Chapter 2 - Chapter 2:The countdown begins

📘 Chapter 2: The Countdown Begins

The koi swam lazily beneath the surface of the pond, their bodies gliding like painted silk ribbons. Sunlight reflected sharply off the still water, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of a tail fin. Lu Yan sat in the garden pavilion, elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin.

He'd been sitting like that for a long time. Maybe half an hour. Maybe longer.

The garden was vast, symmetrical, and quiet. Too quiet. Every leaf, every pebble, every bamboo stalk felt like it had been arranged to impress someone who didn't care.

Only now did Lu Yan begin to notice just how foreign it all was.

This wasn't just another mansion in Beijing. It was a fantasy—one designed by an author, polished by narrative convenience, and paid for with the kind of wealth that existed only in novels. And now it belonged to him.

Lu Yan exhaled and leaned back slightly, resting against the polished wooden beam behind him.

"Sixty days," he murmured.

The timer from earlier still hovered in the back of his mind: [Countdown to Apocalypse: 60 Days].

It wasn't long. But it wasn't short, either.

In his last life, he never got a countdown. The bad things had just... happened. Without warning, without structure. Just slow decay. An endless trudge through failure, loneliness, and dead ends.

But now?

He was Lu Yan. Twenty-one years old. Legal heir to the Lu Conghai business empire. Owner of three credit cards that had no limit. The kind of man who could walk into a private bank and ask for a hundred million yuan—in cash—and the only question they'd ask was if he preferred red seal bills or blue.

His lips curled into a slow smile.

If I can't survive the apocalypse with this kind of backing… I don't deserve to be reborn.

Lu Yan's mind started to race, gears clicking into place. Supplies. Logistics. Storage. Transport. Manpower. Time.

Sixty days is enough. Not to save the world—but to carve out a corner where it can't touch me.

The thought steadied him.

It wasn't fear he felt anymore. Not the dizzy, helpless panic from before. No, this was something cleaner. Cooler.

Control.

He stood up from the bench and straightened his clothes, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. The koi splashed gently behind him.

He began walking slowly down the stone path toward the main house, the wind catching the edges of his shirt. Around him, the garden bloomed with quiet opulence. Pear blossoms. Sculpted rocks. Imported grass from Kyoto. None of it mattered.

....

Lu Yan had just stepped off the garden path, one foot onto the cool stone corridor that led back into the villa, when he noticed someone approaching from the far side.

The woman walked slowly, almost cautiously. Her figure was elegant, her steps light, but there was a frailness in the way her left hand rested gently on the marble balustrade. Her face—still strikingly beautiful despite the soft marks of time—held a paleness that didn't match the healthy glow of summer.

She looked tired. But when she saw him, her expression bloomed with gentle concern.

"Xiao Yan?" she called softly.

Lu Yan stopped in his tracks.

She came closer, her voice dropping as her eyes scanned his face.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" she asked. "Your cheek… is it swollen?"

He opened his mouth to speak—but nothing came out.

The moment froze.

Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Maybe it was the soft tremor in her voice. Maybe it was something buried in this body's soul. But whatever it was, his chest tightened, and without warning, a strange heat flooded his eyes.

He lowered his head quickly, trying to hide it.

But it was too late.

A single tear slipped out and rolled down his cheek.

He hated crying. He'd always hated it. Crying was weakness. Useless. Pointless. In his old life, no one ever cared when he cried. So he learned not to.

But now—

Now she stepped forward and gently cupped his face with her cool hands.

"Oh, my child…" she whispered. "What happened?"

The warmth of her palm on his cheek was unbearable. Lu Yan clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, trying to stop the flood before it spilled.

"I don't know," he choked. "I just… don't know why…"

His voice broke, and he didn't finish the sentence.

But she didn't need him to.

She pulled him into her arms, slow and careful like she was afraid he might break, and held him there. His head rested against her shoulder, and for the first time in two lifetimes, Lu Yan allowed himself to be held by someone who meant it.

"It's alright," she murmured. "It's alright now."

He didn't know how long they stood like that. A minute. Maybe ten. All he knew was the scent of her clothes—light jasmine, fresh laundry—and the slight tremble of her fingers as she gently stroked his back.

From the corner of his eye, Lu Yan saw movement in the distance.

