Chapter Three: The Descent

At eleven o’clock at night, Fang Xia stood before the floor-to-ceiling window in his room.

At this hour, most people would have already returned home, but tonight was different.

It was the Double Eleven shopping festival—an occasion of frenzied consumption—and even at this late hour, the crowds still thronged the plazas and shopping districts.

Who would have thought? In his previous life, it was precisely because he was single that he had escaped disaster.

No wonder people say public displays of affection bring bad luck.

Fang Xia smirked, wholly satisfied with himself, unaware that retribution was already on its way.

He glanced at the new mechanical watch on his wrist. It wasn’t a luxury brand, but it had cost him his last five thousand yuan.

As the second hand completed its circuit, the minute hand shifted to the eleven-minute mark.

Suddenly, heavy rain began to pour outside. The apocalypse had begun.

For now, people didn’t suspect anything. Rain was, after all, a common occurrence.

Fang Xia watched from above as people hurried to the mall for shelter, a trace of mockery on his lips.

The mall was, at most, five or six stories high. By tomorrow morning, it would be submerged.

The rain grew heavier and heavier. Fang Xia stood at the window, his expression calm as a still lake, betraying neither joy nor sorrow.

An hour passed swiftly. The floodwaters rose at a pace visible to the naked eye.

At first, a few cars still navigated the roadways, but now they had vanished beneath the flood.

He watched for a while longer, sighing inwardly. He already knew how this would end. In his previous life, humanity had been pitifully insignificant before the apocalypse. He’d tried to help others, only to be robbed by those he’d rescued and nearly lose his life. This time, he had no intention of playing the saint, yet a strange melancholy still crept into his heart.

When he woke tomorrow, the world would be changed.

He had no idea how long he slept. When he woke again, darkness still pressed against the window. The rain showed no sign of letting up.

From his vantage point, the city was a vast expanse of water.

Directly across from him stood the mall—yesterday, it had been bustling with life, but today, only the rooftop was visible.

In that one place alone, the flood must have claimed tens of thousands of lives last night.

Fang Xia’s heart remained unmoved. In a true apocalypse, tens of thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—die every day, until humanity finally built Dawn City and things improved slightly.

Suddenly, there was loud pounding at the door, accompanied by desperate, piercing cries.

The luxury suite was well soundproofed, so the fact that he could still hear the commotion spoke to the horror outside.

Peering through the peephole, Fang Xia saw the corridor of the twenty-first floor packed with people, many in nothing but pajamas, clutching their phones—survivors from the lower floors, no doubt.

This was only the beginning. Seeking higher ground was just an instinct for survival. They did not yet grasp the true terror of the end times.

The suite was well equipped with tools. Fang Xia entered the kitchen and began cooking. By nightfall, electricity, water, and gas would all be cut off. While he still had the means, he cooked all his vegetables and meat.

Cold food was better than no food at all.

By noon, he had finished cooking everything he had purchased—vegetables and meat arrayed on plates—and opened up a self-heating box of rice.

Time to eat! The aroma was wonderful—what a delight.

The cries outside lasted only a short while before fading. Even wailing required strength.

He finished his meal and cracked open a bottle of soda, taking a long, satisfying drink.

To live like this at the dawn of the apocalypse—who would ever have imagined it?

With nothing else to do, Fang Xia turned on his phone. He hadn’t used it in years, and many of the features felt unfamiliar.

The internet was now flooded with news of the disaster, though most people still believed that rescue would come.

“Don’t be afraid, the rain will stop eventually. Just wait for help.”

“My whole family is on the rooftop now. It’s so cold outside. I really hope this downpour ends soon.”

“This is why you should buy property early. Spring River View—your best choice.”

Even now, some people were still doing business—truly, business geniuses.

Most of those still online were high-rise residents; they had the leisure to chat idly.

But by tomorrow, they would understand.

At eleven that night, Fang Xia had just enjoyed a hot shower and changed into clean clothes when the lights in his room suddenly went out.

The power system had completely collapsed.

Cries echoed through the corridor again.

This time, it wasn’t only one person.

The corridor lights had offered a sliver of comfort, but now even that was gone.

Darkness breeds fear.

With the power outage, there was no internet. Even those whose phones still held a charge were horrified to find there was no signal.

Night, hunger, and growing terror among the crowd. No one knew how long the rain would last.

People began knocking on doors, hoping someone inside would let them in.

Sleeping in a room was infinitely better than the corridor.

Fang Xia’s door, inevitably, was also roused by knocking.

Standing by the window, watching the rain, Fang Xia didn’t even turn his head. After a while, perhaps annoyed by the noise, he retreated into his room.

He closed the door—two layers of wood finally muffling the sounds.

Sleep, he told himself. This was only the first day—there was a long road ahead.

The next morning.

The rain showed no sign of stopping, and the noise outside had diminished greatly.

Anyone who hadn’t eaten in a day and a night would lack the strength to shout.

Even if anyone had brought snacks, they were surely gone by now.

A sudden, violent pounding on the door rang out once more. Fang Xia still ignored it.

“Mr. Fang, I know you’re inside. I checked you in, your room’s been booked for two days now.”

“We’re all compatriots. Can’t you let us in? The suite is so spacious. We’d be fine sleeping in the living room.”

This time, a woman’s voice accompanied the knocking. It was the front desk clerk who had checked him in—she’d also made it to the top floor.

“Open up! I’m the boss of Jiannan Corporation. Let me in and, when the rain stops, I’ll give you a million—no, five million!”

A middle-aged man’s voice followed, but Fang Xia only sneered, offering no reply.

“If you don’t open up, don’t blame us for what happens next!”

The banging grew heavier—they must have started using tools. Sure enough, when soft words failed, they turned to force. Such was human nature.

Fang Xia felt no fear. This was a luxury suite—its doors were sturdy. Besides, after a day and a night without food, with no proper tools, they’d never break in.

As expected, after five or six minutes, the banging stopped. At ease, Fang Xia turned on the stove to boil himself a bowl of instant noodles.

“How fragrant,” he murmured.

After living through six years of famine, every meal was a pleasure.

He opened a bottle of milk tea and drank deeply.