “Just use your imagination. I’ve known since I was a kid that drinking baijiu can kill you, so I prefer beer.”

“What a way to describe baijiu—‘can kill you.’”

Fan Ningyue’s mouth twitched. “Beer can kill you too.”

After a pause, An Muning said, “Everyone dies eventually.”

“Great philosophy.”

“Back in the day, how did I not realize you were such a goof?”

“You were sent by monkeys,” she said, giving him a thumbs-up.

“What monkey?” An Muning tilted his head, confused. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly. A monkey sent you.”

…

Before leaving the villa, An Muning checked every window carefully, making sure each one was locked before stepping out.

Leaning by the door, Fan Ningyue asked, “Are you worried she’ll run out?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “There are still evolved zombies I haven’t found outside… and the Survivor Alliance might have psychic-type ability users.”

“They probably do…” She suddenly paused and looked at him warily. “What are you planning?”

“What could I possibly be planning?” He spread his hands. “Just borrowing an ability.”

“They don’t have that.” She crossed her arms.

An Muning: “…”

“Are you really that strict about morality?” he sighed. “I was the one who saved you. They were the ones trying to kill you. And you’re still protecting them?”

“I’m correcting you.” Fan Ningyue said flatly. “I’m protecting the last bit of humanity I have left. I’m not that cheap.”

“What’s the point of having so much humanity?” An Muning sighed.

“I used to think you didn’t have any humanity at all.” She patted his shoulder lightly. “But now I’ve changed my opinion a lot.”

“I also used to think you had no humanity,” Fan Ningyue said, patting his shoulder. “But I’ve changed my opinion quite a lot now.”

“You were wrong back then,” An Muning replied, expressionless now as well.

There’s a saying—what was it again? The law of conservation?

A smile doesn’t disappear; it just transfers from one person’s face to another’s.

Seeing his slightly annoyed expression, Fan Ningyue instead started laughing.

Feelings had always been mutual, in a way.

To Fan Ningyue back then, An Muning had also seemed like a puppet.

He was too fixated on a certain goal, discarding and ignoring everything around him.

But when he did certain things, he truly had a kind of personal charisma.

For example, many of the people who followed him had been personally shot by An Muning himself—yet more and more still chose to follow him.

At the time, Fan Ningyue couldn’t understand it. What was so good about him that people would willingly risk losing their heads just to stay loyal?

“Honestly,” Fan Ningyue said bluntly, as she often did, “I used to wonder why anyone would follow you when it could literally cost them their head.”

An Muning’s face twisted. “What exactly are you people in the Survivor Alliance saying about me?”

It was bad enough that they said he was imprisoned in a death cell.

Bad enough that they said his personal relationships were chaotic.

Bad enough that they said he controlled zombies to attack human settlements—he could even tolerate that.

But “risk of losing your head”?

Where did that even come from?

Looking at his expression, Fan Ningyue knew immediately that this probably wasn’t true—but she still nodded firmly while patting his shoulder.

“Survivors need a public enemy more advanced than the zombies themselves. I get it now—you really succeeded.”

“…I’d rather not succeed in that way,” An Muning sighed.

“Even though I’m curious, I know curiosity has to be restrained,” Fan Ningyue said, folding her arms.

“There’s nothing too secret about it, but you definitely won’t be able to verify it,” An Muning shook his head. “Do you know where the first survivor camp I joined was?”

“On the outskirts of the capital.”

“I’m from the north. I’ve always survived in the northern region. How could I suddenly appear in the capital when the apocalypse began?” he raised an eyebrow.

Fan Ningyue paused.

That actually made sense.

“The first survivor camp my sister and I entered was in central northern territory—the largest survivor base in the entire north.”

“I know that one…” Fan Ningyue frowned. “I remember when I first heard about you, that leader was still alive.”

“Exactly. Because I couldn’t kill him at the time,” An Muning nodded. “My spatial ability hadn’t evolved to the point where it had offensive power yet. And the north… had too many strong people. Back then, I was nothing like I am now.”

At that time, he was malnourished, frail and sickly. Standing next to the leader’s men, he didn’t even measure up.

More importantly, the men there weren’t the typical strong type. There weren’t many with sculpted, eight-pack abs or triangular physiques.

Most of them were towering, iron-strong giants—necks as thick as their heads, bodies like stone pillars, so bulky they looked like Roman columns, the kind that could throw three punches without making a sound.

“Back then, I was just a bean sprout,” An Muning said, tapping himself. “There’s not much point going into details… that place was basically unregulated anyway. The leader there had a psychic manipulation ability.”

He tapped his own chest.

“My psychic manipulation ability… I got it after I killed him and took it from him.”