His father—Lu Conghai—stood at the edge of the corridor, arms crossed, face dark. The same man who had slapped him earlier. But now there was something different in the man's posture. His head was bowed slightly. Not apologetic, not emotional—but… restrained.

Lu Yan's mother noticed too. She turned sharply.

"You hit him?" she asked coldly.

Lu Conghai didn't respond.

"You dare hit my son and then stand there silently like nothing happened?" Her voice was still calm, but now it carried steel.

Lu Conghai's lips moved. "…He needed to wake up."

"Then talk to him. Don't raise your hand. He's not a soldier. He's your child."

Lu Yan raised his head slightly. He didn't know what he was expecting from his father. An apology? A glare?

But the man just turned his eyes away and walked off without a word.

His mother let out a slow breath, her hands still resting on Lu Yan's arms.

"I know," she said after a pause. "I know you like that girl. That Meng Qingqing. But she's not right for you."

Her tone was softer now. Not scolding. Not warning. Just… sad.

"I know you think your love is sincere, and maybe it is. But sincerity isn't enough to make someone good. That girl… she isn't someone who'd stay when the storms come. She'd be the first to leave."

Lu Yan looked at her and nodded quietly.

"I'll do as Mom says."

A small smile lifted her lips—but her eyes remained cautious, watching him like she didn't quite believe him yet.

Then Lu Yan added, "I don't like her anymore."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"…Truly?"

He nodded again. "Truly. I've thought it through."

Her face lit up. The tension vanished. She reached up and gently smoothed down his hair, like he was still five years old.

"That's my good boy."

Lu Yan blinked at the sudden warmth in his chest.

So this is what it feels like… to be wanted. To be cared for.

He'd spent most of his past life eating dinner alone in silence. Watching families through restaurant windows, mothers serving soup, fathers peeling shrimp for their daughters. He always walked past quickly, pretending it didn't bother him.

But it had.

And now?

Now this woman—his mother—smiled at him and said, "Let's have dinner together tonight, hmm? It's been too long since we all sat down at the table."

"…Alright," Lu Yan said. His voice was quiet. But steady.

He watched her leave, her steps light but graceful.

Then he turned toward the house and followed after her, his chest a little warmer than before.

Lu Yan's room was quiet when he returned, the kind of silence that made the ticking of the antique wall clock sound unnecessarily loud. He left the door half-open behind him, unsure why, then sat at the edge of his bed and let himself breathe.

A slow exhale.

The mattress barely dipped under him—it was one of those overly firm luxury types, meant more for spine alignment than comfort. His hands rested on his knees, fingers drumming lightly.

The garden still lingered in his mind. His mother's touch. The softness in her voice. The way it had all felt… real.

But he couldn't afford to stay in that feeling for long.

He glanced toward the ceiling. "Alright," he muttered. "Back to business."

He sat straighter and closed his eyes.

"System," he said, clear and calm, "show me my personal panel."

There was no sound. Just a subtle pressure in his mind—like a hand brushing aside a curtain—and the interface unfolded in his vision.

---

[LU YAN – PERSONAL DATA]

Age: 21

Strength: 10

Agility: 10

Stamina: 10

Mana: 10

Skills: None

Cultivation Path: Locked

---

Lu Yan looked it over slowly.

So this body really was just a regular person. No hidden mutations. No divine heritage. Just a clean slate in expensive clothes.

He sighed. "Figures."

A soft flicker opened another tab beneath it, and his eyes scanned the new section.

---

[APOCALYPSE ROMANCE SYSTEM – HOST INTERFACE]

Love Points: 0

Active Romance Missions: None

Partner Slots: 0

Emotion Sync: Inactive

Bond Strength: —

System Rank: F (Unawakened Tier)

[System Functions Unlocked: 22%]

---

At the bottom, in smaller text:

Earn Love Points through sincere romantic action. Affection must be mutual. Lust-based interactions are not rewarded.

Lu Yan stared at that line for a long moment.

"So it's not… that kind of system," he said.

No harem farming. No scripted seductions. No hollow relationships with soft lighting and exaggerated soundtracks.

This wasn't the story of a man collecting women like loot drops.

It was slower. Stranger.

And maybe more dangerous, because it required something real.

He didn't know if that made it better or worse.

