That one sentence left Fan Ningyue in silence.

What was she even supposed to say to that?

“You’re really a strange person,” she muttered, holding her bowl.

She thought back to their murky, unresolved conflict.

Fan Ningyue was born in Beijing. On the very day the apocalypse broke out, she had been out eating barbecue with her friends.

She remembered it clearly—the waiter had just placed the sliced meat onto the weighing scale when screams suddenly erupted from the entrance.

That was the day she awakened her dark-type ability. After that, she and her friends hid at home for half a year, only leaving when supplies ran out.

By then, survivors had already begun to gather consciously, forming small factions.

In the early days, there had been no such person as An Muning. Fan Ningyue hadn’t studied his background in detail. By the time she first heard his name, he was already somewhat well-known among survivors.

And from the moment that name appeared, news related to him sprang up everywhere like bamboo shoots after rain.

Everyone knew there was a man who had somehow emerged from nowhere, ruthlessly slaughtering ability users without mercy, and who had somehow obtained the power to control zombies.

He had started in a remote survivor faction, gradually climbing his way up and killing its leader.

It seemed he had a natural talent for this path. All the way up, he opposed the Survivor Alliance, opposed human factions, destroyed safe zones, and wiped out survivor strongholds.

He walked a path completely opposite to people like Fan Ningyue.

The final battle three years ago took place on an unnamed mountain outside Beijing. She and her companions fought An Muning at the summit.

In the end, for reasons unknown, An Muning jumped off the cliff himself.

“I’m strange?” An Muning raised an eyebrow.

“At the final battle… wasn’t it you who jumped off on your own?” Fan Ningyue muttered.

Did that happen?

An Muning thought for a moment.

It actually did.

“Because it was pointless,” he said, shaking his head. “Once I reached the end, what else was there for me to do?”

“So you had no more enemies. You could’ve done whatever you wanted, right?”

“I didn’t walk this path just so I could ‘do whatever I wanted,’” An Muning shook his head again. “When I stood at that position, I realized the goals I once pursued, the direction I once believed in—they were all as hollow as mist, unreachable and meaningless.”

Their conversation suddenly became abstract, and Fan Ningyue looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I walked that far for a goal,” An Muning said, glancing around before returning his gaze to the spicy stir-fry. He picked up some minced garlic.

“Food comes in many forms—from delicacies of mountains and seas to luxury dishes like abalone and lobster, and finally back to simple street food. Human status is the same.”

“A long time ago, I was like this piece of garlic,” he continued. “Insignificant. Whether I existed or not didn’t matter. No one would even notice whether there was a tiny bit of garlic in their food.”

“If someone disliked me, I would disappear. No one could find me. That was the role I once played in this world.”

“You know… we met a long time ago.”

Fan Ningyue raised her head in surprise. “When?”

“In a survivor camp at the edge of Beijing. Back then, I was just an unremarkable nobody. Your friends were sitting around a campfire telling stories, and you were listening nearby—I was sitting right behind you.”

That happened?

Fan Ningyue tried to recall, but couldn’t remember anything.

“You were from Beijing, gathered around a campfire talking about the early days of the apocalypse. I had never experienced that before—A5, M12, I had never even heard of those things,” An Muning said with a smile. “I was honestly shocked. I couldn’t believe there was beef that was sliced and weighed like that.”

It felt like his worldview had been rebooted. Back then, he was completely stunned.

What kind of beef melted in your mouth?

What kind of shrimp had such pure sweetness?

Fan Ningyue looked at him in confusion.

“See? You don’t remember,” An Muning smiled. “That was the first time I realized people like you lived like that.”

“I really don’t remember,” she shook her head. “But… sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t have the habit of showing off,” Fan Ningyue said. “It just feels inappropriate.”

“People’s circumstances are different,” An Muning said, putting down his chopsticks. “Now that you’ve apologized, I’m actually not used to it.”

Fan Ningyue didn’t know what to say and could only let out a small laugh.

“I’m done eating,” she said, setting down her bowl. “Did you cook this?”

“No, I conjured it out of thin air.”

“Really?”

She had never heard of such an ability.

“Of course not,” An Muning said, spreading his hands. “Have you ever heard of an ability like that? It’s just the two of us here—if I didn’t cook it, who did, a zombie?”

“…Maybe a zombie cooked it,” Fan Ningyue said.

An Muning: “……”

He fell silent, then seriously gave her a thumbs-up.

“No, I meant—the seasoning,” Fan Ningyue pointed at the dish. “Did you make the sauce yourself, or is it pre-made?”

Fan Ningyue immediately regretted asking that question—the emotional intelligence behind it was honestly pretty low.

But it had already come out.

And she really had nothing else to say.

Unexpectedly, An Muning didn’t mind.

“I made the seasoning myself. Those pre-made spicy stir-fry sauces all went bad a long time ago.”

“So you can cook,” Fan Ningyue said, patting her stomach.

She was completely full.

“Why, in your mind, am I some young master who doesn’t lift a finger?”

“I just didn’t think you were the type to cook for yourself.”

“Then you were wrong,” An Muning said with a smile. “I used to cook all the time.”

“Really?” Fan Ningyue drawled, sounding a little unconvinced.

“What kind of impression did I leave on you people?” An Muning frowned in confusion. “Back then I even handled negotiations myself. I barely let my subordinates help with anything—yet in your eyes I’ve somehow become a disabled person.”

“I didn’t say you were disabled…” Fan Ningyue shook her head. “Maybe it’s just because I had a stereotype about you.”

“That’s not a stereotype,” An Muning’s mouth twitched. “That’s prejudice.”

Fan Ningyue nodded earnestly. “Yeah, it is prejudice.”

“You’re surprisingly honest,” An Muning scoffed.

“I’ve always been honest,” Fan Ningyue said with a shrugged.