"Alright," he said aloud. "So I can earn points by building actual relationships. Do I spend them in some kind of shop?"

[Exchange Shop is currently locked. Please reach Rank D to unlock basic trade functions.]

"Of course."

He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers.

If he'd been younger—if this was a year ago—he might've thrown a fit. Complained about fairness. Demanded cheat codes.

But now?

He was mostly tired.

"You know," he said aloud, "you're kind of stingy for a system. Not even a single skill? Not even one broken spoon labeled 'Legendary Weapon of Destiny'?"

Nothing.

No reply.

He shut the screen and laid back with a quiet exhale, arms folded behind his head.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Some glowing button marked "God Mode"? An inheritance from some immortal cultivator? A ring that whispered secrets in his sleep?

But this was just a clean page. A countdown. And a system that measured love like calories.

Lu Yan closed his eyes.

He had sixty days before the world froze.

No cheats.

No powers.

Just himself.

Lu Yan lay there for a while, arms still folded behind his head, staring up at the pristine ceiling like it had personally wronged him. The system screen had faded, but its presence was still hovering at the back of his mind, smug and silent.

After a long beat, he spoke again.

"You know," he said slowly, "I transmigrated into an apocalypse novel. With a countdown to world-ending snowstorms. With zombies. Starvation. Society collapse."

Still nothing.

"I'm not asking for much. Just the usual: a minor cheat, maybe a weapon, some low-tier cultivation method? Hell, I'd take a rusty knife and a can of beans at this point."

Silence.

Lu Yan sat up, annoyed now. "You're really not going to give me a beginner pack?"

Still nothing.

"Don't tell me this entire system runs on emotional labor and has the audacity to be stingy."

[Beginner packs are not a guaranteed feature.] The voice rang out flatly. [This system prioritizes sincerity, emotional connection, and personal growth.]

"Oh, spare me the character development arc. This isn't a slice-of-life drama." He ran a hand through his hair. "Do you realize where you dumped me? The 'Apocalypse Love Chronicles.' Do you know how bad the second half of that novel was?"

[Narrative quality is subjective.]

"Subjective, my ass! The author went from emotional slow burn to full-on degeneracy in twenty chapters. The MC was basically picking up girls like bottle caps."

[Please refrain from slandering the source narrative.]

Lu Yan narrowed his eyes. "So you can respond."

[The system is designed to avoid unnecessary dialogue. Host is strongly advised to stop whining.]

"Whining? You drop me into a novel where the temperature is going to hit minus forty and the biggest problem is whether or not I can fall in love fast enough to unlock a thermal sleeping bag?"

He crossed his arms.

"…This is discrimination. I bet the last guy got a starter pack."

[The last host was terminated.]

"…Okay, not comforting."

[The system has concluded the host will benefit more from adaptive survival than initial hand-holding.]

"Adaptive survival my ass," he muttered.

There was a pause. Then another ding, quieter this time—less triumphant, more begrudging.

[An exception may be granted. Would host like to receive one starter ability to assist in early-stage survival?]

Lu Yan blinked. "Wait… seriously?"

[Yes. One ability only. Choose wisely.]

He sat up straighter, pulse quickening just a bit.

A soft glow unfolded in his mind, and a familiar set of icons shimmered into view—this time, real choices, not just theoretical:

---

[Select One Starter Ability]

Fire Manipulation

Water Manipulation

Earth Control

Wind Manipulation

Light Healing

Shadow Cloak

Time Distortion (Locked)

Spatial Storage

---

Lu Yan didn't hesitate.

His eyes locked onto the final option.

Space.

The ability to store. To carry. To hide.

In a world where people would fight over instant noodles, where the cold would kill faster than monsters, space wasn't just power. It was sovereignty.

He tapped it.

[Ding! Spatial Storage unlocked. Host now has access to 200 cubic meters of personal dimensional space. Expandable.]

Lu Yan exhaled, the tension in his shoulders melting a little.

This… this was good.

Not flashy. Not destructive. But useful in exactly the way he needed.

He leaned back again and let his body relax.

"…Thanks," he muttered. Then, under his breath, added, "Stingy bastard."

[You're welcome.]

Lu Yan closed his eyes. Sixty days. The countdown had started.

And now, he had space.

And money.

It wasn't much—not yet.

But it was enough.

---

[End of Chapter 2]